Swimmer answers the call of the dolphin
By Carlton Scott
This article was published by the St. Petersburg Times in October 1987. Carlton was a Guest Columnist
Yep! It’s beautiful today, and no one is around here at the north end of Clearwater Beach. I love the solitude, when only sea oats, sand dunes and clear water surround me.
I think they’re nearby. I can just feel it in the air. Yep! There they are, two or three, and playing, it seems. I’d guess about 200 yards out. It’s time to go. Adrenalin is pumping.
This is going to be fun. I’ve got my own beach, all to myself, and a couple of finned pranksters waiting to play. I think I’ll swim out and see what they have to say.
My experiences with the dolphins began two years ago during my days as a lifeguard on Clearwater Beach. I could always sense their presence by their echoing songs. However, my attempts to approximate these sounds left much to be desired. So I tried humming a few notes of some of my favorite songs under water, and, do you know, it worked.
To this day I can swim offshore and call them to play.
What is interesting is that they really enjoy a variety of sounds with upbeat rhythms and high pitches. Also, I think they’re more amused by me than I am by them. Perhaps they think I’m a funny joke. I can’t imagine why. What’s so funny about a land dweller with four appendages venturing offshore for a good time? Well, on second thought, I guess they can justify a good laugh. I’m sure glad they have a sense of humor.
Of the countless times I’ve swum with the dolphins, three really intense experiences come to mind. The first was a year ago during a swim at Sand Key Park.
I was doing my usual one-mile swim along the buoy line, about 100 yards offshore, and not really thinking about anything in particular.
All of a sudden, intense screeching sounds reverberated around me. I had no idea what was happening. Then something magical happened. Between alternate breathing and focusing on my technique in the water, I scanned the sandy bottom 10 feet below. There they were – two large dolphins, side by side, swimming directly under me and maintaining my pace.
Now I don’t know about you, but 1,000 thoughts per second rushed through my head and all I could do was swim. Apparently they were talking to each other, perhaps telling a joke about the strange one above them. I could just imagine them squeaking in their own language, “What’s this four-appendaged creature trying to prove here, that he’s fast? Ha!”
They could have blown me away with one flutter of their tail fins. Instead, they swam and chatted with me a while.
Happy to oblige, I began squeaking and humming all sorts of odd tunes, and we found a level of communication in our conversation. When I would squeak twice, they would squeak twice. When I squeaked three times, so did they. Believe me, if I had thought earlier that day that I would be reviewing simple mathematics with a couple of dolphins, I would have fallen over laughing in the sand.
I stayed out there, and the three of us swam together for what seemed like hours. Perhaps it was only 15 or 20 minutes; I don’t know. Whatever the case, my heart was racing, and my eyes were ready to pop out of my head.
There I was, with fins on both sides of me. As I swam, they did the same, and when they got too far ahead, they’d wait for me to catch up. It was awesome.
Meanwhile, everybody on the beach decided to evacuate the water, assuming, of course, that I was being attacked by sharks. Little did they know that I was being overwhelmed by a closeness with nature surpassing anything I’d ever known before.
My second experience came a few months later early one morning. I saw several dolphins playing offshore about 300 yards. I just had to go play with them, my usual reaction as you might have guessed.
There we were – two big dolphins, their baby and a land dweller full of curiosity. It seemed my singing was a little more appreciated this time, and I learned that dolphins like rock ‘n’ roll. My humming of Led Zeppelin’s Whole Lot of Love had an interesting effect on them, and they surrounded me. Fins were surfacing all around, and they all joined me in singing. Let me tell you, they can hold a high note far better than I can.
After our little sing-along, one of them tickled my thigh and waved its fin goodbye.
I laughed my head off all day, and the adrenalin was pumping hard. As usual, the people on the beach had a million questions when I returned to shore.
My most recent experience occurred several weeks ago during a run on the beach. I decided to run to the most northern part of Clearwater Beach where few people seemed to gather. The dolphins were there, playing and doing every stunt imaginable. Two of them were swimming in close, and nobody was visible on the beach.
Singing with every stroke, I swam my heart out to get to them. There they were, fins popping up and down together, a mother and her baby. It seemed that she was teaching the little one how to have fun while fishing for lunch.
Little did they know that a strange land creature wanted to play, and play I did. I was singing anything that popped into my head and splashing with silly movements. She allowed me to get within 15 or 20 feet of her baby, and I started the usual conversation. You know, “How are you today?” And “Can I swim with you awhile?”
Well, for the moment those were my thoughts, and I’m sure my songs made less sense to them. However, their curiosity prevailed, and the afternoon was great.
The mother, her baby and I swam together, singing in our own language and isolating ourselves from the rest of the world. Staying parallel to the shore, we swam about a quarter mile together, and it was magical.
I only know that when the mother dolphin rolled on her side and patted her fin on the surface in a gesture of friendship, I started to cry with joy. It feels strange to cry when you’re happy, but there I was, along with these peaceful mammals and surrounded by the “oneness” of a sunny afternoon.
I don’t know if you’ve ever swum with dolphins in an uncontrolled setting, but let me tell you it is intense. I’ve realized from these passing moments with them that they are truly intelligent beings. In a way, I envy them because they don’t waste their time building things and then tearing them down again. They just swim, play and chase fish.
Every single dolphin I’ve encountered has harbored a delightful curiosity about me and has never exhibited any fear of my presence. I wonder if humans would harbor such trust and feelings if one dolphin ventured onto our land for an afternoon.
