Grayson (10 page)

He swam back to me. And I couldn’t help but think how amazing it was that this baby whale had come to me to ask for help. That he had trusted me, too.

He turned and headed toward the oil rig; I followed, unsure why we were returning to the area. Something had happened to him. Had he gotten a second wind? Had he realized something that helped him come back again with a fresh mind-set?

His tail movements were slow and efficient. I smiled and wished I had a tail like his so I could swim like him.

A smaller herd of Pacific white-sided dolphins passed within twenty-five yards of us. A couple of them swam to within five feet to investigate, then they rejoined their group. There were about twenty in their herd. They were slightly smaller than the common dolphins, with shorter beaks, which were dark, as were their dorsal fins, flippers, and flukes.

The herd turned and swam a little closer, and I noticed that in between the sets of large dorsal fins were smaller ones. There were baby dolphins. They must have been only a few months old, still dependent upon their mothers for survival. The babies were swimming in the adults’ slipstreams, getting a free ride; positioned between the adults, they were protected from predators on all sides.

Two scouts swam right under us. They turned over on their sides and I could see the white stripes along their bodies. They looked me directly in the eyes. And I felt like they were looking deep into me. And I think they felt me look back. They squeaked. And I heard more voices. I looked at Grayson. He seemed to be watching and listening. I think I heard him whistle. I
hadn’t heard him whistle before. Was he trying to communicate with them? Maybe he didn’t know he couldn’t and maybe because of that he was able to.

The Pacific white-sided dolphins swam off. Had Grayson heard his mother or thought he heard her? Was that why he swam out to the oil rig—to find her? Or had he been lured there by the sounds emanating from the rig, or even by the dolphins? Maybe he had heard the sunfish speak. Maybe he discussed something with the dolphins. Grayson had managed to get me to understand him; had he done the same with the dolphins?

The swim back to the pier was going to be hard. There was no way around it. The wind was gusting to fifteen knots and the sea was breaking into whitecaps. It was hard to find places between the waves to breathe. And I could hear Grayson swimming nearby, his breaths shorter and more frequent. He was tired and hungry, and maybe cold.

I stopped for a moment to refocus. The tide was against us. The current was flowing at about three-quarters of a knot. This wasn’t fun. My speed was normally two knots—two and a half miles per hour.
Grayson’s speed was at least double that. I wondered if he was getting cold like I did when I waited for slower swimmers. I hoped he was okay. I looked at him. He was about fifty yards ahead of me, his fluke leaving a momentary footprint in the dark blue-gray water.

The swells were growing from one to two feet, and as I swam I felt like I was bouncing on a trampoline on my stomach. Spray off the waves was splashing into my mouth and I was choking on water.

Grayson swam right up to me, within an inch, and he let me touch him. His skin felt rubbery, like a mushroom, and not at all slimy. It gave a little when I touched it. I reached on top and felt his dimples and then I slid my hand under him and smiled. I held the baby whale in my hand. And I felt the life within him, much the same as I had when I held the tiny grunion, but Grayson’s life force was so much bigger.

He trusted me enough to let me touch him. We were from two different worlds—two different beings, with two different lives, and yet somehow we understood each other.

“Everything will be okay, Grayson, don’t worry, we will figure this out,” I promised.

We swam side by side toward shore. And I felt a new energy. Grayson was swimming easier too. And I was catching his slipstream, riding the tiny waves sliding off his long deep gray body.

In the distance, I saw the Long Beach Lifeguard boat traveling toward us at full speed.

The lifeguards motored alongside us. The older lifeguard with the dark brown hair came up from the cabin onto the deck and said, “Glad you decided to head back to shore. We’ve been keeping an eye on you, but with the change in weather and all the boat traffic, it’s getting dangerous to be swimming out here without a boat.”

He asked me if I’d seen any sign of Grayson’s mother. He had some good news. A crew on a commercial fishing boat about twenty miles north of us had spotted a pod of five gray whales swimming off the rocky Palos Verdes Peninsula. They didn’t think
the pod included our mother whale, but it was a sign that there were other whales in the area. And that gave us hope, and enabled us to inspire each other.

