Aurora and the Popcorn Dolphin

by Sarah Webb

  “That’s Click,” I say. Click is definitely the cleverest dolphin I’ve ever met! “Dad, we should record some of Click’s whistles and try playing them back to him with the D-Com. Maybe he’ll be smart enough to figure it out, even if the frequency is wrong. Please? Can’t we at least try?”

  “Not today, Rory. The D-Com isn’t set up and I have to do the echolocation work.”

  “But, Dad—” I say.

  “Please, Rory, don’t be difficult. I made a commitment, and I have to keep to it.”

  What about his commitment to Mom, though? I’m about to snap at him when Alanna says, “Well, it all sounds fascinating. I don’t suppose you have room for a passenger? I’d love to come out with you, if it isn’t too much trouble. Watch the scientists at work.”

  “Is there enough food for three?” Dad asks.

  Alanna nods. “For an entire army. I went a bit overboard with the brownies. I know Rory likes them.”

  “OK with you to take a passenger, Rory?” Dad asks me.

  It’s more than OK with me − it’s awesome. I was dreading being stuck with Dad on my own for hours, especially now he’s refusing to work on the dolphin dictionary. “Yes! Totally,” I say to Alanna. “Please come with us.”

  Dad laughs and hands Alanna a life jacket. “Welcome aboard, Alanna.”

  We motor out of the harbour and turn left, past a stretch of white sandy beach. Click follows a little distance behind, playing in the boat’s frothy wake.

  “That’s Horseshoe Strand,” Alanna tells Dad over the noise of the engine, pointing at the beach. “Great for swimming,” she adds. It’s the beach Cal and his friends took me to on my first day. My mood slumps as I remember that Cal is barely speaking to me.

  “How are you feeling today, Rory?” Alanna asks. “Any better?”

  Alanna and I are sitting on the small padded seat behind Dad, who’s driving. We’re so close that our shoulders are touching. Dad’s eyes are fixed on the water, scanning it for more dolphins.

  “I’m OK,” I say.

  “Good,” she says and leaves it at that.

  After a while, we pass a headland – called Seafire Point, according to Alanna – and Dad slows down to a stop but leaves the engine ticking over.

  “This is Seafire Bay,” he tells me, turning round. “Mattie says it’s the safest place for diving. I’ll move into the middle of the bay and we’ll put down a diving line, Rory, and get into the water. Hopefully Click will stay around. And keep your eyes peeled for more dolphins, girls.”

  I nod at him. I know the routine off by heart. A buzz of adrenaline builds in my system, making my body tingle. I love swimming with dolphins – it’s one of the best things in the whole world. They are such amazing swimmers. You can hear some of their echolocation clicks and communication whistles clearly when you’re underwater − they can be pretty loud.

  Mom’s early research was all about identifying signature whistles. Each dolphin has its own one, like a fingerprint. They develop this when they’re babies, like a human baby learning to say its name. And they can mimic each other’s signature whistle too.

  “Over there.” Alanna points to her left, where a small dolphin pod is swimming in the distance, their grey backs curving out of the water. There’s three of them, I think. Click has disappeared, though. That could mean there’s a male in the pod. Male dolphins can be pretty aggressive towards other males, headbutting or ramming them, or even raking them with their teeth. Maybe Click feels threatened.

  “Well spotted, Alanna,” Dad says. “We’ll move towards them slowly, and hopefully we won’t scare them away.” The boat creeps along at a snail’s pace, and as soon as we get close to the dolphins, Dad cuts the engine and throws down the anchor.

  “Ready to dive, Rory?” he asks me. We have to move quickly so we don’t lose them.

  I nod, feeling the adrenaline surge again.

  “The hydrophone’s set up,” he says, “I just have to lower it into the water.” The hydrophone is a microphone that can be used underwater. “I’ll film the dolphins with my underwater camera while you swim with them, OK?”

  “Sure.” I’m still disappointed about Mom’s research, but I’m itching to get into the water with the dolphins. I know it will cheer me up.

  Dad looks at Alanna. “Are you happy to stay in the boat and watch?”

