Isabela Island
A minute can pass in a second; it can give the impression of a second, but be meaningful for a whole life.
We were surrounded by extremely calm seas, with gigantic volcanoes on the horizon. We had lowered a Zodiac, and sitting inside I felt like a miniature creature in an infinite space of beauty and peace. It was one little Zodiac in a time without end, with the Polaris behind us as the only connection to the real world. It was definitely unreal!
Two human heads appeared from time to time from the crystal and flat water. They shouted, they swam, and disappeared again: My two colleague naturalists were swimming after whales in 9,000 feet of water, armed only with fins and an underwater camera, myself nearby for technical and safety support.
Their goal was to reach the pilot whales that seemed motionless and near, and to bring back underwater footage to show everyone on board the Polaris. But with one kick of a whale’s fluke, the whales moved meters away, the tiny rubber fins of the naturalists couldn’t compete with the powerful muscular tails of these marine mammals. The bottle-nosed dolphins seemed to not understand what it was all about. They kept chasing Daniel and Rafael, wondering why they were so slow, why those two skinny legs rather than the fused bones of a vigorous tail, why no dorsal fin. And overall, why were those guys trying to keep up with the pilot whales, when they, the dolphins, were more playful and interesting.
It was surreal! Time seemed so short! It seemed like all of us, naturalists and guests alike could have stayed floating there forever, absorbing it all, to finally understand our place in this world. While I lived those minutes that seemed like seconds, I felt that I was part of a subtle canvas, in a place with no time, and in time without space.
A minute can pass in a second; it can give the impression of a second, but be meaningful for a whole life.
We were surrounded by extremely calm seas, with gigantic volcanoes on the horizon. We had lowered a Zodiac, and sitting inside I felt like a miniature creature in an infinite space of beauty and peace. It was one little Zodiac in a time without end, with the Polaris behind us as the only connection to the real world. It was definitely unreal!
Two human heads appeared from time to time from the crystal and flat water. They shouted, they swam, and disappeared again: My two colleague naturalists were swimming after whales in 9,000 feet of water, armed only with fins and an underwater camera, myself nearby for technical and safety support.
Their goal was to reach the pilot whales that seemed motionless and near, and to bring back underwater footage to show everyone on board the Polaris. But with one kick of a whale’s fluke, the whales moved meters away, the tiny rubber fins of the naturalists couldn’t compete with the powerful muscular tails of these marine mammals. The bottle-nosed dolphins seemed to not understand what it was all about. They kept chasing Daniel and Rafael, wondering why they were so slow, why those two skinny legs rather than the fused bones of a vigorous tail, why no dorsal fin. And overall, why were those guys trying to keep up with the pilot whales, when they, the dolphins, were more playful and interesting.
It was surreal! Time seemed so short! It seemed like all of us, naturalists and guests alike could have stayed floating there forever, absorbing it all, to finally understand our place in this world. While I lived those minutes that seemed like seconds, I felt that I was part of a subtle canvas, in a place with no time, and in time without space.
