After a period of time and extensive clicking by the cow, the calf eventually moved off to a position a hundred feet or so beneath her. He then let out a series of loud codas directed towards the depths and to the west of their position. He was signaling to the pod. He signaled once more, then again. He heard nothing in return.
When the calf swam back up to rejoin his mother, three great white sharks were circling the cow and posturing for attack. The first shark tore into the cow near her mid-body injury, removing a large chunk of flesh. Then the second bit the cow near the same wound. The third joined in the feeding frenzy.
The cow was sending out codas in rapid succession – the same message over and over. The calf was receiving the message, but he was not responding. The sharks continued to rip into the cow. All the calf could do was to watch the horror helplessly from below.
Suddenly two more great whites showed up. They bit the cow from the opposite side, as if to avoid conflict with the other three sharks. The mother whale let out a very loud series of sound blasts as if she was screaming at her calf, imploring him to do something.
As the calf hovered, he felt a sharp pain in his fluke. Reacting, he turned in the water and saw a great white right behind him. The shark had just taken a chunk out of his tail. Another great white joined the first and began to circle the calf.
The calf suddenly turned east and swam as fast he could. He was sending out codas as he swam. Two of the great whites pursued him. As the calf headed east, he could see the light penetrating the water just above him. His fluke was bleeding profusely, which kept the sharks engaged.
Because the calf had a head start, he was able to keep in front of the pursuing sharks. He could still hear his mother calling out, but her sounds were growing faint. Her message was the same, however. Her coda had not changed. The calf was moving at near top speed, twenty miles per hour, and the sharks were no more than thirty yards behind him.
The sea was rapidly getting shallow. The calf knew that the water eventually ended and land began. To get so close to shore was dangerous, but the sharks were still in hot pursuit.
The calf was in a panic, completely traumatized by watching his mother get struck by a ship and attacked by the sharks. He did not slow down until he could swim no more because now he was stranded on the beach.
Chapter Three
Tom felt at peace. Everything was right with the world when he was jogging. Today especially; after enjoying an early morning romp with his wife Tom was in a terrific mood.
Unfortunately, his Walkman was not cooperating. He quickly realized that it had quit on him because he forgot to change the batteries. Oh well, no more U2 singing in his ears. He would make the rest of his run with the world as background noise. He continued to jog south on the beach, sticking close to the surf line where the sand was firm.
The fog was heavy. While it normally cleared before noon, at seven thirty visibility was limited to less than thirty feet. Tom heard something before he saw anything. It sounded to him like something huge crashed onto the shore out of the surf. He heard a couple of loud, dull thumps.
Then he saw the whale. The sight of a juvenile sperm whale, eighteen feet long and weighing in excess of a ton, floundering on the beach stopped him dead in his tracks. Evidently the whale had just beached himself because he was still glistening with water and flopping around vigorously.
“My God!” Tom exclaimed. The whale was magnificent to behold. Tom had seen both adult and juvenile sperm whales before on the open sea, but to look at one up close and personal on the beach was awe inspiring.
The calf was slapping his tail against the sand. The first thought Tom had was, why in the world was this whale here? Sperm whales did not normally beach themselves, unlike some other whale species. Searching his memory, Tom could not recall a sperm whale beaching himself in San Diego County for at least the past twenty years.
When he approached the young whale, he saw that his fluke had been bitten. Must have been a shark or an orca that attacked him, Tom assumed. While Tom was not an expert on whales, he knew quite a lot about them. Sharks and orcas were the only predators big enough to attack a whale of this size.
Tom wondered how close he could, or should, get to the whale. As he approached the calf, the whale opened its eye and looked straight at him.
“Hey there,” Tom said, not knowing how to address a sperm whale properly. “Looks like you’ve had a rough morning.”
The calf stopped floundering when he saw Tom. He started to click. Tom heard him.
“Sorry,” Tom said. “I don’t speak sperm whale. But I know some people who do.”
Tom took his cell phone from his pocket, flipped it open and dialed Scripps. He asked for George Walker, the head of the Cetacean Department.
“Tom, good morning. I know that I haven’t gotten you that information you requested on -.”
“George, that’s not why I’m calling.”
“Okay then, what can I do for you?”
“I’m looking at a juvenile sperm whale. He’s about twenty feet long. He needs your help.”
“Out for an early morning sail, are you? The whale just came up to your boat and said hello?”
“I’m standing on Pacific Beach, about a quarter mile south of where Balboa Avenue meets the water. The whale is on the beach with me.”
“What?” George said, not believing his ears.
“From the looks of him I think he beached himself less than five minutes ago. I heard him hit the sand.”
“Holy crap. I… okay. We’re on it. Stay with the whale, Tom. It might be an hour before we can get there in force. Is there anyone else with you?”
“Not yet, but this whale is going to attract attention.”
“Is the whale visibly injured?”
“It looks like a shark or an orca took a chunk out of his fluke, but I don’t think it’s enough to kill him.”
“Wait a minute… What’s this? Stand by.” George put Tom on hold.