  “More than happy,” Alanna says. “It sounds fascinating. I can’t believe you’re part of all this cutting-edge research, Rory. Dolphin communication and now echolocation too. I’m really impressed. You’re making scientific history, girl.”

  “I hadn’t really thought about it like that. It’s just Mom and Dad’s work. I mean, it was their work. Before, you know. Now it’s just Dad’s work.”

  “It’s part of your mum’s legacy,” Alanna says. “It’s important research, Rory. I’m sure she’d be really pleased that you’re both working on it together. You’ll get back to the dolphin dictionary soon, I’m sure.”

  “Thanks,” I say. I give her a smile.

  Dad says nothing. I’ve noticed that he often goes quiet when people mention Mom. Just like I do sometimes. Or maybe it’s guilt because of Alanna’s comment about getting back to Mom’s communication research.

  He picks up his BCD vest and puts it on carefully, testing the two large clips at the front several times, clicking and unclicking them noisily.

  “Dad!” I say “The clips are fine. Don’t panic, OK?”

  “Sorry, kiddo,” he says. “Just some pre-dive nerves. Better get in the water or the dolphins will move on. You ready?”

  “Yes, let’s get wet.” It’s what Mom always said just before a dive.

  He doesn’t respond, but he’s still fiddling with his BCD vest, so maybe he didn’t hear me. Or maybe he’s simply not listening.

  I love diving. It’s so peaceful underwater. Once you roll backwards off the dive boat, the sea supports you, giving you a big wet hug. All you can hear is the gurgling of water in your ears, the bubbles escaping from your regulator as you breathe out, and when you’re near the surface, the faint boom, boom of the waves slapping the side of the boat. And, if you’re lucky, you can also hear the dolphins’ whistles and clicks.

  Dad swims beside me. We’re swimming just under the surface of the water. When you’re dive buddies, you have to stick together and look out for each other; it’s one of the rules.

  Dad stops and makes the diving signal for “OK” at me with one hand, his thumb and forefinger making a circle, the other three fingers upright, like a rabbit’s head and ears. His other hand is holding an underwater camera. His hair is sticking up in a wavy spike and I can see his bright blue eyes through his mask. They’re the opposite of Mom’s eyes − hers were so dark brown they were almost black, like a seal’s. Like mine.

  After I’ve made the “OK” signal back to him, he points at the dolphin pod, which is swimming towards us to check us out. There are two adults and a baby.

  I stay very still − only moving my dive fins a little to keep me near Dad − so I don’t scare them away. The largest of the dolphins, the adult male, almost touches me as he swims past. At school, when I talk about swimming with dolphins, one of the first questions tends to be, “Are you not scared? What if one of them bites you?” Always the biting question! My school friends are as bad as Landy was about the seals. Dolphins, like seals, eat fish, not people. Plus, dolphins are super smart. They don’t go around biting people for no reason.

  “What does their skin feel like?” is usually the next question. And the truth is, it feels like cold, wet rubber. Like touching someone wearing a wetsuit, in fact.

  Dad puts the camera to his eye and starts filming just as the second, smaller dolphin swims by me. I think that must be the adult female. She looks at me, and I smile to myself. I wonder what the dolphins make of us. Do they think we are another sea mammal? They never seem to be afraid and they are almost always friendly. Sometimes the dolphins who live by themselves can be a bit aggress
ive. Click isn’t like that, of course. I wish he was here as well.

  The adult female twists in a perfect circle and then dives deeper. I give Dad a thumbs down, indicating I want to descend, and he gives me another OK sign. I let the air out of my BCD, breathe out and sink further down in the water. Dad does the same. I point at the female dolphin to show Dad that I want to follow her and he gives another OK sign.

  When she turns another somersault in the water, I copy her, but I’m much slower than she is. She makes an ultra-high whistle. It must be her signal for “play”. I hope the hydrophone caught it and Dad got the corresponding body movements on his camera. Then I remember he’s not studying communication today, just echolocation clicks – so the dolphin’s body gestures and corresponding sounds are irrelevant. In fact, I’m not sure why he’s filming me at all. This isn’t Mom’s research, this is different. Mom! I wish she was here with us now, diving with these dolphins. I start to feel sad and low, which is a terrible, wasteful way to feel when I’m swimming with these amazing creatures. I need to knock myself out of the doldrums with more dolphin playing.

