Right back
After being hunted almost to extinction, southern right whales are making a mighty return
I GLIMPSE LAND FROM MY CABIN window after almost 36 hours aboard the Strannik. I’ve spent a lot of time at sea over the years, but this is my first open-ocean crossing – and one of the most turbulent passages in the world: the subantarctic waters of the Southern Ocean.
It’s June 2021 and I’m 465km south of New Zealand; it’s the depths of winter here and a storm is raging. I’ve sailed to these remote seas as a photographer and crew on a three-week survey of southern right whales, led by biologist Emma Carroll from the University of Auckland. As we enter Port Ross, the northern gateway to the Auckland Islands, we cruise at a slow speed: we know that the whales are out there in their hundreds. I head up to the deck and into the wind and rain to join my fellow nine crew members (who include marine biologists, a ranger, wildlife filmmakers and a doctor) all straining to spot any animal in our path. I’m about to see my first southern right whale, and my heart is pounding. Just minutes later a distinctive dark, encrusted head emerges from the churning, angry swell.
As we make it to our safe mooring at the end of the bay, the weather clears, revealing a spectacular 360˚ view over snowy peaks, native bush and rātā forests. I hear distant blows and can make out the forms of several whales in the distance. Suddenly, I’m seeing giants almost everywhere I look. No wonder this is described as one of the greatest animal gatherings on the planet.
SOUTHERN RIGHT WHALES ARE divided into at least six breeding populations across the Southern Atlantic and Pacific Oceans, together numbering some 13,000 individuals. This particular expedition is one survey in a long-term study comparing the recoveries and feeding grounds of these populations at a time when climate change is most impacting our oceans.
The species is migratory, feeding on krill and other zooplankton in the open ocean in summer and travelling closer to shore in winter to breed. Between May and September the New Zealand population congregates in the sheltered waters of Port Ross – it’s the only nursery ground for the species in the country.
But things have not always looked so healthy. The southern right whale – ‘tohorā’̄ in Māori – was hunted almost to extinction off New Zealand in the whaling heyday of the late 1800s, with just 30-40 remaining by the 1920s. It was the ‘right’ whale to catch because of its meat and high oil content, and its confiding nature and tendency to linger near the shore made it an easy target. Sperm whales, and later, humpbacks, also fell in their thousands to harpoons.
Thanks to the passing of the Marine Mammals Protection Act by the New Zealand parliament in 1978, the species has made a steady recovery, boosted by conservation efforts. In 1980, a few individuals were sighted off the Auckland Islands. In 1992, a survey by the Royal New Zealand Air Force counted 70 whales in the Port Ross area; a similar survey the following year counted 43. In 1995, the first scientific expedition was launched, led by Scott Baker and Natalie Patenaude. By 2009, surveys by the University of Auckland and Department of Conservation estimated that the population had recovered to about 2,000 whales.
From my vantage point on the Strannik, the recovery is clear to see. For the next two weeks, from our mooring at Port Ross, each day is punctuated by shouts of, “Here come the whales!” From dawn to dusk, we observe dozens of whales socialising, nursing, feeding and breaching in the harbour, and I continually find myself rushing up to the ship’s bow, desperate not to miss a moment. Many breakfasts are interrupted; countless cups of tea left to go cold. On one unforgettable day, after surveying the whole bay forfourhours,we count a breathtaking 157 whales in 86 groups, of which 35 are cow-calf pairs.
COVERING A COMBINED AREA of 57,000ha, the Auckland Islands are the largest of New Zealand’s subantarctic archipelagos. They boast a rich flora, a large number of subantarctic invertebrates and some of the rarest birds on Earth. In 2003, their importance to marine wildlife was formally recognised, and the Auckland Islands Motu Maha Marine Reserve was established, a protected zone that encircles the archipelago for roughly 12 nautical miles in each direction. Entry is controlled by permit and visitor numbers are restricted. In winter, the islands are off-limits to all tourism and only a few research vessels are permitted – the Strannik is one of just two boats to sail here this season. This is to protect the whales from ship strike, a leading cause of death for large cetaceans around the world.
“From dawn to dusk we observe dozens of whales socialising, nursing, feeding and breaching”
It’ san incredibly special place. “I’ve studied marine mammals everywhere from the Antarctic to the Tropics, but I am enthralled by the wildlife paradise that is the Auckland Islands,” says crew member Rob Harcourt from Macquarie University, Sydney, who has been researching marine mammals since 1985. “Especially the southern right whales that sing us to sleep.” We do indeed hear them sing – and snort – from our cabins each night. Perhaps this is what dreams are made of.
Emma’s study is building on 25 years of research, continuing the genetic monitoring started in 1995 by Baker and Patenaude. Genetic identification is carried out using DNA extracted from a small skin biopsy, collected using a dart fired from a crossbow that deflects off a whale’s back. The technique is used to identify individual whales and their kin and to estimate population size.
