Susan Casey - Dolphins: Voices in the Ocean

To get to Hawaii from anywhere in the world, you must fly for at least six hours across the Pacific Ocean. If you look out the window during that time, you will see only water below you, and maybe a few clouds. Though they are officially part of the United Statesthe fiftieth state, to be exactthe Hawaiian Islands are the most remote lands on Earth, surrounded in all directions by thousands of miles of salt water. Which was exactly why I wanted to be there.

Id flown to the island of Maui to escape everything in my life. I wanted to run as far as possible from my apartment in New York City, from the concrete and gray skies and traffic and breathless crush of Manhattan. Most of all, I was hoping to escape my feelings of sadness.

Two years earlier, my father had died suddenly of a heart attack, and since then, sorrow had followed me around like a dark fog. Dads death took our family totally by surprise. He was seventy-one years old and athletic and strong, and he had collapsed at our summer cottage, walking down to the lake. I still couldnt believe he was really gone.

In some far corner of my mind, I had always known, as every person does, that my father wouldnt be around forever, but the idea of losing him was so big and overwhelming that I never gave it any space. He had inspired me to roam the world making mistakes and having adventures; he had urged me to follow my dreams and to believe in myself. You can do anything you put your mind to, hed told me. Through years of ups and downs, joys and frustrations, my father was the person Id always counted on for support, encouragement, confidence, love. Whatever happened, I could trust hed be there to help me make sense of it. Only now, he wasnt.

Everybody copes with grief in their own way. Some people turn to family and friends. Others take comfort in spiritual beliefs, or in the peace and beauty of nature. The one thing that has always made me feel better is swimming. Being in any body of water is soothing to me, but I especially love to swim in the ocean. So on my last day on Maui, Id driven across the island to visit Honolua Bay, a spot that Native Hawaiians had long held sacred. The bay was postcard-pretty but also rugged: it was surrounded by steep cliffs and ringed with a rocky shoreline. There were no soft sand beaches here.

I drove up a steep red-dirt road and pulled over at the top. Usually this lookout was crowded, but on this day the weather was dreary and no one else was around. I got out and walked to the edge of the embankment. Below me waves crashed, their crests whipped white by the wind. Rain clouds pressed down, turning the turquoise water a dull navy color.

Conditions were crummy, but this particular bay was known for its beauty, its lush coral reefs and colorful fish, so I didnt want to leave without at least taking a dip. I wouldnt have another chance to swim here for a long time: the following day I would be on a plane flying home.

But there was a problem, and it was more than the weather. Id read in the local newspaper that a recent flurry of shark attacks here had people thinking twice about going into the water alone, or even at all. Swimmers and surfers wondered nervously why the sharks seemed so hungry, but no one had any answers. I stood in the wind thinking about this, and after a few moments spent listening to my mind spin tales of lost limbs, severed arteries, nothing left of me but a few scraps of bathing suit, I picked my way down the path and across the rocks, stepped into the shallows, and began to swim.

The water was dark and kind of spooky at first, but that didnt stop me. Since my dads death Id felt numb, as though I were sleepwalking. What could be worse than life without the person I loved most? Tiger sharks seemed like a minor concern.

As I headed across the mouth of the bay I veered out to sea, until I was a half mile offshore. Treading water, I cleared my goggles and looked around. The visibility was good, better than expected. I could see all the way down to the seafloor, and conditions were smoother out here, so I kept swimming.

Ten minutes later, I was about to turn back to shore when a movement caught my eye: a large gray body passed below me. Then a dorsal fin broke the surface. Streaks of sunlight broke through the clouds, and suddenly the water was illuminated. My heart raced as the creatures revealed themselves.

It was a pod of spinner dolphins, forty or fifty animals, swimming toward me. They emerged from the ocean like ghosts, shimmering in the water. One moment they were barely visible, then they were gone, and then they reappeared on all sides, surrounding me.