Okay.  We're done with eagles. It's time for whales.

Humpback whales are a fixture, at least for the foreseeable future, of Southeast Alaska waters. Massive and seemingly impassive, they placidly cruise and roll along solo or in groups, sometimes with calves, in apparent contentment. Their bulk, graceful power, and mystery impress and intrigue humans, who, in an effort to try to comprehend them, tend to attribute human-like feelings to them. It is a futile effort, but understandable for anyone who has been near enough to them to wonder what the whales make of us, as they eye their human viewers. Apart from any well-meaning anthropomorphism, they are big enough and magnificent enough to inspire awe and social enough to inspire admiration, even when they don't seem to be "doing anything" special. 

So, cue the whales.

It is a calm late afternoon on the Lynn Canal, near Auke Bay. A good time to watch for whales.

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A seiner powers along.

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Two humpbacks cruise by, calmly surfacing for air. No sign of flukes or effort.

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Another silently passes close enough that the lens can't encompass its full length. 131A2002

A cropped close-up shows marks and scars along its back. 131A2002-2

A mother and calf slip past.

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A group of five slides by.

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Two roll through. Flukes coming.

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They dive almost simultaneously. 

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The five, joined by one or two more, cruise past an island beach, spouting together. Gulls flock overhead, a sign of things to come.

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Another humpback rolls past very close by, close enough to see sea water flowing along its skin, illustrating whale hydrodynamics and laminar flow.

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Another departs, prominent open blowhole nostrils revealed, still open before diving. The lingering mist of its last spout is barely visible in the upper right.

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