The world has seen numerous notable maritime disasters. Remembering The Sultana, The Titanic, and recently, the Ever Given may give you pause before booking that Carribean cruise. And then there was the 8:30 AM Bar Harbor Whale Watch out of Frenchman’s Bay on July 2, 2024.
The day started out as a top ten weather day. The sun shone high in the sky. Everyone got themselves dressed, fed, appropriately caffeinated and into the car by 7:15 with extra sweatshirts and hats. I had packed a bag of snacks, water, Dramamine and Sea Bands (acupressure bands for motion sickness) and shorts for what would surely be a warm afternoon strolling around Bar Harbor.
Parking this early in the morning was a breeze and we quickly secured a spot in the lot adjacent to the dock. The whole clan queued up, posing for the obligatory group photo behind a life preserver, and boarded the boat, an AtlantiCat catamaran, with about 200 people, a diverse crowd in age and ethnicity.
We chose seats in the lower cabin, two rows of four facing each other across a narrow dining table. The seats were close enough to the bathrooms and the snack bar, but also perfectly positioned to see outside both sets of windows for the incidental whale sighting on our way out to open water. We were excited about seeing all sorts of marine life our on-board naturalist described for us. Besides whales – humpback and minke most likely, we could potentially see sharks, puffins, gulls, terns, seals, harbor porpoises, and dolphins. It was even rumored that there could be both a blue whale and a great white shark in the area. Thrilling!
Amaya and Kai had both been on an amazing whale watch with me at least ten years ago and were eager to repeat the experience. We knew what to expect from the motion of the boat, and where to sit and focus our eyes as to minimize seasickness. An hour before leaving the dock, we all took Dramamine and placed our SeaBands on our wrists according to packaged directions. Rob assured me that he, Alyssa, and Marlie did not get seasick and did not need any interventions. I first knew we were in trouble when the catamaran hit the first swell, leaving me with a flutter in my belly similar to a feeling I’ve gotten on theme park rides. Not more than 15 minutes had passed when I realized Amaya had turned gray and was staring slackjawed into the middle of the table. Before I could ask her how she felt, she bolted toward the restroom, grabbing an envelope with a motion sickness bag inside it.
While we waited for her return, Rob and the girls explored the boat and I switched my position over to face the forward motion of the boat. Riding backwards never did me any good. No sooner had Amaya returned, than Kai also began to look a bit green around the gills. He was chewing gum frantically, his eyes glued to the horizon visible out the front windows, and he was so quiet.
Looking around at the people at the tables all around us, I noticed at least one of the occupants in each group being tended by someone else in their travel party. To our right, a small boy of about six years old slumped in his chair clutching a cup of ginger ale and profusely vomiting into the motion sickness bag held by his mother. I heard more retching sounds from the left and noticed one of the twenty-somethings in the group with her head halfway in her motion sickness bag. Crew members hustled and bustled around the cabin with spray bottles of strong smelling cleaner and paper towels, wiping up sick from tables, chairs, and floors. The toddler at the table behind us played with his parents, only to be interrupted with bouts of vomiting before resuming play.
Do you remember the scene in The Goonies where Chunk is being interrogated by the Fratelli and he confesses to using fake vomit at a movie theater? He goes on to describe the chain reaction that ensued as one person saw another person vomit and then vomited themselves., and so on. This scene was replayed during our journey to sea this morning. Anyone without seasickness had fled to fresh air, laying claim to a spot on the lower or upper deck to catch first glimpses of the majestic cetaceans. The remaining passengers were wilted over their small, white plastic motion sickness bags at their tables, the ripped envelopes scattered over their tables. The galley served up complimentary oyster crackers and ginger ale as people fell sick one by one, like dominoes. Occasionally, a sympathetic family member would come back into the cabin to check on their loved one, staying for a few minutes before returning to the sunshine and fresh air. Incidentally, it might have been better to have the seasick folks head out to the deck for some fresh air, but it would have been like trying to corral the walking dead. No one could move.
I rubbed backs, fetched ginger ale and crackers, and readied the bags trying to make Amaya and Kai more comfortable. We took a short trip to the back of the vessel to sit on a shady bench in the fresh air, but were soon overtaken by a mom with one miserable child, patiently holding open barf bags for her boy. Dear Mom, I see you. You didn’t think today would result in you holding a bag of your child’s vomit, fetching flat ginger ale for your crying 11-year old, but here you are. Just know there is a margarita in your future, mama. Stay strong.
Throughout this ordeal, the boat’s naturalist continued to narrate what we were seeing – a tern at 10 0’clock, a puffin at 9 o’clock, a small group of harbor porpoises at 1 o’clock. Folks on the decks oohed and ahhhed outside while I had one kid’s head on my shoulder and one kid’s head on my lap, and I willed my stomach to stop turning over. I fixed my eyes on that line where the sky meets the sea (thanks, Moana), swallowed the dry oyster crackers, and whispered a lot of promises to a higher power if I could just not throw up today. All around me, bags were distributed, collected, and discarded by heroic crew members and exhausted parents, many of whom were seasick themselves. And then I heard the sweetest sound in the world.
