Not too long ago the local newspaper featured the ongoing saga of a young female Orca stranded in a lagoon on the west coast of Canada. The two year old whale had entered the lagoon at low tide and had been unable to escape. Rescuers were frantically trying to find ways to remove it safely, even feeding it when all attempts failed. Happily the Orca swam out on its own at high tide after a month in the lagoon. This story reminded me of a similar experience I had forty years ago.

I was visiting the same beautiful west coast with a friend and happened to hear of a whale expedition at a nearby bay. A Gray whale had entered the shallower waters and appeared to be in no hurry to depart. It was a large bay with high cliffs on two sides and the whale had been seen scraping its body along the cliffs, sloughing off dead skin.

Since we had our own canoe we followed two other boats and a local wilderness guide in search of the whale. In no time a shout went out and the guide pointed to the far end of the bay where the whale had surfaced for air. We could see the spray emanating from its blowhole.

We headed our boats in that direction as the guide described how the whale was a bottom feeder and if we looked over the side we would be able to see the trench left by its huge mouth. Gray whales turn their heads sideways and skim the sand gulping mouthfuls of invertebrates while sifting everything through their baleen filters.

After an hour or so of paddling and only brief, very distant sightings, the tour headed back to shore. I wasn’t at all ready to give up and I encouraged my friend to stay longer. As we paddled I kept silently asking the whale to come closer, hoping my very intention would somehow transmit itself across the bay.

After about twenty minutes we stopped paddling and were sitting in the middle of the bay catching our breath. For some reason I looked over the side of the canoe and there floating motionless, was the whale! Its body was double the width, and twice the length of our five meter boat.

At this point I would love to say that I gave thanks for this amazing moment, but sadly, I did the opposite. I not only panicked; I screamed at my partner to paddle as if our lives depended upon it! I dug my oar into the still water like some crazed, mad woman.

A few minutes later, hearts pumping and lungs gasping, we stopped and rested while our canoe bobbed in the waves. It was then that I felt an acute sense of shame and sadness. My wish had been granted and I had ungraciously tossed it aside. How cowardly and thankless! Feeling despondent I indicated we should head back. As we paddled I continued a litany of apologies in my head, repeating how sorry I was for being such an ingrate.

We were almost half way back to the dock, our canoe hugging the rugged cliffs on the far side of the bay, when it suddenly appeared again! This time it was swimming at a distance in a line parallel to us. I kept expecting it to disappear but it stayed in the same parallel formation. Diving and rising and breathing its misty breath it all but mimicked our paddle strokes. It remained in sight and adjacent until we began to cross over to the dock. Then it disappeared from view.

To this day I believe that the whale had understood everything that had happened. Not only my desire to be near it but my fear and later my sorrow. It had granted my wish not once but twice! I have since learned that gray whales are traditionally shy of boats. But, somehow, for whatever reason this whale was not shy of me! For that I am forever grateful.