CHAPTER TWENTY -SEVEN<\/p>\n
The sleepy Alaskan fishing village seemed small and quaint<\/p>\n
from a distance. But as we drove down the winding gravel road into<\/p>\n
the little town of Gilroy, Alaska, population 350, we found it had<\/p>\n
burgeoned into some sort of media Mecca, population 1500 plus.<\/p>\n
It didn\u2019t take us long to discover that they were all here for<\/p>\n
the same reason we were\u2014the anomaly of the gathering of so<\/p>\n
many whales.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou know, it\u2019s odd,\u201d I signed as we wound the car through<\/p>\n
the rushing crush of humanity, \u201cthat all these people got here before<\/p>\n
we did. I didn\u2019t see that many cars on the Alcan.\u201d<\/p>\n
My answer was soon to come. As we parked the truck near<\/p>\n
the wharf, there came a droning that pervaded the cab and even<\/p>\n
struck my deadened sense of sound. Seaplanes by the tens and<\/p>\n
twenties moved about in the harbor like a flock of ducks preparing<\/p>\n
to take flight. We could have flown here overnight.<\/p>\n
Peter stalked the docks in search of a boat to take us to the<\/p>\n
Bay of Blue Ice, while I wandered about town with Fred-the-dog in<\/p>\n
tow. I eavesdropped from afar with my lip-reading. The snippets of<\/p>\n
conversation I gleaned in my walk were eclectic: All the major news<\/p>\n
services were here along with all the science cable folk. There were<\/p>\n
as many amateur marine biologists as there were professionals.<\/p>\n
None of them knew what was going on.<\/p>\n
I looked wistfully north and wondered if my friend, Laughter<\/p>\n
Ring, was there and if she had found the great Harmony. Come on,<\/p>\n
Peter, I thought to myself impatiently, I need to be there now. As<\/p>\n
much as I wanted to see my friends I wanted to hear, to feel the<\/p>\n
song as it was meant to be sung, by the master singer himself, Har-<\/p>\n
mony, the whale who had prophetically called for the Conclave.<\/p>\n
Other bits of sneaked conversation read from afar were a bit<\/p>\n
disconcerting. Greenpeace and several other conservation splinter<\/p>\n
groups had joined forces to form an environmental navy. They were<\/p>\n
patrolling the entrance of the bay to prevent the media boats from in-<\/p>\n
terfering with this natural phenomenon. The bay itself was open to<\/p>\n
the sea, and through these waters paraded this grand procession of<\/p>\n
all the singing water mammals. They came, and they continued to<\/p>\n
come, until the waters of the Bay of Blue Ice were frothing with life.<\/p>\n
They all seemed to be waiting, as were the people who were observ-<\/p>\n
ing and trying to understand this phenomenon.<\/p>\n
The problem of the environmentalists was twofold: acting<\/p>\n
as self-elected marshals, they were attempting to keep the media<\/p>\n
boats out of the Bay of Blue Ice, while they, themselves were being<\/p>\n
denied entrance, also. Every time they tried to venture into the bay<\/p>\n
they were forced back by the gentle giants, the blue whales that<\/p>\n
had formed a great log boom of living flesh–a floating, impenetrable<\/p>\n
fence. The sandwalker was not welcome here, nor were they soon<\/p>\n
to be invited to the festivities.<\/p>\n
All of this I related to Peter when he returned, arms loaded<\/p>\n
with a variety of odd-shaped packages. \u201cWell,\u201d he signed, \u201cmaybe<\/p>\n
that\u2019s for the best. There\u2019s not a boat to be had in the town any-<\/p>\n
way. The media have them all chartered. I did, however, find a rub-<\/p>\n
ber, two-man dinghy at the hardware store.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cRight,\u201d I signed sarcastically. \u201cAnd we\u2019re going to inflate this<\/p>\n
little raft with our own lung power and then row the five or six miles<\/p>\n
up the coast to where first Greenpeace and then the whales are<\/p>\n
going to let us through?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNo,\u201d he said as he dropped his large packages to the<\/p>\n
