There are some days when you set out looking for one thing and end up finding something else entirely.

I recently joined a whale-watching excursion in the Pacific. I was excited about the possibility of seeing whales, of course, but I was also simply looking forward to being out on the water for a day.

My driver, Saul, picked me up right on time. I had told him I wanted to arrive early because our guide had asked us to be there at 8:00 sharp. Along the way, he showed me the house he's building and drove me through his neighborhood to show me where his family lives. He was clearly proud of what he was creating, and I found myself appreciating how often people here want to share their lives with me because they know I'm genuinely curious.

Our guide was late, and Saul, being the gentleman he is, said he would wait until he arrived to make sure everything was okay. It was a small act of kindness, but it set the tone for the day.

Soon I was on a boat with people from different places and backgrounds, heading out into the Pacific.

Our guide, David, is a young man from Colombia who moved to Panama several years ago. Another guide, Cesar, was leading two other boats and spoke Spanish, English, and Italian. There were seven of us on our boat.

I found myself noticing all of this. The different countries we came from. The different languages. The different lives that had brought us together on that particular morning.

Our first stop was Isla Otoque. The guides told us about the communities living there, the school, the church, and the island's history. They also told us about the abundance of fish and the many species of birds found around the islands.

We were told that we might see whales, but no one could promise anything. This year has been unusual because of the exceptionally strong El Niño. The whales haven't been showing up where or when they normally do, although some have been spotted. 

We eventually reached Isla Estivá, where I saw something I had never seen in person before: blue-footed boobies.

There were so many of them.

They were flying overhead, sitting in the trees, perched along the rocky cliffs, and circling the island. And their feet were an indescribably beautiful blue. I don't think I've ever seen a blue quite like it.

I had always associated these birds with the Galápagos, which has been a dream destination of mine for years. What I didn't realize was how unusual it is to see such large numbers of them in Panamanian waters right now.

I felt excited seeing them, but I also felt sad.

 

 

It was beautiful, but it was also a reminder that the natural world is changing. The patterns we have come to think of as normal aren't necessarily going to remain normal.

I've been thinking about this a lot lately. Not only because of what is happening here in Panama, but because it seems as though the environment is changing everywhere. We are beginning to see things that don't fit our old understanding of how the natural world is supposed to work.

Biodiversity is what makes ecosystems resilient. When one part of an ecosystem changes, that change can ripple outward into everything connected to it. Fish move. Birds move. Predators adjust. Plants and animals respond. And eventually those changes reach us, too.

That realization can feel overwhelming. But the day was also giving me reasons to keep paying attention to what is still here.

After the island, we continued on to Isla Boná. The landscape was beautiful, and our guide pointed out some old mining equipment. He showed us the black sand that had once been mined there for its iron content, even demonstrating with a magnet how the iron could be separated from the rest of the sand.

Later, we moved into calmer water so we could snorkel.

I hadn't brought my glasses into the water, and the first two masks I tried leaked, so I wasn't exactly having the ideal snorkeling experience. Still, I saw fish. Yellow fish. Yellow and black striped fish. Several different kinds that I couldn't identify without being able to see clearly.

It wasn't the same experience as snorkeling over the coral reefs in Hawaii more than ten years ago, where the abundance and variety of life seemed almost impossible to comprehend.

But there was still life there.

Afterward, I floated on my back with my eyes closed. Without trying to see anything, I simply listened. The sound of the water around me, the movement of the boat, the feeling of floating in the Pacific.

For a few minutes, there was nowhere else I needed to be.

We spent more time looking for whales. David stood at the bow, scanning the water. Eventually we moored the boat inside an inlet and waited for the currents to change. Apparently, changes in the currents can sometimes bring the whales into the area.

We waited.

No whales.

I found myself wondering about them. This is an area where whales come to mate and give birth. I couldn't help wondering whether the unusually low numbers this year were simply a result of changing conditions, or whether they might reflect something more concerning. I hope it is simply a matter of where they are finding food and where the currents are carrying them.

After about six hours on the water, I had another, much more immediate problem.

I desperately needed a bathroom.

There wasn't one.

The water had become choppy, and eventually I told the captain that I simply had to jump in. He slowed the boat and pulled the ladder out as I jumped over the side. Everyone was incredibly gracious about the whole thing, which made it possible for me to laugh at my own embarrassment.

Shortly after, as we were back on our way, the captain suddenly noticed something in the distance.

He slowed the boat.

There, in the middle of the Pacific, were two tortoises.

Mating.

I couldn't help but laugh.

After spending the day looking for whales and thinking about all the things that were changing in the ocean, I had somehow ended up witnessing two ancient creatures doing one of the most fundamental things life does.

Creating more life.

I've since learned that warming temperatures can affect the sex ratios of some turtle populations because their sex is determined by the temperature at which their eggs develop. Warmer conditions produce more females, which can make finding males increasingly important for the future of a population.

Seeing a male mating, especially in a year of such extreme environmental conditions, felt hopeful to me.

I had spent the day thinking about how much the natural world is changing, and there in the middle of the Pacific was this simple, ancient act of creation.

Life continuing to create life.

And somehow, that felt like exactly the thing I needed to see.

Maybe that is what I took away from the day.

I had gone looking for whales and ended up noticing so much more: birds appearing far beyond their usual range, fish beneath me as I floated in the water, people from different places sharing pieces of their lives, and finally, two tortoises creating new life in the middle of the Pacific.

Perhaps the blue-footed boobies were simply reminding me that the natural world is constantly responding to change. They move toward what they need. They adapt. They find their way.

Perhaps there is something for us in that, too.

The natural world is changing. We are changing with it. None of us can see exactly what comes next.

But that doesn't mean there is nothing ahead.

On the way back, we eventually came within sight of the shoreline. I watched people gathered along the beach enjoying their Sunday, music playing loudly from trucks. Another little glimpse of the diversity of life here.

We said goodbye to our new friends and exchanged contact information. When I told Saul about the day, he was excited to hear about everything I had seen.

He reminded me that it was a blessing simply to return safely and have a day out on the water.

I think he was right.

I went looking for whales, but perhaps the ocean had something else to show me.

It showed me that even when we don't know what comes next, life is still moving, adapting, connecting, and creating.

And sometimes, if we're paying attention, we get to witness it.

Maybe that's enough.

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