By Donald Mallon, Canwest News Service, regarding Johnstone Strait BC

"Orcas!" I said. Lexie and Caleb, our Sea Kayak Adventures guides, were asking me and seven others about our overall objective for a six-day kayaking trip. My co-paddlers and I were attending a night-before, planning-and-get-to-know-each-other session at the Haida-Way Inn in Port McNeill on the northeastern tip of Vancouver Island.

The group included Hilary, a Scottish doctor, lawyer John and his daughter Pierce from Sonoma, Calif., Lisa, a New York environmental scientist, our friends Elo and Judy from Kelowna, and my wife Cathy and me. Our intrepid guides - who looked entirely too healthy and well adjusted - discussed the rules and logistics of our proposed excursion into Johnstone Strait, known for its concentrations of killer whales.

Some of my new paddling friends were interested in observing intertidal flora and fauna. Others were in it for the whole camping/kayaking outdoors experience. Not me -been there, done that. I wanted to see killer whales; the more the better.

To get to Port McNeill we had flown from Vancouver to Port Hardy via a 30-seat, twin-turboprop plane. From there, local taxi legend Reggie and his daughter Barbara drove us in two of Port McNeill's three running taxis. As we rode along getting the lowdown on local activities, I couldn't help but be impressed by the dense northern rainforest through which the highway is carved. The wilderness here is real.

By the time we arrived in Port McNeill, the fog had burned off and the town was celebrating its annual Orcafest. Despite the sunny and pleasant afternoon, we could see the fog bank ebb and flow in the distance. I caught first glimpses of marine life in the harbour - a seal feasting on salmon scraps and a river otter heading home after a similar meal.

After meeting with our guides, we settled down to homework: packing the prescribed clothes into dry-bags that would be stuffed into the bow and stern of our double kayaks. This was no mean feat. We expected to occasionally get wet over the next several days and it was essential that we have sufficient spare dry clothing. However, space in a kayak is limited. Packing many things into small spaces is practised skill and it took a couple of tries to get the bags closed.

The following morning Reggie ferried us to Telegraph Cove regaling us along the way with stories of old logging camps and extolling the virtues of the local fish entrails composting facility.

A picturesque sheltered harbour and boat launch, Telegraph Cove originated as a logging centre, but its current economy is based exclusively on tourism. It boasts a whale museum that includes the whole skeleton of a fin whale. Telegraph Cove also has two spots that serve tasty cafe lattes - the last we would enjoy for several days.

There are several kayak outfitters who launch out of Telegraph Cove and at least three of them start trips on Sundays. As we loaded our boats it looked like we might be at the back of a kayak traffic jam. However, things proceeded smoothly and orderly and we were soon out of the harbour and into Johnstone Strait.

While the guests plied the waters in long, broad and extremely stable double kayaks, our guides navigated in nimble singles. We paddled east along the Vancouver Island side of Johnstone Strait for a while until it was time to cross. Lexie and Caleb exhorted us to stay close to each other as we paddled across what is a busy shipping lane. Their job is a bit like herding cats.

We crossed without incident or whale sighting and stopped for lunch at Flower Island, named for its diversity of rare plant species. As we were eating and sunning ourselves on a beach a deer swam right out of the ocean and onto the island. Evidently, he was also aware of the diverse plant population and like us was there for lunch.

After some further paddling, we landed at Deep Cove on Hansen Island. It's a tiny, sheltered bay with a few tent spots and a rudimentary kitchen and communal area under the forest canopy. We shared the water's edge with scavenging minks and seals who slapped their fins on the water just to make noise. As we set up our tents and combed the beach, Lexie and Caleb set out wine, brie, crackers and grapes for happy hour and then prepared the first of many scrumptious meals.

Over the next few days we moved camp a couple of times. Each day took on a pleasant predictability. Gourmet breakfasts followed by exploration of islands and coves via kayak followed by gourmet lunches on forgotten beaches, followed by more paddling, more gourmet dinners and evening fireside stories of Indian legends or orca science.

According to the biblical story of creation, it wasn't until Day 5 that creatures of the sea appeared. So it was for our whales. Our fifth day out was gloriously sunny with no wind and glassy waters. As we approached Johnstone Strait for our final crossing, Caleb spotted them. He knew to listen first and then look.

A group of males and females was across the strait from us, but we could clearly hear their blows and see their dorsal fins as they broke the water's surface.

We had learned from Lexie and Caleb that those with the massive straight triangular dorsals were males, and even from a distance they were impressive. Having had this first taste, I wanted more. I was not to be disappointed.

We crossed the strait and were headed east towards Kaikash beach when Cathy got the first glimpse. A small group was headed right for us! We dashed to the kelp line and rafted together as they glided past a mere 15 metres away.

I'd been thinking that when I saw one up close, I would utter something erudite like "Thar she blows." However, the best I could do, along with several of my companions, was "Wow!" The grace and ease with which these creatures move through water defies description. The experience was truly awesome.

That evening as we ate our last supper at our campsite on Kaikash beach, an entire pod swam past for our viewing pleasure. Using binoculars, I could see two small calves frolicking in the waves. Objective achieved.

The following afternoon, back at Telegraph Cove we wandered the docks and shops, sipping lattes. It would soon be time to say goodbye and, like the orcas, migrate home.