June 7th 2025 – Written by Enorha Guimard
The call of the Deep
My wonder for whales keeps taking me to new horizons, across oceans, between continents, and deep into the heart of wild places. Kaikōura is one of those places. Nestled where the mountains meet the sea in Aotearoa, the land of the long white cloud, and where the giants of the deep rise from underwater canyons to greet the surface.
This place carries a sense of mystery, as if it were pulled from the pages of a fantasy world. The mountains rise steep and silent, their peaks wrapped in clouds that drift like whispers. The air is thick with the scent of salt and seaweed, grounding you in the presence of the wild. And then there’s the light. That surreal palette of ocean blue, stormy purples, golden rays breaking through, and the lush green of the land. It feels otherworldly, yet profoundly real. Kaikōura means “eat crayfish” in te reo Māori, a name that hints at the abundance of life here, both above and below the surface. It is not just a place you visit, it’s a place you feel.
Sperm whales are one of the most extraordinary deep-diving species among the cetaceans and the largest toothed predator on Earth. Their Latin name, Physeter macrocephalus, refers to their massive head, which makes up nearly a third of their body length. But the name sperm whale comes from the waxy, white substance called spermaceti found inside that iconic head.
The spermaceti organ, an internal oil sac, has long fascinated scientists. Some believe it helps focus sound for echolocation, a vital tool for hunting squid in the pitch-black depths. Others suggest it plays a role in controlling buoyancy during their deep dives.
In the past, this very substance was the reason they were hunted. During the whaling era, spermaceti was highly prized and used in oil lamps, lubricants, and candles, turning the lives of these majestic whales into commodities. During the industrial revolution in 19th-century England, most people had never seen a whale. They didn’t know what they looked like, how they moved, or that they sang through the oceans. And yet, without even knowing it, whales had always illuminated their world. The glow of lamps on cobbled streets, the warmth of candlelight in drawing rooms, even the engines of progress. All were fueled by the lives of whales taken from the depth of the sea. Whales lit the world of people who knew nothing of them. It’s a tragic legacy, one written in oil and fire. But today, with knowledge, reverence, and protection, we owe them something brighter. We can choose to see whales not as resources, but as sentient beings whose presence alone brings light to our world in a different way.
In Kaikōura, it is the males who roam these deep, cold waters. Only male sperm whales are found here, solitary giants who have journeyed far from the tropics. This region offers the perfect feeding grounds, rich with squid and calm beneath the surface.
The females, meanwhile, remain in warmer waters, where the conditions are gentler for raising their young. In those sunlit seas, calves can grow with less risk of predation, surrounded by the safety of their mothers and the social bonds of the pod.
Here in Kaikōura, the ocean feels wilder, quieter, a place of solitude and strength. And it is here that these great males dive to extraordinary depths, carving out their own chapter of the sperm whale’s story. Each day with the whales was different, no encounter ever the same with different species. But here, in Kaikōura, it felt as though nature was offering everything. Majestic whales during the day and in the evening, skies ablaze with breathtaking sunsets, painting the horizon in colours that made you fall silent. It was a gift, every hour, a reminder of just how alive this place truly is.
I had seen sperm whales before, during my time offshore in the Mediterranean Sea, working near France, and later during expeditions in Turkey where I monitored them as a bioacoustician. But never had I been in a place where sperm whales were resident, present all year round, and visible almost every day on a whale watching tour.
Having a species like the sperm whale as the star of the show is incredibly rare. These deep-diving giants can stay underwater for over two hours, and are often found far from shore, hidden in the vastness of the open ocean. But Kaikōura is different.
What makes this place so unique is the underwater canyon, a deep, mysterious trench that lies just a few minutes from the marina. In less than five minutes, we’re already above depths that plunge beyond 1,000 metres. This remarkable seascape allows deep-diving species like sperm whales to hunt and rest astonishingly close to land. But thanks to this underwater canyon, it’s not just sperm whales that call these waters home. From the smallest, the rare and playful Hector’s dolphins to the largest animal ever to live on Earth, the mighty blue whale, this deep marine trench attracts a stunning variety of life. Even the New Zealand fur seals take full advantage of the nutrient-rich upwellings, often seen diving and feeding with incredible agility. It’s a place where giants roam and miracles surface, often just beyond the shore.
