The Trip I Almost Said "No" To
“No, I don’t think that trip is for me,” I boldly exclaimed to my (savior) friend. As a Florida woman, the thought of Arctic temperatures and Arctic waters terrified me. The Pacific Ocean in San Diego was cold enough to stop me from enjoying it, and I love the ocean.
I’ve always loved the outdoors—my fieldwork is in conservation, and I enjoy spending time in fairly remote places—but I never thought of myself as an “explorer.” I watched explorers on TV. I was the consumer, the one safely observing wildlife photographers brave the elements from the comfort of a screen. But the idea of contributing to work that could aid conservation research or future scientific endeavors began to lure me in. Then a familiar “disease” called FOMO (Fear of Missing Out) took hold. I realized I couldn’t let two of my best friends swim with orcas without me—not when I had the chance. Best decision I’ve ever made.
I stressed about everything for a year. I had never slept on a boat. I’d never worn a dry suit. I openly claimed to hate the cold. I wondered how sixteen women with different personalities would coexist in such a small space, how this mysterious “layering” thing worked, and how I’d haul myself back into a zodiac. The possibility of my dry suit flooding kept me up at night.
On the very first morning in the fjords, orcas were spotted. We climbed down the gangly gangway into the zodiacs—eight women per boat. Shortly after, we saw the blows. Then we heard them: the sound of an orca breathing, now my favorite sound in the world. Pods were everywhere. Orcas in every direction, literally hundreds. That was the first moment I knew I wanted to hold onto forever—a moment I once believed I’d only experience through documentaries. Yet here I was, in the Arctic, on the boat and in the water with wildlife photographers.
On the third drop of the day, all of us entered the water together as a full orca pod passed slowly by. We whooped and screamed with joy. My dry suit flooded on that drop—and again the next day during our first baitball experience, when I stayed in the water for over twenty minutes. We climbed back into the zodiacs, my underlayers soaked, as a snow squall moved in. There was nothing to do but go through it. It was the coldest I’ve ever been. I was shaking, and everyone suggested I return to the boat.
On day three, I got a new dry suit and made sure my hair was properly tucked in. It didn’t flood—but I lost my snorkel. That same day, I nearly got swallowed by a humpback whale. There are no words for that feeling, but it’s another moment I’ll hold onto forever. That night, the northern lights appeared. We collected scientific data, photos, and video, but the memories and relationships became the most valuable things I gained—and perhaps the most important things we take with us to share with the world.
There is a before-whales me and an after-whales me. After-whales me knows I can handle the worst thing I once feared (my dry suit flooding) and doesn’t let cold water stop her from enjoying the ocean. This won’t be my last time swimming with whales—there is still so much more to explore!
