Ol´ ´Scratched-Back ´

Febraury 10, 2011
Puerto Escondido, Oax., Mx.


Walked down to the Cafecito at 6:00 A.M., to grab a cup of coffee and wait for friends and travel companions to join us. We were to meet our boat pilot, a `Lanchero` named Jesus. ( Hezz-ooss) I passed a stubbled, rhumey-eyed looking older Mexican guy seated in the dark drinking his coffee, and he gave me a hard ´once-over´ . `Are you part of MY group?` his eyes seemed to say.

" Tu eres Jesus?" ( Are you Jesus?) I ask. He curled his lip up in distain, like a Mexican ´film nois´ actor and in Spanish said,
¨ I am much better than him!" ( I almost laughed. `Oh I see, his competitor and anticedant`)
" Tu eres Lucifer entonces?`` (You are Lucifer then?) He just shook his head, unamuzed.

The real boat captain appeared, and we three gringos jumped into the back of his pick-up and were off. Five Gringos, three Mexicans an Italian, the captain and his assistant all met at Marinero Harber, and headed out to sea by 6:15 A.M. One American had laquered his stomach with`Immodium` for two days to make the trip possible. As we headed out into the moderate chop, the young Mexican woman looked like she was going to loose her cookies, but she was soon distracted by inter-species contact. We saw leaping Manta Ray sharks and heard the deep, almost Elk-like tonal calls of a Hump-back whale, very rare on the Oaxacan coast. The crewman threw two baited hooks out to drag behind the boat, bouncing on the surface which the dolphins wisely ignored, although eventually a sailfish struck. Fifteen minutes later this audaciously regal and irridesent peacock of the oceon was pulled into the launcha and clubbed. `Catch and release` was not in ´marineros´ ( fishermans) cultural vocabulary, and more importantly, he had a family to feed. Within five minutes the irridescent colors washed to a dead grey and the long, spear-nosed fish lay still. El fin. La muerte. ( The end. Death.) The magic gone.


We tracked to the south, west and east in the perlescent-gray-light, first following then loosing a school of dolphins. They were indifferent and disengaged from the boat- odd behavior as they are usually very playful. They either divided as a pod, or dove into the deep, loosing us, far beyond the shallow continental shelf of the shore. We suspected breakfast of sardines was still being served.

Suddenly, one very large porpoise, ´Ol-Scratch-Back´, lept out of the water, twelve to fifteen feet into the air and suspended mid-arc for what seemed like five seconds. The silloette of its aquiline torso framed the now ascending nuclear orange on the eastern horizon. Opening ceremonies had officially begun! So coreographed did this seem, the back-lighting, the leap, the perfect Olympian form, that one half- expected a film crew of some cheesy T.V show to appear. Pamela Anderson asking the caterors where the bran muffins were on the `production boat`.( The imaginary) David Hasselhoff, in a form fitting and ´synched-up´ boby suit, flirting with the cute young production assistant. The gaffers bitching about the `stupid actors`and flaky, dangerous rented `Mexican` light cables. Nonetheless, the tourists and crew exploded with cheers and jubilation at the dolphin gymnastics. Interspecies contact and acknowledgement had been made.


I named the ten to twelve foot alpha porpoise `Ol Scatched-Back` by his or her distinctive back wounds. Were these fish-hook wounds? Trawler net wounds? Boat-hull wounds? I know not. This intentioned and very dramatic leap signalled to the pod that breakfast was over. The porpoise immediately altered their behavior and started playing with and engaging the boat. They skimmed on the boats wakes, and tracked us like we had been tracking them. Below us they swam, disappearing beneath the hull. On both sides of the boat. Matching our speed, or pulling forward in front of us. Dropping back, then to the side. Twining. Leaping. Sinking. Rizing. Twisting on their sides as they eyed us. Three young dolphins swam playfully just in front of the bow weaving in and out, then exploded through a white cap to arch and dive.


Jesus turned the motor off, and we could hear the human-like exhalations of the dolphins. A brief and economic surface, inhale, and submerge. I asked the captain if it was ok to swim with them.

``Mala Aqua, mala agua.`` ( Jelly fish) but then he added, `` It may be ok. Try it.`` both in English and Spanish.

So I pulled my shirt off, put my goggles on, and jumped in, colliding with hundreds of eggs, wads of soft tissue, invertebra `seeds` and Jelly fish. But no stings! I sensed the porpoise were surprized by my entry into their world, but not concerned. Their high-pitched `squeeks` and `gleeks` echoed around me. The smallest and youngest and least experienced - like the young in so many species- came the closest, to within fifteen feet of me. They eyed me while swimming. I sensed that they knew and understood my breathing limitations, and although respectful of my space, were not frightened by my presense. We swam together for perhaps five minutes, then `Ol´Scatched-Back` swam under me and dove directly down and disappeared into the deep obscure dark-green, signalling `caution` to the pod. I had a brief moment of anxiety, alone and more vulnerable to sharks and remembering that the floor of the sea could be a thousand feet below. They began to filter away, mostly to the north. A few offered a final ceremonial circle, then were gone.

`Ahhh` I looked wistfully and a little sadly as they disappeared behind the opaque aquious curtain. Show over. We hadn`t had enough time to bond in what were to me almost ambiotic waters, as I have been swimming in the oceon since the age of four.

`Scatched-Back, come back!`, I thought. But he or she was shy of the lights and attention, and the terms of the contracts had not been agreed upon or signed . Being a responsible pod leader took priority.

`Caution, caution my family. Play time is over`, the wise-one seemed to say.

I rose to the surface, garlanded by irridescent-blue `bubbles`of florescent algae. The fins and small white-caps of the pod receded off to the north and Roca Blanca. The video-cameraman on the boat, one of the sweet Mexican tourists, shook his head and smiled at the crazy gringo swimming so far out to sea.
``Hey Pamela, pass me the bran muffins, will ya? David, is there any fruit salad left?``

Abrazos
Esteban