The bottlenose whale (Hyperoodon ampullatus) belongs to the family Ziphiidae - the beaked whales - comprising at least 20 naturally, deep water occurring species that ordinarily live far from land. Their home in the deep sea has always made it difficult for biologists to study these animals and, still today, the beaked whales are perhaps the least known large mammals on Earth. Northern bottlenose whales usually occupy the cool, deep waters of the North Atlantic where they pursue squid in the black depths up to 1,000 metres. It was not surprising, therefore, that the arrival of these two creatures in the shallow waters of Skye's Broadford Bay caused much excitement, and presented researchers, such as ourselves, with an extraordinary opportunity to meet one of these enigmatic, deep water leviathans - face to beak..

On arrival in Skye, we chartered the Seaprobe Atlantis skippered by Nigel Smith, who had been monitoring the animals since their appearance in Broadford. As Nigel cautiously distanced the Seaprobe about 50 metres from the whales, the pair turned in our direction and made a slow but purposeful bee-line towards us. Through the calm clear water, their brown cylindrical bodies glistened in the sunlight, and the still air resonated with their deep, rhythmical blows as they surfaced alongside our boat. Huge bulbous foreheads with prominent tube-like beaks lifted clear of the water as the pair rolled on their sides to look up at us - the perfect photo opportunity!

With the whales just metres away, cameras whirred and pencils scribbled as we recorded the encounter with delight. Measuring about 5.5 metres in length, it appeared that both of the whales were in fact juveniles (adults generally measure between 6 and 10 metres). One of the pair was positively identified as a female from observations of the genital area, but as neither of the whales had teeth at the tip of the lower jaw - a vestigial feature observed in males of the species - and as bottlenose whales are rarely known to form long-term relationships with individuals of the opposite sex, we concluded that the other whale must also be female too.

The whales were rarely further than a couple of metres apart, and passed most of their time quietly logging in the bay some 300-500 metres from the shore. Approximately every 1½ to 2 hours, however, they would become progressively more active and make large, sweeping circles of the area as they successively tail slapped, dived and lunged out of the water in synchrony. We spent just a short time studying this intriguing behaviour, but the same cycle was observed repeatedly by the crew of the Seaprobe for the following 3 weeks, as the whales continued to occupy the bay. As the weeks passed by, however, new concerns for the wellfare of the two creatures were raised.

It appeared that the whales were losing weight, and nobody had witnessed any obvious signs of the pair feeding. Then one day in the second week of September, the strangest thing happened - one of the animals started passing wind! Several witnesses, who were fortunate (or misfortunate) enough to be present on one such occasion described in graphic detail the large bubbles of rising air, the oily sheen on the waters surface and the foul smell of decomposing cabbage! Urgghhh!

At this point, the whales had spent almost 5 weeks in Broadford Bay. Both were noticeably thinner, almost certainly undernourished and very obviously far from home, and the question as to how much longer they could possibly exist in such an unfamiliar environment still beckoned. And then, almost on cue, and just as abruptly as their arrival, the whales casually turned around and swam straight out of the bay. Having travelled northwards along the coastline for approximately 3 miles, the pair were relocated south of a narrow channel called the Scalpay Narrows. Here they had come to a halt - apparently troubled by the tapering channel - and after a prolonged period of logging in the opening, the pair eventually returned to Broadford. But this would not be a long visit. The whales must have realised that they would have to navigate this channel if they were to return to their home in the deep Atlantic, and the very next day they were back in the narrows again. This time they spent the whole day in the channel, waiting patiently for the rising tide. It was now or never - and at high tide, they purposefully pushed through the narrows to the sea beyond. This was the very last time the whales were seen.

Many theories have been forwarded in possible explanation of the rare appearance of these animals in Skye, but we personally share the view that these young whales somehow became marooned in Broadford Bay, cut off by the Scalpay Narrows. Separated from their pod, they called for help, waited, continued to call, but no-one came. Meanwhile, supplies were poor, reserves ran lower and, in desperation, the whales were forced to do something for themselves. Whatever the reason - and perhaps only the whales themselves would be able to tell us the real story - it was certainly a rare and stirring episode and, indeed, an exciting time to be involved in cetacean research.

Only now are we beginning to understand the intricate daily lives of wild whales and dolphins. Yet as we collate all these tiny snippets of information, so we begin to assemble a more secular, coherent picture of the complex cetacean puzzle which, in our opinion, is nothing short of spectacular.