It's early afternoon, and in the Lofoten Islands, Norway, the autumn sun only just makes it above the horizon. Hanne Strager is about to board a boat she's never seen, alongside a crew of people she's never met. In accepting a job as a cook on board the old fishing-boat-turned-research-vessel Old-Bi, she is embarking on a lifelong adventure studying killer whales, and in The Killer Whale Journals, she is kind enough to take us along with her.

The book—part history, part natural history, part autobiography and part travel book—is perhaps a little difficult to classify, but that is not a bad thing. It is meticulously researched yet anything but dense or slow; I found The Killer Whale Journals a great read that is further enhanced by a number of beautiful reprints and photographs, including some by wildlife photographer Paul Nicklen. The writing style is engaging and easy to follow, keeping the reader on board as we move with Strager from place to place.

This is not a traditional natural history book, and if you are looking for a definitive book on killer whale biology or ecology, this one may not be the most obvious choice. But that is intentional. Whilst The Killer Whale Journals is, of course, a book about killer whales, it is also a book about killer whale research, and about the relationships between people and this fascinating species. In examining the latter, Strager takes us around the world, highlighting the killer whales of Norway as well as Iceland, Greenland, Russia, Australia, Gibraltar and, of course, the Pacific Northwest. The chosen case studies cover the full range of human–whale relationships, from collaborations to persecution, from fear and mistrust to near-reverence. Strager takes us along on her personal journey as she forges her own research career, but also guides us on a historical journey as whale-watching and ecotourism emerge in areas where people were previously more likely to persecute the local killer whales than take visitors to watch them. Although The Killer Whale Journals is not a book about killer whale ecology per se, it does include some wonderful, detailed descriptions of behaviours observed by the author or her collaborators in the field. It also includes some unusual anecdotes, such as the ‘whales in the potato field' (pp. 127–140), which you are unlikely to come across elsewhere. Some of these descriptions can be uncomfortable to read, detailing persecutions and overfishing, and describing the consequences of ecological misconceptions that leave the reader reflecting once again on the apparent inability of humans to learn oft-repeated lessons from nature.

Refreshingly, the book covers little about captive killer whales. It would be difficult to avoid this topic altogether, but aside from a discussion of the notorious Russian ‘whale jail' (pp. 158–175), captivity receives only a passing mention. Instead, this book tells of the birth of killer whale research, of the scientists who pioneered techniques still familiar to those of us working with wild cetaceans today. The book is populated with interactions and interviews with other killer whale researchers, and you can feel the joy Strager derives from these collaborations as she describes the visits made to many of their study sites. These are the parts of the book that feel like wonderful pieces of travel writing; Strager is clearly a person who deeply loves spending time on or by the ocean. I found the descriptions of the Green Cape, the site of the Far East Russian Orca Project in the Avacha Gulf, particularly engrossing.

The Killer Whale Journals is a fast-paced tour of killer whales and the people who live and work with them. You will almost certainly learn something from this book, even if it's not what you expected to learn about. It will be particularly enjoyable to anyone who enjoys travel writing, the history of research, good storytelling, nautical yarns or captivating encounters with the wonders of the natural world.