the hunt

Awoken at midnight in a war zone. Distant musket blasts rumbled in the still, moonless air. I cautiously climbed the cold, iron ladder tightly grasping each gray rung where chipped paint revealed spots rusted by the damp, salty environment.

Exposed and wishing I'd not left the cozy comfort of my bunk below, or at least that I'd put on pants, I gazed across the dark waters and into the fog banks drifting like sleeping ghosts, gently pushed by the fragile breeze.

The shots came closer. Echoes crossed the flat sea, passed through my body, and continued for the island behind me. And with them signals of misty smoke rose vertically from the water's surface. An underwater bunker of hidden humpbacks. Firing bursts of oxygen followed by fumes of wet, fishy eruptions.

I crawled back down into the fo'c'sle burrowing deeper into my bed, disappearing under a patch of scratchy, crimson wool to sounds of breathing, nighttime exhalations, steady and rhythmic in the inky gloom. And the echoes bounced off the walls of my cave as my eyes gave in.

A gray day marred by lingering fog masked my surroundings. A magician versed in misdirection deftly camouflaged rocky beaches with smokescreens and threw noises from contradictory directions. "Now you see it, now you don't," murmured the morning as ships vanished and shores materialized.

Yet the battle outside the bay waged on despite the poor visibility. One, two, three blows announced a presence in the canal. Boasting, warning neighbors.

As the day marched on, a mirror fell across the sea. And looking into this glass I saw an azure sky flanked by billowy clouds made somber only by hints of remaining, sooty moisture. Clouds above an eerie calm. Complete stillness abruptly broken by hushed gasps. Long, sputtering puffs moving nearby.

A sudden explosion. A 40-ton torpedo surfaced with a mighty spray and fell clapping the water. The roar hit my ears with the force of trees snapping like twigs, gunshots cracking in the tranquil afternoon.

Were the giants surrendering or celebrating?

Mammoth heads rose bearing chins pocked with pallid tubercles. Spyhopping to reveal half of their bodies, only to bellyflop with a whooshing splash. Breaching and rolling like dizzy children, playfully misting one another with gushing blows. Long pectoral fins sliced while white bellies gleamed triumphantly in the shimmering waters.

Feeding, whirling, dancing, twirling. "This is just a game," they declared. And once they'd tired of their victory cavalcade, raised flukes receded below the sea and the troop swam on.