“Help is on the way, my friend. These people know all there is to know about whales,” Tom reassured the calf.
A minute later George popped back on the line. “The Navy reports that one of their cruisers collided with and severely injured a cow sperm whale early this morning a few miles from your position. She had a calf. You have to be with her calf, Tom.”
“The cow is dead?”
“The Navy assumes so. They were on maneuvers testing their latest sonar and the whale was in the wrong place at the wrong time. Tragic.”
“That explains it then.”
“What?” George asked.
“I’m looking at fins in the water. A couple of great whites are cruising just off shore. No doubt I’m standing next to their intended meal.”
“Stay there. Keep the lookie loos away from the whale and for God’s sakes don’t let people touch him or disturb him in any way. Understood?”
“I’m on duty as whale body guard. Understood.”
“We’re on our way,” George said and then hung up.
When George hung up, the first of the curious arrived. They were a couple of surfers from the looks of them, both kids in high school or just out of high school.
“Totally rad,” the scruffier of the two boys said.
“Yea, gotta get a picture of this,” the other kid said.
“Keep your distance boys,” Tom ordered. “Scripps is on the way. They’re going to help him get back in the water.”
“Who are you? A cop? This your whale or somethin’?” the shaggy teenager challenged. Clearly the boys were intent on getting close to the whale despite Tom’s warning.
Then one of the boys reached out his hand to touch the whale’s back. Tom pulled the boy’s arm away and in a sure, swift move took his legs out from under him and tossed him on the sand.
“Don’t touch the whale,” Tom said, as calmly as possible.
“That’s assault man!” the boy shouted.
“If you try and touch the whale I’ll
knock your ass to the ground again and this time not so gently. Stand back, please.”
Sirens in the distance tempered the boys’ desire for a confrontation. They could see the flashing lights headed up the beach. The kids backed off and started snapping pictures.
Tom sat by the whale on the beach side as more people approached. The whale was calmer now, or at least outwardly appeared to be so.
“Must have been a nightmare for you,” Tom said. He realized that he was talking to the whale as if he was a person, which made little sense, but for some reason Tom thought it might help the calf to cope.
The calf clicked after Tom spoke to him. Maybe I am getting through on some level, Tom rationalized.
“I lost my mom when I was a kid too,” Tom said. “There is nothing worse than losing your mom.”
The whale clicked again. The San Diego County Sheriffs then arrived and hopped out of their truck.
“Are you Tom Campbell?” the deputy sheriff asked.
“Yes, sir,” Tom replied.
“You work at Scripps, right?”
“Yes, sir,” Tom replied again.
“Good. You’re in charge then until the rescue team arrives. We’ll secure the area. Anything else we can do?” the deputy asked.
“Keep people out of the water. See those fins out there?” Tom said, pointing at the large dorsal fins cruising along just past the surf line. “Those fellas have been denied a meal. Probably best not to offer them a substitute.”
Chapter Four
By ten a.m. the beach was packed with a couple of hundred curious bystanders, camera crews and reporters from the local and national media. The Sheriffs were doing their job – the only person allowed near the whale was Tom. Everyone else was corralled at least twenty yards away behind a police line.
George Walker had relayed the basic rescue plan to Tom on the phone. High tide was going to be near sunset – that was the best time to try and get the whale back in the water. The resources to accomplish this amazing feat would be arriving shortly. Three loaders would be used to roll the whale gently over on to two enormous rubber straps that were eight feet wide and twenty feet long. The straps were being supplied by nearby Sea World where they were used to lift Orcas and move them from pool to pool. Once the straps were beneath the whale, two carry deck cranes with the capacity to lift over 10,000 pounds each would lift the whale off of the sand and move him in the straps out into the surf. Temporary metal tracks would allow the cranes to move into almost eight feet of water without being swamped. At that point the straps would be disconnected from the crane and, in theory, the whale could then swim back into the open ocean.
Sea World vets were also en route. From Tom’s description of the wound on the whale’s fluke, they thought they could treat it with antibiotics and a special gel like application that seals the wound for a time even in salt water.
Tom continued to talk with the whale. He wasn’t sure if he was doing any good at all, but from what the Sea World and Scripps people were telling him if the whale kept gently stirring and opening and closing his eyes he was doing as well as possible under the circumstances.
“… so that’s how they are going to do it. They know that they have to push and lift you very gently. Outside of the water all of your weight is killing you by pressing down on your lungs and heart. We have to get you back out to sea in the next few hours.”
Tom looked into the whale’s eye as much as possible. He avoided touching the whale because George told him that it could be harmful. They did catch a weather break – the fog was not lifting. That kept the summer sun from beating down on the calf. The temperature was a moderate 69 degrees.
“What’s it like to be a whale, I wonder?” Tom said, filling time. “You’re an intelligent creature, we know that. What do you think about?”
The whale was still clicking every so often – more so when Tom spoke to him. This was another very good sign according to the experts. Tom’s voice seemed to calm the whale down, which was very important to his survival out of the water.
