“O, man! admire and model thyself after the whale!
Do thou, too, remain warm among ice.
Do thou, too, live in this world without being of it.
Be cool at the equator; keep thy blood fluid at the Pole.
Like the great dome of St. Peter’s and like the great whale retain,
O man! in all seasons a temperature of thine own.”
Ishmael, Moby Dick, by Herman Melville
To me, to truly “live in this world” means taking advantage of every opportunity to go to, to see, to experience as many exotic places and to do as many fantastic things as possible; to live a carpe diem lifestyle. To this end, I, long ago, created what I call “My Life List”. I’ve done a rather fine job of checking things off my list over my, now, five decades. I’ve jumped out of a plane; marveled at the pyramids; dived with sharks; floated the Grand Canyon; etc. (Note: My list is somewhat flexible. I admit that I have added to, subtracted from, and revised my list over time. For example: I no longer need to go to the top of Everest; a simple trip trekking in Nepal will suffice. And doing twenty back handsprings down the middle of a football field, well, I’ll have to save that one for another life.)
Remaining steadfast on this list however, has been: See(a) Whale(s).
In the quote above I guess that part about “without being of it”, means: don’t sweat the small stuff; seek equanimity; find peace in adversity; stay even-keeled; level-headed; centered; balanced; non-dualed; zen-ified; etc. But the Leviathan on my list has loomed too large for too long so on the day we went whale watching I was not at peace. I was disappointed in the cloudy, chilliness of day. The boat was bustling with too many overly-excited whale-wanting world wanderers and even though 'I are one' I'm not as pushy as the Japanese and not as noisy as the Germans. But, worst of all, was the Kenai Fjords National Park Ranger who got on the loudspeaker to welcome us on board our ship. As we backed out of the dock, Ranger Ann launched into her rules, regulations, and repertoire of disclaimers.
Her accent, while authentically Alaskan and Palinesque, lacked Sarah’s enthusiasm and good humour. Her attitude was at best bland, and at worst quite discouraging. She kept saying words like “doubtful”, “improbable”, “I don’t think” and “we have only blank percent chance of seeing a blank”. I felt that with that negative juju we wouldn’t have a chance. I feared she was jinxing us. Besides, what ever happened to all the good looking, masculine park rangers of my youth? She was frumpy looking in that traditional drab olive park service uniform (you could even see her panty lines, and that’s just not right!) Humph!
But, I should have been more whale-like and serene, I should have not let my blood boil, I should not have become so indignant, because for every negative there is a positive and on this day Ann’s antithesis was her counterpart on board; our boat captain. Another non-stereotype, Captain Nicole was a 20-something, pretty blond who smartly presented in her starched, nautical uniform--no bearded drunken sailor she; no wizened, cigarette-lipped, foul-mouthed crabber boss from Deadliest Catch either. She was perfectly perky and positive.
(It turns out Nicole and I were on the same, albeit unspoken and unacknowledged, wavelength. I think she wasn’t too keen on the old, monotone codfish either. She seemed determined to show Ann a thing or two about nature scouting. That and/or, she was on a mission to show this boatload of tourists so much stinking wildlife in a day that we’d be begging to get off her boat out of sensory overload.)
So with an “anchor’s aweigh” and with the vigor of Ahab in his Pequod we set out to find my Moby.
We weren’t halfway out of the harbor--and just as Ranger Ann was warning us about nature “being unpredictable”--when Captain Nicole interrupted to say, “there’s our first sighting now!” A proud bald eagle stood sunning himself right there on the lane marker. Each tourist’s camera captured the nation’s scavenger symbol from every angle. Soon afterwards, Ann started up again about how “animals don’t punch a time card”, Nicole came on again to say “excuse me, but there’s a sea otter”. She then proceeded to drive a wide circle around the belly-side-up, old-man be-whiskered ball of fur. Click. Click. Click. One regal and one adorable in the first minute and a half. Ha-ha!
