Boat life
An unexpected animal encounter at sea.
Whales are majestic, dolphins are a joy. But this creature's sight was one of a kind.
The four of us were on deck when Zac turned to me and said “I see something on the water”. We had just passed the halfway mark of a passage estimated to last over 4 days. Ventura, our 38-foot sailboat, was safely delivering our family to a new island through the deep blue waters of the northern Atlantic Ocean.
At the beginning of day three, we reached a zone of no wind (a low-pressure system, to put it in meteorological terms) and, as expected, the scenario around us changed drastically.
After more than ten thousand miles sailed along shores and across oceans, there is no greater beauty than the becalmed vast open ocean. The water acquires a texture that gives me the impression we are moving through the surface of an infinite gelatin. Without white caps, short waves, or wind marks on the water, our eyes can expand visual borders while our tranquil minds look for entertainment. Hopes to spot sea animals along the way when in the vast calm zone are high.
I quickly spotted what Zac’s eyes caught first, to starboard and way ahead of us. It was a small dark thing on the surface of the water, easy to distinguish and disappearing for two or three seconds as the boat went up and down the gentle waves. Our response to the sight was synchronized: we wanted to check what that object was. The kids were alert shortly after we started talking on deck.
I followed Zac’s direction and steered Ventura towards it. Ideas started to be thrown out in the air. What animal could this thing be? I guessed that it was a shark. The little dark thing looked like a fin waving at us. If it was a shark, odds were good it was asking for help. My talkative oldest kid, aged 7, was narrating the event enthusiastically, while my youngest, aged 3, watched the action with wide eyes open.
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As Ventura got closer to our target, a sudden cold ran down my spine as if something was trying to scare me. I looked at Zac and I knew our feeling was mutual. Soon he shouted, firmly and relieved: “I can see it’s much smaller than us. We are okay to come closer”. As one might expect, sailors have a fertile imagination, so it was good to rule out the option of this creature being a beast such as a giant squid or a massive wale, or just a big solid innate object in which cases I’d have veered Ventura away from it, by instinct. We were safe to move closer. It was small, and it never moved. The kids’ curiosity was rocketing.
When the shape of the animal became visible from Ventura, under the transparent sea water, we saw a flat round body with a single wavy fin out of the water. With images from books in my head, I recognized the creature: it was a sunfish, also called a mola-mola. I had only seen this odd fish once at sea, and it was a quick sight as the boat was sailing so fast that when I noticed it, the fish was gone behind us. Here, a real science class was about to start.
As our distance to the fish was about three meters I gently put the engine on neutral. The four of us stepped out of the cockpit and stood on deck, the kids holding to the lifelines and us squatting right next to them, with our heads stretched out to capture as many details as we could of this weird-looking swimming creature. The fish didn’t seem to notice our presence, let alone be bothered by our proximity, so we allowed ourselves to go for a second approach once we drifted farther away.
Zac was on the wheel and this time we carefully circled the sunfish. When the light angle was right, we could distinguish details like the eye of the fish, the skin textures, and the symbiosis between the big plate-looking fish and dozens of other smaller fish. All happening in a wild environment, not in an aquarium. We did three circles and in every turn, a new detail was pointed out, a new exclamation was said, and new observations were brought up.
We tried to explain as much as possible to the kids, but our knowledge of the topic was shallow. I knew sunfish liked to be in the warmth of the sunlight (that’s why they are frequently spotted chilling on the surface of the water), and they could reach an immense size. Ian’s first observation was “It is bigger than me!”. Promises of bringing the subject to the next homeschooling class were made, but without internet access aboard, that would have to wait a couple of days.
When it was time to resume the journey, I put Ventura back on route and slowly accelerated the engine into the infinite calmness of the Atlantic Ocean. We waved goodbye and thanked the sunfish for allowing us to come so near and to poke our noses into his privacy. And guess what? The fish waved back. His single fin kept flagging above the water until we couldn’t see it any longer.
