Some of you may know that I was in Newfoundland earlier this month. It’s a spectacular place (here are some photos). We went on a boat tour south of St. John’s hoping to see both whales and puffins. Before boarding, we noticed a white board that noted the day’s wildlife sightings. Whales weren’t listed. “Oh well,” we thought. Who can control such a thing? Our tour guide further cemented (or anchored?) the message, telling us that whale sightings are only so likely in the middle of August.
The boat headed out into a choppy North Atlantic Ocean. We ended up at the bow of the boat, being jerked around and taking on sea spray with each wave. We couldn’t stop laughing (not to mention, gripping the rails). We were having a blast, probably the most fun of the entire trip. When we got into open water, everything was a lot calmer. And then, a whale! A woman near us spotted it. The captain cut the sea shanty track and the guide directed us where to look.
We waited. And then, another breach! And another.
A boat full of people “oohed” and “aahed,” witnessing what felt like a miracle. I had expected the possibility of this collective sense of awe because I once read Michael McCarthy’s The Moth Snowstorm. In it, he explores the relationship between joy and conservation. Here’s the full Substack post. His chapter about wonder includes some writing about whale and dolphin sightings. First, he introduces the idea of wonder, describing it as “an astonished cherishing or veneration…often involving an element of mystery.”
He also shares the Concise Oxford definition: “An emotion excited by what is unexpected, unfamiliar, or inexplicable, especially surprise mingled with admiration or curiosity.” Whether it be whale sightings, a solar eclipse, a meteor, or the Northern Lights (I’VE EXPERIENCED ALL FOUR THIS YEAR!!), in McCarthy’s words, “we are astonished to be in a world which can contain such a phenomenon.”
We also live in a world that is fraught with pain and ugliness, so we need to hang on to these wondrous shared experiences. And what a shared experience it was. About one of his own boat tours, McCarthy wrote, “Every soul on board cried out in amazement and delight,” looking spellbound. How did he know what would occur on our boat years before it actually did? With each breach of the humpback, that was us, a group of strangers crying out in amazement. It’s a moment I hope I’ll always remember. Let me know in the comments if you’ve had any similar experiences of collective wonder.
