You know what you’re doing, but do you know why you’re doing it?
How often do we really think about our actions? How conscious are we of our motivation? We are not so much like the contemplative orangutan I observed in the Bornean rainforest 25 years ago, surveying his leafy kingdom (now sadly gone). We are more like the frenzied, mindless ants that rush about my deck and yard today. We go about our business in a more ant-like manner than we would like to admit.
I have written before about our pursuit of pleasure or joy beyond work (see “Living in Play Land,” Sept. 15, 2022), but this topic bears more reflection. How about the golfer, swatting a little ball into a tiny hole many yards distant — and then doing it again. How about the pickleball player, rushing about to the annoying pocking sound of that missile? And how about the people who go whale watching?
If you are not dining or drinking, if you are not clubbing or cruising, if you are not shopping or people-watching, you are probably going to the beach, fishing, hiking, taking a dune tour — or going on a whale watch.
I have worked on a whale watch boat for almost 30 years and have observed passengers on thousands of trips. The whales are my business, but I am also interested in my own species. Of course, I watch with delight as whales approach our boat, throw their bodies out of the water, roll on their sides, and smash their massive flippers onto the water’s surface or create bubble nets and come up with their huge mouths open, their baleen plates dripping. Still, while I’m not immune to these sights, a part of me is also focused on people’s reactions.
Why exactly are people so drawn to whales?
Stop for a moment and think about what we are doing: leaving the safety of land and heading out into the whales’ world, miles offshore on Stellwagen Bank or closer to land, off the Peaked Hill Bar. Why? To get closer to a rejuvenating wildness. No zoo or safari park, and certainly no TV wildlife special, can provide this unique feeling. These are wild animals pursuing their lives as they have for eons. The magic of a whale watch is that we try as much as possible not to alter the natural behavior of the whales. We are visitors in their home and act accordingly.
But there are other wild animals. Why whales? To start, they are so damn big. We are drawn to extremes in size, and we are excited to be (safely) dwarfed by something larger than ourselves. Second, whales play out their lives in water, and we are drawn to the watery world. Also, they are like us in some ways and unlike us in so many others. Yes, they breathe air, nurse their young, sing and communicate with each other, exhibit cooperation, have culture — but think how differently they live their lives. While they have vision, they live mainly in a medium of sound. And they occupy a three-dimensional world, compared to us flatlanders. Try to imagine what the surface of the ocean must mean to them. Whales have no territories, no belongings; they do not compete for resources; citizens of the world, they live in both hemispheres and migrate vast distances seasonally.
Finally, there is our history with them. In my lifetime, whales have morphed from commodities (over 33,000 northern-hemisphere whales were harvested in 1966 alone) to environmental icons. We are still paying our respects to these fellow beings, for so long brutalized and with continuing problems. We approach them with apology and humility.
We are told we live in the Anthropocene epoch — that humans’ effects on the planet match or exceed any other force in its history. Some of us are weary of our supposed powers and the ruin they appear to be bringing; some of us yearn for the nonhuman world, with its separate values and criteria.
Some of us just want to be with whales.