Steve was doing exactly that. I could hear him speaking on the radio on the lifeguard boat. He was excitedly talking with a fisherman who had been casting his line into the water about a half mile south of us, inside the entrance to Huntington Harbor. The fisherman thought he had seen a whale spouting under the bridge near the mudflats.

He couldn’t be sure. It could have been a pelican diving into the water to grab a fish. Whales didn’t usually swim inside Huntington Harbor.

But there was a chance it was Grayson’s mother and so we decided to wait near the end of the pier by the bait shop, hoping that Grayson would stay with us.

The wind was increasing from the southwest and the gray-blue ocean was erupting into a mass of rolling one-foot waves. The lifeguards moved their boat beside us to buffer the bounce of the chop.

By the time we reached the pier, a group of fishermen and parents with their kids were leaning on the pier railings, looking south, scanning the water for a
spout or any movement, but it was hard to see anything with the waves and glare off the water.

Two fishing boats joined us, and Carl drove over in his small motorboat. They scanned the water with professional eyes, intently studying the ocean for a sign.

In the background, now and then, people were speaking to one another on the ships’ radios.

Steve’s voice came through clearer than the others. He said, “A fisherman on the southern jetty thinks he saw something big swimming around the harbor entrance. He thinks it might be her moving in our direction.”

In a minute all the people standing on the pier moved to the left side. Some bent way over the railings to see farther into the distance, while others slowly scanned the water, looking for anything moving our way.

Grayson was restless. He was swimming back and forth like a person pacing. He was breathing faster and shorter. Was he trying to be heard through his breaths? The sound traveled at least half a mile into the air. Maybe he was pacing because he was cold and he was swimming back and forth to stay warm. He had
far more body fat than I did and his was far denser than mine. I felt cold deep in my muscles. I was shivering. But I was afraid to get out of the water. If I did, it might affect Grayson badly.

From all the experience I had in open-water swimming I knew that it was an incredible lift to swim with someone else. Just having someone beside me made me feel better. At times when I was lagging, having someone there gave me the confidence to continue; it really made all the difference in the world. I didn’t want to climb out of the water because I was afraid that Grayson would think I had abandoned him. He might leave before we ever found his mother.

Sensing his unease, I suggested to the lifeguards that we swim to the southern jetty to see if Grayson’s mother was there.

The lifeguards thought it would be better if we stayed put. They thought that if the mother whale was near the southern jetty she was probably retracing her footprints. She would most likely return to the place where she thought she had lost him.

I floated on my back and kicked my feet to generate heat. I couldn’t get warm. I tried to think of
what else we could do. I rolled on my stomach and watched Grayson swim through the rumpled, silvery green water. He was swimming slower than before. He seemed to be more agitated. His movements were more erratic.

I’ve got to do something, I told myself, but I didn’t know what. Just waiting there and watching him wasn’t accomplishing anything, but swimming around in circles wasn’t accomplishing much either. Maybe if I think very hard his mother will hear me. Maybe she won’t know my words but will sense my brain waves. Maybe she will hear my feelings with her sonar. Maybe she will hear me calling her through the water. Sound waves travel faster through the water than they do through air. Maybe brain waves can travel faster and longer through the water. Please, come this way, over here! I shouted with my mind.

Grayson was breathing faster. He was pacing back and forth, as if he expected something to happen.

How much longer would he be patient? How much longer would he stay with us?

“Please hear me, Grayson’s mother, somewhere out there. If it’s you swimming near the Huntington
Beach jetty, please swim this way: Grayson is here. Your son is here.”

I took a breath and put my face into the water. What would we do if we couldn’t find her? We couldn’t abandon him. But I couldn’t bring him home. Who could take care of him? He had to have his mother’s milk. What else could he eat?

He was swimming so slowly toward shore again.

