Today’s guest post is from Robin, who graduated from BYU in Broadcast Journalism and worked in TV news in Washington DC where she fell in love, literally and figuratively. Her Virginia-born husband tricked her into a life on the opposite side of the country in the Pacific Northwest. Robin is an Arizonan at heart who craves flip flops year round, taco stands and lime Cokes. She blogs at lovingcake.wordpress.com
There is a spot on San Juan Island boasting the best odds in the world to see a whale from land. That’s where we found ourselves Labor Day Weekend. We visited The Whale Museum to prepare ourselves. We read up on marine mammals, ooooed and awed over the newest orca babies, learned how to differentiate between dolphins and porpoises, saw the genealogy of J, K and L pods, read about the harsh reality of tracking and tried to unlearn about the unfortunate existence of whale parasites.
Standing under a giant whale skeleton suspended from the ceiling I did what anyone would do – I imagined Jonah inside its belly. Before exiting the museum we brushed up on our whale calls.
My expectations at the beginning of the weekend in the whale spotting department had been pretty low. I was just excited to explore a part of the Northwest I had not yet been to. But after paying our $10 park fee and walking along the rocky cliff shoreline, the lapping waves did something to me. I was determined to see a baby calf with its mom or a pod. Squinting into the sun, I began scanning the water with a concentration reminiscent of my life-guarding days.
And then we waited.