After a while, you get used to a routine. This occurs every day and under several circumstances so I'll trust you enough to know what I mean. Once you get into a system where you are expected to be in certain places at certain times you get comfortable within your routine. I find this kind of comfortable uncomfortable. I'm afraid I can get bored easily. I like new things going on all the time. I have been compared to having the attention span of a Labrador. So even though its the best day of my week and pretty much the most exciting thing going on in my life, I did begin to find my day at the Aquarium long and... predictable. So I began to look about for some new mischief to get into. I found it.
After a certain amount of training and after gaining basic knowledge about the animals, its possible for a volunteer to help take out whale watching boats. Now, its a bit of an understatement to say that I love whales. When I was eleven and cds became popular and all the other girls my age were into N*Sync and that kind of thing, my first cd ever was recorded whale noises. I have some of them memorized (for the record I still have the cd and its now on my ipod. Sometimes when I need to get to sleep I play them still). To avoid senior thesis work this year I embroidered a humpback on my rain jacket. The very mention of whale biology gets me wiggling with excitement.
So I signed up.
The day arrived and I was fussier than usual. I was antsy during the rest of the aquarium routine and practically ingested my food whole. When it was time to go I had to carry out the bag of Education Materials. Essentially a guidebook of whales, fun facts, a few bones, and some toy models. We got to board the boat early and I scampered around making friends with the crew before we opened it to the public to board. Off we went- it was sunny and sparkly on the water. I was the assistant Educator, so my specific job was to answer any questions people might have, but more importantly, it was my job to find the whales. The head Educator was responsible for talking on the microphone. She informed everyone of what we were looking for, and reminded them that we cannot know for sure where whales are along our coastline. We can only guess, so please ladies and gentleman, think of this as a fun boat ride, and if we get to see a whale (A whale) it will be a special privilege and we'll all be excited.
We saw seven.
We were admiring a buoy covered in fat sea lions when a radio call from a ship on the horizon told us to head east. We came about and headed into the wind, choppy waves causing the boat to rock around and increase excitement on board. I was up in the high part outside of where the captain sits (my nautical vocabulary is stunning I know) scanning the horizon. The wind was whipping and my hair was flying into my eyes. Then, there it was! My hand flew out before my head could construct a word to use instead. Instantly I felt the captain shift the boat onto the direction I had pointed. I had seen a far away plume of water sprayed from a blowhole.
Fin whale, I would learn later. I concentrated on the area, squinting against the sunlight on the water and continuously changing the direction of my arm to keep the captain on course. I distantly heard the head Educator describing the characteristics of fin whales but I was too excited to listen, or think much at all. We arrived as the whale had descended. We turned off the engine and sat in relative silence. I had a great view from my perch, and I almost felt nervous as I looked around tentatively for a sign of our leviathan friend. I was looking starboard when I heard a spout from port. I whipped around in time to see a graceful curving back and a beautiful dorsal fin slipping under. Fin whales are the second largest species of whale and the second largest animal on earth. They are so long that when diving their tails or flukes are rarely seen. They don't need the leverage to dive by moving their tail high- they just put their head down and they're already there. The spout I heard was the sound of a whale breathing. Its a release of carbon dioxide and excess water and an intake of breath so deep you get a sense of its size just listening to how long the air takes to fill the lungs. Its the most incredible noise.
All of a sudden we heard it again- coming from ahead. The Educator came over the microphone exclaiming "Two! Ladies and gentlemen we are in the presence of TWO fin whales right now." They would rise and sink together in unison, and we watched them in silence (save for the occasional gasp of amazement) for about fifteen minutes. Then the captain pointed north and wordlessly mouthed the word "Look." Two more dorsal fins arced gracefully to the other side of the first two. Four fin whales. About 60 tons each, approximately 180 feet long. My heart ached. The radio crackled- a fishing vessel closer to shore had a sighting too. It was getting time to return, so we left the fin whales in hope to catch the others on our way back. As we turned to leave, an enormous whoosh of air caused me to turn around in time to see the entire body of a whale come to the surface and roll. All 108 feet of her. She turned her pale stomach to the sky (we also observed she was a she).