In addition, Emma and her team have managed to satellite tag 17 whales around the Auckland Islands over the past two winters. The resulting tracks enable them to spatially map the whales’ migration paths relative to human activities such as shipping, and to identify their feeding grounds.
Mapping the migration
Following three southern right whales as they travel to the open ocean to feed
IT’S WITH SLIGHT TREPIDATION THAT I climb into a RIB with the team one morning to take photo IDs of the individuals selected for skin sampling. Trussed up in survival suits and as many layers as we can manage, we cruise the bay, our eyes peeled for turbulence or activity at the surface. Emma prioritises sleeping individuals to make the job easier, and each is approached with the utmost care. “If I tell you to duck, get down low and do it right away,” she says. I nod: southern right whales may be baleen whales, filter-feeding tiny prey, but they weigh up to 75 tonnes and a simple tail slap could be deadly.
Rob carefully positions the RIB at a safe distance, and Emma takes aim and fires, hitting her target with practised precision. The impact of a dart is nothing more to the whale than a mosquito bite to a human. It will yield a fingernail-sized piece of skin that provides an invaluable amount of information. “It tells us so much about these giants – we get a snapshot of their lives,” Emma says. “Genetics reveal who the whales are and who they are related to, and tiny chemicals present in the skin can give a lot of information on a whale’s diet and where it spends the summer feeding before migrating back to the Auckland Islands. If there is a bit of fat or blubber, we can even give them a pregnancy test. We are also developing a genetic method to estimate age from DNA.”
The Auckland Islands have UNESCO World Heritage status for their superb diversity of wildlife 
Julie’s home for the three-week research trip – the Strannik 
Southern right whales can stay underwater for up to 50 minutes before surfacing to breathe
After several hours on the water, Emma has managed to dart eight whales. Back on the Strannik, everyone pitches in to unload the gear and hang out wet clothes ready for the next day. Emma disappears to her cabin to log her data and carefully stow her skin samples in the makeshift lab in her tiny bathroom. By the end of the season, she and her team will have collected an impressive 599 samples over just two research trips.
“We are frequently lashed with hail and snow, and the temperature regularly drops below freezing”
“Working out in the subantarctic is always challenging, and in the past few years we’ve also had the lockdowns and border restrictions of the pandemic to grapple with,” she says. “The data we’re collecting is putting us in a strong position to understand the recovery of these gentle giants but there’s always more to learn.”
This far south, winters are indeed tough. We are frequently lashed with hail and snow, and the temperature regularly drops below freezing. But one afternoon, it’s calm enough to explore the nearby coastline in a dinghy. I spy an adult right whale only a few hundred metres away, and it breaches – again and again – like a submarine rocketing from the depths and reaching for the sky. The colossal splashes it creates on each landing echo around the bay, so powerful that I almost stop breathing.
AFTER A WEEK AT PORT ROSS, I start recognising a few regular visitors, including a mother and calf. A southern right whale’s form makes it easy to identify – alarge, bulky cetacean with a mostly black body splashed with white on the chin and belly. It lacks a dorsal fin, and its head is large and typically calloused. It bears not one but two blowholes that emit powerful jets of water up to 5m high, and is often seen ‘logging’ – resting at the surface like a floating log.
And this wildlife dreamscape is not limited to whales. We encounter leopard seals, yellow-eyed penguins, sea lions and countless seabirds and native birds (albatrosses, giant petrels, robins and tomtits, to name a few). We also wander ashore now and then to explore some old tracks and see some remnants of unsuccessful human settlements in the mid- 19th century, to a soundtrack of native bird calls and the wind whistling in the trees.
“Southern right whales are sentinels for climate change, with their population recovery linked to conditions on their feeding grounds. I am hopeful that the New Zealand population of southern right whales is finding enough food to sustain a full recovery,” says Emma. “But the Southern Ocean is changing in different ways in different places. By comparing the recovery and feeding grounds of different populations of southern right whales, we can start to understand how these changes are impacting the health of its ecosystems.”
After three weeks at sea, I feel totally disconnected from the outside world and deeply connected with my wild surroundings. I head home happy in the knowledge that the whales are back, but aware that conservation efforts must continue if they’re to be safeguarded into the future.
HISTORY OF WHALING
THE BAD OLD DAYS
Whaling in New Zealand started in the 1790s, with onshore whaling stations springing up on the southern coasts. Two decades later, the industry reached its peak, with more than 200 whaling ships and almost 100 stations. Kororareka, in the North Island, became the biggest whaling port in the southern hemisphere. Both Māori and European sailors partook in intense hunts that caused a rapid decline in cetacean numbers. By 1840, the southern right whale population had been virtually wiped out and onshore stations started to close. In the early 1900s, new stations emerged, together with new harpoon technologies. The last whale was caught off New Zealand in 1964. Today, the country is part of the International Whaling Commission (IWC) and whale-watching is important for ecotourism.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Julie Chandelier is a French-Swedish conservation photographer based in New Zealand. She advocates for the ocean and the wider natural world through her stories. See more of her work at juliechandelier.com.