Google Maps led me on a winding path out of the city and I missed a turn or two along the way. While I'd enjoyed my time in the area so far, it is a tight city for CJ to navigate and I was happy to get her back on the highway. Only about an hour later, I pulled into the low-profile, relaxed city of Gloucester. I found the Seven Seas Whale Watch office and parked in a big open lot beside it. The bay peeked through the scattered buildings and played host to actual fishing boats, while a thick, briny smell washed back over the docks and into town. It struck me as a mixture of Cobh and Stone Harbor, especially once I'd collected my ticket and walked further into town to find hobby shops, used bookstores, and a coffee shop called The Lone Gull that the whale watch receptionist had recommended.
It was about 10 am and I had until 1, so I spent a few good hours in the coffee shop reading Jon's book and people-watching.
Finally, the time neared to set off on the expedition. I returned to the lot, doused myself with sunscreen, unpacked and repacked my bag, and joined the growing line of whale watchers at the dock. I kept to myself in line, feeling a simmering glee that I wanted to preserve. When they let us on, however, I grinned at each crew member before bolting to the empty bowsprit. It was about four feet wide, larger than I expected, but even as the line filed into the boat, I had it to myself except for an older photographer.
I missed the opening announcements due to a call from my new healthcare system (Huzzah!) but tapped back in to hear that we'd potentially be going 26 miles out to sea to look for the whales. It dawned on me that I would actually lose sight of the land for the first time ever. Then, a kind older woman on the crew came up and asked me to briefly step back while she cast off the bow. Despite seeming like someone who, if she worked in an office, would have a candy dish on her cube, her smile turned serious and when the call came, she whipped the thick rope off the dock with just a flick of her wrists and then wound it around two posts before I could tell what had happened. She then smiled again and retreated into the cabin to sell snacks. Baller.
The ride out of Gloucester Harbor was bracing, with the water slashed by the bow and the wind picking up. Our guide Jodi pointed out landmarks on the shore, but I had my eyes set beyond the the Dog Bar Breakwater, waiting to get out onto the unbridled sea for the first time.
As we continued, people began meandering forward, unsurprisingly. The attraction of the bow lies in the open ocean before you, the ability to blank out the world behind, and the feeling of being on the sharpest point of this motorized blade cutting through the water. Leo said it best, I'm King of the World. Hear that, five to ten people who quoted that line that day? LEO SAID IT BEST.
After a significant ride out, perhaps 45 minutes, we had our first sightings. Two Minke whales, one on each side, were spotting swimming quite a ways away from our path. Jodi told us we'd continue on, as the Minkes would avoid the ship and didn't really breach or otherwise surface that often. Still, it was an exhilarating sight to catch such a large wild animal making its way along.
We then settled in for a fairly long period of inactivity. A mother and daughter pair who had spotted the Minkes manned the front of the bowsprit while a tall, pudgy teenager and I split either side. There was no discussion of the division of duty, but it arranged itself silently, as though we'd all received our orders when handed our tickets. By this point, we were far out of sight of land, which turned out to be less of an overwhelming feeling than I expected. There was simply ocean in all directions with only the wake of our boat and the specks of others to break up the natural surface of the water.
Jodi pointed out that another whale watch boat in the distance had found a few whales and said we'd follow up with them later if we couldn't find anything else. Shortly after, we happened upon two whales who were drifting on the surface of the water, their backs like black islands bobbing in the waves. Jodi informed us that they were doing what is called "logging," a form of resting where whales rest half of their brains at a time. These two had formed a temporary association for the purpose as, to my surprise, baleen whales do not actually swim in pods.
We watched the whales, identified as Perseid and Storm, bob and spout for a while before they dove and resurfaced on the other side of the boat. We could see their fins underwater, their tails when they dove, and once one stirred enough to tip his lip up into the air beside us, but never a full breach to get a sense of the full length of them. The size was still very impressive, however, easily the largest animals I've ever seen.
After those two, we switched with the other whale tour and caught up with some much more active whales. Three of them swam through the water, diving deep for fish and returning to the surface. We all ooh'd and aah'd with the spouts and flukes and waited impatiently during each dive until the whales popped up several dozen yards away. It was truly a thrill.
At last, it was time to return, but not before checking one final spot, where we found two more whales. By that point, my brain felt stuffed with the experience and I wanted to be back on shore, so I tucked myself up on a bench on the starboard side, shaded from the now-blaring sun, and read a bit before calling my friend Sophie to finalize plans for the next day's brunch.
Once back in the harbor, we filed off the boat, where I thanked all of the crew for the excellent experience, specifically appreciating the bow crew member who had shown such aplomb in her duties.
The road back to Boston found me a little tired, but I still managed to stop for some dinner at Kelly's Roast Beef, a quick spot with a robust menu. Back in the city, I also grabbed some beers for Jon and I to have that night.
As we had the night before, we spent Tuesday night chatting about life, writing, relationships, and everything else we could think off, this time with cigars and beers in the backyard under a broad-branched tree that protected us from an evening shower.
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