We buzzed inland and soon had a sighting of the fishing vessel. We radioed them again and they said that two whales, Grays, has fluked (tails out of the water) minutes before. We drove in closer but there was no sign. Finally the fishing boat radioed in again and yelled "Stop! stop you're right in front of them!" We halted and cut the engine. Floated for a while in silence, and this time both blowholes breathed at the same time on either side of us.
He came up right alongside the boat, only he was much longer. A giant blue gray beauty. Head tilted to one side and pectoral fin brushing the surface. I got to look him in the eye. One long look. What amazing things do they know? I wondered. Then an enormous sigh to fill his lungs and he was gone, an enormous fluke in the air to guide him downward (grays are smaller than fins and need the leverage to dive). I yelled in joy. I couldn't help it... it was too amazing not too. Many other people did too.
The ride back was a hum of activity. Everyone wanted to know where they came from, where were they going, what do they eat how fast do they swim, everything. I used the models and the guide book to describe some of the behaviors we saw. I had reached this state of euphoric calm.
For the next three days afterward I was mentally elsewhere. There is something about being the presence of a creature so great and ancient and unknown that made my everyday routine seem so arbitrary. I kept thinking about that long look that the gray whale took of us. What did he think?
I happily went back to the aquarium routine twice. I needed a break from all that excitement, and couldn't push my luck with the education department right away. But I'm going again for sure. Tomorrow. More deep breathing.
Did you know: Fin whales have a two toned underside. Black and white, same sides on each whale. No one knows why.
Did you know: You can tell if a gray whale is right handed or left handed by its baleen. The side they use most is worn down more from scraping against the ocean floor for crustaceans.
Tuesday, March 2, 2010
Friday, January 22, 2010
I love Fridays
So I lead a really good academic life... I am challenged enough in my classes that I feel like I am learning many things, and not too challenged, so I often feel accomplished and pleased with what I do. My social life is a little less productive. I am lucky to have lots of really wonderful friends; college is perhaps the only time in your life when twenty people you really enjoy are just a phone call and five minute walk away. I admit I've been less proactive about leading a bustling social life this year (so far! I have made some resolutions for the new year that I intend to keep!) and part of that is because I often just don't feel like the typical college social scene. Don't get me wrong, I love dancing and carrying on with friends. Bars with dance floors are pretty much the best things ever, but the idea of going to a college party, where song lyrics tend to include "Up in the club with all dem bitches," drinking some combination of a colorful drink for children and something that smells like it came from a hospital, and rubbing up against some stranger I might have sat by in Spanish class sophomore year have entirely lost its appeal. Any college student can tell you that driving somewhere to go out is simply something that cannot be funded on a regular basis. As a result, my college life is pretty mild and uninteresting. Any good college stories I accumulate through the week are lived by others.
In short, I live for Fridays.
I get very antsy on Thursday evening. After stealing something to eat the next day for lunch that night at dinner (its amazing what you can carry out of a dining hall in a 12 oz paper coffee cup! I once managed two healthy sized pieces of pizza!) I try and get to bed early, but my sleep is always restless because I am so afraid of sleeping through my alarm. Its set to go off at 6, but by 5:30 I can't take it anymore so I'm up. I shower, put on my uniform, eat a big breakfast, and make the long and quiet drive to the coast. Its quiet, because its morning, and even if you are in the middle of Times Square things still manage to be less noisy in the morning. Its long, because I am on the road with what seems like every other member of the LA County, and the traffic is truly bad. Even at seven am. But at least its quiet.
