When Whales Watch

Just then, she glanced out the wheelhouse windows again. Like a missile punching through layers of gauze, a speeding cabin cruiser shot from the distant fog bank, rocketing from the northwest across the water toward the Seatacean.

Miranda opened her mouth to shout to the Captain standing beside her, but no sound would emerge from her throat. This must be what I was dreading . . . a boat concealed in the fog, unaware we’re here! Doesn’t it see us? It has to change course!

The sudden apparition that rose from the water seemed to be the embodiment of that very thought. At least fifty feet in length, the male sperm whale hurtled himself toward the speeding craft and rammed its starboard side. The explosive crash of the collision ripped the air, and the craft careened onto a new course that would take it wide of Captain Wallace’s vessel.

Now the whale turned toward the Seatacean, and the only sound Miranda could hear was the piercing shrieks of Lime Woman coming from somewhere below.

Surely the male won’t try to hit us too. We’ve shown only submissive behavior. Her feeling was validated as she watched the whale glide by the Seatacean toward his family group, one huge eye fixed on the humans as he passed. Such sadness in that gaze . . . and determination.

Mrs. Lime, though still screaming, now sounded hoarse. The other passengers rushed out to the rail, and Miranda heard Joanne exclaim, “Oh, my God! That boat would’ve hit us!” Joe held her close, the two of them watching as the whale powered away.