This scenario continued to play out: Dall porpoises, (which look like mini-killer whales with their sleek black and white bodies; orange-billed horned puffins; a black bear lumbering about on the wooded shoreline... And then, not too many miles out into Resurrection Bay, Nicole was heard to say “Ah, there ya’ go—a pod of orcas”. And indeed, despite the odds, there swam some six of the piebald Sea World favorites. One was obviously a mother whose half-sized baby at her side goal for the day was to learn some new tail tricks; another was, perhaps, an older brother because he was feisty and full of “youthful exuberance”, blowing and breaching and zooming around. Meanwhile, I’m overwhelmed with joy, I’m glazed over with awe, there are tears in my eyes and my teenagers are embarrassed by my emotion. Another item to check off My Life List. Sigh......
After that we steamed down to the end of Holgate Arm to watch and listen as boulder-sized torquoise-colored icebergs broke off (or calved) into the sea. Pretty powerful stuff that; thousand year old ice moving before our very eyes. Floating in that bay was like being a fly in a big Cola Slushee. The water was silty and filled with icey floaters. On one rested a seal.
And then, more orcas! Nicole spotted them again and even old Ann was even starting to sound excited; “So rare to see them at all, twice in one day is remarkable!”
Again, I choked up with gratitude from this gift from the sea gods and goddesses. After that I was feeling pretty satisfied (eleven whales at least!) so I could simply sit back and enjoy the cat-calling cacophony of the thousands of black-legged kittiwakes nesting on the cliffy walls, chuckle at the penquin-like antics of the tuxedoed common murres. It was as we were powering over to find the lounging brown blobs of the endangered Steller sea lions when we stumbled upon my true Moby--a lone humpback. Eureka!!
For several minutes the whale had the indistinct look of a submerged log. Then, with a spew of watery air, the slinkyfied motion of a scintillated dorsal roll, and with a flip of its fluke it was gone. Ranger Ann explained that that motion was a dive and that he'd probably be under for 10-12 minutes, at least. Captain Nicole was already feeling a little behind schedule because as she said we'd "already followed that second orca pod halfway to Hawaii”. She told us, “Okay folks, we’ll give him five minutes, but this is not just a whale-watching tour and it’s definitely not a whale-waiting tour so we’ll have to move on if he doesn’t resurface soon.”
By now, I’d finagled my way through the photo-snapping Asians and stationed myself at the bow, I didn’t quite have the look of Kate Winslet in Titanic, nor the cockiness of Leonardo’s character, but I was determined to see that whale again. And lo and behold, about five minutes later, it was I, my very self, who cried the “thar she blows” and pointed straight ahead. (I guess whether male or female whale the pronoun is always feminine in this fisherman’s phrase?) Anyway, this time at the surface he spouted off several times then started a major twacking game with his tail vs. the sea. He’d raise his huge, black fluke and bang at the water over and over again, then he’d roll over on his back and slap it for awhile more. The underside of his tail was a beautiful mottled-marble. Then, just as the captain lamented that we simply had to go, the great humpback almost anthropomorphically waved goodbye with a lift of his 10 foot flipper.
Ranger Ann, her negativity was now thoroughly dashed--her monotoned you-betcha-banter now enthusiastic amazemen--by all the tail banging behaviour. She explained it as either “youthful exuberance” (again) or, perhaps, he did this stun his dinner of fish and krill below making them easier to catch and eat. She said she’d never seen a whale "tail lob" for so long. She, the captain, the crew too, not to mention the ship passengers were as stunned as the little fishies. We motored away in a silence that occurs after witnessing a miracle. (Even the Germans were quiet for awhile.)
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| Log or Leviathon? |
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| Tail Lobbing |
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| Mottle Tail |
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| Adieu! |
"Moby Dick, I clutch thy heart at last." says Ahab near the end of the epic. Truly, though, it was the whale who captured my heart--all of our hearts--on this day in the Kenai.
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