I show my badge in the Aquarium parking garage, and am let in. I park in the same place every day. I hop down the stairs to the bottom floor. Sometimes the speakers are turned on by then and hear salutations by recorded noises of water splashing, seals barking, whales humming, or David Attenbourough's grandfatherly voice describing the wonders beneath the sea. I slide my badge in the side staff door and am let in, feeling increasingly smug every time I do it. By the time I am within the Aquarium's main hall, I am practically skipping. I arrive with several other Education Interpreters at 9. The staff members: aquarists, biologists, trainers, have been there for hours already. Everyone is getting their breakfast at this point. By everyone I mean the animals. As soon as I get inside, the noises are no longer recorded. There is the spray sound of the hoses outside. Sea lions and seals are barking their way through breakfast. Diving birds and sea birds are calling in turns, and are answered by the lorikeets. The otters gurgle happily to themselves, and even the rays find ways to make noise by smacking their fins against the sides of their exhibits. All the while there is the steady background noise of the bay outside. By now I am sure I can power a small city with the energy of my enthusiasm.
The volunteers meet in a classroom for Morning Update. Sometimes we try out a new game for school groups, pairing the names and adaptations of unusual sea creatures with their pictures, or drawing our own. Sometimes we are sent footage by nature shows highlighting a creature or showing something never before caught on footage. We are also given out schedules, and then its time to start. By then the public is let in, and I wade through families and school groups to each of my posts, where I can usually stand behind or climb something to be out of the way and in control at the same time. I answer hundreds of questions every day. Every day, the number of times I have to say "You know, I'm afraid I don't know the answer to that" is fewer and fewer. Every day there are amazing moments, where I witness someone falling in love with part of the natural world, or that "Aha!" moment when someone learns something incredible. Every day there are horrifying moments, like when a child physically grabbed an anemone and tried to squish it with his fingers (parent came and took care of the child, I took care of the anemone, both were fine, though my heart is still recovering) or when a bat ray gets stranded on the ledge around their tank (they're curious little guys and often try and swim over the ledge). Every day I am learning too; about the species of animals in the aquarium, about the animals as individuals, and about how to share with the people who visit. Break time is spent in the Staff Library rather than the dining hall (though I'll make a visit there for a cup of water, whatever thing I managed to swipe from the dining hall the night before, a brief visit with Aquarium people friends, and always to affectionately pat the 'Toyon Bay' marking on the map of Catalina Island). And then out I go again. Often I am never at the same station twice, but sometimes I am. Sometimes I am running from one place to another, often I am giving directions to restrooms, answering when the sea lion show will start (always the same answer; this is an Aquarium. Not a theme park. Our animals aren't forced to do petty tricks for food. But they'll be fed in half an hour!), helping to find lost parents or children. Somehow or another, five hours passes, though I truly have no idea how it goes by so fast. All of a sudden its 2, and my work day is over. I go into the locker room and quietly get my bag and change out of my uniform shirt. Then I take another hour and visit some friends. This hour goes by more slowly, because the time is my own. As soon as the uniform is off, the afternoon seems to get quiet again. I go and watch the otters. They are playful and graceful, with thick, slicked back fur and black intelligent eyes. They are also all very beautiful, silver and brown, except for Sunshine, who is kind of yellow and has a plain face. She is my favorite. I say hi, and then its time to go.
The traffic is even worse on the way back. I always end up imagining the cars as different sea creatures. The smaller colorful fish- like cars darting around the slow whale- like semis. I get back in time for dinner, and this time I am the one with the stories to tell about what happened today. Then, even though its Friday and the College Weekend has begun, I spend a quiet night in my room because I am so damn tired, and go to bed around ten with thumping "Up in the cluuub seexy biiitcheeees!" pounding the windows from outside. Maybe I'll go out tomorrow night. Maybe. Its loud outside, but my dreams are dark and quiet, occasionally bits of color dart through my head, large shadows hum overhead, and there is that ever present noise of the ocean.
In short, I live for Fridays.
I get very antsy on Thursday evening. After stealing something to eat the next day for lunch that night at dinner (its amazing what you can carry out of a dining hall in a 12 oz paper coffee cup! I once managed two healthy sized pieces of pizza!) I try and get to bed early, but my sleep is always restless because I am so afraid of sleeping through my alarm. Its set to go off at 6, but by 5:30 I can't take it anymore so I'm up. I shower, put on my uniform, eat a big breakfast, and make the long and quiet drive to the coast. Its quiet, because its morning, and even if you are in the middle of Times Square things still manage to be less noisy in the morning. Its long, because I am on the road with what seems like every other member of the LA County, and the traffic is truly bad. Even at seven am. But at least its quiet.
