"They’re nothing more than black-and-white gentle giants"

I’m out in the ocean as I write this.

The water is choppy, the wind has picked up strong enough that my sunglasses keep slipping off and my fingers keep mistyping. But I’m writing now because I need to translate what I’m feeling into words before it fades.

A few hours ago, it felt like another world. The same ocean looked like a lagoon. The wind didn’t exist. It was 7 AM when we finally saw them.

The killer whales were here.

After a month without a single sighting in the area, there they were: a family of five. A male, a mother, and three juveniles.

The boats started to arrive, and what struck me was how respectfully everyone took turns deciding who would approach. Ocean lovers jumped in the water and started screaming the moment they came up for air. A few years ago, I probably wouldn’t have liked all that loudness in the wild. But now? I appreciate that there are still humans this fascinated by wildlife. Honestly, it’s beautiful to watch a person love nature that much.

It made me think: this is what we need. Excited beings who appreciate nature, organized in a way where respect is the first rule.

That’s what I saw today.

When my turn came to get in the water, the feeling was the same as always, that mix of anticipation and dread. The water was green and a bit murky. I knew they were close, but I couldn’t see anything. And then a huge black shape moved into my frame.

It came so close to my face that my instinct was to pull back. Instead, I looked at them through my lens — I was on assignment, after all — but I also let myself see them briefly with my own eyes.

I’ve seen them before. It never gets old.

Orcas are the top predators on the planet. They can hunt the largest animal alive, the blue whale. They take down great white sharks. And yet, when they meet us, they’re nothing more than black-and-white gentle giants.