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On the Horizon...



We avoided swimming in the depths of the cold polar oceans, far preferring to stay in warmer climes and comforting shoals around the Equator’s Centre tempered by the warmth of the eastern sub-tropical seas.

Homeward bound the bulls would swim in a world that was richer and freer than Earth’s dry land, and as we listened and waited for their imminent return, we yearned to hear their messages and calls through echolocations that clicked, whistled and pulsated between the ocean’s substrate, rocks, and the darkest of seas.

On sunrise, when the sun moved horizontally and refracted down onto the horizon below, we would breach the sea’s surface and breathe in the warmth of the sub-tropical air.

At sunset, we would listen to the quieter mid frequencies and smaller micro-waves that bounced softly back onto the sea beds. And in the dead of night we would sleep with one eye open, for there were those that we would welcome, and those that we would not.

By April, the Skimmers would arrive, and we would leap, dance and squeal in delight as the bulls whistled, shaped and positioned themselves in a spectacular ‘We’ve arrived’ acrobatic display, clicking coda with other caudal fins and whip-like tails as they pushed through the water.

The Gulpers, they would move up and down in rhythm with the Minke cows as they twisted, twirled and flirted through to August, and the Grey’s, well, they finally rolled and logged in somewhere in between these months.

These celebratory months were a time when we filled ourselves with joy and feasted on platters of fish and krill. Where appetites were satiated and happy family pods of bulls, cows and calves stayed at home.

But as the earth spun, from September into November, and the sun set on the horizon on the very last day of November, we could no longer ignore the magnetic pull-of the waves for the Southern Ocean was once again calling.
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