The unicorns of the sea

The chance of seeing narwhals in the wild is low. But for the lucky people who catch a glimpse of these elusive animals, this rarity makes the encounter even more special.

“If we're going to see narwhals, this is really the last chance,” Saunders Carmichael-Brown recalls being told while on an expedition in the Northwest Passage with AE Expeditions. “But we haven't seen any yet, so don't get your hopes up.”

The ship was cruising slowly through the Buchan Gulf – a fjord system on the far east of the Canadian Arctic – on the way to visit an impressive glacier. Hugging the coastline, they had reached a channel of fjords which are protected from expedition vessels. From this point, they couldn’t travel any further. 

This marine protected area is “a real hotspot for narwhal,” he says. But even in these waters, where you’re more likely to see narwhals than many other regions, the chances of a sighting were slim. 

Engulfed by dramatic cliffs, they peered into the narrow fjord. Even without any narwhals, it was stunning. Huge cliffs loomed over them and “the clouds were rolling right off the edge of the waterfalls,” he says. 

There is always a member of the expedition team on the bridge looking out for wildlife. And, just at that moment, they saw something.  

“It seemed like there were three to five of them,” says Saunders. A pod of narwhals close to the shoreline were popping their heads in and out of the water. “They'd pop in and out, and pop in and out, and then they disappear.”

But there weren’t three or five individuals. Now, it seemed more like 10. No, even more than that. And more pods were popping up on the other side of the ship. 

“Another pod. Another pod,” he says. “We were like Scooby Doo running from one side of the ship to the other.” 

Although they were quite far away, he could clearly see the waters swirling as one narwhal surfaced and then another. “They’re a vibrant grey,” he says, and the texture on top of their bodies “stands out very quickly” when they rise out of the water. 

Their distinctive mottled black, white and grey skin is what gave them the name narwhals. In the Old Norse language, “nar” means “corpse” and “hval” means “whale,” referring to how they look like a drowned body floating at the top of the water. Their scientific name (Monodon monoceros) is less grotesque: it means one tooth, one horn. 

Narwhals are a type of toothed whale, closely related to belugas, that can grow up to 5.5 metres long. They live in the Arctic, have thick blubber to help them keep warm and are known for their long, spiralling tusk. 

Saunders guesses that he saw “anything up to 100 narwhal” in that magical encounter, which lasted somewhere between 30 and 45 minutes. 

These animals are highly social, travelling in groups, called pods, of 15 to 20 but are sometimes seen in their hundreds – like Saunders’ encounter – or thousands. These groups are usually made up of narwhals of the same sex: females swim together with their young while males form separate pods.  

These strange mammals are sometimes known as the unicorns of the sea because of the iconic long tusk that sticks out of their forehead. This is actually a modified tooth that grows through their lip, sometimes reaching up to three metres long. Females, usually, don’t have this tusk and researchers still aren’t entirely sure why (most) males develop one. In very rare instances, a male narwhal can grow a double tusk. 

The narwhal tusk’s resemblance to a unicorn horn is not just coincidence. In Medieval times, many people thought unicorns were real (after all, if rhinos and giraffes are real, is the idea of a unicorn that outlandish?) and wanted to buy mementos of these magical creatures. 

People believed unicorn horns had healing powers, could purify water and could even protect people from poison. This made them incredibly valuable. So, traders passed narwhal tusks off as unicorn horns to make money. 

Slowly, this started influencing the artwork of the time. Unicorns had once been depicted with straight horns but now people started drawing long, spiralled horns, like a narwhal. 

There was only a smattering of males in the huge group Saunders saw. “But then occasionally we would just see this tusk just pop out of the water and then go under,” he remembers.  

These tusks can’t be vital to a narwhal’s survival because females live perfectly well without one. So, what are they for? Researchers once thought they were used for fighting but, although they look ominous, they’re very flexible. They are also covered with millions of nerve endings. The Ocean Conservancy describes it like “an inside-out tooth” –– ouch. This enables them to sense the temperature and salinity of its surroundings. 

It may also be used in hunting. Narwhals have been seen whacking prey with their tusk to stun or kill it before eating it. 

The narwhals Saunders saw with AE Expeditions were glued close to the shoreline, possibly protecting themselves from predators: both human hunters and larger marine mammals. “It's not unusual for killer whales to come in and hunt them,” he says. Local indigenous communities have hunted narwhals, usually by kayak, for thousands of years. 

Saunders has been interested in the polar regions from a young age. Growing up, he was fascinated by stories of the great polar explorers, like Scott, Shackleton, and Larsen. Having had many opportunities to visit the poles, he loves the Arctic’s rich history, interesting wildlife (as well as narwhals, you have the chance of seeing polar bears, musk oxen and Arctic foxes) and changing landscapes. “Within a day, or even less than a day, you can get a dramatic change of scenery,” he says. One minute, the focus is on ancient geology and the next, “it’s all about colour, it’s all come to life.” 

The Northwest Passage, where he had his incredible narwhal sighting, feels much more remote, he says: “You get that sense of not coming across anyone else the days on end, which is really special.” 

The raw beauty of the poles reminds him of the bigger picture, he says, and the importance of protecting these precious landscapes and the animals living there. During these voyages, Saunders has also learned about sustainability from local indigenous populations by spending time with the onboard Inuit cultural ambassadors who share their experience of living in the high Arctic.

Travellers visit this region “to be wowed and amazed by the different landscapes and wildlife,” he says, but for the indigenous peoples he spoke to “that wildlife is their sustenance still” and hunting is also culturally important. Import costs make many food supplies extortionately expensive. 

We might find it jarring that their communities hunt narwhals – during a short period each year – but they have done so for thousands of years and have sustainability embedded in their mindset, he says. From generation to generation, they have passed down the ethos of taking only what they need and not wasting any of it. They know that “if we eat them all, there won't be any left,” he says. 

The IUCN Red List classifies these unique animals as a species ‘of least concern’. But, although they are not currently endangered, they are threatened by human impacts such as pollution, overfishing and climate change. As mammals, they need to come up to the surface to breathe and will often use holes in the ice so they don't drown. As climate change causes conditions in the Arctic to be more unpredictable, they can get trapped and even drown. 

Seeing these magical animals in the wild brings home the importance of respecting and protecting them. “I always feel really fortunate to be in their home,” says Saunders. For him, visiting the poles is an important reminder that “I need to have the smallest footprint I can while I’m there – and leave no trace – then be a vocal ambassador for the importance of protecting the polar regions when I get home.”