ground. \u201cWe\u2019re going to hike the five or six miles and then, yes,<\/p>\n
we will inflate the little raft with our lung power and float it into the<\/p>\n
bay. But we won\u2019t have to worry about Greenpeace or the guardian<\/p>\n
whales at the entrance to the bay. We\u2019re going in over the glacier<\/p>\n
itself. In football, this would be called an end around.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cIn the real world, this would be called stupid,\u201d I spat. \u201cLet<\/p>\n
us assume that we get to the glacier on foot. It\u2019s three miles long<\/p>\n
at its shortest point to the sea. I don\u2019t know about you, but I don\u2019t<\/p>\n
ski well on millennium-old ice.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWe aren\u2019t going to ski,\u201d he grinned. \u201cWe\u2019ll use the boat like a<\/p>\n
sled. Whoosh! Splash! Right up front in the good seats. Actually<\/p>\n
we won\u2019t be in the water, but we\u2019ll slide close enough that we can<\/p>\n
launch the rubber raft from where we stop.\u201d<\/p>\n
I was doubtful that the plan had any merit, but there was no<\/p>\n
other. I helped him gather the packages, and we struggled back to<\/p>\n
the truck. \u201cWhat about Fred?\u201d I signed as the dog happily wagged<\/p>\n
his tail, looking from Peter to me expectantly.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat about Fred?\u201d he retorted. \u201cHe\u2019s come this far. I\u2019m sure<\/p>\n
he\u2019s ready to go all the way, aren\u2019t you, Fred?\u201d<\/p>\n
I could feel his bark, and his excitement was contagious. I<\/p>\n
have done crazier things in my life, but this was getting close to<\/p>\n
being unique: a Native-American, a black lab, and me–all sledding<\/p>\n
on a glacier.<\/p>\n
Having packed, we climbed back into the truck and drove<\/p>\n
slowly out of town, winding through throngs of people milling about<\/p>\n
the streets. W e followed the road through the little town and to the<\/p>\n
last vestiges of civilization, where the road itself came to an abrupt<\/p>\n
end at the trail\u2019s head. There, as a form of sandwalker farewell, were<\/p>\n
several old mattresses, a sofa, some plastic garbage sacks–filled<\/p>\n
with who-knows-what–and a variety of beer cans strewn about. I\u2019ve<\/p>\n
got to hand it to us humans: if we think we own it, we\u2019ll sure use it.<\/p>\n
Peter extracted two backpacks from the pick-up and quickly<\/p>\n
filled them with our gear. I stripped off my parka to enjoy the early<\/p>\n
morning sunshine that warmed and sweetened the air with the smell<\/p>\n
of pine and cedar. I started to throw the coat into the truck, but Pe-<\/p>\n
ter warned, \u201cIt\u2019s warm now, and it will get warmer later. But, sooner<\/p>\n
or later, you\u2019re going to need that coat.\u201d<\/p>\n
I bowed, conceding the expert\u2019s point. Packed and loaded,<\/p>\n
Peter placed the lighter of the two packs on my back. After care-<\/p>\n
fully adjusting my straps to ensure that the load wouldn\u2019t slip, he<\/p>\n
tossed his pack casually over one shoulder, grabbed my duffel bag,<\/p>\n
and with Fred leading the way, we began our trek to the glacier.<\/p>\n
The trail was soft, covered in layer after layer of moss, tree<\/p>\n
needles and leaves. There was life in the air here, a veritable magic.<\/p>\n
There is no way to explain the full impact and the wonder of nature<\/p>\n
accepted. She owns all, Nature does; people are but passengers on<\/p>\n
her mysterious journey. Our step quickened as we felt the snap and<\/p>\n
the thunderous crack of the glacier.<\/p>\n
By the time we had walked three or four miles, my pack<\/p>\n
seemed a lot heavier, the air a lot warmer. We emerged from the<\/p>\n
forest onto the broken rocks and chunks of ice that preceded our<\/p>\n
entry onto the glacier itself, and there we rested for a short time.<\/p>\n
Peter produced a small camp stove to heat some water, and we had<\/p>\n