Do whales get hypothermia? Do they cool down? Could they die from the cold? Could he shiver and generate heat? Maybe he was sick and growing sicker. Maybe he had been left behind because he couldn’t keep up.

“Please swim this way. Please swim toward Seal Beach. Please swim to the pier.”

I thought as hard as I could. I didn’t know if it would work. I didn’t know if anyone could ever know. But I had to try something. You don’t have to hear the words to know someone cares about you. You don’t need to hear the words to know someone believes in you. You don’t need to hear the words to know someone loves you. You feel it; you know it.

Maybe there was a way she would hear me if I just thought more strongly.

I think Grayson heard me. I think he heard my emotions and felt them too. He floated on the surface near me as if waiting for me to signal what we were supposed to do next.

I projected my thoughts: Be patient. Wait. Nothing is all good or all bad. As a problem develops, so does the solution. Rest here. I will tread water beside you. You will be okay. I know it. I feel it. It will all work out.

Tilting my head back and looking up, I noticed that more people were standing on the pier. See all of them up there, Grayson. They’re here for you.

It was as if Grayson understood. He looked up. He saw them and he grunted softly.

The people on the pier pressed against the railings, leaning toward the sea.

They were willing his mother to appear. I hoped she could feel the good vibrations coming from all of the people on the pier. Something was drawing them out there; something made them want to help.

My heart beat faster. I felt something change.

And then I heard a mother’s voice from the pier, telling her sons that everyone was out there looking for the mother whale. She warned her youngest son, who was about five years old with blond hair and wearing a dark red sweatshirt, not to stand too close to the edge. His older brother, wearing a bright blue sweatshirt, was standing on the other side of his mother.

The little boy in red stepped in front of his mother. He was so close to the edge that I thought he was going to slip under the railing and fall, but his brother caught his hand, and without even noticing, the younger brother said in a sad high-pitched voice, “Did the baby whale lose his mommy? Where did she go?”

“I don’t know,” his brother said.

“Why did she leave him?”

The older brother said, “I don’t know where she went, but let’s look for her. Maybe we can find her.”

“Okay,” said the younger one, slipping his hand into his mother’s and seriously staring across the ocean along with his big brother.

And it happened.

We hoped, believed, tried, worked, learned, and
tried again, and then suddenly it happened in a single moment, all that we hoped for and even a little more.

The sea’s surface was changing. An underwater current was colliding with the chop and the waves were growing larger, but only in a wide straight line.

“Look over there! I think I see something!” the little boy shouted excitedly.

It had to be. It just had to be.

“I think I see her! I think I see his mommy!” a strawberry blond little girl shouted in a high joyful voice.

People were leaning so far over, trying to see what the little girl saw, that I hoped the wooden railings would hold the weight.

Then someone was shouting, “I think I see her too. Over there!”

People were craning their necks, shielding their eyes with their hands.

Someone else shouted, “Yes. There she is!”

“There she blows!” A fountain of white spray shot out of the water ten feet into the air.

People were laughing, shouting, pointing, clapping, cheering, and squeezing against the south-facing side
of the pier. Parents were lifting kids on their shoulders, and older kids were ducking under and weaving in between the adults to get a better view.

There she was, one of earth’s most amazing creatures. Swimming toward us.

Grayson took a few quick breaths and dove, and I stuck my head underwater.

There were sounds coming from the distance, sounds I’d never heard before. They were large, intense, so big I could feel them rumbling through the water.

Then there was nothing. No sound. No feeling. Nothing. Just the rushing sounds of my bubbles rolling out of my mouth, past my ears.

I looked for Grayson. He was gone. Had he found her? Had he swum away with her?

Then I heard his mother: She was talking and she had a beautiful voice—a voice that made me laugh and smile.

She was singing, her clicking and chirping strung together. She paused and made a series of sounds, high sounds and low ones and probably so many more at frequencies that were too low for any of us to hear.

There was a pause. And then I heard a second voice. It had to be Grayson. It was. It was Grayson. He had found her! He was clicking and grunting.