The engines cut out. They found the whales.
Confident that Amaya and Kai were momentarily comfortable, I made my way outside for the viewing. Off the bow of the boat, the naturalist pointed out blow in the distance (whales surfacing and clearing their lungs) while passenger scooted from one side of the deck to the other following the surfacing whales.
A pair of humpbacks repeatedly dove and surfaced, putting on quite a show, and sometimes showing off their tail patterns. These unique markings on the underside of a whale’s tail are like fingerprints. Scientists can track whales by identifying their tail patterns over time to determine migratory patterns. There is still so much to learn about these incredible creatures.
One of the whales even let out an enormous poop next to the boat and the smell of the reddish liquid reached the boat on the light breeze. It smelled just about at bad as you might think excrement from a 60,000 pound creature might smell. Our knowledgeable naturalist let us know that this was very important to the ocean ecosystem, as it adds much needed nitrogen back into the water, supporting a healthy and balanced environment. The reddish color indicated a diet of krill. Now you know more about whale poop than you ever wanted to.
Since it seemed like we would be hanging out in one spot for a while, I persuaded Amaya and Kai to head out into the sunshine and breeze for a while. They were able to see the whales along with a small pod of dolphins, including a baby (so cute!) and most importantly, the most incredible sight of the day – a full breach by one of the humpbacks! Incredible how they can haul themselves out of the water completely. This is a rare sight, and one we didn’t catch on camera, but we felt so lucky to have witnessed it firsthand.
This bit of excitement proved to be overwhelming for Amaya and Kai, so they headed back inside to rest while the rest of us continued to marvel at the playful whales. We even caught a glimpse of a whale shark off in the distance. Amazing to know that below the tranquil and smooth open waters there is a diverse and thriving world full of creatures. I mean, the food chain was alive and well right below our feet! Also, please note, this fact is also the most terrifying to me. Open water is one of those concepts that both piques my curiosity and ignites nightmares.
By this point in the trip, I was feeling more myself – I just had an empty feeling in my stomach and I felt absolutely exhausted. Amaya and Kai were also looking better. but then the sea claimed its fourth victim – Alyssa. She didn’t look so hot as she, Rob and Alyssa entered the cabin. We quickly rearranged our seats so all four of us affected by the motion could sit facing forward, leaving Rob and Marlie to sit across from us. I procured more ginger ale and crackers for Alyssa and forced her to take small sips – this poor kid HATES carbonated beverages. I assured her the crackers and ginger would help settle her tummy, but I went ahead and opened up a motion sickness bag and slid it over to her just in case. Looking around the cabin, the carnage from the trip was everywhere…empty ginger ale cups and cracker bags spread across the tables like a minefield. The exhaustion and misery on the faces of parents whose kids had vomited for three hours was apparent and regret hung like thick fog in the air. The crew looked spent. I didn’t know how they would take visitors on an afternoon whale watch.
Fortunately, the ride back to Bar Harbor was smooth. The ocean was like glass and the AtlanticCat cut through the water like a knife through butter. We arrived at the dock, all of us with noodly legs and heavy heads. We did not purchase our photo – it seemed like a lie – and we were not the same people who boarded the boat a mere four hours earlier. We ate a quick lunch at the famous Stewman’s in Bar Harbor – shrimp cocktail for Amaya, a lobster/crab cake and salad for me, a Cajun shrimp roll for Kai, chicken fingers for Marlie and burgers for Rob and Alyssa. Then, we decided to head to Bar Island, walking across the sandbar that is only accessible during low tide.
The loop from Bar Harbor to Bar island is only about 1.5 miles long. It’s largely flat, but offers several unique paths. First, you cross a rocky path with some patches of sand and some shallow tidepools that are perfect for looking for crabs, shellfish, and other small sealife. Then, you walk along a wooded dirt path to get to the summit trail. The summit trail is slightly steep and rocky, but easy enough to climb with regular sneakers. The summit overlooks Bar Harbor and offers a lovely view of Frenchman’s Bay. It also offers respite from the sun! Though only 80 degrees and with low humidity, we were hot… probably a little dehydrated… and tired from getting up early two days in a row.
The ride home was quiet. In fact, the rest of the evening was pretty low-key and quiet. We grilled a delicious dinner. I read my book while looking out over the blue sea at the sun set, and it was lights out by 9:30. Perfection. Aside from the vomiting.
Up next? Who knows? I’m envisioning a lazy campground day with late morning coffee sipped under the awning, a trip to get ice cream, and maybe a rousing round of mini-golf topped off with a sunset trip to the Bass Harbor Head Lighthouse.
Wandering, But Not Lost 