AI image used to illustrate this story by Frank Rocco Satullo
When I was a teenager, my family took a trip up the East Coast all the way to Maine. It was a very hot day, so hot the sun toasted you through the car windows, even with the air conditioning on. The sand burned our feet when we parked and stepped foot on Old Orchard Beach. So, we raced toward the water, laughing and having fun. My dad and I raised our legs high in a full sprint to get as far out as possible before plunging our bodies into a wave.
We immediately shot back to shore, shivering all over. My mom and sister laughed heartily at our misfortune, pointing to a beach sign reading, “Warning: Water 52 Degrees.”
Later, when we piled back into the van and headed along the shore, we pulled off to see why others were scattered curbside. And there it was, a mammoth whale putting on a show for the naked eye to see. Over and over, it hurled its body up and then thundered down into the water, creating a geyser-like eruption of water.
He must have enjoyed the frigid water.
Fast-forward to my wife, two kids, and me visiting Redwood National Park. After breakfast in Crescent City, we stopped at the lighthouse. It was low tide, so my wife had us explore the tidal pools for crabs and such. Luckily, we found dozens and dozens of starfish ranging from orange to purple in color. It was really cool. Everywhere there was water cupped in the rocks, starfish gathered. None of us had seen starfish before. It felt like the vacation gods were generous to us with such a reflective display in nook after cranny.
A bit later in the morning, my wife suggested pulling off down some dirt road (she’s always well-researched for these side excursions when we take trips). The road led up a cliffside where she said we could whale watch. The vacation gods always seemed to treat us with an amazing abundance of wildlife when we looked for it: dolphins, puffins, wild horses, you name it. Our guides usually comment, “I wish we could spread this out over all our tour groups.”
I was excited for the kids to see the wonderful show I saw as a teenager in Maine.
But when we got high up on the cliff to the whale-watching spot, the fog was so thick that I could hardly see anything more than three feet away. It was a wall of gray, and somewhere in it was an ocean, a sky, and a cliffside.
“Maybe later,” I said. And so, we retreated to see the other giants of this world—Redwoods!
As chance would have it, we had some extra time that afternoon, so when we neared the dirt road offshoot, we looked at one another and said, “Yeah, why not!”
It was very disappointing when we summited to see fog just as thick if not thicker than before. We got out to stretch and walk anyway.
That’s when I channeled my mom at Mt. Rushmore when I was a kid.
We were inside looking at an exhibit when my mom started reading it out loud to my sister and me. My mom is famously (or infamously) a spirited person who draws attention. This was no different. As she faced the exhibit and gave a more and more dramatic speech about it to my sister and me, we noticed Dad faded way back.
Mom kept talking with her voice and hands.
A few people closed in around us, then a dozen, and before my mom turned toward us, 20 or 30 visitors were listening to her as if she were their tour guide. Well, unfazed, Mom gave a convincing and inspiring conclusion to her presentation. The crowd clapped. Dad shook his head in disbelief. My sister and I laughed as the people turned away. Once the crowd dispersed, my mom couldn’t stop laughing.
Well, nobody was at the Klamath Overlook except my wife, kids, and me. So, channeling my mom, I began talking in a documentary-style voice and ad-libbed a story about the whales off the California coast. Although my family was just beyond my outstretched arms, I could only see their faces and bodies intermittently when the breeze thinned the fog for a second or two before erasing them from sight again.
I saw an entertained family in those glimpses, so it encouraged me to amp up the dramatic delivery.
As I neared my climactic finish, I imitated what I thought whale calls sounded like.
Just then, the fog thinned.
I was stunned!
My family had grown by at least triple in number.
Silent, still, misty, and mystified faces of strangers stared at me.
I did not have the nerve of my mom. I abruptly stopped talking mid-sentence, turned, and briskly walked into the fog to escape my embarrassment.
A few minutes later, I was reunited with my family. It wasn’t hard to find them. I just followed the belly laughter.
By Frank Rocco Satullo, The OhioTraveler, Your Tour Guide to Fun!
