West Coast Whale Festival 2004

One thing I hadn't planned for was hanging over the edge of a boat at a 180-degree angle roped to the mast in a force-six gale. Having been horribly sea-sick in stormy weather off Iceland , I had vowed never to go whale-watching again unless the sea was dead flat. But my well-traveled friends had told me that a chance to go to Mull was not to be missed, whatever the weather, and after all, I had only agreed to co-chair the talks on the first day of the whale festival, which was safe enough.

What I had been looking forward to was hearing the speakers, top-of-the-range biologists and conservationists, film-makers, photographers and the indomitable Fairbairns – the family whose single-minded belief in viability of whale-watching tourism off Mull 20 years ago put the island, and the UK , onto the whale-watching map. Their three craft, the picturesque Maid of the Mist and Wild Free , converted fishing boats, and the smart Alpha Beta , were there in the harbour when we arrived, along with the trust's beautiful research and education yacht Silurian , adding to the fishing-port postcard scene – boats bobbing peacefully against a backdrop of colourful houses and lush wooded hillside, lit by the sinking sun. But to the west was a dark, foreboding sky.

What became apparent was that Mull 's September weather is ever-changing (no wonder photographers love the place), lashing wind and rain alternating with sun and rainbows. Comforting was the fact that haymeadow plants – scabious, hawkweeds, knapweed and the like – were still in flower, signifying that the Gulf Stream was working, adding mildness to the wildness of the place. The mountain stream torrenting down into the town misted a display of lush ferns along the way and brought with it that lovely peaty smell, which ends up in the Tobermory distillery. So it was that I was lulled into a sense of security. The spectacular windy storm on the first night became almost romantic as I laid tucked up in my comfy guest-house, the window open onto the view over a beautiful garden and down to the bay.

The fact that the guesthouse owners were building an aeroplane in their shed should have been a warning of the character of the place. Opening the event in the lecture hall was Sir Maxwell MacLeod, vice-president of the trust. But this was no ordinary vice-president. Bearded, red haired and charismatic, with a voice that made everyone abandon the tea-break feasts, a repertoire of side-splitting stories and an excess of passion, he set the scene. What usually makes an event successful are the people who organise it. And you couldn't wish to meet a more enthusiastic and dedicated bunch of staff and volunteers than those working for the trust. I actually had a lump in my throat hearing past volunteers stand up and say why they found the place, the work and the trust so special. Then there was Tom's film. Tom Walmsley, past volunteer, BBC cameraman, tour leader, cetacean expert and chief instigator of the festival, had with his colleagues made a film not only about the work of the trust but also about the richness of the marine life to be seen off Mull. Try to get to see it – thoughts of sea-sickness will vanish as you realise just what can be seen from a boat – and you'll feel like cheering as you realise what a small but committed group can do to open the eyes of Hebridean children to the wonders of the sea.

It's also a long time since I've laughed so much at a wildlife event. The local police wildlife liaison officer, Finlay Christine, is a comic who deserves a tv programme of his own, and the Fairbairns' ‘family show' had the audience riveted by the winning drama of their lives. Then came the scientists. First, expert Colin MacLeod's tale of beaked whales – those cryptic cetaceans which fascinate the biologists and which feed by a sort of suction action that today results in death from the plastic bags that we so easily discard. Then riveting and revelationary whale sounds by sperm-whale expert and seasoned skipper Jonathan Gordon, chief publicist of the damage and deaths that can be caused to cetaceans by the excessive use of sonar. Followed by an eye-opening expose of whaling, on the rise once again, and the real aims of the Japanese – control of the world's fisheries – by Vassili Papastavrou, seasoned anti-whaling scientist working for the International Fund for Animal Welfare. Rounding off the day was a revealing talk about fishing by local fisherman Nick Turnbull and thought-provoking and dare-devil photos by Greenpeace expedition photographer John Cunningham. An evening of eating, drinking and dancing put paid to any lingering thoughts of the dire forecast and looming boat trip.

When the four boats set out, I convinced myself that the sea was relatively calm, the crew were experienced and wouldn't take me out into the stormy bit, even if there were minke whales there. I had a coveted place on the Silurian (you can actually sleep on it, should you want to), and once our sails were set, we were off at speed, two harbour porpoises racing alongside. Though the porpoises turned out to be our one and only cetacean sighting, none of us minded. All thoughts of sickness and awareness of being drenched were expelled by the exhilaration of being aboard such a dolphin-like boat, tuned so perfectly to the sea. Yes, it was terrifying in retrospect, and, yes, I had to spend the afternoon in the pub drying off in front of a log fire, but if I can cope with that, I might as well book a trip next spring, when I've been assured the sea can be as calm as the Med, minkes abound, and they won't tie me to the mast again.

Rosamund Kidman Cox

Former editor of BBC Wildlife Magazine

To see more photographs from the festival click here