| Saturday, January 23, 2021 | | Jump for Joy | A year ago this weekend, Pete’s daughter Faith and I were in Pennsylvania, partly to attend the annual American Handcrafted wholesale artisan show in Philadelphia, and partly to visit with grandson Michael and his girlfriend who live near the Amish countryside. We laughed and hugged and ate and shopped for new fine craft for the shop and came home overflowing with joy and optimism. And we all know what happened just a few weeks later. It’s hard to believe a whole year has passed, hard to believe that so many of the changes that were then to come are still with us. We adjusted our way of doing business, and of doing life. In all that change, photography continues to keep me grounded, connecting me through the lens to a natural world untroubled by all that plagues humanity.
My last blog of 2020 featured morning dolphin as I went out for what was my last sunrise walk of 2020. If you scroll back and reread what I wrote then, I had the distinct message that morning to change lenses specifically for dolphin—and then they came! The first week of 2021, I learned a harbor seal had hauled out to rest, and I went to its spot to photograph with my long lens. NEST volunteers had already cordoned off an appropriate area for it to snooze undisturbed, but as I watched its breathing, and studied its appearance through that long lens, I became concerned about its overall health. Eventually that led to a discussion with the NC wildlife biologist here, and I was able to provide some photographs to document my observances. I learned at least three seals had hauled out that day, and the one I watched was in the best shape of the three. There may be some sort of respiratory ailment in the young seal population. It is too early to tell.
Eventually the seal flopped itself down to the water and went back into the ocean only to haul out again a little ways down the beach. It looked around, then turned around, and swam back against the current to come ashore a third time exactly where it had started—right between the stanchions NEST had put out for its area of rest. It wound up staying in that spot all night and much of the next day before continuing its migratory journey.
All of that was wonderful, in that I had the chance to spend longer-than-usual moments watching that seal, and being of service. But greater gifts awaited.
The property owner who had reported the seal to NEST in the first place saw me out on the beach and invited me up onto her deck for a different angle of view, since the seal had managed to haul itself at that point to the top of her small frontal dune. (Both of us were masked and for the most part we were on opposite sides of her deck.) That was the perspective that convinced me it was laboring to breathe, and led to the later NEST call. The surf that day was high, and clean. A bunch of surfers were enjoying the big waves just to the north. And then what must have been a huge pod of dolphin showed up.
I could see them in front of the cottage, and to the north and south. There were younger, smaller dolphin with the adults. Immediately I remembered a banner, life-list kind of day Pete and I spent together back in 2007, on Ocracoke, in which we watched dolphin surfing high, clean waves. I have longed for another chance, with the better equipment and skills I have acquired since, to watch and photograph that behavior. These waves are surfable, I thought to myself—so I asked. I invited. I sent that thought in the best way I know how, looking out at the fins that periodically appeared and then sank below the waves. You could surf these waves, I thought. Please?
From my position on the deck I could better see where individual dolphin were near the surface; being able to watch their movements by tracking the disturbance of the surface water meant I could be ready if a dolphin did poke its head out of the water—or even better, jump! And I could see when a group approached a wave from behind, hoping all the while I would see the surfing behavior we watched so many years ago. And they surfed! Several times, the dolphin clearly propelled themselves forward in time with the swell’s motion and surfed the face of the waves shoreward. What a thrill to see this again and be able to photograph it. But then, the dolphin began to actually jump the waves! The joy I felt when the small group of dolphin shared a late 2020 sunrise with me multiplied exponentially as I watched them play and jump and surf over and over on this early January afternoon. The sort of exuberant joy I felt so easily a year ago, that has been harder to hold these past twelve months, I could feel again.
A day later, we watched violence erupt at our nation’s Capitol, and quietly marked the first anniversary of grandson Patrick’s death. The joy I had experienced the day before was in danger of evaporating in the ensuing waves of worry and fear and recalled grief. But I had the photographs. I say over and over: photography helps me remember. The visuals reconnect me to each moment and elevate them beyond memory. I can feel once again what I felt when looking through the lens. If I am agitated, I can receive calm. If I am afraid, I can receive assurance. If I am sad, I can find joy. And if I feel alone, I can remember how deeply I am loved.
I made a new friend that day on the deck. She had gone back inside to let me continue watching the seal undisturbed. I knocked on her door to tell her to come out again and watch the dolphin play. We smiled and laughed together, two strangers a half hour earlier, connected by the beauty and joy of our natural world. This is why I photograph—to experience that joy, to share it. So take a breath, settle back, feel the joy.
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click for larger image | When I arrived, the young seal had already managed to maneuver itself to the top of the low frontal dune. |
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click for larger image | It rested there but never did show the "happy banana" pose I learned means happy and healthy. |
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click for larger image | After coming ashore down the beach, it swam back to its original spot to rest some more. |
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click for larger image | Seals cannot move on land as sea lions do. Instead, they push up and flop forward over and over. I'm tired just watching! |
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click for larger image | They kept surfing, over and over. I thought I could not hold any more elation. And then... |
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click for larger image | All of a sudden, a dolphin would jump right out of the water! Now I had to look beyond the waves as well as at each swell. |
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posted by eturek at 12:10 PM |
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