Holding Fast

The whale-watching trip was my sister's idea. She thought I needed something that would jump-start my spirits. It would be a day cruise, leaving the protected waters of San Francisco Bay in search of whales migrating south. “You’ll love it,” Joyce told me. “I know that you’re always up for an adventure."

Everyone, including my sister, who had seen me at my lowest, thought that I was brave. I knew better. I charged ahead as though nothing fazed me, but that was all a front. Inside I was gripped by fear. Fear of taking the wrong step. Fear of failing. Like I had with my marriage, which fell apart after 23 years, despite my best efforts.

I had tried to be a better wife, to make my husband happier, but in the end all of my efforts weren’t enough to save us. My marriage, and the small fly-fishing business we’d run together in South Dakota, were gone.

I had gone back to teaching to support myself. Less than a year after the divorce, I’d gotten into a terrible car accident. I’d walked away from the crash, but it seemed like there was nothing left for me in South Dakota. So I had moved to my sister’s in the Bay Area. I was working as a waitress, trying to get my life—myself—back together, but I felt beaten, too shattered by my failures to start over. Maybe Joyce was right. Maybe I needed an adventure.

I drove to the San Francisco wharf, took a seasickness pill and boarded the 36-foot boat, feeling overdressed in my parka, long johns and rain gear. Everyone else wore street clothes—tennis shoes, jeans, sweatshirts—even though the brochure had said to dress for wet and cold weather.

I gazed at the sky. Pewter like the water, but with no sign of rain. The boat eased away from the dock. The captain gave us a jaunty wave from the wheelhouse. Just another day at sea for him. We pivoted and churned through the water, the air growing breezy. The boat bounced against a bit of chop. Ahead was the Golden Gate Bridge.

We passengers gathered around the tour guide. “This is the time of year gray whales migrate south to their winter feeding grounds off Mexico,” he said. “We should be able to see a school of them 10 miles out or so. If we’re lucky, we will get close enough to hear the slap of their tails.”

“How long will it take us to get there?” I asked.

“I’d say about an hour. The very first thing you’ll see is the whales’ spray when they surface.”