a cup of beef broth and some trail mix. I think I know why they call<\/p>\n
it trail mix, for this particular batch tasted like it had been mixed<\/p>\n
with parts of the trail. I think I ate an old shoelace–energy you can<\/p>\n
tie up and save for later! Fred refused my offerings of a nut or two,<\/p>\n
instead opting to hunt the neighboring woods. He returned in short<\/p>\n
order, munching on the remnants of another creature\u2019s kill.<\/p>\n
\u201cFred!\u201d I mouth-spoke. \u201cDrop it.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNo,\u201d Peter laughed, as he touched my shoulder and turned<\/p>\n
me toward him. \u201cDogs are natural scavengers. He will eat what<\/p>\n
the others don\u2019t want, and the others will eat what he doesn\u2019t.<\/p>\n
The parts none of them want will be carted off by the insects or<\/p>\n
absorbed back into the soil. Those parts will replace the nutrients<\/p>\n
removed by the trees, which will be eaten by the squirrels, which will<\/p>\n
be eaten by the bears and the scavengers to follow. It\u2019s balanced.<\/p>\n
One cleans up after another.\u201d<\/p>\n
I sat, absorbing this simple lesson I had taught over and over<\/p>\n
as a teaching assistant in college. Lessons memorized are not nec-<\/p>\n
essarily lessons learned.<\/p>\n
By this time, it was mid afternoon. I questioned the advis-<\/p>\n
ability of attacking the glacier this late in the day. Peter laughed<\/p>\n
and reminded me that the sun would barely set this summer\u2019s night.<\/p>\n
It was June 21, the night of the summer solstice, the longest day<\/p>\n
recorded on earth and at this northern part of the planet it would be<\/p>\n
light all night long. Using stands of white birch as a dressing room,<\/p>\n
we undressed and pulled our dry suits on. The dry suit is the warm-<\/p>\n
est of skin-diving gear and should we find ourselves in the water,<\/p>\n
would <\/span>afford the greatest of protection. Peter had no plans to dive<\/p>\n but the rubber raft was small and sure to take on some water and<\/p>\n these were the coldest waters on earth. The dry suit, now under<\/p>\n his clothes, would keep him warm. Satisfied but still cautious,<\/p>\n we repacked our gear and garbage and stowed the packs beneath<\/p>\n some rocks, taking with us only the bare essentials — my air tanks,<\/p>\n face plate and flippers.<\/p>\n With the rolled-up rubber life raft under his arm, Peter led me<\/p>\n onto the glacier. Fred-the-dog was sniffing behind, probably look-<\/p>\n ing for a cute little snow bunny to eat. Nature has a unique way of<\/p>\n balancing beauty with ferocity.<\/p>\n It was difficult to say when we moved from the shifting rocks<\/p>\n to the glacier itself. Glaciers are not pristine and clean as one might<\/p>\n imagine. One minute we were on rocks and dirt, and the next, we<\/p>\n were on rocks and dirt and glacier ice. The outside edge becomes a<\/p>\n collector for the slowly moving monstrosity that claws its way to the<\/p>\n sea. It has spent lifetimes slowly grinding the earth, molding and<\/p>\n moving even mountains.<\/p>\n We angled up and soon entered the smoother ice field itself.<\/p>\n Here, over a period of years, the glacier had eroded. I looked up and<\/p>\n could see a smooth track of avalanche, where tons and tons of snow<\/p>\n had slipped quickly and devastatingly down the glacier. My eyes<\/p>\n followed the smooth track down; the beauty took my breath away.<\/p>\n Below us, the Bay of Blue Ice was wrapped in emerald green,<\/p>\n tinted by blues so blue that words cannot deScribe the depth and<\/p>\n magic of their color. The ice, as it neared the sea, sparkled with<\/p>\n a kaleidoscope of prismatic color and shape. In the bay itself, tiny<\/p>\n dots moved about with the tides. I realized that these were not<\/p>\n dots, some two or three miles away by ice, but the whales, dolphins,<\/p>\n and flipper-fins.<\/p>\n The Conclave.<\/p>\n I turned back to Peter. He, too, was caught in this moment.