BREACHING. I WOULD IF I COULD.

My Life Is a Whale Watch

Do Humpbacks breach for the pure pleasure of it? Are they showing off for us and one another? We don't know for certain. We guess, we personify, we imagine what their reasons are. I would love to be able to leap my own length out of the water, twist sideways upon re-entry, and create a splash larger then myself. I would if I could, for the pure priceless joy. The first time I ever saw a Humpback breach was off the coast of Cabo San Lucas on a fishing charter; the whales were exiting the water with amazing completeness and regularity. Our local guides, too used to this particular miracle, refused to take me closer and thirty years later I have yet to forgive them. Megaptera novaeangliae is their scientific name, and my mind translates that to “Giant Angels,” which it probably is not.

Nine years ago, I packed my SCUBA gear, left twenty-five years of life in the mountains of Colorado and headed to the clearest, warmest waters I could drive to in an old BMW Z3 convertible. The list of characters I met is long, amongst them what I call a tough guy. You know, one of those guys who pretend to be unaffected by emotions or tragedies or sad things, or even really happy things, for that matter. Despite the tough guy façade he was a fun interlude. After meeting in the Florida Keys, we spent time on Martha’s Vineyard, played pool in Nantucket, harvested scallops, drove fast, took chances. There was the memorable night in Cuttyhunk that we don’t really remember, and other stories that have never been told.

With ironic thoughtfulness, he was always looking for something interesting and to prove his affection he booked a half-day Whale Watch trip (which he considered ridiculously tree-hugger and a tourist trap) out of Plymouth, Massachusetts.

You can see where this is going; this deep-sea-fishing tuna slayer and catcher of Mako sharks would only go on a mundane thing such as a whale watch under duress. He thought he had already seen what the ocean had to offer, he thought he’s seen it all, which is impossible as even the greatest explorers know our knowledge is minimal. That day, our last, the only impossible thing was the number of whales we spotted, the birds we followed, the creatures we encountered. That day, Mother Nature gave up some secrets. We did not spar.

This pod of Humpbacks numbered around twenty; there were at least two young and they were feeding. We didn’t experience any breaching that day.

The mighty North Atlantic Ocean was a sheet of glass and I took four hundred and eighty photos; I have discarded only a few as most are spectacular; whale tails and blow holes appeared as if by magic on all sides of our vessel. Several breeds of gulls partook of the feeding frenzy. Our guide, a twenty-year veteran, told us it was the best Whale Watch that she had ever been on; we got an extra half hour. You could tell how excited she was from her voice as we spotted creatures usually hidden beneath the mysterious surface of Cape Cod Bay.

And she wasn’t the only one. Those stunning Humpbacks turned the tough guy into an excited eight-year-old; he kept climbing up on the back of the benches (against the rules) to get a better view. This transformed man was someone I had not yet met. Like a giant football player presented with a puppy, he had melted. Whales do that to people. A pod of fifty-foot humpbacks with calves treated us to their much revered feeding technique that brings half a dozen of the huge creatures to the surface just feet from each other and in this case, our transom. It was a truly impactful experience and one few people have the privilege to see, smell and hear.

It was difficult to capture this amazing feeding technique; probably because we were too busy WATCHING!! Amazing stuff.

Whales are special; like sea turtles, they reach out to my soul, they give me peace, knowing they are still out there in spite of the abuse we humans throw at them. They are ambling grace in the water, exactly what I want to be. And they are survivors, exactly what I am. What we all are, some with far more power than others to change the environment in which we live.

This Mola was spotted sunning itself contentedly, a tail-less, unique creature commonly known as a sunfish, and far different than those of my childhood.

Years earlier, in Turks and Caicos, I took a sketchy, rusty-strutted single-engine plane east from tourist-ridden Providenciales to remote Salt Cay with the promise that I could snorkel with Humpback Whales in their nursery. Each winter several hundred come down the coast from Cape Cod to give birth and mate on the eastern edge of the u-shaped archipelago. That morning, I dropped quietly over the side of the dive boat and looked directly into the huge, clear, dark eye of a forty-five foot mother Humpback as her calf floated serenely below; I can picture every detail of that moment in my mind as I write this. Beyond whale watch, that was magic. The kind of magic only the ocean can conjure up, at least for me. We swam with other pairs of those gentle giants that day and they seemed nearly as curious about us as we were about them. But that moment in time, before anyone else had entered the water, where she and I gazed at each other, stands out brilliantly.

My only other experience with whale watching was a long three hours in Alaska under ominous skies with huge ocean swells and the occasional smattering of cold rain. We saw the dark fin of one appropriately named Fin Whale in the very (very) far distance; the boat pursued it but we never caught another glimpse. That was the only water dwelling creature we saw. Everything else was shades of gray and right on schedule, that trip was over.

Now, with a far better man and a sailing yacht, my life is a whale watch (and dolphins and turtles and birds and flying fish). Better than a dream come true, it’s my reality. My home is on the water, and I can sail to Salt Cay and explore for myself. If I do that, of course, I take the risk that I may not spot a single whale and may never again have an eye-to-eye encounter. Those are the risks we all take. My next day could equate to the bone-chilling Alaskan attempt or it could rival the rare Cape Cod adventure. We all take the good with the bad, wherever we are.

There was someone else in control before; whenever I had the opportunity to explore the ocean the parameters were set for me, all the rules had been printed and I had signed my name, claiming I wouldn’t break them. They took my money and warned me that I may not see a whale on my whale watch. Life is like that, no refunds.

Now, I follow Mother Nature’s rules along my own unique path. I have so many things I want to see that I can hardly even decide where to begin. National Geographic tells me that there is a residential pod of Sperm Whales off the western shore of the Island of Dominica. That quickly rearranged the priorities of our first southern Caribbean sail, coming this fall. Please stay aboard and I’ll share it with you.

Humpbacks can be identified by their tail markings; like our fingerprints, no two are alike.

This story was written on a peaceful day last spring (just after encountering a nuclear submarine, you can read about that here:)when we were blessed enough to come across a tremendous pod of Pilot Whales off the Carolinas. “WHALES!” came my husband’s joyous words. We were entranced, as always, and honored, that they would show themselves, that our paths would cross. No mere coincidence.

This Pilot Whale pod was perhaps fifty individuals, much smaller in size than Humpbacks but more common. This time, too, I was far too excited to grab the camera in a timely manner!! It was an incredible sight.