Anaik

Celebrating creatures gifted with senses we lost or never attained

(7 min read)

Wherefore, for all these things, we account the whale an immortal in his species, however perishable in his individuality. He swam the seas before the continents broke water. … If ever the world is to be again flooded, like the Netherlands, to kill off its rats, then the eternal whale will still survive, and rearing upon the topmost crest of the equatorial flood, spout his frothed defiance to the skies.

— Herman Melville, Moby-Dick

Long since Melville’s epic from 1861, the modern romantic symbolism of cetaceans has worked its way into humanity’s collective imagination. There are an increasing plethora of books, movies, documentaries, artistic depictions and — thanks to the refinement of underwater photography —awe-inspiring and intimate glimpses of these creatures.

In late 2012 I stumbled across a book at the library, Floating Gold (published June, 2012), about the adventures of journalist and biologist Christopher Kemp, in his year-long search to discover ambergris.

An entry in my private journals, dated 19th March 2013, said the following:

…I feel like mother nature speaks to us, and [if] only [we] truly listen, then we’ll hear the messages she’s trying to tell us.

I discover metaphors in nature that help me to process and understand and even cope with the circumstances of life.

I have just been learning more about the mysteries of the sperm whale and in the process have hit upon an entire vein of gold (or in this case ambergris — gold of the sea) that has sparked new personal growth and writing inspiration.

Many writers and thinkers know that when the universe sends us signals, it’s something worth paying attention to.

So it’s no surprise, searching for the word “whale” in that year’s electronic journal, that cetaceans show up on the radar again. Several times.

In fact, I began to see cetaceans everywhere — magazine articles, Youtube videos, nature docos, other books.

I was especially interested in Sperm Whales in particular, in this moment in time. This from the journal entry dated Wednesday, 10th April 2013, recounting a road trip from 2012 where they again showed up on the radar:

The Sperm Whale is the largest toothed mammal, and also has the largest brain. He’s found in every ocean of the world.

He’s pretty much a global nomad and an apex predator, both. Of all the whales, he is the only one with a throat wide enough to physically swallow a man. So it’s possible Jonah [of legend and lore] became intimately acquainted with one of them.

Scientists don’t really know what the fluid inside the sperm whales ample forehead is for … they hypothesize sonar, or pressure-regulation for the deep diving, or heating …

I was visiting Australia’s capital, Canberra, last year on a family road trip, and visiting my family’s hands-down favorite science museum in this country — Questacon. We ran around on a pretty quiet day, and were lucky enough to be there in time for a talk …

Turns out Sperm Whales dive down [2100 metres or more] under the surface … where their favorite food — squid — like to hang out. But — check this out — Sperm Whales can and do dive down much farther and deeper, literally plunging into the dark[est] depths, and — get this — NOBODY KNOWS WHY THEY DO IT.

Could it be that this, largest-brained and largest-toothed giant of the sea, has an intimate acquaintance and appreciation of the stillness and silence of the dark depths?

What does he gain from diving so deep? We can only hypothesize…

I love it that we have made dizzying advances over the last century in transportation and technology, invention and innovation, and yet we are still so clueless about the habits and biology and brains of this one giant of the sea.

I think the mystery that is the Sperm Whale, is a lesson in itself. Our ignorance about this magnificent creature humbles us.

We strive so hard and so fast to cover distance, to gain ground, but perhaps the sperm whale is trying to teach us that diving deep and luxuriating in being lost in the darkened depths, will bring un-fathomed benefits to our souls.

That same year, my parents gifted me with a book titled “The Great Sperm Whale” for my birthday because I was babbling about it so much (thanks Dad! Thanks Mum!)

Written by artist and cetacean-obsessive Richard Ellis, the Moby Dick quotation placed at the beginning of this article opens Ellis’s book. Later, on page xiv, after recounting his many decades of cetacean research, writing and artistry, Ellis shares a timeless gem from writer and naturalist Henry Beston.

Beston was reportedly considered one of the fathers of the modern environmental movement and the only person said to have influenced the writing of Silent Spring author Rachel Carson. Here’s Beston in his own words:

We need another and a wiser and perhaps a more mystical concept of animals. … In a world older and more complex than ours they move finished and complete, gifted with extensions of the senses we have lost or never attained, living by voices we shall never hear. They are not brethren, they are not underlings; they are other nations, caught with ourselves in the net of life and time, fellow prisoners of the splendour and travail of the earth.

— Henry Beston

So I suppose you might say the love affair with cetaceans has gone on for years, collectively and also personally, and there are more stories and journal entries. But why even share this now?

The symbolism of Frequency: a fairytale — a creative piece I shared recently — does go into metaphorical territory. If it’s not obvious already, it soon will be. Frequency: a fairytale was an attempt to begin “waving to the whales” I’ve admired from afar for so long.

But before the deep dive into some multi-year research regarding 52Hz songsters and the frequency, resonance and nuance of their songs, I wanted to give a nod to the real-life majestic beasts, the gentle giants, the wise ones of the ocean.

Before the deep dive into the unique resonance and frequencies of big-hearted communicators who are saying and singing things few others are saying and singing, I wanted to pause a moment to celebrate the real-life whales — all the species of cetacean — occupying our oceans and reminding us through their majesty to protect and cherish this planet.

I especially wanted to celebrate the unique loners among them like 52 and the white whale Migaloo and his buddies — who capture our hearts and our imaginations so well.

“Godfather of coral” Charlie Veron released a scientific memoir titled A Life Underwater in 2017, to celebrate over 50 years of scuba diving that continues to transform the world’s understanding of coral reefs. An informative, surprisingly funny and also moving work by a master of underwater pattern recognition , Veron draws correlations from decades of underwater observations of reefs the world over. He was publishing warnings about the dangers of coral bleaching decades before others added further resonance to the dire condition of our oceans through multi-media storytelling.

And, because the universe is faithful to send us consistent signals, it should come as no surprise that the godfather of coral sat down beside me on a beach-side park bench in August of 2017, just as the Byron Bay Writer’s Festival was kicking off. What began as an innocuous conversation about visiting from other cities for the festival turned into a lively conversation about the Great Barrier Reef, whales, conservation, traveling the world, and what it might take to get the word out regarding his exhaustive and continuing work identifying corals of the world.

So it seems fitting to close this article with the godfather of coral’s own unexpected encounter with a whale, as told in his book, A Life Underwater:

Diving on the outer face of Tijou Reef [the outer face of the entire northern Great Barrier Reef] was memorable for another, absolutely extraordinary reason. A couple of us were down about 20 metres or so when we were hit — there’s no other word for it — by a blast of the deepest and most intense sound imaginable, as if we were in front of the biggest pipe of a giant organ. The same thing happened again the following year. I had no idea what it could possibly be until, many years later, I talked to a researched who worked on whale sounds. He said it would have been a whale, probably a sperm whale, checking us out, doubtless because they hadn’t come across divers before. I’d never heard of this happening to anyone else, and nor had he. Maybe most whales today know about scuba divers and ignore them? The answer still eludes me.

(This is part two in a twenty part introductory series exploring the intersection of frequency, resonance and nuance, originally published on Medium.)