Take The Helm - a voyage of discovery

 In June 2025, a team from Dorset Wildlife Trust staff joined forces with the University of Plymouth to carry out a five-day visual and acoustic survey for cetaceans along the south coast of England. Wilder Communities Officer, Anona Dawson reflects on the trip.

We are a group of people from Dorset Wildlife Trust and Plymouth University and have one thing in common. Love of the ocean and a deep desire to protect it. Under the expert guidance of Dr Simon Ingram, Associate Professor of Marine Biology at Plymouth University and Andy Smith, Yachtmaster and Skipper of Take the Helm the University’s 45-foot Dufour survey yacht, we launch ourselves into an unforgettable five days, equipped with acoustic and visual recording devices and enough food, water and enthusiasm to get us much further. Some of us are new to this. Others are experts. But we are learning, and at the end of day one, we realise just how much. Andy teaches us how to hoist the main sail, navigate a straight course, and tie up in a harbour. And then, on a memorable day, anchor offshore in Chapman's Pool, for a swim in the sea, followed by a hot freshwater shower on deck.

Some of us are new to this. Others are experts. But we are learning, and at the end of day one, we realise just how much. Andy teaches us how to hoist the main sail, navigate a straight course, and tie up in a harbour. And then, on a memorable day, anchor offshore in Chapman's Pool, for a swim in the sea, followed by a hot freshwater shower on deck. We are learning the ropes. How to record, how to sight animals by looking at ripples on the ocean surface, bubbles of white foam, how to identify dorsal fins, barely visible in a sea of blue peaks and troughs. Sea birds are white and black, or just white or just black, minute and subtle differences to the human eye, at distance, standing on a boat, looking through binoculars, moving through the waves. 

We settle into a recording routine on deck. Watching the ocean is fascinating, tense, exhilarating, expectant and tiring. Our days are divided into 30 minutes, a clockwise rotation between three. Binoculars trained over starboard, data recording in the centre, binoculars trained to port. Helm course plotting, raising, lowering sails, acoustic recording, tea making, raiding the snack drawer and sleep. We stand polarized against the glare, at first tightly holding on, but gradually getting our sea legs and leaning against the mast or shrouds, staring through binoculars. Our bodies move and brace with the motion of the boat.

We call out guillemot, shearwater, gannet, terns. Mediterranean, herring, black headed, lesser and greater black-backed gulls, flying, resting, feeding. Sometimes the ocean boils with the turbulence of fish balls and feathers. We see jellyfish, vast swarms of blue, compass and moon pulsating gently past our hull, riding with bubbles and plankton on coastal and ocean currents. The water is languid and calm. We record boats, motor, sailing, ships, leisure and commercial fishing. A trawler tells us over the radio, to move to port. They are trailing fishing gear. A sunfish glides past, lopsided, eyeing us closely, followed by the Trawler. There is litter. We record this, naming sweet wrappers, bottles and pieces of hard, intact plastic, imitating Cuttlefish bones that float amongst them. Bones will disappear, plastic will remain forever, re-entering the food chain somewhere down the line. 

Then we see them, 300 metres away and they turn and race towards us. A small pod of common dolphin. They play with us, guiding their calves and teaching them to ride our bow wave. We leap around the boat calling to them, taking photos and video. They watch us, rolling on their sides, skimming the water, then they’re off, leaving us speechless with the privilege of their choice to interact with our human world.