They called him
Flipper. In the history of network programming, no weekly half-hour television
show has done more, with the possible exception of "Lassie," to
bolster the reputation of an animal in the eyes of human viewers. The weekly frolicking of Bud, Sandy and
their pet dolphin during the 1960's left an endearing legacy the effects of
which are still emerging. The trend in "hands-on" dolphin encounters
at megabuck resorts in Hawaii and the Bahamas is a testament to the lasting
power of an image created almost fifty years ago.
In
February of 1984 no such hotel-sponsored experiences were available. My
fascination with dolphins, however, led me to the Kewalo Basin Marine Mammal
Laboratory in Waikiki as a participant in Project Earthwatch
(www.earthwatch.org). Teaching Dolphins Language was
enticingly presented in a catalogue as one of hundreds of ongoing scientific research
projects being carried out worldwide. The Earthwatch concept of financially
contributing volunteers involved in tax-deductible working vacations was the
backbone of many of these expeditions.
For me, it was a cheap way to see Hawaii for a month while indulging
myself in a Flipper Fantasy.
Kewalo Basin Marine Mammal Lab
"If
you've come here in search of Flipper you're going to be severely
enlightened."
I
had. I was. And in my opinion, Lab Director Louis Herman could have waited a
few days to burst our collective bubble.
He continued...
"The
dolphins we are teaching are wild animals captured for scientific purposes,
nothing like those you'll find at Sea World, which were raised in
captivity."
Flipper
was wild, I thought to myself.
"And
for those of you who are concerned about restaurants with "dolphin"
on their menus.....don't be. That
dolphin is a species of fish unrelated to the mammals we'll be studying. In
Florida the Bottlenose Dolphin is called a Porpoise. The two names can be used
interchangeably."
He
went on with his opening remarks warning of the dangers involved with wild
animal research of this kind. Being intensely social creatures, Phoenix and
Akeakamai, our two "girls" as they were known, required hours and
hours of tankside play. That was part of our job. The remainder of the day
would be spent tossing various objects into the tanks where the dolphins were
kept waiting for visual and auditory cues such as "Take Ball to
Basket," while notes were taken, objects retrieved and dolphins praised
and hugged for a proper response.
That would be the
order of operations for the coming weeks:
command, respond, reward
command, respond, reward
command,
respond, reward
The dolphins knew it
well and came to expect it of us. How well they knew it would be revealed to me
later in a private training session. What happened that day was not recounted
until now, perhaps to the detriment of those running the decades-long project.
Like
any job, the routine became boring and repetitive. And there were distractions.
The views of Diamondhead, daily rainbows over the hills, and the fragrances of
flowers, native cooking and suntan lotion filled the air.
Myths
were constantly de-bunked. For instance, it was pointed out that the only
reports of sailors being led to shore by dolphins came from those who survived
the experience. Those who were led in the opposite direction obviously gave no
account of their misfortune. Dolphins love to push objects through the water. And
being the equivalent of approximately an 800-pound muscle, can do so with
considerable force and ease.
On his experience with such an in-tank
encounter, one young lab assistant related:
"...it
was radical...worse than any body-slam I've ever gotten playing football."
In-tank encounters
were thus forbidden. Nor was safety out of the water a given. An irritable
dolphin could signal for a "hug" at one moment, tire of the
experience without notice and attempt to bat your head away like a tennis ball
off a racket a moment later. And it seemed their irritability was the norm
rather than the exception. They were wild dolphins.
It
took the better part of two weeks for our lilly-white winter complexions to tan
evenly. Defending against intense exposure to tropical sun with varying levels
of sunblock produced a patchwork quilt effect on tanning shoulders and arms. A
spot left untreated was scorched.
Pale handprints were not uncommon. Thirty minutes of exposure was
dangerous. We were outside eight hours a day. I have never been, nor will I
ever again be, as tan as I was by March of 1984.
By the third week on
the project some special changes took place. The "girls" began to
recognize us. This behavior was unstudied and undocumented. It wasn't charted, recorded, or
data-fied. But it made the project
worthwhile.
Previously oblivious
to us as we wandered around the outdoor lab in the morning, we would be greeted
tankside by a bobbing pair of noses, playfully splashing and chirping (you know
that Flipper sound…) to get our attention, rising out of the water in the
"hug me" position. It
was heartwarming, and very much like the tail-wagging dog/master feeling I'd
known before.
