Whale ahoy! – Back at El Cantil, heavy rain clouds had rolled in. I spent the morning in a hammock listening to the droplets splatter against my hut’s shingled roof. The downpour was relentless and I was tempted to miss the afternoon’s planned boat ride. Pozo, however, wouldn’t hear of it. For the first hour, the rain fell almost horizontally, cruelly lashing against our faces. Clouds hung over the twin peaks of Hananos like strands of a wispy wizard’s beard, obscuring the summits where native Indians once performed ceremonial rituals.
Slowly, the weather changed. The skies cleared allowing a soft rainbow to form to the west. Better yet, Pozo spotted two whales in the distance, so we set off in the direction of the mother and calf. Then we sat and waited, twisting our necks in every direction to the rhythmical rocking of the boat. Seconds morphed to minutes. Time seemed to slow. All was still and quiet. Twenty minutes passed; the whales had clearly given us the slip.
It was me who broke the silence. “Perhaps we should start heading ba…” Suddenly, the sea shook as 40 tonnes of humpback erupted from the water barely 15m away. Thrusting skywards like a rocket and twisting to reveal her pale and ribbed underbelly, the whale crashed into the water with a thunderous splash. Speechless, I nearly fell overboard. A split second later, the calf followed suit. Then the water settled as though it had never happened. The foamy ripples offered the only proof that I hadn’t simply imagined it.
