You are hunting.
A cocktail in your hand.
A pleasant boat ride.
Beneath the blue mantle surrounding Los Cabos lies a world unlike our own, its inhabitants soar deep under our phony vessels, evading us as we try to be with them, to have some sort of communion with a world we can barely comprehend, we want to feel like we belong as well as they do. But there is a creature with which we can’t interact, we just can hope to get lucky, just lucky enough to see it from a distance.
As I took a seat on the boat I noticed a distinctive air on board with us, the almost alcoholic scent of people vacationing, of friends and families expecting a good day, eager for a nice boat ride in the early afternoon, as worry-free as one can be. Just hoping for a good time, only hoping to get lucky.
By the moment the boat started moving forward everyone already had a drink on their hand, we took a brief tour of Los Cabos shore ending at the iconic arch. And then everything grew smaller. The land behind us became a blur as we focused our sights on the blue abys. Hunting, hopping.
We didn’t get lucky. Or at least not lucky enough. We saw the sudden distant breeze of a whale shooting water into the air as it comes up for a breath. Far into the distance, we saw a tail submerging into the deep sea. We watched the giant shadow of something swimming near the surface. But the moment, the one in the picture at the top of this text, that clear sight that makes you feel almost too small, the direct encounter, the revelation of a world we crave to know. That wasn’t on the books for us.
So, what happens when you are heading back to the docks after two hours in the sea and not getting lucky?
I asked for one more drink, went to seat back with my family, and continued to enjoy a pleasant boat ride in the early afternoon. Blame my luck.