The first time I saw them, I cried.
On a recent visit to Boston, my friend (also a city resident) suggested we do a chartered whale watch. Of course I agreed, it sounded interesting. Interesting is far too mediocre a word. I had no idea what I was in for: the awe, the tears, the hope. There is nothing so exhilarating in this world as witnessing great and beautiful creatures.
If you ever have the chance, do it. It will change your life. ‘Change my life? that’s a little dramatic, no?’. No.
Starting off in Boston’s famed harbor was a curious contrast to where I’d end up: in the middle of the wavy Atlantic, near Cape Cod and Provincetown, Massachusetts. The harbor is tourist-ridden, crowded, gaping, harried. The site of the whales is everything opposite – isolated, calming and quiet but for our voices and their movements..
At first the Boston Harbor Cruises / New England Aquarium charter trip boasted sights: the city’s skyline, passenger yachts, lighthouses. But within thirty minutes of departure, the only thing to see was the sea itself. Miles and miles of blue waves, being cut mercilessly by the blades of our craft. Many a baseball cap and pair of sunglasses was lost to the mighty ocean that day.
And even though it was the dead of summer, by the time we finally slowed in hopes of meeting a pod of whales, I felt near-frigid, the cold air whipping through hair and mashing against skin. I was grateful for my Adidas flowered hoodie and Chapstick.
The captain cut the engine and a young, educated voice started explaining where we were and what we were anticipating. Dozens of passengers crowded around the front and sides, phones out, ready to record.
And so we waited.
It didn’t take long. Marine visitors approached from left and right, they skated smoothly under the boat and wandered out ahead teasing us with little sprays and mere glimpses of fins. Even if you didn’t see them directly, you knew they were there from their telltale sign: a flukeprint is the mirror-like patch of tailored calm water they leave behind.
That first full eyeful, I am not ashamed to say – my breath stopped, my heart beat fast, my toes flexed to help me see, my eyes watered. “That’s a fucking whale!” I probably said out loud, even though children were everywhere. It was a fucking whale – three of them, actually.
They were larger than I imagined, beyond graceful, faster than I’d expected, sparkly-dark and playful. They moved swiftly but ninja-quiet. First they were beside the boat then under it, then out front of us and then far ahead showing off jumps and hefty moves.
The Aquarium announcer said we were lucky – that day we saw three breaches (the iconic jump, rotation and dive movement whales are known for). It’s hard to explain how thrilling it was to see with my own eyes. Most of it I have no record of, because I was desperately trying to be there, present, instead of in my phone.
I couldn’t resist stealing some photo evidence, but these paltry images come nowhere close to demonstrating their beauty, their power, their energy and elegance. It was all over so quickly, almost like an amusement park ride, then back to shore. I wanted to stay for hours, just hovering there, floating, watching them glide, being reminded how small, how human I am.
These phenomenal creatures – and many others large and small – are our neighbors, our allies and sometimes our victims. If we felt akin to the whale would we pollute the ocean? If we believed a tree essential to our own breath, would we cut it down? There are plenty of political conversations to be had about the environment, but it’s hard to ignore the natural world when it leaps, breathes, flips and soars right in front of your eyes.
Sometimes we masters of this Earth forget that we are not alone in this world. What an epic reminder, indeed.
Sources: https://www.smithsonianmag.com/travel/spot-an-unseen-whale-180964189/