Big Love

Forget SeaWorld. If you really want to see whales, off the coast of the Dominican Republic you can dive right in.

WE'VE BEEN SITTING, PERFECTLY STILL AND COMPLETELY SILENT, FOR SEVERAL MINUTES. The sun heats the fabric of my black wetsuit until my skin itches, but I don't move. There are 12 passengers in the 20-foot boat. All of us are waiting for the signal, a nod from the captain at the wheel.

When it's time, I reach up and pull my mask down over my eyes and nose, folding my lips over the mouthpiece. As quietly as possible, I lower myself over the side of the boat and slip into the ocean. Our group moves together, swimming slowly in the same direction. At first, peeking below the surface and scanning the depths, I see nothing in the water. We swimmers glance at one another. Were we too slow? Did we take too long getting in?

Then the scout at the front of the group stops. I clear my snorkel and lower my mask into the water; finally, I see what we've been waiting for. Despite my poetic preconceptions about what this moment might entail, there is only one clear thought in my mind. One word, actually. That whale, the one twirling in lazy circles just below the surface 20 feet away, is big.

And that's just the calf. The playful, 15-foot-long, roughly six-ton humpback whale calf. Movement farther below catches my eye, and I glance down. Resting near the floor of the coral shelf is mama -- big, times three. A small plume of bubbles rises from her blowhole, scattering a handful of tiny fish gathered around her head. I watch the school twinkle as it darts back and forth, the minuscule silver bodies vanishing beneath one of the humpback's pectoral fins.

I slowly move closer to the mother whale. Above the huge, dark shape of her, I suddenly feel that I am trespassing -- eavesdropping on a moment that no human being was ever meant to witness, not this far out at sea, not 50 feet beneath the surface of the ocean.

Another small stream of bubbles rises from the mother humpback, and then she is moving toward the surface, her size all the more impressive as she draws closer. Mature humpbacks usually measure from 45 to 50 feet in length, weigh between 30 and 50 tons, and boast an impressive wingspan as well -- each pectoral fin is up to 15 feet long.

Exhilarated but also feeling a powerful urge to move away, I am abruptly reminded that a snorkel does not accommodate rapid breathing. While I focus on long, slow breaths, the calf takes one more puff of air at the surface and returns to its mother. The two move away slowly, distance dissolving the pale lines of their pectoral fins. They vanish like ghosts.

I surface into the glaring sunlight of late morning and paddle toward Nelson Riollano, captain of the boat that brought us here. Nelson plucks his mouthpiece from his lips and grins at me.

"Awesome, right?" he asks.

The ocean around us is dotted with the brightly colored fins and snorkels of nearby swimmers, who lift their heads one by one and blink in the sudden light. Our boat is waiting a short distance away, the crew onboard waving to us. The transition is jarring -- like waking abruptly from a deep sleep.

We swim back to the boat and pull ourselves aboard. Several swimmers gush excitedly about what they have just experienced; others, myself included, simply pull off our masks and fins in a quiet daze. A momentary hush falls over the group as we all turn to watch the two whales moving off in the distance.

THERE ARE 24 PASSENGERS ONBOARD THE NEKTON RORQUAL, an 8o-foot "liveaboard" vessel operated by Nekton Diving Cruises. Florida-based Aquatic Adventures contracts the Rorqual for week-long, $2,900 whale swimming expeditions to the northeast corner of the Silver Bank ocean sanctuary, roughly 85 miles north of the Dominican Republic. Tom Conlin, who owns and operates Aquatic Adventures, looks the part with his dark tan, silver hair and bright blue eyes. He cut off a trademark ponytail just a year ago because, as he puts it, "I was turning 50 and thought I should grow up." He adds with a grin, "Didn't work."