People were quiet, some sleeping, some chatting about what they had seen. One woman had caught my attention while we were with Fissure. She was not in a group and kept to herself, watching intently and quietly while everybody else was bubbling with excitement.
I was both worried and curious about her response so I sat with her on the ride home and heard her story. A couple of years before, a humpback had beached on Cape Cod. It was still struggling to breath and people came from all around, at first just to see such a huge creature washed ashore.
She described how people began to empathize and were at a loss what to do. They got buckets and hauled water from the ocean, they soaked their beach towels to protect the whale's sensitive skin and keep it cool. Its struggle to breath became more intense, its lungs and internal organs slowly crushed by its own weight. People sang and talked to it, staying with it late into the night. It finally died and they all felt sad and helpless.
Our encounter with Fissure was a gift. She was soaking in all his energy and aliveness.