<\/p>\n Even Fred-the-dog sat on the ice and did nothing but look down on<\/p>\n this awesome sight. Peter snapped his head around to force himself<\/p>\n to the task at hand–inflating the raft. I watched as he huffed and<\/p>\n puffed, and slowly the raft began to take shape. It seemed pitifully<\/p>\n small in contrast to the glacier now looming monstrously tall.<\/p>\n \u201cAre you sure,\u201d I signed, \u201cthat this is going to work?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cAs sure as I am that my middle name is Abraham,\u201d Peter said<\/p>\n confidently. \u201cLook, we\u2019ll stop near the bottom of the ice, and then<\/p>\n re-launch into the water. It\u2019s a no-brainer.\u201d He resumed his blowing,<\/p>\n and soon the small raft was totally inflated. He stood back to admire<\/p>\n his handiwork. Then, with a flourish, he waved his arm and gallantly<\/p>\n motioned that I was to have the place of honor–the front.<\/p>\n I swallowed hard, put my duffel bag in the very front, and, af-<\/p>\n ter taking a deep breath, stepped into the boat. Peter followed and,<\/p>\n placing his legs on either side of me, wrapped his arms around my<\/p>\n waist. With one hand, he cumbersomely signed, \u201cSorry about the<\/p>\n intimacy, Doc, but it\u2019s a small boat.\u201d<\/p>\n I didn\u2019t mind. In fact, in a different situation, I might have re-<\/p>\n turned the embrace in kind, but this situation was beyond different,<\/p>\n nearing bizarre. I wanted to sit there for a moment, taking it all in<\/p>\n and allowing a moment to steel my resolve. But my wishful thinking<\/p>\n was for naught as a black bundle of fur leaped into my lap, setting<\/p>\n the sled in motion. Fred quickly faced forward, sitting between<\/p>\n my legs and the duffel, as we slowly began to slide down the ice.<\/p>\n I mouth-spoke loudly so Peter could hear me over the crunching<\/p>\n snow and ice, \u201cYour middle name is Abraham?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cAre you kidding?\u201d he signed, \u201cWith a last name of Twofin? I<\/p>\n don\u2019t have a middle name.\u201d So much for confidence.<\/p>\n Slow became fast became faster became out-of-control, as<\/p>\n our rubber toboggan bumped over the ice.<\/p>\n Concerned, I asked, \u201cWhat happens if the glacier doesn\u2019t<\/p>\n beach with the water? What happens if there is a sheer cliff and<\/p>\n a big drop?\u201d If he answered, I wasn\u2019t able to hear anyway, but the<\/p>\n answer was soon to come. The raft listed, and then turned and<\/p>\n spun around so we could behold all those places we had been. We<\/p>\n had covered nearly all the distance down the glacier when we spun<\/p>\n again and I found the answer to my question. We were airborne!<\/p>\n The boat sailed off the ice like an errant Frisbee and main-<\/p>\n tained a form of aerodynamics as it spun crazily out over the sea.<\/p>\n As quickly as our adventure had begun, it ended. Splashdown! I<\/p>\n was thrown forward by the abrupt plunge in the water, but with Fred<\/p>\n cushioning my head, I was uninjured. I sat up and looked around.<\/p>\n You did not have to be a hearing person to feel the silence that<\/p>\n spread like a blanket over this inlet, this bay.<\/p>\n The water was as still as glass and inky in its appearance,<\/p>\n although it was very clear. In the water around us were dolphins,<\/p>\n whales, flipper-fins, and some other creatures that I never would<\/p>\n have thought of as singers of the Song of the Sea.<\/p>\n Peter urgently tapped on my shoulder, and I spun in the tiny<\/p>\n boat. His face was as white as a ghost. \u201cWhat is this?\u201d he mouthed.<\/p>\n \u201cWhat are they all doing here?\u201d<\/p>\n I signed, \u201cSo much for \u2018I believe in you.\u2019 Peter, this is what<\/p>\n I have been talking about. This is the first time since the begin-<\/p>\n ning of time that the Conclave has ever been called. It can only be<\/p>\n called when a species feels threatened by extinction. It had nearly<\/p>\n been called over the extinction of some whales. At one point, the<\/p>\n Narwhal of the Horn tried to call a Conclave, fearing their own ex-<\/p>\n tinction, but never has it actually been called before.