Breaching

I’m not sure exactly how to preface the recounting of the following incident other than to say that I am profoundly grateful to have survived it.

December 27th, 2011

Just another day in Paradise. Or more specifically, another day at Los Cerritos, a relatively undeveloped stretch of beach along the Pacific Coast of Southern Baja, about an hour’s drive up from Cabo San Lucas. That morning, Perry, a surfer who lives on the property where I was staying, invited me out on his sea kayak to see if we could get some good sightings of the gray whales that are so abundant at this time of the year. That sounded like a fun, appropriately Baja-style adventure so we gathered our gear and headed down to the beach.

It was a little tricky getting the kayak through the surf but once we were past the waves the sea was relatively calm and it wasn’t long before we spotted the first whales blowing off in the distance. Excited, we paddled hard to see if we could intercept them and sure enough, while still a respectful distance away, there they were.

Now I had never been on the ocean in the presence of gray whales before, had never experienced that exquisite arching, that slow languid curve as their bodies reenter the sea, a curve that seems endless and achingly beautiful. First one arching body, then another and then a third – a grace beyond anything I had imagined, visceral and deeply moving. And then, as suddenly as they had appeared, they were gone.

We had several more sightings that afternoon, each as exhilarating as the first and we were even, for a glorious moment, able to keep pace with a small pod travelling south. By mid afternoon we were drifting quietly, breathing in the beauty, beginning to contemplate heading home as we hadn’t seen any whales in a while. Suddenly, we spotted two whales moving north. Perry made a squeaky sound below the water line by rubbing his hand hard against the plastic surface of our kayak, thinking what, to communicate with the whales? Well, whether that squeak meant anything to them or not, the whales seemed to have heard it because they turned and began swimming west. Here was our chance for one last encounter.

After several minutes of hard paddling we stopped to wait. I remember saying to Perry, “Wouldn’t it be cool if the whales came up right beside us.” In my mind, at that moment, were all the images that I had ever seen of benign, curious whales interacting peacefully with humans in small boats – whales spy-hopping, whales allowing themselves to be touched, all the various behaviours that lead us to believe that we have a special, almost spiritual, relationship with these mammals that both species recognize.

What I mean to say is that I felt no fear. No fear at all of these creatures that measure up to 16 meters and weigh close to 36 tons.

Not ten minutes later, the first whale exploded out of the water a few feet behind and to the left of us. So suddenly and so massively that neither Perry, nor I, could comprehend what was happening. Terrified and bewildered, I turned to grab the edges of the kayak to brace myself for the shock wave. In that moment, the second whale breached directly in front of me. Rising and rising. Until all I could see was whale. No sky, no land, only whale. In that suspended moment, I knew I was dead. There was no fear, no flashing of my life before me. I closed my eyes, bowed my head and simply surrendered.

 

It turns out that Perry, who had been sitting behind me, had kept his eyes open. He had leaned way back and seen that whale twist and turn in the air and slam down directly in the narrow space between us. What I remember next is an almighty sound as the whale came down and then massive pressure as we were being driven under. I opened my eyes, realized that I was still alive and swam up through the swirling white water. When I surfaced, Perry was already up as was the front end of the kayak. Perry was uninjured, I had somehow sustained an injury that was causing pain in my right leg and lower back, the kayak had been buckled in the middle and was rapidly sinking and we were easily two miles from shore. But the whales were gone and by some miracle neither of us was bleeding – these waters are thick with hammerhead and tiger sharks.

Shock is a wonderful thing. It focuses the mind on the moment, on the task at hand, the actions that one must take to ensure one’s survival. There is no room for panic, no room for the horror of sharks and deadly jellyfish, only the task exists and that task was to SWIM. To swim and make it to shore before the sun went down.

Thankfully, I am a swimmer from way back and my work as a sculptor has kept my arms and upper body strong, so while I wasn’t able to swim on my front due to my injury, I was able to do the backstroke which has always been a strong stroke for me. So after a quick hug in the water to celebrate that we were still alive, Perry and I began our swim. We swam and we swam, my hands went numb but my arms kept moving and we were so far out that for the longest time it seemed like we weren’t getting any closer to land. I have to admit that at this point fear was definitely beginning to seep in at the edges.

Eventually, it was clear that we were making headway and while that was a massive relief, as we got closer we could also see that we had another challenge ahead of us. The current was pushing us northwards away from the long sandy curve of Los Cerritos towards the rocky point that defines one side of the bay. Also, the swell that was helping to bring us in from the west had picked up during the afternoon and huge waves were smashing with killing force against those rocks. I simply had to place my trust in Perry’s knowledge of these waters. We didn’t alter our course until the last possible moment when Perry told me to swim hard to the left, our goal one narrow strip of sand to the left of the point. All pain forgotten, I swam for my life, this was our only chance to get safely ashore as the rocky cliffs continue up the coast for quite a distance. Perry was fantastic: staying just ahead of me, he shouted at me when to DUCK under the cresting waves and when to SWIM. Without him there, it is doubtful that I would have made it to shore alive. Hypothermic, sobbing uncontrollably, in shock and barely able to stand on my right leg, I hung onto Perry as he helped me up onto the beach where we waited at the base of the cliff for help to arrive from the hotel on the point.

Four days later I was able to get on a plane home. I touched down at Victoria International at 10 minutes to midnight on New Year’s Eve.

 

Photo Credits

Gray Whale – by jpmckenna on Flickr – Some Rights Reserved

Gray Whale Spy-Hopping – by jpmckenna on Flickr – Some Rights Reserved

Whales Breaching – Chstewart101 – Wikimedia – Public Domain

Rocky Shore – Microsoft Images

 

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Guest Author Bio

Birgit Piskor

Professional artist Birgit Piskor was born in the town of Calw, situated in the Black Forest region of Germany. At a young age, she immigrated with her family to Victoria, British Columbia, on the west coast of Canada. They settled in the community of James Bay – just up the street from the home of iconic artist Emily Carr, where her studio and gallery are now located.

Known for her light, sensual, undulating forms, Birgit’s unique sculptural works are most commonly purchased internationally by art collectors and high-end interior designers. Her work is constantly evolving – from large-scale abstract pieces to fine objets d’art, each of Birgit Piskor’s pieces is individually created with exceptional attention to detail; no two pieces are alike.

Hardworking – and surprisingly strong for her small stature, Birgit channels the industrial essence of concrete into shapes and textures that defy the inherently rigid nature of the medium. The flowing organic concrete forms she produces are tactile expressions of transformation and visceral moments of beauty. Each handcrafted sculpture is constructed of only the highest quality materials that are both attractive to the eye and built to withstand the passage of time.

Drawing inspiration from her extensive travels throughout Europe, Central America, Japan, and the Middle East, Birgit freezes fluid motion into concrete, evoking a unique emotion with each form.

Visit Her Website: Birgit Piskor

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