Out at sea, when I’m standing as the watchkeeper, the spotter scanning the horizon with steady eyes, I feel every element against my body. The cold wind bites first, slapping against my cheeks and hands, waking every sense. Then, just as suddenly, the sun breaks through, casting warmth across my face like a gentle reassurance. There’s a rhythm to it all: the sway of the boat, the sound of waves, the smell of salt in the air. But most of all, there’s suspense. We know a whale is near, deep below us, holding its breath. And we wait. Heartbeats matching the ocean’s pull, knowing that at any moment, it will rise from the depths.
Every day we went out to sea, the most exciting part was that we never knew what the day would bring. The ocean always keeps her secrets until the very last moment. Among the crew, we had this little ritual. We’d share our wishes for the day: which species we hoped to encounter, or which of the familiar sperm whale boys we longed to see. I always wished for Mati Mati to be around. He was my favourite. Calm, majestic, always showing the perfect tale.
Some days, I’d whisper my hopes for orcas, pilot whales, also blue whales… but one of my boldest wishes was for a glimpse of the elusive southern right whale dolphins, one of the rarest dolphin species to be seen at sea. And one day, my wish came true.
They appeared like shadows gliding just beneath the surface, sleek and fast, so fast we had to speed the boat to keep up. Their movement was ghostlike, fleeting, there, then gone. To know how rare they are, and yet to have been in the right place, at the right time, felt like I was the happiest girl in the world. Even now, as I write this, I feel the tremble in my fingers. The ocean was alive in every direction. The swell was rising, the wind picking up, and something was happening beneath us. Birds were going wild above, wheeling and diving in all directions: albatross, petrels, and others caught in the frenzy. Seals darted through the waves, chasing prey or joining the feast. Everything was in motion, chaotic and beautiful.
The other true stars of the show, after the mighty sperm whales and all the incredible creatures we’d sometimes find far offshore, were undoubtedly the dusky dolphins. Oh, how wild they are! Out of all the dolphins I’ve encountered around the world, the duskies are in a league of their own. So playful, so curious, every encounter with them felt like a burst of joy. You never had to wonder if they’d come to the boat. They always did, as if drawn by their own need to share the fun.
There were days when the sea was quiet, when we couldn’t find any whales, either because the weather was too bad or they were just not around, but the dusky were always there. They’d leap high into the air, spinning, slapping their tails, flipping backwards in dazzling courtship displays meant to impress the watching females and, without a doubt, all of us too. Whenever they came, they brought laughter, wonder, and that contagious joy only dolphins seem to know how to spread.
And then there are those rare, enchanted evenings, when after a long, busy day on the boat, nothing feels better than grabbing a paddleboard, heading out with friends, and letting the ocean cradle you beneath the sunset. Some days, if you’re lucky, the dusky dolphins come too.
That evening is etched in my memory forever. The water, unusually clear for Kaikōura (which isn’t known for tropical transparency) shimmered in soft gold. I slipped into the sea, surrounded by duskies, the light dancing around us. I remember looking down into the stillness below, then back up just in time to see one of them launch into the air. A perfect leap, backlit by the setting sun, the mountains in silhouette, the sky streaked with orange and yellow. It was so breathtaking I wished my eyes could be cameras.
Dusky dolphins know nothing of social distance. They glide right up to you, fearless and curious. But the moment you lift your hand to touch them, they vanish like mist. So swift, so graceful, it’s as if they’re reminding you that their world is not ours. What draws them near isn’t our reach, but our sounds. I began making playful noises underwater, and to my amazement, I heard their faint, high-pitched whistles as well, when they communicate to each other. They began circling me, faster and closer, until I was spinning in their orbit.
Caught in that magic, I didn’t realise my paddleboard had drifted far away. I had unstrapped the line from my foot. I began swimming towards it, and heard my friend calling, “Can you still see them? I’ve lost sight of them!” I looked down as I swam and gasped. They were all there. Beneath me, silent shadows, following my every stroke. I later learned duskies are drawn to fast swimmers the way they ride the bow of a boat. For them, it’s like a game, a connection. That night, I wasn’t just a spectator. I was part of their world, even if just for a moment.
