Come Play with Me

We were anchored aboard Scud, our 44’ St. Francis catamaran, in turquoise waters clear as air in St. John, the Virgin Islands. Onboard were my husband, Peter, and our two young sons: Adam 9, and Warren, age 8. The boys’ merry prattle had a lit and cadence to which I listened with pleasure, as they completed afternoon school lessons. They were happy to have finally reached the Virgin Islands after our eventful passage down the thorny path. Breathing in the pure ocean breeze that was scented with frangipani, I took in the stunning view of bay waters against a backdrop of island peeks, filled with languid melancholy.

I was brought out of my quiet reverie, when an odd percussion of beast against boat came from the bow. Curious, I sauntered on deck. The boys followed me, sensing something up with their faithful antennae. Together we peered over the side, but nothing seemed amiss. The eerie sound came again. This time we ran forward to peer over the bow….no, nothing, again. “Mommy!” shouted Warren animatedly, and then added, “Look!” He pointed towards the waters where a slight ripple vibrated across the surface, then disappeared as fast as it had come. “There!” screamed Adam. He stabbed his forefinger into the depths of the sea, further down along the hull.

A dark shaped lingered in shadow beneath the hulls, then raced underneath, silent as a torpedo and just as fast. We rushed astern. The boys chorused, “Daddy!” He tossed aside his tools below-decks, then ambled into the cockpit with his usual calm, confident repose. The boys were revving into overdrive: A blurry wave of arms and legs surged from bow to stern, then back again. Robin, our Belguim barge dog (widely known as a Schipperke), was going bananas from the tease of the mermaid in the waters below. The heightened cacophony of the boys’ squeals together with the dog’s hysteria was comical.

All at once, the dark shape shot out of the water, drove for the heavens, then slid back down the clouds, and somersaulted into a back flip, re-entering the waters at the exact spot it had exited. A hushed silence fell over the boat. A bottlenose dolphin! She streamlined to the bow, rubbed her back along our anchor rode, circled the boat, then repeated her massage on the bow…over and over again. We stared wide-eyed, mouths ajar, as we scurried across the deck, following her hypnotic sashaying around the boat.

Quickly, we grabbed our mask and fins to slither into the waters, careful not to alarm the dolphin. Before taking the plunge, Peter and I eyed the children: Big white saucers blinked back at us from behind masks like twin headlights. The hot summer breeze was heavy with their unspoken words of eager anticipation, nerves vibrating like taught violin strings. In the waters, Adam hung close to Peter’s side; Warren, nearly upon my back.

We hung back out of respect for the wild mammal, giving her ample room. With waters clear as cellophane, details were sharp on her shiny skin: A slight scar ran across the dorsal fin, and inconspicuous barnacle scrapes stretched along her snowy-white underbelly.

We followed the dolphin’s movements: She frolicked on the periphery of our small family group, dipping and rising to the surface, never really going anywhere. She emitted a single-toned squeal to convey alarm – or possibly excitement? The click that projected from the melon on her forehead, located in front of the blowhole, acted as a sonar beam, bouncing off Scud’s hulls to guide her away. This sonar beam enables dolphins to avoid collision in their herd when swimming fast: up to 25 mph. Typically, we see dolphins travel in small herds of 5-10, yet up to an immense school of 1,000 when we’ve crossed oceans.

In the shallow waters, the dolphin darted between us, stopping to pause two feet in front of the boys, barrel-rolling across the sandy bottom. If she swam too far into the glassy void, the boys back-peddled to the safety of Mom and Dad. Sensing a disappearing audience, the dolphin turned back to tease them out again. For two hours she played cat and mouse. Her finale touched all our hearts: She swam up to the boys so close that out of sheer freight, Warren propelled himself out, willing to walk on water. The dolphin did likewise, breaking the surface like a rocket bent on speed alongside him, over half her body pointing to the heavens. In the late afternoon light, her glistening front towered over Warren’s tiny frame.

Over the next few days, the dolphin returned to our boat for her daily massage on the anchor rode. We never did figure out where she came from, or why she seemed so tame. We named her Niki, for the little nick in her back, possibly from a close encounter with an angry shark.

We have long considered the presence of dolphins that cruised alongside our bows as a good omen and a promise of fair weather. Many classical writers have described how dolphins were once harnessed to chariots to help maidens in distress. We considered Niki our lucky talisman, a gift to continue our wandering cruise down the exotic island chain of the Caribbean, forever ready for our next big adventure that probably no one back home would believe. At least this time, we had the photo to prove it!