Whale Song

(story of today, 1/11/2024)

The headline gives away the punch. but here’s the thing: I’d like to record this story just as it happened, because it’s still been only two hours. So here goes:

I woke up this morning with a desire to see the sunrise. I meditated until the light was shining on my eyelids. Then I wrote a bunch of thoughts down, and the water kept pulling me toward the channel. Attracting me, saying, come play, even as I had writing to do.

At 11:11 I made a wish.

Down where the kayaks are, down past the docks, I noticed a curious sort of wavery light, beckoning me with an insistency. I don’t explain things, I just listen to them. And the listening told me to pay attention to the water.

I paused my work. Okay, I worked for 10 more minutes so that I would have something to return to, and then I set everything aside (Roald Dahl used to say a great time to stop writing is when you have more to say, so you pick it right back up. I try to give into this, though I’m often feeling that lure to keep going with the surge. Anyway…) and I layered on the warmest clothes I have, while careful to pick wicking ones.

A weather advisory alert had popped up on my phone in the meantime. Didn’t look too friendly. News of arctic air and frostbite warnings. What to do? I picked a wool headbad, wicking hat, winter athletic pants, under armor cold weather athletic top, down jacket, two neck and face gaiters (one Buff and a Smartwool one over it), rain jacket, and life jacket. Wool socks and hiking boots and I was set.

I’ve been kayaking every day. This day felt different. I brought my phone out with me for the first time.

When I launched myself in the water from the dock, I was laughing. Each time, I get better at the technique, how to balance myself as I lower my body straight from the dock into the seat of the kayak. Sounds easy, but kayaks can get tipsy and I always feel like a little kid doing this.

The channel I was in is an inlet, a strait on the side of Vancouver Island. I actually don’t know the word for it. It’s connected to the ocean. There’s a channel down and it stops, so anything swimming down it (a bay?) needs to turn around and go back up. The water flows nicely. At times, the current is strong and at other times, placid and serene. When you see whitecaps on the rippling waves, you know it’s choppy.

It was a mix when I was out there, midday, in the sunlight today. I had a feeling (and was warned by that weather advisory) that the arctic air was moving in, so the wind was picking up even in the first few short minutes in the water.

I took a video, as well as a panorama picture, struck by the exquisite quality of light and air, the gloss of water around me. I felt a circular sort of swirled spiral form, as if I was in the center of a vortex. The giant bowl of sky overhead, the depths of water beneath me.

The far side of the channel called out, trees in the sunshine. I thought to cross the channel to get there, skirting the edge on the far side. I bet there are animals there, I thought. Then, for no reason, I changed my mind. Better to stay here near shore, I thought, turning toward the sun and lightly paddling south.

In that moment, I sang a whale song. I don’t remember the words, I just know I was exuberant and I sang this song to the wind, calling out for whales. I was asking them questions, this I know.

No sooner had I begun traveling, I heard a sound like a giant soft sigh on my left side. It traveled across the water’s surface, so loud above the rising wind that I turned left, only to see a giant black fin rising out of the water about twenty feet to my left. Then I saw another blow from the spout.

Full body awe. That’s what I felt. I dissolved into pure awareness. The thrill of identifying (whale) in my brain quickly transformed into a simple copresence. We seemed to be the only creatures in that time. I was floating, she was beside me traveling south, too. I didn’t really move. Just watched in awe as she surfaced again, spouted, went under. She was fast. I moved closer to shore, texted friends to make sure it was okay to be in the water.

Each time I heard her breathe, it brought an amazing rush of delight. All buoyancy, air, and motion. A kayak is swift, but not so compared to whale… By the time I reached a bend in the channel, she was already coming back up. I turned, watching her pass and continue north. A few extra spouts and she rounded the bend in the distance. Again, awe.

These are pure moments.

I wrote a book of poems last year called Digital Satori. The poetry features whales strongly, with many pieces inspired by my time in Baja California, with the blue, fin, and humpback whales in the Sea of Cortez, and with grey whales in the Pacific Ocean. It’s a book about what is lost, and what can be found. I can share more about that time in future writing… I was born near the ocean, and spent the first four years of my life near the sea... there’s a cadence that feels right and whole. These animals are powerful creatures and I am humbed and filled with joy when in their presence. Today is a wonder filled day, and my self swells with gratitude.

1/11/2024 = 1+1+1+2+2+4 = 11

I got my wish.

Now, back to the writing at hand… a book about digital wellbeing. Let’s go!