\u201d<\/p>\n I waved my arm around the bay, which was ringed by the blue<\/p>\n ice of the glacier and filled to silent-still capacity with thousands of<\/p>\n thinking creatures–a veritable seething maelstrom of life. \u201cThis is . .<\/p>\n Conclave!\u201d<\/p>\n The whales and the dolphins stared at us with baleful eyes<\/p>\n but did nothing. Time seemed to freeze in space as we sat looking<\/p>\n at them, and they at us. The impasse was broken when we were<\/p>\n rushed from behind by a large Orca, who swam through the satin<\/p>\n waters and brushed the boat. His wake caused us to rock precari-<\/p>\n ously, and Fred, still held in my arms, began to bark angrily, warning<\/p>\n all to stay back. The hackles on the back of his neck were raised,<\/p>\n and I could feel him growl–deep and menacing.<\/p>\n The little boat floated still in the water. Two Orcas swam<\/p>\n quickly toward us from opposite directions, again tossing the little<\/p>\n boat about in the water. The bone in my inner ear began to ring<\/p>\n with the vibration of the low tones of one, then two, then ten, then<\/p>\n a hundred voices softly chanting together, \u201cConclave . . . Conclave .<\/p>\n . . Conclave.\u201d As suddenly as it had begun, it stopped, and my inner<\/p>\n ear was silent once again.<\/p>\n I twisted my head, felt another tingling, and sensed a new<\/p>\n sound. This was quieter. I turned this way and that, trying to home<\/p>\n in on the vibration.<\/p>\n \u201cWhat is it?\u201d furtively signed Peter.<\/p>\n I froze him with a wave and tensed again, seeking the source<\/p>\n of the sound. It was getting louder. It seemed to be one or two<\/p>\n voices intently calling, \u201cSandwalker. Sandwalker.\u201d I spun my head,<\/p>\n and there, not fifty feet away, was one of the Orcas that had brushed<\/p>\n the boat. He called again, \u201cSandwalker. Sandwalker.\u201d<\/p>\n Then, behind me, I heard another and spun to that sound.<\/p>\n He, too, called, \u201cSandwalker. Sandwalker.\u201d And then faintly I could<\/p>\n discern, \u201cHe who walks on spindly fins on the dryside. He who<\/p>\n holds dominion over the song sung in the sea.\u201d<\/p>\n Peter spun me to him, \u201cWhat is going on? Are we in danger?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI don\u2019t know. It doesn\u2019t sound good. But it\u2019s hard to hear<\/p>\n clearly without the resonance and the amplification of the water.\u201d I<\/p>\n turned back around, my brows knit and my head cocked slightly in<\/p>\n concentration.<\/p>\n There was a moment of silence, and then, almost in chorus,<\/p>\n the other Orca took up the ominous chant, \u201cSandwalker. Sandwalk-<\/p>\n er. The creature that left the sea and returns only to kill the breth-<\/p>\n ren. Sandwalker!\u201d<\/p>\n Suddenly a new voice — like ice itself — joined this duet. The<\/p>\n sound cut me through to the heart. It was whispered, yet loud. It<\/p>\n was sweet, but bittersweet. It was an icicle, sharp and deadly the<\/p>\n vibration like fingernails down a blackboard. It ended its speech in<\/p>\n diphthong, as if it was a question, but sarcastic of nature, \u201cSand-<\/p>\n walker?\u201d the voice called. \u201cSandwalker?\u201d I spun to the side and<\/p>\n gripped Fred for fear he would leap into the water and attack. Not<\/p>\n ten feet from the boat silkily breached an alabaster-skinned Narwhal<\/p>\n of the Horn.<\/p>\n \u201cAhh, the Sandwalker,\u201d he whispered silkily, \u201che who came to<\/p>\n us in the water in shells. The creature to whom we tried in vain to<\/p>\n teach the Song of the Sea. He who, to reward the song, killed the<\/p>\n singer of the song and ripped from his head . . . his horn.