When I 
was a child, there was an exhibit at the local museum called “Open Ocean”, by the time I stopped being afraid of it, it had been updated one too many times and was old and dated, the videos were glitching and it was showing its age as far as the acting went. When I worked at the museum as a teenager, the running joke among the security guards used to be “who’s on station Alpha?”, meaning who got to sit in the ocean exhibit for an hour listening to the same looped video over and over. Anyway, they tore it down and replaced it with something suitably modern years ago, but there is one line from that exhibit that I will always remember.
“What do you see? The ocean right? Actually no, not the ocean. You’re only seeing the top.”
It’s easy to forget that sometimes, that we sail, cruise, swim, and fly – only over the top of one of the largest areas on earth. But there’s nothing to remind you of that fact like being in Alaska, during whale season.
The cruise ship industry is rigorously governed in how we deal with whales (trust me, I’ve taken the course on how to avoid colliding with them – don’t ask why, I’m not quite sure, must have been bored). We’re bigger than they are after all, and we often move faster than they do. This can make us very dangerous to them as they often can’t get away from us fast enough. We’re not allowed to approach a whale, but sometimes, just sometimes – they come to us. In which case we slow down our speed to a snail’s pace, and let them follow us until they drift off of their own accord. Probably the fastest way to get passengers out of their chairs is to stand at a window in the observation deck and cry “whale!”
I had a cruise director once who used to do that for a joke.
I’m fortunate enough to have grown up across the street from the ocean, so I’ve been seeing whales since I was a child. J-pod migrates through our bay on a semi-regular basis. When I was sixteen, my family came over from Britain and – after a very long night and a very early morning – we went whale watching, and encountered the rare phenomenon of the “super-pod” something that normally doesn’t happen at all. So yes, I’m well acquainted with whales I suppose.
Somehow though, all that is different from being in the middle of nowhere, completely out of touch with shore-side civilization (or at least as out of touch as you can be in this plugged-in age of electronics) and suddenly seeing the smooth surface of the ocean swell and break over the back of these incredible animals.
Normally as crew, you don’t get many opportunities to experience things privately. Moments like whale-sightings or eagle-sightings or anything along those lines are usually shared with several dozen passengers elbowing you out of the way in the observation lounge. Since guests always come first in my line of work – you never ever can push your way to the front, and you rarely get to experience something silently. But I was lucky. The first time I saw a whale from ship-side was my very first contract and I was alone.
I was walking down the deck two corridor. It must have been a port day, because there was no-one in that corridor with me – I don’t remember, but I was probably on IPM. Anyway, I stopped, to steady myself out because it had been a tiring week, and looked out the window. I remember sitting down, because I wasn’t supposed to be, and back then I was still worried about every little thing I did “wrong” getting reported back to someone who could get me in trouble. And suddenly, out of nowhere, a humpback whale breached no more than a mile from the ship. Just one and just once.
I stood there staring at the spot it had disappeared for what felt like a very long time.
I carry that random moment with me wherever I go, as a reminder – moments like that are why I do what I do.
Bright blessings,
Shaughnessy