The Secrets of the Sea — The Gathering
Tell me, could you ever tell the secret of the sea?
Of these high rolling waves along the shore?
The footprints of the lovers that come here to love,
By the tides washed away forever more
Who can guess the secret of the sea?
If you can guess the secret of my love for you
We both could know the secret of the sea
Woody Guthrie 1939
I first saw THALASSA not long after I lost my mate CETO.
I had just gotten over a serious illness that I won't bother to talk about, except that it had something to do with the miserably wearying loss and my feeling that everything was dead.
With the coming of THALASSA my life in the ocean really began. I had often thought of traveling with the sun as it set to see the great shores MOTHER knew but after CETO was taken by THE MORMO I just didn't take off.
THALASSA was the perfect traveling partner because she had lost everything. I had never seen someone so young in such tragedy.
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The gathering is one of our most important traditions. The first gathering of the summer season is the most important - and normally the most fun. We'd run nearly 100 miles since yesterday to get to the most beautiful spot - a bay that narrows to a deep fjord.
For me this gathering was sad. This was my fiftieth year. It was here in this sheltered field outside the fjord that mother introduced me to CETO nearly 20 years ago.
Now both are gone.
But for the others there was so much excitement. The food was plentiful. The sea was warm, calm and clear. More and more families arrived. The boys wrestled and showed their long cocks. The fertile girls gathered near the older women and their chatter was deafening. It's amazing they could have so many conversations at once. One thing was sure - everyone was hoping for mates between our pods.
The old women organize everything. Especially the moms with boys. They do the introductions and shout encouragement to all. It makes for exciting times. The old women love the gatherings. Some of those who meet today will spend the rest of their lives together.
In the middle of it all I was lost in memories of mother calling me to meet CETO when I caught the most mournful sound I'd ever heard.
From the north the oldest family had arrived and with them was THALASSA.
She couldn't have been more than 25.
In her mouth she carried a baby. Stillborn someone whispered. I'm sure the women in the pod had hoped she'd give it up on the way to the gathering but here, after 8 days and hundreds of miles, it was an awful sight, white with blood and bits streaming. Everyone has experienced this sadness. Nearly half of babies die. But the girl seemed broken.
As I watched, the older women rushed to THALASSA'S side whispering to her and blowing bubbles. After a time they formed a U shape around her and nudged her toward a rocky outcrop.
THALASSA was obviously exhausted. Carrying the baby for 18 months.
Then the last week of pain. Holding the baby, she hadn't eaten or rested. Breaking down, she finally dropped the baby but her mom dove down and retrieved it for her balancing the dead calf on her face. Then together they pushed the calf up and out of the water onto the rocky outcrop at the very highest tide.
For a long moment all the pods in the bay went silent and the women all nuzzled against THALASSA. When she finally turned herself from the shore I caught her eye. All I wanted to do was comfort her. I knew right then that nothing was left behind me and everything was in front of me as it always is in the sea.
By morning all the families had arrived and all the women's attention had returned to the business of matchmaking. No one was near THALASSA when I approached her still hovering by the ledge. None of the excited young males were thinking of her in her despondent state.
I was surprised, as always, by how easy the idea of leaving was, and how good it felt. The world was suddenly rich with possibility.
This time...
I just started talking.
Conversations are golden threads that connect us to others. Conversations are the bridges we build across the reality gaps between us and those who may appear to differ profoundly in mind and manner.
Our conversations are made of sounds that are representations and symbols we've quickly chosen to stand for our ideas and perceptions so that we can share them with others.
When they work we co-create a shared reality.
When they fail us the threads unravel and trust - the trust that we share the same spirit - is lost. Whales have ancient and exquisite systems designed to know where we stand with others very quickly. We know instantly when we're in a good conversation or a bad conversation. Even the most difficult conversations can feel good, and the most brief exchange can be fraught with danger.
In good conversations we feel open and trusting. We don't have to edit our thoughts. We don't have to worry. In bad feeling conversations what is said, what is heard, what is felt, and what is meant, become disconnected and we're forced to make up a story in our minds to reconcile all those things. Those 'stories' live beyond the conversation to become most of all the problems and confusion in our lives.
There was no point in introduction. There was nothing to say about the past. There was nothing. Everything started right here.
I stood as close as I dared and spoke quietly so the others did not hear.
"We gotta go and never stop going 'till we get there."
THALASSA picked up the thread. "Get where. Where is there to go?"
"I don't know but we gotta go." was all I had.
It wasn't much. But it was good conversation. For the first time in a long time I wasn't worried.
I touched her side softly and slowly she moved with me. As we learned the shape of each other's body and how to swim together I could see the first thing she needed was food and rest.
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A mega-pod of Killer Whales hunts huge schools of herring. THALASSA and I joined in with the large group of boys, girls, a few babies and several older women.
We're after the herring that gather in the fjord's 800m waters to slow their metabolism for the winter season. It's been this way for thousands of springs. Each of us can feed through 200-250kg, or about 250-300 fish, each day. I know it's been days since THALASSA has eaten. The sides of her head seem sunken and sad. But even in her state the herring are relatively easy meat and our teamwork in herding and feeding on the fish makes it easy for her.
All of us carousel. We dive. Dive - right to our limit, about 250m. Most of us can hold our breath up to 15 minutes - to group-hunt the fish.
Blowing bubbles, we push the first few herring towards the surface, where we can all get a taste. At the surface I flick my tail to kill or stun the fish to make it easy for Thalassa to feed. She's appreciative. Some of the boys swim around deep and flash their white under bellies to scare the herring further, forcing them into an even tighter ball, which can be blown more effectively upwards. It's a joyous gathering. Food has never tasted so good.
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I remember the first time I saw mother team-hunting, I could hardly believe what I was seeing.
She made the water boil. The herring just fell into my mouth.
Even with these distant families it was wonderful to watch them swim in perfect harmony. Bringing the sea to a boil around the big balls of herring.
We could hear and feel against our chests all the sounds as the women stage-managed their impressive manoeuvres, which culminated bringing up from the deep the largest mass of fish I've ever seen. The thick school started moving to all sides of me at increasing speed and I opened my mouth, as THALLASA came up from below. Our faces met in wild wonder at all the food. She stopped about a length away, and we looked at each other. I was stuck, unable to move from her gaze. Her features were both soft and sharp, and a spark had returned to her sad eyes. A kind of determination.
She hung vertically for a few more seconds, turning her belly and pectoral fins upward to better inspect me before rejoining the women in the hunt.
We carrouselled all day with the pods deep in the fjord. So many memories are made of food. The sound of herring and all the tastes of the cold sea can take me back.
The sea was so soft that night. The stars bent over and peered into our little sea. The promise of every inlet so great I felt like I was in a dream with THALASSA.
It's been 25 years of adventure since that day and even when she's not there I can feel her on my right side like a part of me.
These are our stories.