\u201d<\/p>\n Softly, but with great intensity, the water seemed to boil with<\/p>\n sound as the creatures of the Conclave chanted in response, \u201cThis<\/p>\n was not good!\u201d<\/p>\n The Narwhal continued in his hypnotic, icy tone, \u201cWith the<\/p>\n bloody horn, the sandwalker killed another, and then he had two<\/p>\n horns. He coveted the horns as prize. He did not eat the meat,<\/p>\n violating all that is holy in the sea and the simplest rule of All That<\/p>\n Is Right in the World.\u201d<\/p>\n The water danced electric snapping blue, silver, and green iri-<\/p>\n descence just at the surface. In unison, they again cried, \u201cAnd this<\/p>\n was not good!\u201d<\/p>\n The two Orcas, overlooked by the chanting of the Narwhal,<\/p>\n suddenly charged the little boat again, rocking it perilously. Peter<\/p>\n and I grabbed the sides to steady the craft against the wake of these<\/p>\n two fleshy torpedoes. Fred snapped his head to and fro, seeking an<\/p>\n enemy worthy of his jaws.<\/p>\n A maniacal laugh came from the Narwhal, and then he began<\/p>\n again. \u201cWe, the Narwhal, were forced to hide. We, the Narwhal,<\/p>\n alone carried the message, warning the others of the sandwalk-<\/p>\n er\u2019s lack of soul and spirit. We hid in the icy corridors and palac-<\/p>\n es where our reflections in crystal strengthened our resolve. We<\/p>\n sought others to teach them the story. And they came. And they<\/p>\n listened. And they changed the Song of the Sea forever.\u201d<\/p>\n In powerful harmony, the bay rippled with, \u201cAnd this was good!\u201d<\/p>\n The vibration stopped, and time seemed to freeze like the<\/p>\n blue ice that surrounded this bay of decision and change. \u201cWe have<\/p>\n died for the sandwalker in a thousand deaths. We have cast our-<\/p>\n selves in protest to the dryside, there to become one with the end .<\/p>\n . . the beginning. There to rot and demonstrate to the sandwalker<\/p>\n that he does not hold dominion over the sea. There to send a mes-<\/p>\n sage to the sandwalker that we control our own destiny. We can, we<\/p>\n will, and we did call upon our own deaths and a return to the end . .<\/p>\n . the beginning.\u201d<\/p>\n So loud now that my inner ear ached, they chanted, \u201cAnd<\/p>\n this is good!\u201d From this forceful vibration, I could read in Peter\u2019s<\/p>\n face that he, too, at strong intervals, could hear, although he did not<\/p>\n understand what the vibrations meant.<\/p>\n Breaking the stillness, two angry voices, in counterpoint<\/p>\n in front and behind, intoned by whispered vibration, \u201cSandwalker.<\/p>\n Sandwalker.\u201d<\/p>\n They started and then stopped, \u201cSandwalker. Sandwalker.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cSandwalker! Sandwalker!\u201d<\/p>\n Again and again, they started and stopped and stopped and<\/p>\n started. The result was terrifying. I kept turning back and forth as<\/p>\n each one called out, \u201cSandwalker! Sandwalker!\u201d Never in all of my<\/p>\n life have I been so frightened, for the whispering carried an unspo-<\/p>\n ken message: \u201cWe\u2019re coming–we\u2019re coming.\u201d<\/p>\n Peter was watching my face and realized that something was<\/p>\n about to happen. It obviously wasn\u2019t going to be a matinee at the ma-<\/p>\n rina with dolphins and whales leaping to the delight of the audience.<\/p>\n Abruptly, there was a surge in the water like a bulge, a mon-<\/p>\n strous ripple moving forward. I looked behind, and there was an-<\/p>\n other doing the same. The two Orcas smashed into the boat and as<\/p>\n they struck they screamed with a force of vibration that chilled my<\/p>\n blood and froze me in place.<\/p>\n \u201cSandwalker!!\u201d<\/p>\n This time, they didn\u2019t skim by. This time, the full force of<\/p>\n their fury tipped the boat almost onto its side. Try though I might,<\/p>\n I could not hold on. Every muscle in my body was frozen by the<\/p>\n horrible, intoned death-keen of the Orca. I hit the water, and even<\/p>\n the shock of its coldness didn\u2019t break the spell. I simply couldn\u2019t<\/p>\n move. Straight ahead and slightly below me under fifteen feet of wa-<\/p>\n ter were the two Orcas. Mouths open with long, ivory-colored teeth<\/p>\n forming an unconscious smile, they floated, waiting and watching.