I want you to imagine yourself on a boat. It’s not large, it holds about 8 people. Around you is a tangible sense of tension, almost unbearable. As the waves crash against the boat, you see a large geiser burst out of the water, followed by a black figure. As people gasp and the boat draws near to this figure you can start to make out a creature. An overwhelming sense of emotions hit you. You feel an urge to uncover what is lurking below the waves but each time the boat gets close the figure disapears; alas, the ocean is not generous, it teases, it witholds. Each time we dare to close the distance, the shape vanishes. Suddenly, the boat speeds up. The wind and salty spray hits your face as a rush of adrenaline courses through you. The figure is getting closer and the boat is lowering its speed, until you are right next to this figure. As you peak over the edge of the boat, the water breaks. The sleek, elegant curve of something enormous and alive emerges, slow and deliberate, as if from another world. The humungous head comes first, the ridges along its snout unmistakable. And then, its eye. Not a dull, thoughtless sphere, but an eye that knows, that sees, that remembers. In that gaze lies the weight of centuries, the wisdom of a world beneath our own. You cannot speak as you make eye contact with this sentient being, words are too small. A wide, uncontrollable smile spreading across your face is all you can muster. This, my friends, is how we felt during our first whale sighting.
