Open Writing

On a clear day in a pristine summer sky, high above the West Australian coastline, you can't quite see forever, but you can catch a glimpse of the universe unfolding.

Recently, along with the pilot of our Cessna 180, and several hundred observers on the ground, I glimpsed it unexpectedly in the majestic shapes of four Southern Wright whales when they appeared at a suburban Perth beach, and lingered in our hearts and minds.

It happened one magnificent morning the last time I was in the West visiting family members. I went flying with a pilot friend of mine, Paul Shepherd. 'Captain Paul' as he's known locally, does the daily air traffic report for a local radio station.

Paul and I had just about completed that morning's report when we spotted the whales in Waterman's Bay, close to the city.

From out of the great ocean of our personal experience, the whales surfaced in that magic space between the everyday and the dream. They floated through the shallows of the bay and into the deep water of our memories.

The whales had temporarily abandoned their secret ocean sanctuary for the exposed edge of civilisation, and converged their lives with ours. They drifted very close to shore, to the extreme edge of their marine wilderness, and seemed too me, to be pushing the boundaries of prudent contact.

For me it was a new and astonishing experience. On his regular morning flights for the radio station, Paul had seen whales before off the metropolitan coast, but never like this, he assured me, so near the beach, in crystal clear water.

Then, to complete a perfect picture, some playful dolphins arrived to pay homage.

As Paul and I stared at the scene below we both lapsed into a connected silence, opening a space for contemplation. My ponderings began with the simplistic question of what the whales were doing there. Then my mind quickly rebuked me with the sudden realisation that what I was witnessing demanded a suitable, emotional response, not amateur scientific analysis.

Before long the whales' majestic presence filled me with elation, and it occurred to me that the proper emotion was wonder.

I read somewhere that by finding out what we feel about wild creatures, we discover the law of the universe. And at times like these it can seem that the purpose of life is to acquaint ourselves with nature.

When we closely observe something as naturally wild and profoundly moving as whales, we sometimes feel that it is only on the other side of human experience that real understanding of life can occur.

At some point, the whales broke into two pairs and selected different patches of water in which to mesmerize their respective audiences. Then we noticed the exuberant dolphins had gone, as if they'd spotted a better place to go, although where such a place would be, we couldn't imagine.

Unfortunately we had to go too, but not to a better place. We had traffic jams to observe as well as whales. In the sprawling city below us, encased in their cars on their way to work, there were thousands of radio listeners more interested in clock watching than whale watching.

From free whales to freeways. The conflict of emotions inherent in observing one of the planet's great natural wonders side by side with one of the world's great artificial monstrosities, blurs our perceptions of the separation between wilderness and civilisation.

But after that morning, the distinction for me is as clear as the water in the bay. Seeing the whales for the first time filled me with reverential awe. When such feelings occur, you know you are in the presence of something irreducibly and profoundly natural.

As fleeting as it was, I know in my soul that it was a true wilderness experience.

© Roger McAuliffe

Roger writes for Bonzer! magazine www.bonzer.org.au