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QuickTake:
More than 10,000 whales are expected to be passing by the Oregon Coast this time of year, heading to calving lagoons in Mexico. Whale-watching season this year, though, arrives amid rising concerns about human-wildlife conflict after a young whale became tangled in crabbing gear and died in November.
Eyeing a gray whale from the coastal bluffs isn’t easy.
At first glance, the horizon feels vast. But when looking for a fleeting clue before it disappears, it becomes a “Where’s Waldo”-style search, crowded with drifting seagulls, dark ocean swells and bobbing buoys.
Kristene Stephens held binoculars firmly to her face.
That morning, she drove about 15 minutes north from her home in Florence for her shift as a volunteer with Whale Watch Week, coordinated by Oregon State Parks — just as she has for the past three years. She had yet to spy a whale, often catching false signals from small waves.
At Heceta Head on Sunday, Dec. 28, she was determined. Silent concentration, feet planted wide, elbows resting on a chain-link fence between the drop-off and the lighthouse. Then a column of spray shot nearly 12 feet into the air.
“There’s no mistaking that,” she said, stance unchanged.
The National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration estimates about 13,000 whales are making their yearly journey south during the final week of December, swimming off the central Oregon coast. Pregnant, school bus-sized whales lead the migration south to protected lagoons in Baja California, where they give birth in winter.
Ocean conservation groups consider the migration as one of “Earth’s greatest wildlife spectacles,” visible along the entire western edge of Lane County.
But this season comes with renewed concerns about whales and humans sharing the same coastal waters, after a young humpback whale died when it became tangled in crab pot gear near Yachats — a moment that underscored the challenge of coexistence as whales migrate as close as a mile from shore.
A difficult balance
The highly visible rescue attempt, after the young whale washed up in the surf, led to a state investigation and prompted conservation groups to urge the Oregon Department of Fish and Wildlife Commission to change regulations.
The Center for Biological Diversity – alongside Oceana, the Natural Resources Defense Council, and the American Cetacean Society — submitted a 36-page formal petition Dec. 11 with new rules to incorporate into Oregon law.
In part, the proposals seek to reduce both the number of lines and how deep they can be set. The commission has until March to grant or deny the petition.
Ben Grundy, a campaigner with the Center for Biological Diversity, said that, at a minimum, the groups hope the effort starts a broader conversation, noting the rules would protect not only humpback whales but all marine mammals.
“Off Oregon, we have feeding grounds for humpback whales, fin whales, blue whales and gray whales,” Grundy said, referring to kelp forests.
It’s where the tall algae grow like underwater trees, a rich ecosystem for baleen whales, which have baleen plates in place of teeth. Made of keratin — the same material as hair and fingernails — the baleen filters small prey as water is pushed back out by the whale’s tongue.
These kelp forests are also near where Dungeness crabs are found. The result is a shared space between whales and fishers, and a difficult balance for an already dangerous industry that supports both large operations and family businesses.
Newport’s commercial fishing industry ranks among the nation’s top ports for catch volume and value, according to the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration. State data show 312 boats participated in the 2023 crabbing season, landing nearly $85 million worth of Dungeness crab.
“Often, implementing regulations can have an economic impact. We tried to keep that in mind when drafting the regulations,” Grundy said.
The overlap between whale feeding and commercial fishing can happen anytime during the crabbing season, but data shows that entanglements are increasingly happening between June and November, Grundy said.
That’s supported by research from Oregon State University, which suggests some of the overlap is driven by climate change, like heat waves and shifting windows for activities of both the whales and crabbers. Their study used models to try to understand potential conflict and guide fisheries to reduce engagement risk.
“Everything in our ecosystem is interconnected,” said ecologist Celest Sorrentino of OSU’s Marine Mammal Institute to volunteers in a whale-watch training in early December.
She cited population concerns, including a decline from roughly 19,000 gray whales estimated in their 2023-2024 migration to about 13,000 observed during the 2024-2025 migration. The causes are not fully understood.
“Gray whales are responding to a rapidly changing environment,” she said, telling volunteers that their observations are as important as those collected in the lab.
“Science is nothing without collaboration and community effort.”
‘Just the hope to see one’
For deckhand and newly certified captain Grant Howard, taking people out to see gray whales in December is more practice than science.
Aboard the Sunrise, part of the Dockside Charters fleet in Depoe Bay, Howard and the vessel’s captain took 27 passengers offshore, scanning for signs of whales.
The whales move about 3 mph, rarely stopping to eat, living off fat reserves built earlier in the Bering Sea. It’s part of why it’s hard to spot them.
“In the summertime, you can’t leave the harbor without seeing them,” Howard said. “But migrating whales are different because they’re blowing by.”
During that sail, no whales surfaced, though passengers hardly complained under the rare winter sun. Over the radio, other crews reported sightings near the Yaquina Head Lighthouse — a possible target for the next tour.
“It’s the ocean, nothing guaranteed,” he said. “This next two-hour trip we’re gonna shoot down there.”
Even without a sighting, the chance to be part of a 6,000- to 8,000-mile journey — the longest migration of any mammal — is enough for people like Stephens back at Heceta Head. Over the weekend, hundreds made the short but steep half-mile hike to the cliffs, binoculars raised.
They watched for a single exhale. The brief, heart-shaped spout released as a whale surfaces and expels warm, moist air from its lungs.
And they waited, as Stephens said, with “just the hope to see one.”