Whale Spotting

Monterey Bay, California is famous for a lot of things. This is due in part to novelist John Steinbeck, who immortalized the streets when he published Cannery Row. I found it overwhelming trying to keep track of the historical totems that litter the walkways of the district. Each intersection is the scene of some famous book or celebrity rendezvous.

The aquarium’s fame is more subtle. Lines sprawled down Cannery Row until they funneled through the revolving doors of the lobby. Dumpy dressed anchovies wandered back and forth in the gift parlors. Others crowded the food court. I beelined for the first exhibit entrance and cannonballed into the tepid darkness.

The first tank housed a great octopus. It draped itself from one corner and used a single tentacle to shield its eyes from the red glare of an EXIT sign. Shredded shrimp remains decorated the floor like a pink, fibrous carpet. The octopus peered down on its buffet like an aquatic shepherd.

The next tank towered so high I couldn’t see the top; it stretched up into the ceiling and disappeared in a vaulted shadow. Big tuna did sharp laps behind the glass. It wasn’t until they circled near that I noticed how large they really were – like small school buses in the water. Prehistoric scales flexed to accommodate the corded muscle rippling through their bodies as they darted back and forth.

I tried to approach them but stopped short when the fish turned their giant, wild eyeballs on me. I retreated back into the dark, and the tuna patrolled the window with an ugly glare. Sweat trickled down my neck and chest as I waited. That’s when I noticed the diver drifting along the floor of the tank. Her suit was illuminated by the sporadic flares of a welding torch. Hulking tuna cycloned just above the diver in a foray of bubbles.

There was no discernible way to tell, but I was sure the person in the diving suit was my wife. It was impossible to know when she had time to don a wetsuit and breathing apparatus, let alone learn the entire trade of underwater welding, but there she was, zapping away. The biggest giveaway was her big round belly bursting from the neoprene – my wife was four months pregnant and conducting some of the most dangerous business on Earth.

I looked for help but to no avail. This exhibit was empty of any audience, which implied I was trespassing. I remembered the rolling lines at the entrance, but where were those people now? Was the aquarium open? Panic bubbled up my throat and came to rest inside my skull.

Jenny noticed my quaking silhouette beyond the glass and turned away from her welding project. Her blue eyes were unmistakable, even through the refractive goggles. They glowed with a calm and confidence that erased whatever worry I conjured. She waved and blew me a kiss from her visor.

“She’s still got a lot of work to do in there.” Someone explained to me from out of sight.

“Is she safe?” I asked.

“Yeah. It looks scary, but she’s got it figured out.” The voice sounded familiar. “The fish are protecting her.”

I turned to find my father leaning against the velvet walls of the exhibit. He looked past me into the tuna tank and watched like he’d never seen a fish before.

“Have you ever been to this aquarium?” I asked.

“Is this Monterey Bay?”

“Yes.” I clarified.

He shook his head. “I don’t think so. I mean – not unless this counts.”

We shared a chuckle.

Dreams don’t know that a person is dead. They don’t have a method of filtering out what is and isn’t in reality as time progresses. This makes them a natural meeting ground for people who can’t pick up the phone anymore. The conversation is sometimes aimless, but the unexpected company of a long lost friend is always a treasure – and there’s no one around to tell you otherwise.

“There’s something outside that I’m supposed to show you.” My dad explained after a time. He touched my shoulder and turned me so I faced a pair of double doors. I looked back to my wife who waved at me again, but this time she was shrouded in the rippling vortex of racing tuna.

We stepped out into the jarring afternoon sunlight. Rays cut through the clouds, and waves crashed against the concrete bones of the aquarium. The breeze brought a dash of salt to rest on my lips as we leaned out over the coast.

A pelican came into view as it sailed against the wind. It arched its long neck and made maneuvers in the air.

“Show time!” Dad declared as he wagged a finger at the bird. He crossed his arms on the railing and bowed over as far as he could go.

I turned and watched the pelican touchdown on an outcrop of rocks in the tide. Those rocks framed a grassy terrace that stood above the sea spray. A dozen other pelicans strode around on the narrow saddle, and filed into two columns when the last bird landed. The pelicans faced each other in perfect symmetry and cast their beaks to the ground.

“What are they doing?” I wondered. It looked like a mating ritual.

“They’re whale spotting.” Dad explained with breathless marvel.

The lead pelican pointed his beak into the air and flapped his wings with graceful precision – every movement a royal declaration. The corresponding columns of pelicans each lifted a single leg and tucked it away beneath their frills. Waves turned to froth against the stone beneath them.

The lead pelican opened its beak up to the sky and made hoarse calls to the ether. It brought one leg up before the other in a beautiful strut of rhythm, parading between the two columns while it sang and conducted its wings. The clouds churned with delight.

“Here he comes.” Dad whispered.

I looked up and saw an apparition above us. Wisps and tendrils dissipated to reveal a colossal blue whale swimming through the sky. It crashed through the clouds as it approached the ocean’s surface.

The pelicans threw their wings up as they guided the titanic creature into the bay. Every movement it made was an attempt to slow down, with long backward strokes of its tail. Our eyes met and the whale trembled.

“This is going to make more sense in the morning.” My dad advised. He stood up straight while he observed the descent.

“How?”

“Hey!” He shouted at me.

I jumped and turned to see he was staring at my feet.

“You’ve got my boots on.” He pointed down at them.

“Okay.” I ventured. “So?”

Dad shrugged. “I haven’t seen them in awhile. I miss those boots.”

I blinked away the distraction and turned back to the beach. The whale, the pelican crew, even the knoll was gone. There was no evidence of anything in the clouds.

“Where did it go?” I asked.

Dad nodded his head back towards the aquarium. “Now you know what Jenny is building in there.”

“He won’t fit in that!” I observed with rabid scrutiny.

“Right, just like Jenny isn’t a welder.” Dad smirked. “Like I said, this will all make sense in the morning.”

It did make more sense. I was keenly aware of new outlooks on my life; first, I had an unwavering sensation that my wife and I were having a boy. This was confirmed the following week with an ultrasound monitoring.

The other realization was the unofficial passing on of fatherhood. I was humbled by the perspective of my subconscious. It showed me the halls of lineage that we all wander, alone, until we are birthed and bodied upon the Earth.

Halls we wander in the dusty boots of our ancestors once we return.