Whale of a story

This past weekend, I took a trip with a couple of friends to one of the islands located off of southwest Okinawa. It is called Zamami, one of the many islands that make up the larger Keramas. There lives David, a first-year ALT.

Our host for the weekend, David organized for us a whale watching boat ride on Saturday afternoon. With pretty excellent weather (considering what followed on Sunday), we boarded the boat of one Kiyoshi-san, an apparent veteran of whale watching (he’s pretty good with a camera, too, as evidenced by his pictures from previous expeditions). And it could not have gone better.

We were making our way out into the Sea of Japan when the first spouts of water and air were spotted. Several boats, around four, approached the spot and we watched as the whales (two adults, one newborn) surfaced quite often, in regard for the little whales developing lungs. As we followed along, discussing all kinds of things, we were presented with one of the most amazing sights I have ever seen in my life: a full whale breach.

Without warning, around 100-200m from our boat, one of the adult whales erupted from the sea, its body perpendicular to the surface, the seawater cascading off its skin as it came to its peak and then fell back into the water, creating a most spectacular splash. The breach was followed by several “head slaps.” While not full breaches, the whale continued to jump, to a lesser degree, though the thrill of watching such an event was still quite awe inspiring.

I haven’t felt so much like a kid surprised by something so amazing in quite a while. Sure, television programs on The Discovery Channel and similar stations may have given me the idea of what whales do in the ocean, but seeing it in person, from only a meager 100m or so really changed everything. I was gasping, smiling, absolutely floored. It was that amazing.

We followed the whales for quite a while, though I’m not sure how long. Hours? We were also treated to “tail slaps” that were so large they turned the water light blue from all the bubbles, “flipper flaps” (I can’t think of the term) where the whales come to the surface, turn on their side, and slap the water with their fins, and surfacings so close that we could hear the violent expulsion of air from the whales refilling lungs.

Our last special treat was the breach of the baby whale. It’s tiny (tiny?! hardly) body flung out of the water, crashing back in a splash smaller than, but just as spectacular as, its parent’s earlier breach.

I didn’t take my camera. Oh, what a travesty, you may think. Quite the opposite, I say. The entire time I was watching the whales with my very own eyes, obstructed by nothing other than my blinking. Is it a shame I don’t have pictures of my own to look at many months from now? Is it a shame that I can’t share any with you? I don’t think so. You can find pictures anywhere, but you can’t replace the experience.