CHAPTER IV
THE “VOICE” OF WHALES AND SOME INTERESTING HABITS
For me, developing the photographic negatives after a trip at sea is almost as fascinating as taking them, and no secret treasure chest was ever opened with greater interest than is the developing box. After my first expedition a tank developer was always used, for I invariably became so excited watching the image appear upon the plate that several were ruined by being held too long before the red lamp.
I shall never forget the breathless interest with which I developed the negative exposed when the humpback whale came up beneath the ship during the trip described in the previous chapter. I had had no time to focus the camera, and really expected a blurred picture, but still there was just a chance that it might be good. The image appearing on the plate slowly assumed form and I saw that it was a picture of the great body partly hidden beneath the ship. No one but a naturalist can ever know what it meant to get that photograph and how impatiently I waited until it could be taken from the hypo bath and examined.
I found that the plate had been exposed just after the spout had been delivered and while the animal was drawing in its breath. The great nostrils were widely dilated and protruded far above the level of the head.
This is an excellent illustration of what an important part the camera plays in natural history study, for often a photograph will show with accuracy many things which the eye does not record. When a whale rises so close to the ship that one can almost touch its huge body, the few seconds of its appearance are so full of excitement that it is well-nigh impossible to study details—at least so I have found.
During spouting, and while drawing in the breath, the rush of air through the pipe-like nostrils produces a loud, metallic, whistling sound which, in the larger whales, can be heard for a distance of a mile or more. Since cetaceans have no vocal organs it is probable that this is the sound which is so often mistaken for their voice in the statements that whales have “roared,” or “bellowed like a bull.”
To me it always seems as though a whale ought to have a voice of proportions equal to the animal’s bulk. I have never quite recovered from the feeling I had when I first saw a big humpback rise a few feet from the ship. The animal appeared so enormous that if it had uttered a terrifying roar it would have seemed quite the natural and proper thing. The respiratory sounds differ with each cetacean; I have often been near humpbacks and finbacks which were feeding together, and could always distinguish the latter species by the sharper and more metallic quality of the spout. This is probably due to the fact that the finback, since it is a larger whale, blows with greater force than does the humpback.
The white porpoise (Delphinapterus leucas) of the North, makes a most characteristic respiratory noise. It is a sharp “putt” much resembling the exhaust of a small gasoline engine and can be heard for a considerable distance. In early June of 1909, while hunting white porpoises in the St. Lawrence River, a heavy fog dropped on us and for several hours we could only wait for it to lift. All about were white porpoises, probably several hundred, and the sharp “putt, putt” of their spouts came from every direction, sounding like a squadron of gasoline launches.
The number of times the humpbacks spout at each appearance is exceedingly variable. As a general rule, if the feed is far below the surface, requiring a considerable period of submergence, the animals will blow six or seven times before again descending, in order to reoxygenate thoroughly the blood. If, on the contrary, the feed is near the surface, the dives are short and the number of respirations after each one is correspondingly small. And yet I have seen individuals which were “traveling,” or swimming for a considerable distance under water, rise to spout but once or twice and again descend.
I have often been asked how long a whale can stay below the surface. It is quite impossible to answer this with a general statement since some species can undoubtedly remain submerged much longer than others. Twenty minutes is my greatest record for humpbacks but there is no doubt that the animals can stay under a much longer time, if necessary.
A blue whale which we struck off the Japanese coast sounded for thirty-two minutes. In the north of Japan there was a whale of the same species which had had its dorsal fin shot away by a harpoon and had become extremely wild. The animal could be easily recognized by the large white scar on its back, and for three successive years was hunted by various ships of the whaling fleet. He was said to stay below half an hour each time and only spout once or twice between dives. One day, when seventy miles at sea, the ship I was on raised his spout, but after the whale went down we lost him. We were close enough to see the white harpoon scar as he sounded but I did not have a further opportunity to witness his reported eccentricities.
At Ulsan, Korea, Captain Melsom killed a blue whale which stayed below fifty minutes, spouted twenty times, and then went down for forty minutes. The longest period of submergence which I recorded for a finback was twenty-three minutes. There are many tales of the great length of time which the small-toothed whale, called the “bottlenose” (Hyperoödon rostratum), will remain under water but I have had no personal experience with this species. It is said that when a bottlenose has been harpooned it not infrequently sounds to a great depth and stays below for over an hour.
