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Two summers ago, I found myself on a whale-watching journey in Provincetown, Massachusetts, where I was teaching at the Fine Arts Work Center. We swayed from one side of the ship to the other to observe various species fins, minkes, and humpbacks performing synchronized acrobatics in waters where fishing nets threaten. Tranquil, playful, spouting fountains of ocean spray and then plunging under, they seemed not at all the wicked beasts that history had taught us to fear. I recalled that we were in the same seas in which
Moby-Dick’s
Pequod had sailed, and I thought this might have been however unconsciously why I had signed up for the adventure. It was as if the whales were calling me back to a promise I had made to myself long ago.