Pilot Whales

Pilot Whales

                                                       A Close Encounter  

The balmy Pacific buoys me up and I float effortlessly, spread eagle on its glassy surface. My heart echoes in submerged eardrums and my teeth clench my snorkel mouthpiece. The tropical sun feels like a warm blanket and adds a chartreuse tinge at the surface of fathoms of uninterrupted sea. I float, alone, more alone than I’ve ever been. Swallowed up in this shapeless, motionless underwater world, I peer through my mask and try to discern what has just come into view.

It’s April 2002, a month before my contract is up with Country Day School. Gaylord Townley, the father of one of our students, has invited several staff members to go fishing for marlin. Gaylord, a tall, middle-aged man with a gentle spirit and generous heart, came to Costa Rica as a surfer in the 1970’s. Like many others, he settled in Tamarindo, eventually bought a boat and now makes a living taking tourists on sports fishing trips. The outing is an appreciation gift for our work at the new school he and a few gringo parents had managed to bring to this remote spot on the Northwest coast. We’re thrilled to be going fishing, but what we really want to do is swim with dolphins.

It’s a clear blue and gold morning and is bound to be hot even out on the water. We meet Gaylord at the boat at 6:30 a.m. and he gives us the rundown of how marlin fishing works. Each couple shares a rod that is anchored to the boat and we take turns reeling the line in, letting it out, and watching for strikes. Eventually we get one on the line: it’s huge and when we pull it in I am struck by its large, black eyes, bothered actually, by catching such a beautiful creature of the deep. It’s illegal to keep marlin, so after taking a close look and posing for the proverbial tourist photo, we release it. “Are there any dolphins out here?” Anne asks, hoping we’ll get a chance to swim with a school of bottle nosed dolphins. We’re heard they’re playful and not afraid of humans the way the spinner dolphins are.

Gaylord had been radioing other boats all morning. Apparently captains alert each other when there are interesting events to show their clients, but there have been no reports of dolphin sightings. “No one has seen any yet, but I’ll head out further and see what we can see.” He replies as he offers us a beer and some snacks and then heads back up to his captain’s seat. We’re out of sight of the mainland, about twenty-five miles from shore. The ocean is like glass and it feels like we’re in a bubble of deep blue ...the sea, the air, the sky hold us suspended in eerie monotony.

Suddenly the engine stops and Gaylord yells from his captain’s roost, “Get your masks and flippers on! We’ve got a virtual sea mammal show coming up! Two schools of dolphins and some whales!” Trusting that Gaylord would not be telling us to jump into the water if it were at all dangerous, we don our flippers and masks and leap overboard.

 At first there is nothing. I float easily on the surface, spread eagle, peering into the deep expanse of blue. Under water, my breath and heartbeat are magnified as I anticipate what’s ahead. Suddenly, three enormous shadowy figures, seeming to be about ten to twelve feet long, glide into view. Pilot whales. I’m awestruck. They’re so close I can make out every detail of their radiant bodies: the blunt heads, the blowholes clamped shut, the flesh of the flippers, and the power of the tails. I stare at them, one above, two below suspended and motionless. They stop right below me, the closest one perhaps eight to ten feet away. Their pure, gentle presence seems somehow purposeful and I’m awestruck by their silent arrival.

As I examine the full curved back of the closest whale, noticing chalky crustaceans clinging to her hide and a deep three foot scar that runs down her left side, she rolls slightly and looks directly up into my eyes. Her eye is black like a marble and surprising small. But she stares directly into my eyes; I’m breathless with excitement and dare not move a muscle. We are deeply and mysteriously connected for perhaps ten or fifteen seconds, and then she, as purposefully as she came, she rights herself, lets out an eerie, high-pitched note and the behemoth trio disappear into the expanse of blue.

I like the idea of animals and humans questing in spirit to reach one another and have experienced this with farm animals and zoo animals, but this was different. The whales had come purposefully and when they left, they did so quickly. There was something elusive, something incredible, something mysterious and pure about what happened that left me in an altered state of deep amazement and awe.

The sun is almost level with the horizon when Gaylord starts up the engine and turns towards home. The sea is a sheet of shimmering glass, and though my colleagues have also been witness to the whales, we’re silent. We turn our backs against the spray and warm whip of the wind and gaze at the horizon each with our own thoughts, each weighing the ecstasy of the encounter.