For this story, I did pretty much what the prompt described. Since we no longer get prints at Costco I pulled out an envelope of Barbara's old prints from her time in Palau and pulled a photo out. I couldn't imagine a less compelling picture. It took me some time to come up with the "story behind the photo" and required me to make up an entire species of animal. I'm sure anyone with even a passing knowledge of marine biology will find my story preposterous. But that's okay. It was hard enough to come up with the idea without worrying about it's scientific plausibility.
When the engine cut off, we were engulfed in a sudden stillness. The gentle washing sound of the water was all that could be heard. That and the occasional whisper or shuffling movement of the others on the boat. We had all come all this way, paid many of thousands of dollars, for this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to witness the breaching ritual of the rare spotted porpoise.
Unlike its gregarious close relative the dolphin, the spotted porpoise stays underwater seemingly all the time. We know it is a mammal and thus must surface regularly to take in air, but it seems to have an uncanny ability to avoid actually being seen coming to the surface. The spotted porpoise is also the only species of porpoise that lives exclusively in warm waters. There are only four known locations where this notoriously reclusive marine mammal regularly breaches, and then only once every four to six years.
The waters surrounding of the island nation of Palau had the best track record of multiple breaches, . The spotted porpoise doesn't appear to actually live in this region. It's never seen in the area except during this breaching ritual. It is assumed that this ritual is somehow connected to the animal's mating practice, but there is so much we still don't know.
The year was 1993 and I was a research fellow at the Marine Mammal Center and this was my chance. I had flown into Koror the day before and atmosphere among the marine biologists that had gathered there from around the world was electric. Scuba divers had seen pods gathering in the area of the last few days. Everyone was certain that the breaches would happen in the next day or so.
And now the moment had arrived. We were sure of it. We knew it would be a wait. The porpoises would have been spooked by the noise of the engines and it would take some time for them to feel comfortable to come to the surface again. An hour passed. The hot tropical sun beat down on us. But none of it mattered--all that mattered was that one moment. Eventually we noticed shadows in the water, dark shapes with light markings just visible in the clear water. The porpoises had arrived. I gripped my camera, a Nikon 4004. My job wasn't really to take pictures--there were professionals for that--but the opportunity was too good not to have my own personal keepsake, framed and mounted on my office wall for years to come.
The water started to churn. The moment was near, it had to be. I raised my camera, as did many others on the boat.
"Do you mind if I slip in next to you?"
Before I could even respond she was there next to me. She wore an orange cap with her pony tail poking out the back. Chocolate brown skin, with sweat glistening on the back of her neck. She held a professional looking camera with one of those big lenses that come in its own separate case. I saw a National Geographic badge dangling from her neck. She wore a light blue t-shirt, khaki shorts, and white tennis shoes. She hadn't waited for my response and was already poised for the photo. I couldn't see her face fully, obscured as it was by the camera, but in that moment she seemed the most rare and beautiful woman I'd ever seen. And in that moment I heard the gasps of awe, the sighs of wonder. Out of my peripheral vision I saw the flash of gray and gold and immediately brought my camera up. I hit the button repeatedly, heard the shutter clicking in response. I had been a little late but I felt pretty sure I'd manage to catch them, three leaping together in the bright sunshine.
We waited and waited, hoping for a repeat performance. I had plenty of film left in the camera. But the dark shapes vanished in the water, and eventually Mr. Whipp, our local guide signaled to the boat driver to start the engines.
"They are done," he announced with certainty.
It was incredible. The photo taken by Shanna, the National Geographic photographer would become iconic, gracing the cover the magazine and reproduced countless times on everything from posters to jigsaw puzzles. As for me, I finished the roll of film over the next few days I had in Palau, and when I got back to San Diego I dropped the film off at the Costco on my way home from the airport. The next day I was back to pick up the prints. I spent a few heart-warming moments savoring the memories of what would turn out to be my life-changing time in Palau, before arriving at the photos of that spectacular moment. This was the best of the bunch:
It's framed on my office wall, as I always dreamed it would be, paired with another photo of my wife, taken that same day: a beautiful woman in an orange cap and a light blue t-shirt, a professional looking camera in her hand. The photo represents an opportunity I'm glad I missed and the opportunity I was smart enough not to let pass.
1 comment:
Yep! Gold. Loved this :)
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