Many whalemen believe that cetaceans can remain under water for a long time without coming up to breathe. This owes its origin to the fact that whales will suddenly appear when for several hours previously there has been no sign of a spout even at a distance. Captain Grahame first called my attention to this fact and since then I have personally witnessed it twice.
“Suddenly, not more than two hundred fathoms in front of the ship, four humpbacks spouted and began to feed.” The flukes of one are shown, in the distance is a second which has just spouted, and the smooth patches of water where the other two descended are seen in the foreground.
Once, when sixty miles at sea off the Japanese coast, trouble with the engines caused the ship to lie to for about three hours. During most of that time I was in the barrel at the masthead watching with glasses a school of porpoises (Lagenorhynchus obliquidens), which were playing about some distance from the ship. As far as I could see there was not the slightest sign of a whale nor had there been for at least two hours. Suddenly, not more than two hundred fathoms in front of the ship, four humpbacks spouted and began to feed. They remained for almost half an hour in our immediate vicinity, wallowing about at the surface, and then, as at a signal, arched their backs, drew out their flukes, and sounded. They rose again about half a mile away, spouted a few times and disappeared.
There is not one chance in ten that those whales could have blown within five miles of the ship, when they first appeared, without being seen. The ocean was as calm as a millpond and the sun so brilliant that the spouts glittered like a cloud of silver dust thrown into the air. From the masthead I could see for miles and had, moreover, been watching the water in every direction as the porpoises circled and played about the ship.
Practically the same thing has been reported to me at various times from other localities. Captain Grahame said that in Alaska at a certain place in Frederick Sound a school of finbacks used to appear suddenly every day about four o’clock in the afternoon. The whalemen seemed to be of the opinion that the animals had been under the water for some hours, perhaps sleeping on the bottom.
From what is known of the physiology of cetaceans this is highly improbable if not actually impossible. To me the most reasonable explanation seems to be the one advanced by Rocovitza, viz., that some species of whales frequently swim long distances at considerable speed without appearing to blow. When there is little feed and the whales are constantly moving, or traveling, I have seen them rise a mile or more from the place where they last disappeared, spout a few times and again go down, repeating this as long as they could be seen from the ship. There is no valid reason why the animals should not continue for half an hour or more without appearing to blow and during that time even slow swimmers, such as humpbacks, could cover three or four miles.
One day at Ulsan, Korea, Captain Hurum found two humpbacks and struck one. Captain Melsom who was but a short distance away came up at once and stood by to shoot the second whale. But that individual had absolutely disappeared and although the sea was calm and both ships kept a sharp watch was never seen again. Captain Melsom says it must certainly have swum five miles without rising to spout.
When and where whales do sleep we have no means of knowing. They have been recorded as following ships for great distances, always keeping close by, and I have often heard them blow at night. My own theory is that they sleep while floating at the surface, either during the day or night, but I have little evidence with which to sustain it.
Whales must have some means of communicating with each other of which we know nothing, for often the members of a school, even when widely separated, will leave the surface together and reappear at exactly the same instant.
At times two whales will swim so closely together that their bodies are almost touching and this habit has given rise to stories, vouched for by reputable scientific men, about an unknown whale with two dorsal fins. I could never bring myself to believe these tales and often wondered how they originated, until one day, while hunting off the coast of Japan with Captain Anderson, we saw a so-called “double-finned” whale. A big finback was spouting in the distance and as we were following a sei whale which was very wild, the Captain decided to see if we could get a shot at the new arrival.
Two humpback whales swimming close together at the surface. These animals were feeding and coming up to spout every few seconds.
The whale was swimming at the surface and as we neared the animal two dorsal fins were plainly visible. Anderson was as excited as I because it seemed that we would certainly “get fast” to the mythical whale. We watched every movement of the animal as it slowly crossed our bows and we could see the second dorsal fin about two feet behind the first.
Suddenly the animal spouted in a way that was unfamiliar to both of us, for the vapor column was very thick and plainly divided. We were within forty fathoms, almost near enough for a shot, before I realized that our strange cetacean was really two whales—a cow finback and her nearly grown calf. The latter was on the far side of the mother and was pressed closely to her side. Its dorsal fin appeared just behind that of its parent and while the whale was broadside to us we could see no other part of the calf’s body. Had we not been following the animal I should forever have been convinced that I had actually seen a double-finned whale.