(Continued from this post.)
After the trip to southern California, my focus on the orcas diminished somewhat but it was always there in the background. In eighth grade, I did a project on John C. Lilly and his research into human-dolphin communication. My parents were always passing along whatever news articles or books about cetaceans they thought might interest me, but as I turned my attentions to my adolescent peer group there was not so much passion for the orcas for several years.
My career aspirations changed; I decided I would be a veterinarian, and took a job working in a clinic to start down the long road to that goal. In my junior year my high school biology teacher, an amazing woman to whom I will be forever grateful, insisted that I sign up for an environmental studies camp to be held in the wilderness of British Columbia. Working part time, taking AP classes, and preparing for the upcoming SATs, the last thing in the world I wanted to do was spend a week in the wilderness falling behind. I tried to fudge the application to sound like such a rabid environmentalist that they wouldn't accept me, but as fate would have it, I was accepted and went off to a life-changing week.
I was raised with a strong conservation ethic, but one that had not really encouraged activism beyond the odd letter writing campaign. At this camp, secluded in the upper Skagit Valley and mentored by a set of phenomenal counselors, among them Thom Henley, I was inspired to become an environmental activist, to use my developing skills as a writer and educator to share information that would hopefully inspire others to act on behalf of this precious planet we all share. I came home with hopes of a career in environmental law or journalism, began to write an environmentalist column for the school newspaper, and harried my parents about making sustainable buying choices around the house.
That fall, a group of the campers decided to have a reunion in Victoria, B.C., where Thom lived. The Puget Sound contingent set sail aboard Princess Marguerite II on a beautiful Friday afternoon. We were determined to stay in the passenger cabin and conquer our homework before arriving in Victoria, so we could enjoy a guilt-free weekend. This plan worked well until, somewhere in Admiralty Inlet, one of my traveling companions spotted a dorsal fin alongside the ship. He pointed, stammering in excitement, and went racing out to the deck. Our homework completely forgotten, the rest of us raced out after him.
No, it wasn't an orca. It was a pod of Dall's porpoise who stayed with the ship, weaving around and beneath the bow, for most of the rest of our voyage. Another passenger claimed they were actually Chinook salmon (!), and upon reflection I think the phenomenal ignorance he displayed was another piece of inspiration for me to share (accurate) information about the natural world with other people. (Dall's are often mistaken for baby orcas by people who don't realize that orcas that young would never be seen traveling alone under normal circumstances, but to mistake a bow-riding porpoise for a fish?)
Having an immediate experience with wild cetaceans reminded me how much I loved them. But I didn't consider returning to my original idea of pursuing cetacean science as a career. By that time, I had come to realize that a lot of the jobs available would be either in marine parks or in the military, neither of which held any appeal for me. Somehow, living just a hundred miles away, I missed connecting with the Whale Museum or the Center for Whale Research.
I continued on to university, and continued to be an active activist, without connecting this childhood love with my current reality. In my final year at school, I took an internship with a non-profit that worked on regional water quality and marine habitat issues. That internship turned into a full-time job as an environmental educator, and gave me the opportunity to share my knowledge of and love for the place I live with thousands of people of all ages over the next decade. And as part of that job, I got to go whale watching once in a while.
After the trip to southern California, my focus on the orcas diminished somewhat but it was always there in the background. In eighth grade, I did a project on John C. Lilly and his research into human-dolphin communication. My parents were always passing along whatever news articles or books about cetaceans they thought might interest me, but as I turned my attentions to my adolescent peer group there was not so much passion for the orcas for several years.
My career aspirations changed; I decided I would be a veterinarian, and took a job working in a clinic to start down the long road to that goal. In my junior year my high school biology teacher, an amazing woman to whom I will be forever grateful, insisted that I sign up for an environmental studies camp to be held in the wilderness of British Columbia. Working part time, taking AP classes, and preparing for the upcoming SATs, the last thing in the world I wanted to do was spend a week in the wilderness falling behind. I tried to fudge the application to sound like such a rabid environmentalist that they wouldn't accept me, but as fate would have it, I was accepted and went off to a life-changing week.
I was raised with a strong conservation ethic, but one that had not really encouraged activism beyond the odd letter writing campaign. At this camp, secluded in the upper Skagit Valley and mentored by a set of phenomenal counselors, among them Thom Henley, I was inspired to become an environmental activist, to use my developing skills as a writer and educator to share information that would hopefully inspire others to act on behalf of this precious planet we all share. I came home with hopes of a career in environmental law or journalism, began to write an environmentalist column for the school newspaper, and harried my parents about making sustainable buying choices around the house.
That fall, a group of the campers decided to have a reunion in Victoria, B.C., where Thom lived. The Puget Sound contingent set sail aboard Princess Marguerite II on a beautiful Friday afternoon. We were determined to stay in the passenger cabin and conquer our homework before arriving in Victoria, so we could enjoy a guilt-free weekend. This plan worked well until, somewhere in Admiralty Inlet, one of my traveling companions spotted a dorsal fin alongside the ship. He pointed, stammering in excitement, and went racing out to the deck. Our homework completely forgotten, the rest of us raced out after him.
No, it wasn't an orca. It was a pod of Dall's porpoise who stayed with the ship, weaving around and beneath the bow, for most of the rest of our voyage. Another passenger claimed they were actually Chinook salmon (!), and upon reflection I think the phenomenal ignorance he displayed was another piece of inspiration for me to share (accurate) information about the natural world with other people. (Dall's are often mistaken for baby orcas by people who don't realize that orcas that young would never be seen traveling alone under normal circumstances, but to mistake a bow-riding porpoise for a fish?)
Having an immediate experience with wild cetaceans reminded me how much I loved them. But I didn't consider returning to my original idea of pursuing cetacean science as a career. By that time, I had come to realize that a lot of the jobs available would be either in marine parks or in the military, neither of which held any appeal for me. Somehow, living just a hundred miles away, I missed connecting with the Whale Museum or the Center for Whale Research.
I continued on to university, and continued to be an active activist, without connecting this childhood love with my current reality. In my final year at school, I took an internship with a non-profit that worked on regional water quality and marine habitat issues. That internship turned into a full-time job as an environmental educator, and gave me the opportunity to share my knowledge of and love for the place I live with thousands of people of all ages over the next decade. And as part of that job, I got to go whale watching once in a while.
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