During my time off, if something incredible was unfolding out at sea, I would jump into a small plane with my camera and my hopes high, chasing the giants from above. I’ve been lucky, truly lucky, to witness all the species I had wished for from that bird’s-eye view: sperm whales resting at the surface, the immense silhouette of a blue whale gliding just beneath the surface, orcas slicing through the sea, and also pilot whales.
There’s something about pilot whales that has captured my heart more than most. I don’t think I could work in a place where they aren’t around. They hold a special place in my story and possibly in deciding where I’ll one day settle down.
From above, you can truly see their togetherness. Pilot whales are among the most social of all cetaceans, their bonds as strong as those of orcas or dusky dolphins. They swim in such close formation, it’s as if they breathe as one. Even in moments of tragedy, their loyalty is heartbreaking. They’re known for mass strandings, a phenomenon still shrouded in mystery. Scientists believe that if one individual in the group is sick or distressed and strands, the others will follow. That’s the strength and the sorrow of their devotion.
Flying overhead, I watched them move as one fluid shape, the heart shape on their back so visible underwater. Among them, I noticed a tiny, greyish calf swimming in echelon beside its mother, tucked in the safest place on Earth. The sight moved me to tears. I pressed the microphone attached to the plane’s mast, my voice shaking with emotion, to let the pilot know: “There’s a baby!” A few of the adults breached, their dark bodies leaping through the light. From that height, I could feel the magic of the moment, the connection, the privilege.
And of course, Kaikōura became even more magical whenever we were lucky enough to encounter humpback whales. These whales hold a very special place in my heart. They were the species that first brought me into the world of wildlife guiding. I had already worked with them several times in Australia, so I felt a strong connection and a deep familiarity with their behavior. Whenever a humpback appeared, I couldn’t help but feel a surge of joy
When I began guiding at Whale Watch Kaikōura, I already had some solid experience. But starting in a completely new place always comes with a bit of apprehension. It doesn’t matter how much you’ve done before—new waters, new species, new dynamics always bring a little nervousness. What does grow with experience, however, is your confidence. Even when you don’t know everything, you learn how to communicate what you do know clearly—and you accept that it’s okay not to have all the answers. After all, the ocean remains one of Earth’s greatest mysteries.
My first guiding trip in Kaikōura was actually thanks to a humpback whale. That day, the sperm whales had ventured outside our usual operating area, but this single humpback—who stayed in Kaikōura for nearly two months—was still lingering. It felt like a warm welcome, almost like an old friend had shown up to help me ease into this new chapter. My confidence returned quickly because I was so comfortable around humpbacks.
Now, after an unforgettable summer filled with extraordinary encounters, I can say I feel just as confident with sperm whales, orcas, pilot whales, blue whales, and even fin whales. Each one has added a new layer to my knowledge, and to my connection with the ocean.
In total, I stayed around six months in this beautiful place. Six months of pure magic with the ocean. Before I left, I remember driving along the coastal road and seeing a few blows, quite close to shore. I know these blows by heart: humpback whales. It made me smile. I was leaving Kaikoura just as the humpbacks were arriving on their northbound migration to their breeding grounds. And as I watched their misty exhales rise into the air, I felt a quiet sense of connection because I, too, was heading north. I would soon be joining them on my next adventure, this time in warmer, tropical waters… right into the heart of one of their breeding sanctuaries.
About my gear
I used my Canon EOS R7 paired with the 100-500mm lens, my absolute favorite setup for wildlife photography. This gear is perfect when working with wild animals, allowing me to keep the respectful distance they deserve while still capturing intimate moments. The long lens helps me follow dolphins or whales from afar, but I also love using it creatively. Sometimes, I focus on smaller details like the rugged lines of a mountain or the way clouds wrap around the peaks to create a sense of mystery and atmosphere in my images. It’s not just about the animals, but about capturing the feeling of the wild around them
