humpback.
Anawak flipped open the laptop and booted it up. The hard drive contained a database with descriptions of hundreds of whales which regularly passed that way. To the untrained eye the little of the whale visible above the water was scarcely enough to identify the species, let alone the individual, and to make matters worse, the view was often obscured by rough seas, mist, rain or blinding sunshine. But each whale had its own identifying features. The easiest way to tell them apart was by looking at the flukes. When a whale dived, its tail often flicked right out of the water and the underside of each fluke was unique to that animal, differing in pattern, structure and form. Anawak could identify many flukes from memory, but the photos on the laptop helped.
He was willing to bet that the two whales out there were old friends.
After a while the black humps resurfaced. First to appear were the blowholes, little raised bumps on top of the head, barely visible among the waves. Then came the firing noise again, followed by two puffs of air, rising in synchrony. This time the whales didnât sink back into the water, but raised their humps high above the waves. Their stumpy dorsal fins came into view, arching slowly through the air, then slicing back into the water. Anawak had a clear view of the whalesâ backs with their prominent vertebrae. Then they dived again, their flukes rising leisurely out of the water.
Hurriedly Anawak raised the binoculars for a glimpse of the undersides, but failed. Not to worry. The first commandment of whale-watching was patience, and there was plenty of time before the tourists arrived. He opened the second can of iced tea, unwrapped the cereal bar and took a bite.
He didnât have long to wait before his faith was rewarded, and five humps ploughed through the water not far from the boat. Anawakâs heart quickened. The whales were close now. Full of anticipation he waited for the flukes. He was so engrossed in the spectacle that he didnât noticethe enormous black shadow by the boat. It was only when the creature loomed vertically out of the water, towering above him, that he turned and jumped.
Instantly he forgot the other humps.
The whaleâs head had risen almost silently. Now it was almost touching the boatâs rubber hull. Three and a half metres of whale extended upright out of the water, the drooping mouth covered with barnacles and knotty bulges. An eye as big as a human fist stared at him.
It wasnât the first time Anawak had seen a whale at such close-quarters. On dive trips heâd swum alongside them, stroking and clutching on to them. Heâd ridden on them. It wasnât unusual for grey whales, humpbacks or orcas to poke their heads out of the water right next to the Zodiac to look for landmarks or examine the boat.
But this was different.
Anawak wasnât sure if he was watching the whale or if it was watching him. The enormous mammal didnât seem interested in the boat. Looking out from under its elephantine lid, the humpbackâs eye was fixed on him. Beneath the surface, whales had acute vision, but outside their natural element they were damned to short-sightedness by their globular eyes. Close up like that, though, the humpback must be able to see him as clearly as he could see it.
Slowly, so that he did not frighten it, Anawak stretched out an arm and stroked the smooth, damp skin. The whale showed no sign of wanting to dive. Its eye shifted focus slightly, but returned to him. There was something almost intimate about the scene. As pleased as he was to see the animal, Anawak wondered what it stood to gain from such a lengthy observation. Under normal circumstances a spyhop lasted seconds. It cost a lot of energy to stay vertical like that.
âWhereâve you been all this time?â he asked.
A barely audible splash sounded from the other side of the boat. Anawak swivelled just in time to see another head rising
Anawak flipped open the laptop and booted it up. The hard drive contained a database with descriptions of hundreds of whales which regularly passed that way. To the untrained eye the little of the whale visible above the water was scarcely enough to identify the species, let alone the individual, and to make matters worse, the view was often obscured by rough seas, mist, rain or blinding sunshine. But each whale had its own identifying features. The easiest way to tell them apart was by looking at the flukes. When a whale dived, its tail often flicked right out of the water and the underside of each fluke was unique to that animal, differing in pattern, structure and form. Anawak could identify many flukes from memory, but the photos on the laptop helped.
He was willing to bet that the two whales out there were old friends.
After a while the black humps resurfaced. First to appear were the blowholes, little raised bumps on top of the head, barely visible among the waves. Then came the firing noise again, followed by two puffs of air, rising in synchrony. This time the whales didnât sink back into the water, but raised their humps high above the waves. Their stumpy dorsal fins came into view, arching slowly through the air, then slicing back into the water. Anawak had a clear view of the whalesâ backs with their prominent vertebrae. Then they dived again, their flukes rising leisurely out of the water.
Hurriedly Anawak raised the binoculars for a glimpse of the undersides, but failed. Not to worry. The first commandment of whale-watching was patience, and there was plenty of time before the tourists arrived. He opened the second can of iced tea, unwrapped the cereal bar and took a bite.
He didnât have long to wait before his faith was rewarded, and five humps ploughed through the water not far from the boat. Anawakâs heart quickened. The whales were close now. Full of anticipation he waited for the flukes. He was so engrossed in the spectacle that he didnât noticethe enormous black shadow by the boat. It was only when the creature loomed vertically out of the water, towering above him, that he turned and jumped.
Instantly he forgot the other humps.
The whaleâs head had risen almost silently. Now it was almost touching the boatâs rubber hull. Three and a half metres of whale extended upright out of the water, the drooping mouth covered with barnacles and knotty bulges. An eye as big as a human fist stared at him.
It wasnât the first time Anawak had seen a whale at such close-quarters. On dive trips heâd swum alongside them, stroking and clutching on to them. Heâd ridden on them. It wasnât unusual for grey whales, humpbacks or orcas to poke their heads out of the water right next to the Zodiac to look for landmarks or examine the boat.
But this was different.
Anawak wasnât sure if he was watching the whale or if it was watching him. The enormous mammal didnât seem interested in the boat. Looking out from under its elephantine lid, the humpbackâs eye was fixed on him. Beneath the surface, whales had acute vision, but outside their natural element they were damned to short-sightedness by their globular eyes. Close up like that, though, the humpback must be able to see him as clearly as he could see it.
Slowly, so that he did not frighten it, Anawak stretched out an arm and stroked the smooth, damp skin. The whale showed no sign of wanting to dive. Its eye shifted focus slightly, but returned to him. There was something almost intimate about the scene. As pleased as he was to see the animal, Anawak wondered what it stood to gain from such a lengthy observation. Under normal circumstances a spyhop lasted seconds. It cost a lot of energy to stay vertical like that.
âWhereâve you been all this time?â he asked.
A barely audible splash sounded from the other side of the boat. Anawak swivelled just in time to see another head rising
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