I show my badge in the Aquarium parking garage, and am let in. I park in the same place every day. I hop down the stairs to the bottom floor. Sometimes the speakers are turned on by then and hear salutations by recorded noises of water splashing, seals barking, whales humming, or David Attenbourough's grandfatherly voice describing the wonders beneath the sea. I slide my badge in the side staff door and am let in, feeling increasingly smug every time I do it. By the time I am within the Aquarium's main hall, I am practically skipping. I arrive with several other Education Interpreters at 9. The staff members: aquarists, biologists, trainers, have been there for hours already. Everyone is getting their breakfast at this point. By everyone I mean the animals. As soon as I get inside, the noises are no longer recorded. There is the spray sound of the hoses outside. Sea lions and seals are barking their way through breakfast. Diving birds and sea birds are calling in turns, and are answered by the lorikeets. The otters gurgle happily to themselves, and even the rays find ways to make noise by smacking their fins against the sides of their exhibits. All the while there is the steady background noise of the bay outside. By now I am sure I can power a small city with the energy of my enthusiasm.
The volunteers meet in a classroom for Morning Update. Sometimes we try out a new game for school groups, pairing the names and adaptations of unusual sea creatures with their pictures, or drawing our own. Sometimes we are sent footage by nature shows highlighting a creature or showing something never before caught on footage. We are also given out schedules, and then its time to start. By then the public is let in, and I wade through families and school groups to each of my posts, where I can usually stand behind or climb something to be out of the way and in control at the same time. I answer hundreds of questions every day. Every day, the number of times I have to say "You know, I'm afraid I don't know the answer to that" is fewer and fewer. Every day there are amazing moments, where I witness someone falling in love with part of the natural world, or that "Aha!" moment when someone learns something incredible. Every day there are horrifying moments, like when a child physically grabbed an anemone and tried to squish it with his fingers (parent came and took care of the child, I took care of the anemone, both were fine, though my heart is still recovering) or when a bat ray gets stranded on the ledge around their tank (they're curious little guys and often try and swim over the ledge). Every day I am learning too; about the species of animals in the aquarium, about the animals as individuals, and about how to share with the people who visit. Break time is spent in the Staff Library rather than the dining hall (though I'll make a visit there for a cup of water, whatever thing I managed to swipe from the dining hall the night before, a brief visit with Aquarium people friends, and always to affectionately pat the 'Toyon Bay' marking on the map of Catalina Island). And then out I go again. Often I am never at the same station twice, but sometimes I am. Sometimes I am running from one place to another, often I am giving directions to restrooms, answering when the sea lion show will start (always the same answer; this is an Aquarium. Not a theme park. Our animals aren't forced to do petty tricks for food. But they'll be fed in half an hour!), helping to find lost parents or children. Somehow or another, five hours passes, though I truly have no idea how it goes by so fast. All of a sudden its 2, and my work day is over. I go into the locker room and quietly get my bag and change out of my uniform shirt. Then I take another hour and visit some friends. This hour goes by more slowly, because the time is my own. As soon as the uniform is off, the afternoon seems to get quiet again. I go and watch the otters. They are playful and graceful, with thick, slicked back fur and black intelligent eyes. They are also all very beautiful, silver and brown, except for Sunshine, who is kind of yellow and has a plain face. She is my favorite. I say hi, and then its time to go.
The traffic is even worse on the way back. I always end up imagining the cars as different sea creatures. The smaller colorful fish- like cars darting around the slow whale- like semis. I get back in time for dinner, and this time I am the one with the stories to tell about what happened today. Then, even though its Friday and the College Weekend has begun, I spend a quiet night in my room because I am so damn tired, and go to bed around ten with thumping "Up in the cluuub seexy biiitcheeees!" pounding the windows from outside. Maybe I'll go out tomorrow night. Maybe. Its loud outside, but my dreams are dark and quiet, occasionally bits of color dart through my head, large shadows hum overhead, and there is that ever present noise of the ocean.
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