In the Calm Seas off Hervey Bay, a World of Majestic Whales Lies Just a Morning Brew Away
It’s golden hour on the western side of K’gari (formerly Fraser Island). Bubbler crabs have covered the shoreline in tiny balls of sand, like natural mandalas. A lone dingo runs down the beach chasing a cormorant flying far out of reach. The inky surface of Queensland’s Hervey Bay has taken on the shimmer of twilight and it’s the first time I’ve been on land in days.
Somewhere nearby, I hear a deep, resonant boom. A minute later I hear it again. This time, the sound is much closer. I’m half-tempted to duck and take cover. The beach is peaceful and the sound is certainly not coming from the land. Then I look out to the ocean and spot a fully matured humpback whale launching its body out of the sea. It lands with an almighty splash, sending an arc of water into the sky. As the massive baleen submerges itself, another launches, landing on the surface and sending aquatic shockwaves across the bay. Some experts say whales breach to communicate with each other. At full size, a humpback whale can weigh up to 40 tonnes and measure about 16 metres long. That’s a very loud “hello” in anyone’s books.
It’s also a common sight during whale season, between June and November, when the tranquil waters of Hervey Bay become a haven for humpbacks migrating from Antarctica. It’s here in the cooler months that these huge mammals will rest and digest, mate and give birth. This stunning part of the Fraser Coast provides the perfect place for calves to fatten up and get strong before starting back to Antarctica for the krill run. I’m here to witness this special part of their journey on a new sleep-aboard whale-watching experience in the region.
Scott Whitcombe has owned and operated Fraser Island Boat Charters with his partner, Steph, since 2019 but he’s been sailing the Great Sandy Strait for the past 12 years. The K’gari Breeze, our floating home for two nights, can host six people in its comfortable double berths and has a galley kitchen where guests are welcome to pop in and out to make cups of tea or coffee and grab light snacks through the day, a communal dining space and plenty of room to wander about. It’s a bit like glamping on the ocean.
After departing from Hervey Bay marina, a 15-minute drive from the main airport servicing the Fraser Coast, it doesn’t take long to get used to the daily sway of yacht life. When we’re not sailing or on the search for whales, we’re anchored in one of the many calm bays around K’gari, jumping into the water off the back of the catamaran, with a ladder to clamber back up. Swimming, however, is not a condition of sailing. I could just as easily spend the whole day lost in thought staring at a seemingly infinite tide of aquamarine, lapis and sapphire, where loggerhead and green turtles poke their heads up for air, gasping dramatically before plunging down again.
City life melts away once you’re onboard, helped by afternoon cheese plates, icy-cold beers and dinners made by Whitcombe. One evening, I watch as the skipper pulls traps out of the sea filled with blue swimmer crabs for that night’s meal. Another day sees him proudly brandish a massive red snapper rubbed in garlic and butter, destined for the barbecue. Dining with my fellow passengers – a couple of young diver-conservationists and an adventure photographer – is like being at a well-catered backyard barbecue, only on the high seas, listening to whalesong.
I’m here for the full immersion, which includes swimming with the whales. I’m told a moderate level of water fitness and confidence is required for this experience. It’s deep – at least 14 metres – and sharing a space with a creature that enormous can understandably be a little confronting. I’m a regular ocean swimmer and comfortable in the water but it still takes me a beat to get my head around the plunge. It’s a lesson in patience and stillness. I pop a snorkelling mask on and slip into the sea. I’m immediately rewarded by the colossal black shape of a humpback gliding under my feet. There’s nothing quite like a whale to remind you how small you are in the world.
Some are more elusive than others. Whitcombe spots a minke but it’s back underwater before anyone else sees it. The minkes, he tells us, are quite shy and steer away from boats, unlike humpbacks, who are curious and more likely to swim up to and often under the vessel. I ask Whitcombe which way the minke went so I could try and follow its path. “That way,” he says, pointing at three o’clock starboard, “but that doesn’t mean anything with a minke.”
At dusk, after one particularly fruitful day of marine spotting – whales, turtles and bottlenose dolphins, plus a newly hatched family of sea snakes – Whitcombe lowers a hydraphone into the water. From below the surface, we hear the ray-gun staccato of the minkes, the chirrup of the dolphins and the clack-clacking of the humpbacks. It’s like crashing a party where everybody is talking loudly at the same time but nobody is speaking the same language. It feels just as special hearing all that aquatic life as seeing it.
As I come to rest in bed with the moonlight filtering through the cabin’s window and the water rocking me to sleep, I realise I’ve moved into a different rhythm, one that’s based on the sea’s ebb and flow. In the morning I’m greeted with French press coffee, a bowl of muesli and freshly cut fruit as I watch the sun rise, post-swim saltwater in my hair and the morning glow of potential adventure awaiting me.
