The sun shone down on the deck of the boat.

All along the rails, people crowded to get a glimpse of the giants that live
in our seas, Humpback whales. I sit in the captain’s chair, climbing on top of it in an attempt to get a better view. The swathe of
people follow the whale around the boat and it’s hard to see over the top of their heads. I catch a quick window of the scene; a
mother and calf, preparing for the journey they must face. The boat isn’t moving, but they’re so close I can hear the grunts and
whistles as they play in the black-blue of the ocean.

Over the noise of the people, the whales become impossible to hear, I’m too small to get above them, so I climb down
from the chair and make my way to the opposite end of the boat. On the bow, I'm alone with everyone else gone to see the
whales. Only now though, can I see the other boats and in the distance, something that no one else heeds. The caudal fin of a
whale dipping beneath the surface in a deep dive heading in my direction. I wait and wait for the animal to surface somewhere,
but there is no sign before we begin to head to shore.

The waves lap against my legs as I wade into the water off the beach, the scuba tank is heavy, but I’m big enough to
carry it now. We put our masks on and plunge into the cool morning water but my wetsuit keeps me warm. We swim back and
forth before finally settling to review the concepts that we talked about onshore. Communicating underwater using signs, there
are only 2 sounds. Our bubbles disturb the water as they race for the surface but the unmistakable whine of whales echoes in the
background. We’re supposed to be paying attention to the lesson, but I find myself distracted by the moans and clicks ringing in
my ears. More and more my focus drifts to the sounds; fighting my desire to swim towards them, restricting natural curiosity as I
painfully sit, still and attentive to the instructor.

Sweat beads on my neck as I bring another load of snorkel gear down to the boat, I can barely contain myself while
waiting for my friends to arrive so we can head out of the harbor. We exchange greetings and gifts on the boat when they arrive to
celebrate Christmas morning. Lines come off the boat as the engine steadily coughs to a start and I maneuver the boat out of the
slip. My dad takes control as we chug through the harbor and out of its safe arms. Luckily, the wind is kind and the sun is cool as
we make our way for the pali.

We skirt the coastline past the ridges and rock outcroppings until we pick up mooring at Coral Gardens. We put on our
gear and jump in the water and are met with the pleasant sight of a coral reef below us and I free dive down to make a closer
inspection. I sit on the bottom, and dead silence picks at my ears as I think about the last time I sat underwater with such silence.
I return to the surface and pick out an odd sound while I do so. I push it to the back of my mind and climb up the ladder to jump
off the boat.

Piercing the opposing blues of the ocean and sky, a whale heaves itself out of the water in a magnificent breach, close
enough to see the barnacles encrusted on its fins. Just by sitting, we are surrounded by whales, mother, calf, and mate, all
breaking the glassy ocean. They slap the water with their fins and burst from it with amazing height. The whales put up for as
long as they have energy until they fade into the distance. After the exciting show, we jump into the shadowy water to relax
before heading back to shore and are just drying off when we notice the water change color. Bigger than the entire boat, under the
water it swims. Before I realize what I’m doing, I’m midair with a mask in hand. I get it on just before I hit the water and I swim
down. Then I stop. For one moment and eternity, I stare with awe into a whale’s eye as it stares back at me. The feeling of
vulnerability that I am at its whim hits me with stunning realization as I take in the full experience, from nose to tail, the songs
blaring in my ears as the creature turns to swim gracefully into the depths it came from.