Message from a Dolphin

My buddy Rob and I were en-route from the Caribbean to Halifax, Nova Scotia in a twenty-six foot twin keel Westerly. Hardly a breath of wind as we crossed from the blue water of the Gulf Stream into the green of the Labrador Current.

Other sailors had told me about the clarity of the demarcation between the two currents but I didn’t quite believe it until I actually saw it with my own eyes. It’s a line. Not just a merging of colours, but a clearly defined line—blue one side; pale green the other.

Perhaps when the wind’s howling the line might blur a little, but on this day there was little more than a breath.

Just into the green side, four dolphins joined us, languidly flopping around the bow as we edged through the water. We were moving so slowly I decided to join them. I donned my wet suit, mask, fins and weight-belt then slipped over the side.

Upon my entry into their realm, the dolphins descended to around thirty feet and hovered there in a row, observing this odd new creature floating on the surface peering down at them. For the first time I noticed that one of the dolphins was considerably larger than the other three.

I took a lungful of air and headed towards them. As I descended, the larger one detached itself from the others and came slowly up to greet me. How wonderful, I thought—this wordless communication between us. This meeting of human and marine mammal.

What would we do when we came together I wondered? Would we shake hand and fin? I was unsure as to the correct protocol for this particular situation.

The dolphin enlightened me.

We were almost nose to nose when it slowly turned around and fired off a great squirt of feces—right in my face. The water around me turned a muddy brown.

Apparently I wasn’t welcome. As I headed for the surface the reason dawned on me. The big guy was a male. He had his harem of three ladies and was not about to welcome an interloper.

What male could fault him?