Day 24: Swimming With Dolphins (21/02/2011)



Pretty Handsome, Eh?





You Have To See It To Believe It.


















Scenes From The Sugar Scoop

















As so often in life, Yin delivers a soothing stroke to the forehead while Yang creeps up behind you and karate chops you in the Adam's Apple or, on this occassion, corrupts the memory card containing all evidence of your once in a life time experience.

After a breakfast we arrived for the Dolphin Encounter pre match briefing. A power point presentation, over dubbed by an adenoidal Kiwi sitting too close to the microphone, emphasised that  “The dolphins may not be ready to see you now” and “Try to take what you can from the experience”. It left us feeling only slightly less than fully confident of the experience promised prior to parting with the cash.

Admittedly, dolphins or no dolphins, we would do it in some style, zipped into flattering wet suits that if not actually flattening the paunch, certainly forced recalcitrant flab into all the right places. Our chipper tour leader emphasised the wild nature of the dolphins and the entirely unpredictable behaviour that they may exhibit.

Never was it actually suggested that there might be fatalities, but the exclusion of liability was written clearly on the wall and the slightly frayed cuff of my wet suit definitely appeared to have been gnawed by something fishy.

After the induction, 15 masked and flippered divers waddled aboard a gleaming multi-million dollar twin hull motor cruiser that took us the 25 minute journey to the pod. Owen, that rare breed of deeply tanned, auburn haired Scotsman, welcomed us with a well-rehearsed patter about respect and sustainability and promptly sounded the horn that indicated that the propellers had stopped turning and that we were free to engage the quarry.

As instructed, we slipped quietly from the sugar scoop into the bright water, each uttering a silent prayer of thanks that the feared force 7 had not yet materialised and the swell had not risen beyond 2 metres.

The opening salvo was electrifying.

The hardest hearted cynic was instantly converted as at first, in two’s and three’s and soon in groups of a dozen or more, the curious species of Dusky dolphin closed on us, circled, whirled and cork screwed about our clumsy, thrashing forms. Close enough to touch but always beyond reach, they performed a bewitching dance that  promised something wonderful but unspoken. Their iconic forms eased effortless passed us with the merest flick of the tail.

The pod was at least 100 strong and wave after wave of the creatures surged past us from every direction. What had seemed a trite list of recommendations to attract dolphins, at the outset, seemed to be surprisingly effective. Singing, circling, making eye contact and particularly diving, all seemed to interest them and they came to investigate, again and again, apparently never tiring of our efforts.

Initially, the water was alive with renditions of every national anthem but after a few minutes of increasingly breathless chase, the singing had subsided to a few tuneless hoots and the offering of one contributor, rather over familiar with the Beatles songbook.

The horn sounded too soon, for the end of the first, second and third dives after which we hauled ourselves, exhausted and elated onto the sugar scoop to disrobe and fall upon the ginger biscuits and hot chocolate offered to ward off sea sickness and gathering chill.

We watched as members of the pod frolicked in the bow wave, harassed a blue penguin and somersaulted repeatedly to no end but mischief in the surf crashing off the rocks nearby.

And then it was over. The boat was leaving and all necks craned to catch a final glimpse of the pod as it powered its way into the distance.

We talked as the boat made its way back to the South Bay. No other animal evokes such a feeling of respect and privilege. The over rehearsed welcomes had seemed more ‘Easy Jet’ than ‘Attenborough’ at the outset but after spending such a short time with the dolphins, the genuine enthusiasm of our hosts shone through.

Sadly, after a single viewing, the Fates decreed the deletion of the memory card that stored all the underwater footage. Perhaps it is better that way, as now, if the true wonder is to survive, it will have to do so unaided by the digital crutch which subtly substitutes itself for actual memories.