The minke whale that changed me

Overcoming fears and finding new perspectives

My husband has always been known for his love of adrenalin-fuelled adventures - his family nickname is Indiana Jones, Alas, I am not always up to scratch as Mrs Jones: I’m reasonably game to try things, but I get wobbly leg syndrome when I’m nervous, I’m really not great with heights, and I have a wild bastard of an imagination that likes to put on mental slideshows of my imminent demise during the many adventures that my hubby has somehow convinced me to go on.

However, during uni, when we were first courting (because that was the term back in the last century), Indi – aka Matt – was learning to scuba dive in a pool in the Midlands, and he was keen for me to join in. Of course, I wanted to impress, so I spent a semester learning how to remove my mask underwater and put it on again, do backflips into the pool wearing a very heavy oxygen tank, and retrieve my regulator when it was knocked out of my mouth. All this would come in handy in future, but first of all, to pass the course, we had to practice our skills in a stone quarry in the middle of England where the murky water was beyond freezing and full of rusty old vehicles! Whilst there we learned that if we actually had to rescue one another and provide mouth-to-mouth while swimming, I stood a much better chance of survival than Matt, as it’s pretty hard to manhandle a six foot five bloke to the surface and then render first aid while wearing weights around your middle and a tank on your back. But I reassured myself that if it ever happened in real life I’d be like one of those women who can suddenly lift cars off people, so all good.

We did our first proper open water diving in Corfu, where I demonstrated my lack of comfort both in myself and with the apparatus by refusing to do somersaults underwater whilst everyone else spun themselves around and about with glee. But although I was still awkward, I loved seeing the marine life, and the feeling of being part of a completely different world. So a year later, whilst we were travelling, we ended up booking a liveaboard boat on the Great Barrier Reef, which meant 3-4 dives a day over 3 days. However, once we’d committed, I got nervous. I can still remember driving to that boat convinced I was heading to my doom, unsure whether I would cope with the intensity and demands of the dives and dreading three days of seasickness (sometimes I can’t look at a wave without vomiting).

Fortunately, once on the boat, the tablets kicked in, and I began to enjoy myself. The variety of the dives and the beauty of the coral reef and marine creatures were incredible: we saw turtles, rays, white-tipped reef sharks, and the huge but friendly potato cod at the famous Cod Hole diving site. I was growing in confidence, but I was yet to swim with anything really big and scary – and the possibility of that still preyed on my mind. Everyone else seemed to want to see such creatures, but I was convinced it would be a terrifying ordeal.

So of course, fate heard this and tried to intervene. After one dive, during which we had circled our way around a very pretty bommie (a rock structure underwater on which coral grows) we were on the surface, swimming back to our boat, when a shout went up of ‘WHALE’! I wasn’t at all ready for this - so while everyone else raced back to the spot it had last been seen, their arms and fins flying, I went the other way: straight back to the boat. Once there, I held onto the steps, anxiously waiting to be helped out – but the crew were distracted trying to spot the whale again for the rest of the eager divers, so no one came.

Matt stayed beside me (rather than chasing the whale – so gallant! I knew he was a keeper!). We waited a while, legs dangling in the water, watching the others in the distance, until, getting bored now, I thought I’d put my face in the water again and see what I could see beneath the boat. 

And there, within arm’s reach, suspended right in front of me, watching me, was the whale. 

In an instant, all my fear disappeared – transformed into humility and reverence. I felt no sense of danger: the opposite, in fact, as I was filled with awe and calm. I was easily close enough to see the detail of the eye that stared at me, and it was just like gazing into the eye of another person - a curious being - a sentient soul. We studied one another for maybe half a minute (as I dragged a surprised Matt underwater to experience this too), and then the whale moved on. 

It was one of those rare, beautiful moments of being fully alive and absolutely in the present. It was a gift that happened twenty-six years ago now, and a memory that will last for the rest of my life. Falling under the gaze of this whale made me reconsider all sorts of things, including what exactly I was afraid of and why. It humbled me as to my place on this planet, and opened my mind to the many wonders I might find if I kept taking opportunities and stayed open to experiences – even if I’m a little scared. Since then, I’ve had plenty of other adventures with different sea creatures, and some hair-raising moments too – but they’re for another day. This post is simply to celebrate the joy of this unexpected moment, and the minke whale that changed me.