<\/p>\n A moment, an hour, I know not which, went by before I could con-<\/p>\n trol myself again.<\/p>\n I had just begun to kick myself to the surface when they<\/p>\n intoned again, \u201cSandwalker–Sandwalker!\u201d The vibrations now un-<\/p>\n encumbered by the dryside, the force was unbelievable, and again I<\/p>\n was frozen.<\/p>\n The sultry vibration of the Narwhal of the Horn called to the<\/p>\n Orca, \u201cTake them now, my sweets. Take them now to the end . . .<\/p>\n the beginning. Take them to All That Is Right in the World.\u201d<\/p>\n A movement in the water caused me to look up, breaking the<\/p>\n reverie of the eerie call. What at first looked like a rippling shadow<\/p>\n on the surface turned into the full form of a man leaping headfirst<\/p>\n into the water. It was Peter. Surrounded by the silver bubbles of the<\/p>\n dryside that followed him on his erratic dive, he saw the Orca first,<\/p>\n then turned and spied me. He swam in hard strokes, reached down,<\/p>\n and grabbed my swirling hair. With all his might, he yanked me to<\/p>\n the surface and now was between my attackers and me.<\/p>\n What happened next was simultaneous and confusing. He<\/p>\n grabbed me by the back of my now anchor-weight parka, and, with<\/p>\n Herculean strength, threw me into the boat. Still paralyzed but<\/p>\n beginning to feel sensation, I laid there with my feet stiffly pointing<\/p>\n off the side. What struck me most was as he pushed me from the<\/p>\n water, I had felt the greatest of all the calls when the two Orcas, in<\/p>\n concert, bellowed their death call, \u201cSANDWALKER!!!!!\u201d<\/p>\n Peter, who up to this point had felt a bit of the vibration and<\/p>\n its gentle subtleties, took this one full force. I could feel, even as<\/p>\n I was being pushed from the water, that his muscles went slack in re-<\/p>\n sponse to the death call. I sprawled there, helpless in the bottom of<\/p>\n the boat, trying to will my body back to action, but it was as if I had<\/p>\n been severed from my conduit of reality and control.<\/p>\n A grating sensation wiped my face from jaw to forehead like<\/p>\n wet sandpaper. Over and over again, it ground across my face. It<\/p>\n was an anchor of feeling, and I responded slowly to the release of<\/p>\n the nerve blockage. I could feel again, and with the feeling came<\/p>\n nerve and muscle control. I swung my legs around and sat upright<\/p>\n in the boat, dazed by all that had happened.<\/p>\n The swipe of a very rough, wet tongue snapped me back to<\/p>\n reality–the bay, the Conclave, and Fred-the-dog. I hugged him and<\/p>\n then remembered how I had come to be in the boat. \u201cOh, my God!<\/p>\n Peter!\u201d I cried. I flopped over and leaned across the round, rubber<\/p>\n side of the boat, peering down into the crystal waters below. At first,<\/p>\n I saw nothing, and then I saw all.<\/p>\n Five feet below the surface, slowly spinning, was Peter, his<\/p>\n eyes frozen open by the paralyzing call. Then, almost in slow<\/p>\n motion, one of the Orcas turned sideways and grabbed Peter full-<\/p>\n mouthed by the hip and thigh. The water swirled in a cloud of<\/p>\n pink. I fell back into the boat unable to move, frozen by the horror<\/p>\n of watching someone, who just moments before had saved my life,<\/p>\n die in my stead. I watched over and over in brief memory flashes as<\/p>\n the man I loved but had never told shut his eyes in pain when those<\/p>\n powerful jaws of death closed around him.<\/p>\n I lay in the sloshing water on the bottom of the boat, my<\/p>\n tears mingling with the waters of life. I couldn\u2019t just lie there. Peter<\/p>\n deserved a better memorial. I sat up again and looked out over the<\/p>\n now-still waters that were misted in a swirling, red cloud.