December '07 Live from Churchill, Manitoba: If I’m afraid of water, why am I swimming with belugas? By Kathy Chin Leong Last June while we were snorkeling in Oahu, my two teens wanted to venture deeper into the ocean to view more aquatic life. I never knew this, but panic can overtake you like a thief in an instant. When I realized my feet were not touching the sand, I thought, "My husband isn’t here. It’s only me. I might drown, and they won’t have a mom to look after them." As soon as Frank reappeared after switching snorkeling gear, and the kids were in safe hands, I was out of there. It was a moment of utter embarrassment as I flippered onto shore and yanked off my fins and snorkel mask in defeat. FACING FEARS Two months after the Oahu episode, I decided to challenge my fear of deep water. I heard about a snorkeling excursion with beluga whales in Churchhill, Manitoba near the Arctic Circle. At first, I nixed the idea, but then as the tour date got closer, my friends urged me to go. They practically packed my bags for me, and so in August, I flew on a wing and a prayer. Like many adoring fans, I love everything about belugas, especially their snowy volleyball foreheads and perennial smiles, and I figured that an opportunity to see these 900-pound, 20-foot creatures would catapult me out of my phobia. ON TO CHURCHILL Tiny Churchill, population 1,000, is the beluga capital of the world. Each summer, 57,000 of these creatures come to the western side of Hudson Bay, and some 6,000 migrate to the nearby Churchhill River to give birth. Local Sea North Tours (www.seanorthtours.com) is the only outfitter that offers beluga whale snorkeling in the Churchhill River. For $150, you get a dry suit rental, a guide, and motorized Zodiac raft for two hours. Our group of nine gathered at the dock at 9 a.m. under ominous, sprinkling skies. Among us was a cookbook writer from Alberta, a mom of four-year-old twins from Vancouver, a female diver from Baton Rouge, Louisiana, and an Australian blonde getting over an old boyfriend. After initial greetings, we ran into a wood shack to suit up. It took about 20 minutes, but I was estatic when I finally was able to shove all my cellulite into my black neoprene dry suit. Looking at myself and the others dressed like scuba divers from head to toe, the phrase, "Creature from the Black Lagoon" came to mind. I was ready to plunge in. GOING IN, GOING DEEP The sprinkle transformed into a downpour as our 19-year-old, nose-ringed guide Brandon, motored our raft slowly into the middle of the river. The five of us forgot about the rotten weather, for immediately pods of whales were romping about us. He told us to go into the water one at a time, and to hold on to the yellow rope looped around the raft; the whales would come to us. I nodded and thought, "Hold on to the yellow rope. No matter what, hold on." I assumed we would be cavorting, possibly dancing cheek-to-cheek with our new melon-headed friends. But we were to never let go of the yellow lifeline. Brandon told us to put our faces in the water, and do a dead man’s float with arms outstretched. This was snorkeling? The cookbook author jettisoned first, but within two minutes she climbed back in. She swore, muttering something about not feeling comfortable and too much water. I tensed my grip on the rope. The others giddily leapt in and gave a thumbs up. I was last, and I tightened my grip even more. "Any time you are ready," encouraged Brandon. "Just let me know." I wobbled to the front of the Zodiac and summoned my courage. Ever so slowly, I reached for the line, perched on the raft’s edge, my rubbery legs dangling. Then I immersed my body into the jade waters. Within seconds I saw my first pod – the largest was a dad, then the mom, and a gray baby. They swam about twenty feet from me and sped past. Under these waters, they were fuzzy and seemed to emit a greenish glow around their bodies. It was 21 degrees Fahrenheit, but I was not shivering. This body glove was doing its job. THE WONDER OF WHALES Over and over, scores of whales zoomed in front, behind, to the right. Sometimes as many as eight in a cluster appeared out of nowhere. Their bodies, lean and sleek, didn’t come any closer than ten feet, so I couldn’t touch them. Occasionally the lone beluga slowed to say, "Hi!" by staring at me curiously. Yes, belugas do make eye contact, and they are the only whale species that can turn their heads. Weird. They twirled below, and I could see their fleshy bellies, their beady eyes. One swam across my field of vision and rotated playfully beneath me. When they exhaled, they blew out huge bubbles. When these bubbles came close, I reached out to pop them, and the air pocket was warm with their breath. I swear that another one waved his dorsal fin on purpose to acknowledge me. Under the water, I heard their sea songs- the high pitched twitter and notes of varying lengths that made me think of air being forced out of a taut balloon. I knew when they were drawing near, for their songs resonated before them. No wonder they are called sea canaries. Every so often, an elongated, elliptical jellyfish reminiscent of a Chinese paper lantern floated past in a ghostly outline. A saucer-like jellyfish with red tendrils pulsated by on its ethereal course. While waiting for another whale performance, I wondered what they thought of us beluga groupees following them, invading their private world. I looked up every few minutes to scout out more whales. I removed my mouthpiece to tell Brandon how thrilled I felt. The water of the Churchill River does not taste as salty as Hawaii’s ocean, and I was relieved. Back in the sea, I felt a wet chill trigger down my back. Water was seeping into my dry suit. The water was also filling my face hood, my booties, my gloves. I had moved too much and had broken the hood’s seal. About to turn glacier blue, I was ready to call it a day. Together, Brandon and the cookbook lady hoisted my blubbery bod into the raft, and I plopped in like a tuna catch. "You did good," he said. "You stayed in over an hour." WE DID GOOD The gray skies turned grayer. We were sopping, everyone’s hair dripping with flotsam. No one remembered to bring their hotel towels, but we would remember this very moment. Shivering. Laughing. Estimating we saw between 80 to 100 whales as close as any human being can in the wild. As Brandon revved up the motor, a pod of five whales escorted us, their handsome white backs bobbing in unison, cutting through the murkiness. And as a final treat, as if it were staged, a baby beluga alongside its mom crested out of the water long enough for us to see his tiny smiling face. BACK AT HOME Back home as I recounted my triumph at dinner, my family stared at me blankly before they picked up the dishes and cleared the table. Those looks said, "No biggee." I realized I never told them how terrified I felt that day in Hawaii, and how important this experience was for me. I still don’t think I completely conquered my fear of the deep, but I’m willing to take steps to try. Someday when my kids are adults dealing with life’s uncertainties, I will tell them about both my sunny day of defeat in Hawaii and the rainy day of victory in Churchill, and I hope that will give them courage. If I could swim with the whales in Manitoba, they can swim with the sharks in Sunnyvale, Boston, or anywhere their dreams take them. And I’ll be here to listen to their stories. **** NOTEWORTHY INFO: Sea North Tours Churchill, Manitoba Cost: $150, two-hour tour www.seanorthtours.com Also offers kayaks and beluga watching boat tours.