Travel writer (and top uncle) Robin McKelvie took his nephew on an adventure of a lifetime, dolphin watching. But no, this wasn't in some sun-drenched island paradise, this was in the rough and ready waters of the Moray Firth, Scotland...
“Welcome adventurers – today we’re in search of the largest bottlenose dolphins in the world,” beamed skipper Gus. “They are the world’s most northerly pod too, real wild animals – it’s up to the dolphins if we see them or not. We are in their world.” Joining in with Gus’ grin, we gripped on tight as our fast RIB Mischief bashed out into the Moray Firth surf, the city of Inverness vanishing in our wake.
I’ve been lucky enough to see dolphins in the wild all over the world, but in tow this time was a VIP, my teenage nephew, Kyle (pictured). Dolphins have been Kyle’s favourite animal since I bought him a soft toy cetacean from Bermuda back when he was a toddler. He’d never seen one in the wild, so here we were in our own country searching for dolphins.
As Gus gunned us further out into deeper water, he explained that although the Moray Firth pod numbers around 200 dolphins, they often migrate for hundreds of miles from Aberdeen to Inverness and further north towards the Orkney Isles. We were armed not with harpoons and cannons – as hunters once were in Scottish waters – but with camera phones and Canons. Binoculars and the waterproof suits we’d been kitted out with too.
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A waiting game
It's quite an experience galloping along at 30 knots, surf spraying like a Radox advert in your face, as glimpses of land and hills flicker between an all-consuming foreground of cobalt water. Eyes peeled, we waited. And waited. Scanning for any snatch of movement, even a splash. Anything that might indicate a dolphin was near. Nothing. More nothing. We sprinted from one area Gus said they often frequent to another. Still nothing. Halfway through our two hour trip I was doubting. Kyle wasn’t, his eyes gleaming across the water, glued more than he ever is to his beloved phone.
Then it happened. A flash of a dorsal fin, a thrill of a splash, then a skip in the air by a hulking 13-foot-long (4m) dolphin, before a huge bash back into the water. They darted like torpedoes in the water on either side of us, barrelling along then swooshing up for air, spray filling the air around us. Kyle whooped. So did I. Gus just smiled.
Dinner time
We weren’t done with dolphins, though. Not by a long shot. The wonder of the Moray Firth is that you don’t even have to jump on a boat to meet our marine mammal cousins. Back at our waterfront flat we peered down at the River Ness rushing below us. I told Kyle about the wild Atlantic salmon that struggle back up the river here towards Loch Ness. I asked him if he wanted to watch the dolphins feed on them, as they tried made their epic journeys through the Moray Firth towards the river.
Kyle didn’t need to use words to answer. Just 20 minutes later, we were hunkered down below the cannon-slashed ramparts of Fort George on the south side of the Moray Firth. Just across the narrows we could make out Chanonry Point where hundreds of humans had come to commune with their warm blooded marine mammal cousins. We had too, but we were utterly alone. Our timing was spot on, exactly an hour after low tide on the rising tide. This is when the dolphins slip in to feed. And there they were, like Shakespearian actors bursting on to the stage to universal acclaim on both sides of the narrows.
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A famous face
At Fort George down on the rocky shores we were just feet away from the dolphins, who glided by with a grace man can only dream of. We caught sight of ‘Spurtle’. Unmistakable Spurtle. This four-year-old female bears the starched white scars of the sunburn she suffered when she was beached in the Moray Firth. She would have perished had it not been for a couple of tourists stumbling upon her and calling the coastguard. After repeated attempts to refloat her – she was not keen due to her stinging wounds in the salt water – finally she was freed and stayed in the sea in deeper water. Tonight it looked like she was making up for lost time swishing in and out of the water, flicking nephew-pleasing cartwheels.
We met ‘Mischief’ too. Not to be constrained by the Moray Firth, this wandering soul has been spotted as far away as Holland. And Denmark. It took a while to get Kyle to pull away from our new cetacean friends. Me too. Standing silent as dolphins glisten by. Listening to their breathing as they spout right in front of you. Watching them interact with each other. It is a truly sublime experience. And in the Moray Firth, pretty much a daily occurrence.
Wild at heart
My last surprise for Kyle was a morning cruise on the Mischief’s slower, more sedate sister vessel, Dolphin Spirit. She tickles around the inland stretches of the Moray Firth. After our dolphin frenzy the day before we weren’t as fixated about racing to see them. Their no show didn’t matter – just reminding us they are wild animals – as we sailed right by seals, caught sight of an otter frolicking along the rocks and a swathe of seabirds.
This more relaxed cruise gave us time to talk to onboard wildlife guide Sue. She explained how Dolphin Spirit is strict about never disturbing pods when they don’t want to interact. And only ever spending a short time with them on each encounter. I asked her about the skipper’s description of dolphins as ‘thugs with great PR’. She explained: “There is an element of truth in that. It’s not just all cuddly Flipper. If they think seals or porpoises are threatening their food supply they won’t hesitate to take them out. They are wild animals.”
Wild animals, that phrase again, echoing Gus. Realising how elusive dolphins can be, how cute as a soft toy they seem, the ruthless killers they are, and more entranced than ever by our most beguiling marine mammal cousins, Kyle and I headed to learn even more at the Scottish Dolphin Centre further along the Moray Firth. If you want to experience the unique thrill of safely viewing dolphins in the wild – and to learn more than any old school theme park could ever teach – steer a course for Scotland’s Moray Firth.
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Lead image: Chanonry/Shutterstock