Whales' bad breath, a writing metaphor

Patty here…

On a recent passage across the San Pedro Channel on my way to Santa Catalina Island, I was standing watch alone in the cockpit of my sailboat, hoping to avoid a collision with the large oil tankers and container ships cruising toward the Port of Los Angeles.

The swells were minimal, the winds light. A marine layer covered the sun, rendering sky and sea a uniform gray. Quite suddenly, I was engulfed by an unfamiliar odor that can only be described as a combination of sewage and decay. I scanned the surrounding waters, wondering if a container ship had dumped its holding tank before entering port, but I found nothing to support that theory. The smell dissipated and the boat sailed on.

Sometime later, the stench returned, only stronger this time. My gaze traveled full circle around the boat. Then it stopped. Not twenty feet from the starboard quarter, something monstrous was rising out of the deep. It was the back of a gray whale.

I've seen Pacific gray whales before. They migrate between Alaska and Baja twice a year passing through Southern California waters. I’ve watched their water spouts from a distance, but I’ve never seen one so close to the boat.



Even though the gray whale is considered the friendliest of the Pacific whales and will sometimes surface to be petted,



they are also LARGE. I held my breath (literally and figuratively) and waited for disaster to strike.



Not too many months before my whale sighting, an acquaintance was bringing his sailboat back from Hawaii when he encountered a pod of whales (orcas not grays). As he edged closer to get a better look, one of them impacted the side of the boat and within a few minutes it was sinking and he and his crew were in the water.

My whale swam away. Maybe the smell got to him. Maybe he thought it was ME!!!! I planned to Google “What do whales smell like?” but I got too busy editing my fourth novel.

About a week ago I was reading an article in the Los Angeles Times titled “Gray whale recovery called incorrect.” According to the Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences, the whale population has not recovered from near extinction and in fact the population is only one-third to one-fifth of its historical levels. The article goes on to say:

Even judging by anecdotal sources, the current gray whale population is a far cry from the past. When French explorer Jean-Francois La Perouse sailed into Monterey Bay in the 1700s he complained that gray whales were so abundant that the stench of their breath fouled the air.

Here’s a link to the article, but it's sad so don’t read it if you’re prone to depression.

Finally I had an answer to what caused that odd smell: Whales have bad breath. Who knew? I’ve been doing a lot of hand wringing about my writing lately, so I started to think of this whale experience as a metaphor (you know how much I love them). Here goes...Writing a fourth novel is like setting off on a sailing adventure. Even though you’ve plied the waters before, perils still await. Sometimes you encounter a stench so pungent it makes you wince. If you’re lucky, the odor dissipates and you sail onward. But sometimes the smell heralds a bigger problem. Sometimes a whale bumps the boat and you have to abandon ship. Maybe you have to reach shore in a life raft or perhaps a friendly fishing boat saves your butt. Sheesh! You know what I mean.

Several friends have suggested I write a story about the sea. It’s an interesting idea. I may do it someday. Meanwhile, here’s a spooky true sea story I love. And the Sea Will Tell by Vincent Bugliosi. And a really scary sea movie with Nicole Kidman and Sam Neill, "Dead Calm." Loved the PBS Horatio Hornblower series about C.S. Forester's swashbuckling hero of the high seas, starring Ioan Gruffudd.

Got any tortured metaphors or sea stories you want to share? Or an Ole and Lena joke? I spent the past few days in Minnesota, so I'm primed and ready.

Happy Monday!