  I somersault again and then twist, corkscrewing my body three times, until I almost feel dizzy, and the female dolphin copies me. She’s fast and elegant, cutting through the water like a knife. She gives another whistle, this time sounding even more excited. I think she likes me! The baby dolphin swims towards her then and rests her chin on her back. I bet the female is her mom. They look so comfortable together, so happy; it makes me feel happy too.

  The adult dolphin – the dad, I reckon – joins them, nuzzling the baby with his beak. There are long, deep scars on his skin. It looks like he’s been caught in a plastic fishing net and has fought his way out of it. Sometimes pieces of abandoned net end up in the ocean, and dolphins and other animals get tangled up in them.

  Every year loads of dolphins get accidentally killed by fishermen, too. It’s called by-catch. They get caught up in the mesh of the nets or in the ropes and can’t break free. Dolphins need to breathe above water every ten to fifteen minutes, depending on the species. If they’re caught underwater in nets for longer than that, they drown. Mom campaigned against the kinds of huge trawling nets that sweep up everything in the sea, including dolphins. They used to drive her crazy.

  The baby dolphin has left her parents and is swimming slowly towards me. Even though she’s young, she’s still almost as long as I am, over four feet. Every now and then she looks back at her mom as if to say, “Can I play with her, Mom? Please?”

  She spins round and whistles. I decide to name them: Scar, Dolphin Mom and Baby.

  As Dad comes closer, still filming, I gently touch Baby’s dorsal fin. When she doesn’t seem to mind, I hold on tighter, and the next thing I know, she’s pulling me along. I’m speeding through the water. She’s so powerful, so strong, it’s like flying.

  “I think you made some new friends,” Alanna says, after I’m back in the boat.

  I smile. I’m so tired I can barely speak. Hanging onto Baby’s dorsal fin used every muscle in my body, some of which I didn’t know I had. Playing with dolphins is exhausting.

  “I can’t wait to see the video footage,” Dad says, unclicking his BCD and taking it off before he puts the camera back in its case. “I thought Mattie and Cal might like to see you interacting with the dolphins, Rory. That’s why I was filming you. The baby really took to you, kiddo. Watching you engaging with them was extraordinary. Alanna, will you come over and watch the footage with us later?”

  “I’d love to − if that’s OK with Rory.” Alanna looks at me.

  I nod again, still too pooped to speak.

  At eight o’clock that evening, we all settle down in Mattie’s living room to watch Dad’s dolphin footage. Mattie, Cal, Dad, Alanna and me.

  Me, Mom and Dad used to watch hours of footage together after a dive.

  Dad has set his laptop up on the coffee table and we’re all gathered round it so we can see the screen. He’s managed to link up some of the dolphins’ sounds with the picture, even though in places it’s a little out of sequence. “So this is the adult male bottlenose watching Rory,” he narrates as we watch the video. The image on the screen shows me gliding through the water. Scar’s eyes follow my movements.

  “The clicking noises you’re hearing is the dolphin scanning Rory with his echolocation clicks,” Dad continues. “He can tell her size and weight from the clicks, but we’re starting to think he can also tell what kind of mood she’s in too – nervous, frightened, angry. Amazing, eh?”

  “That is pretty incredible, Aidan,” Mattie says.

  “How long have you been diving, Rory?” Alanna asks. “You’re a natural.”

  “I did my first course when I was ten,” I say. “I’ve always loved it. I did the advanced open water diver course last year.”

  “I did that course too, Mum, remember?” Cal says. “In Redrock last summer. It’s no big deal.”

  “Cal.” Mattie gives him a warning look and he slumps back into his chair, arms crossed against his chest. Alanna gives me a gentle smile.

  “Click was about the size of that baby the first time Margo met him,” Mattie says to me. “He was still with his pod then.”

  “What happened to them?” I ask her.

  “I’m not exactly sure,” she says. “There were five of them. Two females and three young dolphins, including Click. One day they were all swimming together in the bay, and the next thing the other four dolphins had disappeared. I guess we’ll never know what happened to them. Click hasn’t left the island since.”

