The Dolphin Jamboree

Dyola at anchor in Baiona, Spain

After we left Baiona, Spain, I was exhausted from worrying about orcas so I laid down for a nap. Just as I was rising to consciousness, Gary called out “Dolphins!” My stomach contracted with fear. Was it really dolphins or the dreaded orcas?

“Big ones!” He sang out, which scared me even more. Orcas might look like big dolphins. I sent up a little prayer for dolphins. Gary urged me to go up on the bow and watch them frolic, but I had to pee so I watched out the chart table window without going on deck. They flew through the waves to meet Dyola, definitely dolphins, I saw with great relief. A little way off, one dolphin threw itself three-quarters out of the water and fell back down with a splash, again and again and again. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen one do that before. Possibly that one time in North Carolina, years ago, with my former partner, Eric.

We had Eric’s childhood friend, Roxanne, aboard for a week-long visit. She’d flown in from Indiana to sail with us with the singular goal to see dolphins. We kept telling her not to get her hopes up. There were many times we went sailing, most times, in fact, when we never saw dolphins at all. Roxanne insisted that she just wanted to see dolphins. She was determined.

She took to sitting on the bow, with her feet dangling above the water. In the most hideous voice, like a child imitating a goblin, she would call the dolphins to come to her. “DOLLLL-FANS!” She would howl in a falsetto gravelly smoker’s voice, although she was not a smoker. We saw nothing for days.

As we pulled the anchor to take her back to land, back to her flight home, we were suddenly surrounded by dolphins. They leaped at the bow, crisscrossed under the boat and cruised beside Roxanne as if answering her raucous calls at last. On the way out of the harbor they preceded us and joined what was without a doubt the largest and most impressive show of dolphin antics I have ever seen.

All around us, dozens of dolphins showed us their shiny dorsal fins, poked their heads up to greet us and in the distance seemed to be having some kind of gymnastics competition. One arced up and fell backwards with a terrific splash. Another came out of the water, tail and all, gave a spastic sort of body wave and dipped back in. One did a pirouette. You didn’t know which way to look. They were all around us. Roxanne maintained her spot on the bow beaming like a buddha.

With miles to go before dark, we reluctantly sailed away. At dinner, once we were settled in port, we rehashed “The Dolphin Jamboree” as we’d taken to calling it.

In between bites of stir-fry, Roxanne said, “Oh yeah, it was totally worth facing my fear.”

Eric and I looked at each other in confusion. “What fear?” I asked Roxanne.

“Oh god,” she said, pressing a napkin to mouth and shaking her head. “I am absolutely terrified of water.”

“What?! Why didn’t you say something?” I asked.

Roxanne took a long pull on her lemonade, shrugged and said, “I guess I just thought I’d face it and get on with life. What’s the point in talking about it? You know?” She set her napkin on the table and went on. “I really appreciate you guys taking me along and I didn’t want to spoil the trip with my silly fears.”

Eric and I shook our heads in wonder. She had just spent a week on a boat surrounded by her biggest fear with the distant hope that she might catch a glimpse of a dolphin. We were both very glad Roxanne’s dolphin summoning powers had succeeded.

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On a walk in Baiona, we watched this sailboat come in along the same track we would take going out.

As we approached the thousand-meter depth line on Dyola, a scratchy voice came over the VHF. Garbled and broken we heard only the bone-chilling words, “Orca sighting,” and the last few digits of the GPS position. Thankfully, we also heard that everyone aboard was okay. Gary tried to hail the caller, at my urging, but there was no response. We could only hope that the scratchiness and lack of response meant they were far away and that our strategy of going out past a thousand meters will take us out of the path of orcas. I don’t want my fear to spoil this passage, but I can’t seem to shake it.