Judy P's Tickle Trunk

My life has been punctuated by whale sightings and, should I continue to see them regularly until I am an old, old woman I will never cease to be excited by the sudden appearance of a slippery black curve with its little triangular fin against a sparkling background of cerulean blue (with a tidge of ultramarine).

I have seen them from every angle but below; from the cockpit of a sailboat, a bluff overlooking Pilley’s Cove, from a single engine Otter aircraft flying over the entrance to the harbour at Nain Labrador and from a parking lot in St. Anthony (the great injustice was that the paying whale-watchers with whom we had dinner with at the bed and breakfast that night, had motored about ad nauseum for hours without seeing a hint of a whale while we incidentally spied two while turning our car around in a parking lot). A whale has circumnavigated my sailboat and cavorted with the boat on which I was crew halfway between here and Bermuda. I even saw whales in the winter from the lighthouse at Chebucto Head. There have been minkes, humpbacks and fins and even belugas with their alien looking heads (in captivity at Vancouver aquarium).

Why pay money to go whale watching? Because my friends were going and any day on the water is a day well spent, whales or no whales. So, on August 12, 2011 we motored out of Tiverton Harbour (Long Island, Nova Scotia), past the lighthouse and straight into a wall of fog.

“Great” I whined to myself, “We’ll only see whales if they are within ten feet of the boat!” We drove on until all sight of land was obscured and we were surrounded by a uniformly grey mist. Despite the fog, there was still plenty to enjoy: the shearwaters tickling their bellies as they glided over the wave tops, the fresh salt air cooling my regular hot flashes, and the Quebec woman sneaking photos of her partner as he slept with his head bobbing comically (he had either been into the whiskey the night before or had done all of the driving – I hoped not the former, as offshore in the fog is no place to be with a hangover and the smell of vomit really detracts from the clean, fresh smell of the ocean). Priscilla the crocheted pig took the opportunity to visit the skipper.

Priscilla visits the captain of the Fundy Cruiser

A nosy whale calf

 

A prime photo op for the other boat

A mother whale was keeping close watch on her inquisitive calf and I wondered what she would consider a threat and just how she would respond to said threat and I was suddenly glad that the competition was the closer boat. I quickly forgot my fears as the calf dove and swam over to investigate our boat. Now everything else in the world ceased to exist – I was no longer aware of the the exclamations of the tourists pressed around me, or of the clicking of a dozen camera shutters – the world contained only me, Clipper (the mother had been identified by the unique markings on her flukes) and her not so little, little one. To our entertainment, the calf poked its head straight up out of the water, rolled, and even swam under the boat. The mother kept her distance but was almost always visible. “Wow”, I exclaimed over and over again.

Clipper and her calf

The whales eventually moved off to entertain another group of tourists in a zodiac (despite their bright orange flotation suits, how vulnerable did they feel with just a thin layer of rubber between them and the great cetaceans?).

Whale watchers

 The Fundy Cruiser started up her engine and we settled down for the long ride back to port, our heads resting on each other’s shoulders, our eyes squinting into the bright sun and our faces fixed with broad smiles. All the time we imagined what we would be telling our friends back at work or at home: “it was amazing…you would have loved it… it was worth the ticket…you should have been there…..”.

Yes, call me Ishmael. http://www.memorablequotations.com/MobyDick.htm

(c) Judy Parsons 2011