Just then, the crowd was parted by the police as the Scripps people and the equipment arrived. George was in the lead car, the loaders and the deck cranes were right behind him on semi-truck trailers. Behind the semis, a twenty foot cube truck with the Sea World logo on its side rounded out the convoy.
“Tom! I’ve been watching this on TV, but to see the whale up close is unbelievable. He is in pretty good shape,” George said as he stepped from his truck onto the sand.
“We’ve been talking all morning, sharing stories. I wish I understood what his clicks meant,” Tom said. “Is the plan still a go?”
“Absolutely. It’s not like we do this every day, or any day for that matter. But we’ve checked with all the experts we could find and this method seems like our best shot at success.”
“Did you bring -.”
“Your clothes are in the back of the truck; a pair of jeans and a Scripps shirt. You can clean up too. We brought soap and water and food if you’re hungry.”
“Give me a few, will ya? I’m going to do a quick change, call Syd and then ring my boss. I expect I have to talk with the media. Even though I’m part of this story, I’m still the media rep,” Tom said.
As Tom walked to the truck and opened the door, he heard the whale thrashing about and flapping his tail on the sand as if he was in distress. The vets were just starting to attend to him. People from Scripps and Sea World were gathered all around the whale. They stepped back because the calf wasn’t calm any longer.
Tom quickly turned and walked back over to the whale. When the whale saw Tom, he stopped flopping around. The whale seemed to have imprinted on Tom’s voice and presence.
“Okay, maybe we better hold up some towels for cover right here so you can change clothes on the beach. The calf does not like it when you’re out of his sight and can’t hear you,” George said.
“Come on,” Tom said. “Really? How can that be?”
“Let’s experiment,” George said. Then he yelled, “Everybody back off.” Speaking at normal volume, George asked Tom, “Walk away again and let’s see what happens.”
As Tom walked out of the whale’s field of vision, the calf started to thrash about. He quickly returned to where the calf could see him and started talking to him, reassuring him.
“I think you better stay close,” George said. “If the calf does much more of that we may not be able to save him.”
So Tom Campbell changed clothes, talked on his cell phone and ate a quick lunch next to his new best friend, a three thousand pound cetacean. The vets worked on the calf’s fluke. The whale didn’t put up much of a fuss as they dressed the wound as best they could. They also buried protection posts in the sand on either side of the tail just to be on the safe side in case the whale thrashed too much. Getting whipped by the tail of a juvenile sperm whale could seriously injure someone.
Tom was also now in charge of keeping the whale wet. A fire truck parked nearby was pumping fresh seawater into a hose Tom used to soak the whale every few minutes or so.
Reluctantly, the Sheriff was forced by orders sent down through the chain of command to allow limited media access to the whale. The media were now permitted to get close to the calf for a few minutes, one reporter and one camera person at a time.
“You’re Tom Campbell, right?” the female reporter asked. She looked to Tom to be no more than twenty five.
“I’m Tom Campbell,” Tom replied. He was busy talking to the whale, distracting the creature as crews were laying down the metal tracks for the cranes to use to carry him back into the ocean.
“Can I ask you a few questions? The camera is off now.”
Tom did not want to answer questions at the moment, but he was the PR person at Scripps. Appearing rude or uncooperative with the media, especially with the local TV stations, was not in his best interest.
“Sure, go ahead,” Tom said. He put down the hose.
After hurrying through a bri
ef intro for her news story the reporter asked, “You found the whale?”
“I was the first person to see him on the beach, yes,” Tom answered.
“You’re the Head of Public Relations for Scripps, right Mr. Campbell?”
“I am, yes.”
“Why are you attending to the whale? Aren’t there marine biologists who might be more qualified than you to see to the calf?”
“The whale seems to get agitated when I leave his line of sight and when he can’t hear me. George Walker, the marine biologist from Scripps who is charge here, asked me to stay with him.”
“You’ve made friends with a whale! That’s extraordinary. Have you given the whale a name?”
“A name? Like a person’s name?”
“Yes.”
“No, he’s a whale. I’m just trying to keep him calm.”
The Sheriff gave the reporter the high sign, telling her to wrap it up. She shut off her camera and walked a few yards away from the calf. Then she recorded the end of her piece using the stranded whale as background, “Tom Campbell, Chief Spokesperson for Scripps, has found himself in the unlikely position of whale sitter as the crews are working…”
Sydney laughed as she switched off the TV set at home. Her husband was a whale-talker!
If Tom has those kinds of skills, maybe I should re-think my no pets rule, Syd laughed to herself. She took out her keys, locked up the house and hopped in her Toyota. It was time for her to go and investigate this whale business in person.
Chapter Five
The calf was not sure what the land creatures were doing. The land animal he knew best, the one who was there from the time he escaped from the sharks by swimming on to the sand, was still right next to him. As long as this land creature stayed by his side the calf felt somewhat safe.
Henry and Tom: Ocean Adventure Series Book 1: Rescue (Ocean Adventures Series) Page 2