Bull kelp was caught in the windshield wipers on the cabin of the boat. We had been slicing through the waves, too heavy to crest them. Riding in a steel skiff, with a six person cabin. The sound of the water on metal was like being inside a tuning fork. My parents were taking me to town, across Johnson Straight, a wide open swathe of ocean that got a bit unmanageable at times.
Being that I was 12 and a maniac, as most children are, I was screaming with joy. What a terrific roller coaster, I kept saying to my green faced mother. She was white knuckled and standing, bracing herself for every smashing downward fall of the boat, when it would collide with the next wave, each succession of waves seeming as hard as stone.
Every now and again a streak of sunlight would push away the darkness, and the wave would shine like turquoise glass as we careened wildly along the sea’s surface.
All we needed were groceries, well that, and cigarettes and booze. A twelve year old knows not the importance of said items in backcountry wilderness, let alone civilization. I was excited about milk, cheese, juice. Maybe a trip to the thrift store if I was lucky.
Suddenly my dad yanked hard on the steering wheel, veering us to the right, tipping the boat on its side, making both my mother and I shriek. A pacific white sided dolphin had just crashed into our bow, and another had popped over us like a gazelle in the african desert. We were in the center of a pod, a group of cold water dolphins, indigenous to the BC coast, all the way up to Alaska. Rare to see a group this large, there must have been at least 200 of them.
Turning back the way we had come, we got out of the wind’s sharp cutting gusts, and the waves began to subside. The dolphins stayed with us, leaping and playing in our wake. The sun burned off the remaining clouds, and what had seemed like a storm ready to take all our lives, was suddenly a glorious spring day on the west coast of Canada. From being afraid we would drown, to being happy to see dolphins. Coastal childhood teaches similar lessons city life does, but in very different ways.
We burbled along in our shiny metal boat, marveling at nature, and the friendliness of these creatures. They came up to the side, nudging the hull, and dragging my hand in the frigid water, I reached for them as they zipped past me. Flashing me one wise eye, the animals were quick and soulful and knowing. Finally my wish was granted, and I felt the connection like electricity. I popped up squealing at my parents, one touched me, one touched me!
And then without warning, it was like we had crossed an invisible line. The dolphins stopped and watched us leave. We turned the boat around, not ready to give up this experience. Again and again, the dolphins would not pass a certain point, and we went back and forth until we realized the town trip would have to be another day, as we had spent the afternoon playing with our new friends.
We waved good bye at the frolicking mammals, and went ahead down the Inlet towards home. Reaching a corner, in the distance, we saw a ship on the horizon. It was a troller, and it was surrounded by a pod of killer whales. Orcas, my favourite whale to see. Likely the ship and its harvest had attracted larger prey, seals and sea lions, which draw in orcas to feast as well.
The dolphins had heard their calls, and decided to play it safe and stay away. My dad kept the boat in neutral, giving the pod of whales and the fishermen their space.
The sound rang out louder than sunlight in July, echoing and reverberating through the metal hull. We all three ran to the side and looked down, there in the shadow of us and our boat, the water revealed the magic. A mother orca and her calf, singing to each other, cruising below us, circling and dancing together.
My mother looked at me crying, and I laugh-cried with her. An experience I will never forget. This was all in one day in the Broughton Archipelago, British Columbia, Canada. I was 12, and all that mattered was with me that day. Life, in its brilliance and its fragility. The ocean, families all around, and my mortality. Such a lot to realize at twelve years old, and yet, so easy to understand.
About the Creator
Yess Bryce
Currently halfway through my Creative Writing degree with Oregon State University, in an attempt to leave the cooking and farming world of work. Newly hired as a Contributor to Edible Magazine! It's working!
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