Tank-side visits were off limits to humans after hours, by dolphin decree. They were extremely territorial animals, capable of splashing an unwelcome loiterer to a point just short of drowning. “Get away” was the clear message.
One memorable evening I sauntered over to the tank, hot and uncomfortable, looking to be splashed. The girls were docile, slowly swimming at the surface of the water in clockwise circles around the edge of the pool while I stood watching. The moon was full and the air was calm. The only sounds were those of the gently lapping tiny waves created by the motion of the dolphins through the water, and the rising and falling of the surf in the nearby ocean. In a bold move I leaned over the edge of the concrete tank, dangling my hands in the water within reach of the two swimmers.
As each approached I held my breath, expecting a deserved and inevitable splash. Two or three laps later, Phoenix and Ake (Ah-Kay) were still calmly swimming past my immersed hands, now rolling a quarter turn to gaze upward at my face and then swim on. A progressively more intimate relationship developed over the course of a half hour that evening. Phoenix initiated the behaviors and Ake followed suit. Their quarter turn roll became gradually more pronounced and the pace slowed as Phoenix extended her left flipper above the water's surface, first in a salute and on subsequent passes, in a sort of handshake, a touch.
Several curious Earthwatchers silently joined me. All extended their hands toward the dolphins, touching, stroking and caressing the extended fins - firm, rubbery and wet. We watched each other, and as I gazed into their oh-so-human eyes, they seemed so much like my own that they appeared misplaced in this fishy form. I gradually became aware of the link that was broken somewhere in the ancient familial path that sent us on our separate evolutionary ways. Myths spawned by the old Samoans of reincarnated warriors in dolphin form became obvious manifestations of this kind of observation.
Soon the girls resumed their normal swimming pattern and we dropped back from the tank lest we ruin the moment with a splashy awakening. We withdrew to the moon shadows near the back of the lab and spoke in hushed tones. A second year assistant from California, a surfer, spoke for us all, saying, "dude...that was awesome!"
But that was just a hint of what was to come.
Several mornings later, daily tank-side prep and cleanup was in progress. I moved the usual research objects into place for our morning training session: beachball, surfboard, basket and Frisbee. The sun was scorching as always, and the dolphins swam leisurely in their pool. Phoenix watched me over the edge of the concrete tank, a light blue wall about four and a half feet high. Each circular pool was equipped with a central drain and a watertight access door to allow entry for cleaning when empty. The door was several steps down, with a two-foot square window for underwater viewing. That the dolphin was watching me was unusual. They tended to ignore us until appointed times for feeding, work or play. Because of this, I pretended to ignore her, relying only on my peripheral view for fear of scaring the watcher off. As minutes elapsed, water began showering lightly over my shoulders. I was being intentionally splashed, but not in the usual aggressive way. This was a gentle attempt to gain my attention.
I turned and faced my assailant, wished her good-morning and asked, “What are you up to?” Upon making eye contact, the dolphin quickly swam away as I feared she would. But she bobbed immediately to the surface of the water in the area by the underwater door, and then returned to her original position. Splashing water in the direction of the door, she dove again, disappeared under the surface, and now that I was paying attention, re-appeared, framed in the underwater window. Not only was this inordinately cute, deliberate and unprecedented, but the behavior held within it an equation that struck a chord I’d been trained to recognize: command, respond, reward.
It took several repetitions before the stupid human in this encounter understood the dolphin’s intentions.
Command: splash toward the door.
Respond: greet at the underwater window.
And with that, I walked toward the door, quickly descended the steps and met my dolphin counterpart face to face at the viewing port. All that was missing was a reward. And with that, the face behind the glass disappeared and the entire body popped above the surface of the water, extending in the “hug” position. My reward: command, respond, reward.
The Author Gets A Reward |
I’d been trained. Oh my Gosh! The dolphin had trained me. I was a bit of a slow learner, but I eventually understood and was changed forever in my estimation of animal intelligence and my sense of place in this amazing world.
* * * * *
My month of participation was over. As the plane taxied for takeoff I paged through project literature. Nowhere were such experiences alluded to or mentioned. Lou Herman's words echoed in my head. “.... severely enlightened." He knew. And now I did too.
“Like, totally better than Flipper, dude." I chuckled under my breath, gazing out the window as Diamondhead slowly receded beneath billowing white clouds and the plane headed back to Chicago.