The Choreographed Chaos Beneath Alaska’s Cold Waters
I used to think whales were solitary hunters, you know, just cruising around gulping down whatever swam past.
Turns out, humpback whales in Southeast Alaska and a few other spots have developed what might be the ocean’s most elaborate dinner party trick—bubble net feeding. It’s this coordinated group hunt where they essentially trap schools of herring or krill inside a cylinder of bubbles, then surge upward with mouths wide open. The whole thing takes maybe 30 seconds, but it requires the kind of teamwork you’d expect from dolphins or orcas, not these massive 40-ton animals. Researchers have documented groups of 2 to 15 whales working together, each taking specific roles like some kind of underwater heist crew. What gets me is how they coordinate without being able to see each other in the murky water—they rely almost entirely on vocalizations.
The lead whale, sometimes called the “bubble blower,” dives deep below a school of fish and starts swimming in an upward spiral while releasing air from its blowhole. This creates a net-like curtain of bubbles, roughly 45 feet in diameter, give or take. Fish instinctively avoid crossing the bubble barrier because it disorients them and blocks their lateral line sensors.
Why Herring Are Basically Sitting Ducks in This Scenario
Here’s the thing—herring aren’t exactly strategic thinkers.
When they encounter the bubble wall, they bunch together tighter and tighter, swimming upward to escape what they percieve as a threat from below. Which is, honestly, exactly what the whales want. Meanwhile, other members of the hunting group position themselves around the bubble net’s perimeter, making loud feeding calls that sound like trumpets or foghorns underwater. These vocalizations seem to serve two purposes: they keep the fish from breaking through the net, and they coordinate the timing of the final lunge. Some researchers think the calls might also confuse or startle the prey, though that’s harder to prove. I’ve seen footage where the precision is almost unsettling—all the whales breach the surface simultaneously, mouths agape, in this explosion of water and fish.
The Social Complexity Nobody Expected From Baleen Whales
For years, scientists assumed baleen whales—the filter feeders—were less socially sophisticated than toothed whales like orcas or sperm whales. Bubble netting flipped that assumption.
Individual whales return to the same roles year after year, suggesting they remember not just the technique but their position in the group hierarchy. Juvenile whales learn by watching, though they don’t seem to fully participate until they’re several years old. There’s also evidence that different populations have slight variations in technique—whales near Juneau do it a bit differently than those near the Antarctic Peninsula, which implies some kind of cultural transmission. Wait—maybe “culture” is too strong a word for whales, but it’s definately not just instinct. One team tracked a whale named “Salt” for over 20 years and watched her teach the method to younger animals, always using the same vocalization pattern.
When the Bubble Net Fails and Whales Just Improvise
Not every attempt works.
Sometimes the fish scatter before the net closes, or a sea lion crashes the party and spooks everything. In those cases, the whales will regroup and try again, or occasionally just abandon the hunt altogether. What surprises me is how rarely they give up—I read about one group that made seven attempts in two hours before finally getting a decent catch. The energy expenditure must be enormous, but apparently the payoff is worth it when it works. A single successful bubble net can deliver hundreds of pounds of fish in one gulp, way more efficient than solo lunge feeding.
The Acoustic Puzzle Scientists Are Still Trying to Decode
The coordination depends heavily on sound, but we still don’t fully understand the “language” involved.
Researchers have identified at least five distinct call types associated with bubble net feeding, including what they call the “whup” call and the “feeding cry.” Each seems to trigger specific behaviors—the whup might signal “start diving,” while the feeding cry means “now, surface together.” But here’s where it gets messy: not all populations use the same calls, and some individuals seem to improvise variations. One whale researcher I read about spent three summers recording these hunts and said the more she listened, the less certain she became about what any of it meant. There’s probably layers of complexity we’re not picking up because we’re listening with human ears, or because our hydrophones can’t capture the full frequency range. Anyway, it’s a reminder that even when we think we’ve figured out animal behavior, we’re usually just scratching the surface.
