Hi,
Greetings from beyond the road.
The long awaited Memorial Whale Watch took place yesterday, Sunday, May 2, after several days of delay due very high winds. Susan loved to go whale watching, so it was planned that a portion of her ashes would be scattered into the ocean during a whale watch tour. Ari, Kristina, Daisy, and I drove to Santa Barbara on a gorgeous day and boarded the Condor Express bound for Santa Cruz Island in the Channel Islands National Park, a four hour cruise. We brought along our binoculars and telephoto zoom cameras in hopes of getting a good shot of a whale. Little did we suspect that the whales had heard we were coming and had prepared a greeting.
We are not more than thirty minutes out when the captain spots a humpback whale about a mile away, then another, and another still. We pull within 100 yards of three humpbacks feeding together. We watch intently. They announce their arrivals to the surface after a dive with a mighty blast of air and water out their twin blow holes. Sometimes they swim along at the surface, only their dorsal fins showing. When they dive deep for krill, their wing-like tail rises up out of the water. The captain keeps the motor at idle and talks about the whales. The whales are in no hurry to leave that spot and show no shyness of the boat. They mostly keep their distance and continued feeding. I snap off about 60 shots, other tourists fill up their memory cards. After about a half hour we push on towards Santa Cruz, thoroughly amazed at our terrific luck.
After 15 minuets the captain finds four humpbacks feeding together and pulls within 100 yards. The whales start swimming along with the slowly moving boat instead of diving. Swimming as a group, the whales gradually close the distance between us. Then they disappear under the water and emerge on the other side of the boat, blasting their foul smelling spray out their blowholes and drenching the whale watchers in a perfume that smells like a combination of roses, motor oil and baby poo. They do this several times, each time getting closer and closer to the boat as they pass under it. I hang over the side with my zoom set for ultra wide angle and grab this shot just as a humpback emerges from under the boat. His enormous head is covered in bumps and barnacles.
A split second later his huge back, 15 feet across appears ...
and then his tail, 20 feet across.
As he circles to turn around, my ultra wide angle captures a shot of his whole 50 foot long body. So much for telephoto. Who needs binoculars when you can reach out and touch the whales - we don't - it's illegal.
While I'm snapping away at whales posing for photographs, amidst sounds of the spray and foul odors arises a new sound, a blast of low frequency vibration that could be the rumble of a Harley Davidson - but it's not - the captain announces that the whales are singing to the people on the boat. Just then, one whale swims along side the boat, flipping over on its side so that its eye is above water he looks directly at all the tourists lined up along the railing. I snap his picture as he passes by and he raises his pectoral fin and salutes. You can see his eye in the lower left corner of the picture. I put my camera away and bask in the sights and sounds and smells of the ocean and its bountiful, beautiful living riches.
We must hurry on now to Santa Cruz Island because we are running late. We skirt the island and turn back. Ari releases Susan's ashes from the stern of the boat and they disperse instantly over the water. The event's sadness is in stark contrast with the tumultuous greetings of the whales. By the time we return, over a dozen whales have been sighted.
Today, still smelling of whale, I visit the Los Angeles County Natural History Museum. Before entering the main attraction, their fabulous mineral and gem exhibit, I pay a visit to their 70 year old 85 foot Fin Whale skeleton. It has a new home in the museum, with a new armature and artistic lighting and a recorded deep rumbling background sound. Alone with this dead whale, I am seized with sadness and grief for my loss. Just then a hoard of school children come running into the room, their faces and gestures alive with their amazement. Suddenly the whole room lights up with their shouts and running and waving and joy. As life floods into me through all my senses I am instantly connected to Susan and tears of joy swell out through my eyes and I stand there with quiet reverence for the dichotomy of yesterday and today - the cycles of people and whales, life and death, confirm a sweetness of being continuous through eternity. Now I feel I understand.
More from the road shortly.
With love and gratitude,
Stan