<\/p>\n From nowhere, a form arched from the water like a missile<\/p>\n being fired from below. My first thought was that the Orcas were<\/p>\n breaching–to fall on the boat and reclaim the other sandwalker for<\/p>\n the Song of the Sea. But the form was not an Orca; it was the body<\/p>\n of Peter Twofin being thrown from the sea. In a low arc, he flopped<\/p>\n into the boat. I was sure he was dead–but this corpse began to<\/p>\n cough. He was alive!<\/p>\n As he pulled great gasps of breath into his lungs, I tended to<\/p>\n the wounds. I took off my coat and yanked the nylon cord free that<\/p>\n acted as a drawstring on the hood. I wrapped this around Peter\u2019s<\/p>\n leg just above the wound in his thigh, twisting it around and around<\/p>\n to form a tourniquet and stem the flow of blood. The wound in his<\/p>\n hip was a deep cut that appeared superficial, although it probably<\/p>\n would need stitches later.<\/p>\n \u201cWell, Doc,\u201d he groaned, \u201cwelcome to Water Whirled of the<\/p>\n Northern Pacific, home of dolphins and whales who will tell you<\/p>\n tales that they will rip your heart out. Literally.\u201d He laughed, then,<\/p>\n winced as I twisted the tourniquet tight.<\/p>\n He looked at me quizzically, \u201cHow did I get out of the water?<\/p>\n Last thing I remember is feeling like a frozen filet of cod, and then<\/p>\n suddenly I am flying back into the boat.\u201d<\/p>\n Almost in answer, a form threw itself at the side of the boat.<\/p>\n The whales were back! I threw myself across Peter to protect him<\/p>\n from what appeared to be yet another attack.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" CHAPTER TWENTY -SEVEN The sleepy Alaskan fishing village seemed small and quaint from a distance. But as we drove down the winding gravel road into the little town of Gilroy, Alaska, population 350, we found it had burgeoned into some sort of media Mecca, population 1500 plus. It didn\u2019t take us long to discover that […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":3,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_genesis_hide_title":false,"_genesis_hide_breadcrumbs":false,"_genesis_hide_singular_image":false,"_genesis_hide_footer_widgets":false,"_genesis_custom_body_class":"","_genesis_custom_post_class":"","_genesis_layout":"","footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[],"class_list":{"0":"post-1382","1":"post","2":"type-post","3":"status-publish","4":"format-standard","6":"category-uncategorized","7":"entry"},"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/stephencosgrove.com\/bookstore\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1382","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/stephencosgrove.com\/bookstore\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/stephencosgrove.com\/bookstore\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/stephencosgrove.com\/bookstore\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/3"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/stephencosgrove.com\/bookstore\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=1382"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/stephencosgrove.com\/bookstore\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1382\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":1383,"href":"https:\/\/stephencosgrove.com\/bookstore\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1382\/revisions\/1383"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/stephencosgrove.com\/bookstore\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=1382"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/stephencosgrove.com\/bookstore\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=1382"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/stephencosgrove.com\/bookstore\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=1382"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}