  “Maybe he thinks they’ll come back one day,” I suggest. “And he’s sticking around just in case.”

  “They’re obviously dead,” Cal says flatly.

  “How would you know?” I snap.

  “Rory!” Dad says.

  I round on Dad. “Come on! It’s a horrible thing to say.”

  “But realistic,” Cal says.

  “Cal!” Mattie warns him.

  “Fine, OK,” Cal says. “I get it. You can’t handle the truth, Rory. They’re not dead. They’re living in fairyland − is that better?”

  “Stop it, Cal,” Mattie says and then gives a sigh. “Oh, Rory, love, I’m sorry to say it, but Cal is probably right. It’s been nearly twenty years since they vanished. They’re either dead or they simply abandoned him − it happens sometimes. Poor old Click. It must be lonely for him without his pod.”

  I say nothing, just stare down at the floor again. The room goes quiet.

  Alanna touches my hand gently. Her skin feels cool. Mom’s hands were always cold too. I teased her that she had dolphin skin.

  “What are those markings on the larger dolphin’s back, Rory?” Alanna asks, leaning towards the screen. “I bet you know.”

  “Scars from fishing nets,” I say, glad the conversation has shifted. I don’t like the thought of Click’s family being dead or abandoning him. “Sometimes dolphins get caught up in the mesh. He’s one of the lucky ones, he escaped.”

  “He is lucky,” Mattie says. “They found some illegal gill nets off this island last summer. They were removed, but whoever put them there was never found. And up the coast, thirteen dolphins washed up dead on Achill Island around the same time. There were net marks on their bodies too. I’ve always wondered if they got caught in the gill nets and were then dumped in the sea.”

  Alanna looks shocked. “Really? That’s terrible.”

  “It’s a real problem,” Dad agrees. “Margo was campaigning to get the nets modified so that they wouldn’t trap dolphins. She was really passionate about it. Fishing nets kill thousands of whales and dolphins every year.”

  There’s silence for a moment, and then Dad points at the laptop. “And that’s the dolphin mom, and the baby.” On the screen, I see Baby swimming towards the version of me in the video. She nudges me with her beak, then she makes a rapid-fire, high-pitched whistle – pop, pop, pop, pop, just like corn popping in the microwave. She does i
t again: four high-pitched pops.

  “Do you hear her whistle?” I say. “It sounds like corn popping! I think that’s her signature whistle. Our very own popcorn dolphin.” Everyone except Cal laughs. “Hey, Dad, if you ever get the D-com working, we might be able to play her whistle back to her at the right frequency and she’ll know we’re saying her name.”

  “Really?” Mattie looks astonished. “Are we that close to communicating with dolphins? I knew your research was going well, Aidan, but I had no idea it was that advanced. How extraordinary.”

  Dad coughs a few times. “Um, well—”

  “But Dad wants to spend his time on echolocation research instead,” I say. “He wants to give up on Mom’s work.”

  “Rory!” Dad says. “Please. We’ve talked about this. I explained that it’s just not possible at the moment.”

  “Anything’s possible if you want it badly enough, Dad,” I say, jumping to my feet. “That’s what Mom used to say. But you seem to have conveniently forgotten all about it.”

  And I walk out of the room and march towards the front door. Behind me I can hear Mattie say, “Leave her, Aidan. Let her walk it off. She’ll cool down outside.”

  But she’s wrong. I won’t cool down about this, ever. Mom’s research is so important and I don’t understand why Dad won’t finish it.

  I’m so angry and frustrated with Dad about Mom’s research that I barely say a word to him over the next few days. Things aren’t great in general, to be honest. Mattie’s super busy and Cal still isn’t speaking to me. I’ve been spending my time at the cafe with Alanna or swimming with Click in the harbour, anything to keep me away from Dad and Cal. In fact, if it wasn’t for Click and Alanna, I’d be going crazy. Dad doesn’t know about the swimming and Alanna’s promised not to tell.

  Alanna’s been amazingly kind. She called into the house the other day and asked Dad if I could go kayaking with her. After all that business with Cal and the rescue and everything, Dad would probably have said no if I’d asked him.