I have lived in Oregon for most of my life, about an hour from the coast–one of the most beautiful and striking coastlines in the world. It has been a deep pleasure and constant in my life, venturing to the sea and releasing my worries and griefs into the ceaseless waves. It has also been a specific frustration that in all this time I had never seen whales. Whale watching is a popular activity during the spring and despite my patient staring and waiting and watching, I had never seen a single spout.
Last month Coyote and I decided we needed an escape from the rain so we booked two nights in Yachats, many Oregonian’s favorite coastal town. Despite gloomy predictions of a solid weekend of rain, the skies miraculously cleared and we were treated to the breathtaking beauty of aquamarine seas, clear skies, and enough warm sunlight to allow us to remove at least one of our 12 layers of clothing. In response to my many complaints over the years that I was cursed never to see whales nearly everyone replied “have you gone to Depoe Bay?” So I was determined. Either I would finally see whales or I could prove I did indeed have a whale-related curse.
The little bear travels with me in my car, the coyote we found in our AirBnB (it seemed like a sign!) and took on a little trip before returning him.
We arrived in Depoe Bay and found a parking spot up a steep hill. There were already crowds of people gathered against the seawall, intently watching the ocean and occasionally being misted by spray from the crashing waves. Coyote and I eagerly joined them and within minutes were drenched by an enormous wave that washed over the wall. All around us we heard squeals and laughter from children and adults alike. I pulled the hood of my raincoat up and laughed along. I don’t think we stood there long before I saw the distinctive vertical white spray of water that indicated a whale blow. I was excited but a little unsure of what I’d seen until a few minutes later when I saw another blow. I was thrilled, yelling and pointing like a madwoman as Coyote looked on in tolerant amusement. We stood a while longer and I couldn’t help but notice the crowds of people, all eagerly gathered to see the evidence of whales migrating up our coast. It seemed suddenly precious and pure. I didn’t know these people, their political affiliation, their professions, their sorrows…but in these moments we shared a simple and honest delight. Our eyes met, shining, when we saw a blow or were splashed with another wave. When we stopped at a park the following day I saw blows again, this time with a glimpse of dark back arching out of the water. I jumped up and down like a child, tears of happiness in my eyes. It felt like such a gift.
The bridge over Depoe Bay
It made me think and wonder, how long had people gathered on this coast to watch the giants pass? What brought us here, so fascinated, year after year, seeking nothing but a brief glimpse of blow or back or, rarely, a fluke? With the exception of several PNW Native/First Nation peoples, it’s been a long time since whales were widely hunted for food and oil and whalebone in this area. Our eyes don’t see them primarily as a resource to be exploited, a rare thing in these times. I think we touch on awe and wonder when we see them, so vast and mighty and gentle, ruled by grandmothers and singing to each other in the deep. I think they remind us of a whole world we don’t know, living right next to us, the sea and all its creatures, forests of kelp and coral, predator and prey, surprises and mysteries continually discovered. Like the world of ancestors and spirits, a step away, nearby but not of us, sometimes catching our glance in invitation, like the barnacled back of a gray whale flashing in the sun.
Tree and Stone, River and Bone 