The Dolphin Survey – Part 1: Blue Water

"There," said Teresa, and pointed.

Ingrid raised the binoculars. A hundred metres off the bow, a pod of dolphins broke the surface in a silver arc, ten, twelve, more, leaping and rolling in the deep blue swell. The little survey boat bucked gently. Spray flew. Far behind, the volcano of the island rose green and enormous from the sea.

"That's Moby, and that's Dot, and the one with the notch is Lupa," said Teresa. "She is seventeen. She has had four calves."

"You know them all?"

"I have known them fifteen years."

Ingrid, thirty-five, a marine biologist from Gothenburg, had come for a three-week survey. Teresa, thirty-eight, the skipper, was brown and strong, with silver rings, a black braid under a sun-bleached cap and a calm voice that never rose, even in a heavy sea. She steered with one hand and gestured with the other.

"Write this down," she said. "Lupa, with calf."

Ingrid wrote. She spent hours each day on the bow with a clipboard and camera, the sun on her neck. In the evenings they ate fish stew on the little deck, sunburned and sleepy, with the whole Atlantic turning to violet.

"I'll miss this," said Ingrid, on the last Friday.

"The dolphins?"

"All of it. The boat. The blue. The skipper." She looked down. "Especially the skipper."

Teresa said nothing for a long moment. Then she cut the engine. The boat drifted, rocking, in total silence.

"Ingrid. I am not good with words. I would like to kiss you, if you would like that."

Continue the story: Part 2 – Slack Tide.

Continue the story: Part 2 – Slack Tide.