by Cornelia Cesari
Folks on Baker Island are often asked questions like: “What do you do all day? Does anything ever happen out here?”
Today was an illustration of, “you just never know.” You really don’t.
This morning I was woken to the alert of “live whale, stranded east of the Nubble.”
My sharp-eyed neighbor Bettina had spotted it, thrashing in the water just off the low knob, dorsal fin out and flukes occasionally visible as it struggled to swim free.
There was little for me to contribute, as her husband David had sent out the alert—to the local fishermen, postmistress (of course)—and was on the line with Allied Whale at College of the Atlantic. I could only stand on the bluff overlooking the bar, thinking good thoughts and hoping the final swell of the rising tide would be enough. Fortunately, it was, and before any help arrived, our unintentional visitor wriggled free and set off with a blowhole spray. The (pilot?) whale swam away at a remarkably fast pace, over the bar and off to the west, just as a thick fog slid in, hiding the entire scene from sight.
On the way back up across the field, a persistent squeaking caught Bettina’s attention again, and this time we gazed in witness to the vain struggles of a vole in the jaws of a large eastern garter snake. The little rodent’s loud protests could be heard for an agonizingly long time, as its hind legs and stubby tail gradually ceased wriggling and disappeared from view. Despite the audience, the snake lay helplessly on its side, throat stretched and distorted. Within a few moments, strength regained, it slithered down under the long grass and disappeared without a trace.
Back to the question:
Does anything ever happen on Baker Island?
It felt like a pretty momentous day out here by noon. On the other hand, we could have been napping , reading, or walking in the woods, oblivious to these life and death dramas playing themselves out. What do we miss?
Good day for the whale; bad day for the vole; just another day for the snake.
A memorable day for a few humans stumbling upon a coincidental glimpse into Baker Island’s daily secrets.
Folks on Baker Island are often asked questions like: “What do you do all day? Does anything ever happen out here?”
Today was an illustration of, “you just never know.” You really don’t.
This morning I was woken to the alert of “live whale, stranded east of the Nubble.”
My sharp-eyed neighbor Bettina had spotted it, thrashing in the water just off the low knob, dorsal fin out and flukes occasionally visible as it struggled to swim free.
There was little for me to contribute, as her husband David had sent out the alert—to the local fishermen, postmistress (of course)—and was on the line with Allied Whale at College of the Atlantic. I could only stand on the bluff overlooking the bar, thinking good thoughts and hoping the final swell of the rising tide would be enough. Fortunately, it was, and before any help arrived, our unintentional visitor wriggled free and set off with a blowhole spray. The (pilot?) whale swam away at a remarkably fast pace, over the bar and off to the west, just as a thick fog slid in, hiding the entire scene from sight.
On the way back up across the field, a persistent squeaking caught Bettina’s attention again, and this time we gazed in witness to the vain struggles of a vole in the jaws of a large eastern garter snake. The little rodent’s loud protests could be heard for an agonizingly long time, as its hind legs and stubby tail gradually ceased wriggling and disappeared from view. Despite the audience, the snake lay helplessly on its side, throat stretched and distorted. Within a few moments, strength regained, it slithered down under the long grass and disappeared without a trace.
Back to the question:
Does anything ever happen on Baker Island?
It felt like a pretty momentous day out here by noon. On the other hand, we could have been napping , reading, or walking in the woods, oblivious to these life and death dramas playing themselves out. What do we miss?
Good day for the whale; bad day for the vole; just another day for the snake.
A memorable day for a few humans stumbling upon a coincidental glimpse into Baker Island’s daily secrets.
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