Whale Summer - continued ...
January 2nd 2007 20:59
Getting the boat in the water was a mere formality, completed without a hitch as always. My father was brought up around water and boats, and all to do with them was second nature for him. He was as steady standing in a rocking boat as most men were on solid ground. The real business started when we headed out, seeking the fish. This was serious and the first decision could make or break a day of fishing. Of course this was all left up to Dad. Not only did I not know the complicated procedure of choosing a spot to begin fishing, I did not care. ‘Put the line in the water and see what happens’ was my motto.
So we zigzagged, up and down the Georgia Strait with the sun beating down on us and the smell of salt so strong in the air I could taste it on my tongue. Not the most alluring sensation, but certainly one I knew well. The ocean was like a pond that day and when we finally came to rest, the water lapped up against the boat in a lazy, relaxed manner that would sooth the nerves of the most anxious mariner.
I looked around and saw little difference in this place to the one two hundred yards away in any direction but when I mentioned this to him, Dad was quite adamant that this was the place, pointing out currents and whirlpools and kelp beds which all had a certain plus or minus where fish were concerned, particularly salmon, the prize we
were after. I could find no argument to this, not that I was inclined to do so. Trust in my father’s knowledge of such things was implicit. Especially when it came to the sea, which I was keenly aware of sitting on top of, only a thin sheet of metal separating me from it and all it contained. I was never fearful of the ocean and I ‘swam like a fish’ as my mother always said, but I did have a great deal of respect for it. I had seen it turn into an angry force many times.
The next few hours melted into the sea itself and lazily drifted away with the tide. We lost a few baits, got a few nibbles but nothing much to even bring us to our feet. (I always knew when Dad had something special on his line, because he would stand up.) I spent most of the time sipping soda pop and watching the space where my line disappeared into the inky blackness of the water. And this is exactly what I was doing when it happened.
When I look back on it now, it was like a surreal dream unravelling in slow motion. For as I gazed unseeing into the water, (my mind probably more on my stomach than anything else), a huge dark mass began displacing the water just beside the boat. I really had no idea what was happening, until I saw the clearly defined white oval shape rising from the depths. After seeing this vivid and universally known birthmark of the killer whale, or Orca, I knew exactly what was happening. And as always, even to this day when I am shocked, scared or just plain excited, I became mute. My eyes locked on this massive creature whose proximity had the power to clamp down on my vocal chords and strangle them tight. I would like to think if I was a little older I could have reacted in a more positive way, but as it was the whale continued to rise to the surface before my eyes and I was paralysed by its sheer power of presence. Water was sliding down its head and back causing little whirlpools to form and slosh about its sleek, black hide.
I looked around and saw little difference in this place to the one two hundred yards away in any direction but when I mentioned this to him, Dad was quite adamant that this was the place, pointing out currents and whirlpools and kelp beds which all had a certain plus or minus where fish were concerned, particularly salmon, the prize we
were after. I could find no argument to this, not that I was inclined to do so. Trust in my father’s knowledge of such things was implicit. Especially when it came to the sea, which I was keenly aware of sitting on top of, only a thin sheet of metal separating me from it and all it contained. I was never fearful of the ocean and I ‘swam like a fish’ as my mother always said, but I did have a great deal of respect for it. I had seen it turn into an angry force many times.
The next few hours melted into the sea itself and lazily drifted away with the tide. We lost a few baits, got a few nibbles but nothing much to even bring us to our feet. (I always knew when Dad had something special on his line, because he would stand up.) I spent most of the time sipping soda pop and watching the space where my line disappeared into the inky blackness of the water. And this is exactly what I was doing when it happened.
When I look back on it now, it was like a surreal dream unravelling in slow motion. For as I gazed unseeing into the water, (my mind probably more on my stomach than anything else), a huge dark mass began displacing the water just beside the boat. I really had no idea what was happening, until I saw the clearly defined white oval shape rising from the depths. After seeing this vivid and universally known birthmark of the killer whale, or Orca, I knew exactly what was happening. And as always, even to this day when I am shocked, scared or just plain excited, I became mute. My eyes locked on this massive creature whose proximity had the power to clamp down on my vocal chords and strangle them tight. I would like to think if I was a little older I could have reacted in a more positive way, but as it was the whale continued to rise to the surface before my eyes and I was paralysed by its sheer power of presence. Water was sliding down its head and back causing little whirlpools to form and slosh about its sleek, black hide.
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Comment by Ash
Australian Traveller
Flashes of memories