English 100

Maddox DelleFave

Professor Andaluz

Calm waves crumble back into the ocean of Thousand Peaks; I sit on my dad who's

holding me up and dunks me in the water. Everything is so large even though he’s laying down

on his back, the water that reaches his chest comes all the way to my neck and I need him to pick

me up to go any deeper. When he does, the ocean seems to double in size, and in the distance, I

see whales move along the horizon.

As I scramble across the hot deck, people crowded to glimpse the giants that live in our

seas, Humpback whales. I sit in the captain’s chair, climbing on top of attempting to get a better

view. The swathe of people follow the whale around the boat and it’s hard to see over the top of

their heads. I catch a quick window of the scene; a mother and calf, preparing for the journey

they must face. The boat isn’t moving, but they’re so close I can hear them now, the grunts and

whistles as they play in the black-blue of the ocean.

Over the noise of the people, the whales become impossible to hear, I’m too small to get

above them, so I climb down from the chair and make my way to the opposite end of the boat.

On the bow, I'm alone with everyone else gone to see the whales. Only now though, can I see the

other boats and, in the distance, something that no one else heeds. The caudal fin of a whale
dipping beneath the surface in a deep dive heading my direction. I wait and wait for the animal to

surface somewhere, but there is no sign before we begin to head to shore.

The waves lap against my legs as I wade into the water off the beach, the boat ride is

years gone. The scuba tank I carry on my back is heavy, but I’m big enough to shuffle around

with it. We put our masks on and plunge into the cool morning water but my wetsuit keeps me

warm. We swim back and forth before finally settling to review the concepts that we talked about

onshore. Communicating underwater using signs, there are only 2 sounds. Our bubbles disturb

the water as they race for the surface but the unmistakable whine of whales echoes in the

background. We’re supposed to be paying attention to the lesson, but I find myself distracted by

the moans and clicks ringing in my ears. More and more my focus drifts to the sounds; fighting

my desire to swim toward them, restricting my natural curiosity as I painfully sit, still and

attentive to the instructor.

Sweat beads on my neck as I bring another load of snorkel gear down to the boat, I can

barely contain myself while waiting for my friends to arrive so we can head out of the harbor.

When they arrive, we exchange greetings and gifts on the boat to celebrate Christmas morning.

Lines come off the boat as the engine steadily coughs to a start and I maneuver the boat out of

the slip. My dad takes control as we chug through the harbor and out of its safe arms. Luckily the

wind is kind and the sun is cool as we make our way for the pali.

Piercing the opposing blues of the ocean and sky, a whale heaves itself out of the water in

a magnificent breach, close enough to see the barnacles encrusted on its fins. Just by sitting, we
are surrounded by whales, mother, and calf and mate breaking the glassy ocean. They slap the

water with their fins and burst from it with incredible height. The whales put up for as long as

they have energy until they fade into the distance. After the exciting show, we jump into the

shadowy water to relax before heading back to shore and are just drying off when we notice the

water change color; bigger than the entire boat, under the water it swims. Before I realize what

I’m doing, I’m midair with a mask in hand. I get it on just before I hit the water and swim down.

Then I stop. For one moment and eternity, I stare with awe into a whale’s eye as it stares back at

me. The feeling of vulnerability that I'm at its whim hits me with stunning realization as I take in

the complete experience, from nose to tail, the songs blaring in my ears as the creature turns to

swim gracefully into the depths from where it came.

Thinking back to when I was young, I remember the scene with new clarity, how the

whale arose from the depths, spinning as it lightly broke the surface and softly took a breath. I

can see how it ducked back below the water and swam underneath the surface before moving

away from the boats and diving down. The whale was always with me, I just had to realize, and

remember. What I’ve been searching for has been just below the surface of my memory, waiting

to breach into my head at the right moment.