From the depths of the icy, subarctic waters off the shore of Churchill, Manitoba, snowflake shapes of iridescent white emerge suddenly.
In seconds the shapes explode to the surface, flowering into a pod of 12 nearly 1½-ton beluga whales. One large female performs a vertical suspension, a dolphin-gray baby riding on her back.
Other whales dive and breach, their curiosity piqued. They roll and twist, float and gawk, navigating closer and closer to the wetsuit-clad creature now swimming in their midst.
It’s whale season in northern Canada — a window extending from late June to early September when it’s possible to commune with one of nature’s most magnificent mammals.
Belugas in the thousands migrate through the comparatively warm waters of the Churchill River estuary, through the western waters of Hudson Bay to their winter habitat near Nunavut and farther north. This journey coincides with calving season, when these warm-blooded Arctic whales give birth to a single offspring.
North of the tree line
Inuit mythology is rife with stories of shamans able to transform into the great animals of the frozen north. Aboriginal sculptors have captured the transformation again and again in elemental carvings in soapstone and walrus-tusk ivory.
Snorkeling for nearly an hour within a pod of 15-foot-long beluga whales must be as close as it comes to actually making an interspecies shift.
To swim with these gentle giants one must travel north from Winnipeg, the provincial capital of Manitoba, beyond the tree line to where the 58th parallel curves over Canada’s only Arctic seaport.
Churchill remains a frontier town at the end of a windswept, dead-end street. Its population hovers around 800 hardy souls dependent on the port or the growing trade in ecotourism.
Known as the “polar bear capital of the world,” Churchill is also a favorite destination for birders, fishing enthusiasts and those wishing to see the northern lights, or aurora borealis.
This isolated municipality — you can reach Churchill only by Hudson Bay Railway or by air — centers on a main drag, Kelsey Boulevard, faced with single-story taverns, souvenir storefronts and a sprinkling of hotels with restaurants.
Polar bear alert signs dot the landscape, as do the bears themselves. During my stay, four bears in four days were airlifted out by helicopter, including a 700-pound male that paraded down the center of Kelsey one morning at 10.
Locals look both ways before venturing past a doorway, hoping to detect the presence of an opportunistic bear lurking in the brush. Polar bear monitors — park rangers with guns — accompany every group, including those headed down to the shore to swim with the whales.
In the water
Equipped with only a mask, snorkel and an ample layer of neoprene, I slipped over the side of Sea North Tours’ inflatable boat into the just-above-freezing water of Hudson Bay, where 57,000 beluga whales congregate each season.
Sea North’s owner, Mike Macri, has been watching whales for more than 30 years and provides top-notch gear and a presentation on animal behavior.
The boats travel with four to five swimmers on board. Four can snorkel at the same time, but many groups prefer to take turns. Macri limits his snorkeling adventures — relatively recent in Churchill — to adults because that’s who he has wetsuits for.
I was approached by hundreds of whales in the course of an hour. It was miraculous to move among pod after pod of these bright white behemoths who venture ever closer without any fear.
I was approached by hundreds of whales in the course of an hour. It was miraculous to move among pod after pod of these bright white behemoths who venture ever closer without any fear.
“This is one of the last unpolluted waterways in North America,” says Macri. “They have a lot of food and there’s not a lot of hunting pressure or stress from whale-watching boats. It’s a really healthy environment for the whales.”
As soon as I was submerged, I heard the beluga’s whale song — a series of chirps, clicks and whistles that have earned them the name “canaries of the sea.” Twisting, turning and effortlessly swimming to only an arm’s length away, it seemed the whales were looking for some sort of social interaction.
The most curious would swim just underneath my prone body, roll over onto their backs and stare up at me with their little black eyes and ever-present grin, launching into an otherworldly serenade.
Playtime
I did my part to promote interaction — singing, humming and chirping back to a nursing mother, a baby watched over by a slightly older sibling, and a submarine-sized male that came very, very close.
Beluga brains are bigger than ours and have more convolutions. Some say they are smarter than humans. Because their neck bones are flexible, they can turn their heads to look you square in the eye. My experience can best be described as watching whales watch me.
There’s no question the whales are sentient beings: inquisitive, playful and intelligent. I can personally vouch for the belugas — having been, for a short time, a member of a pod.