As we eat, several pods of dolphins (smaller variety of whales) pop out of the surface 500 meters away. It’s unofficial; not yet "on effort," we are still heading for the start-off waypoint 30 minutes away on the GPS (global positioning system). But we grab binoculars anyway to practice counting and identifying the species. The early appearances are a good omen, the veteran trackers say. More so is the weather condition: sunny and bright; slight wind. The sea is Beaufort-0: mirror-like; ripples with no foam. It’s a perfect day for whale tracking as we zigzag our way from north down to the base of the strait’s V at 14 kph.
There are eight of us trackers, including Lory Tan, 50, president of WWF-Philippines, who has been photographing Tañon’s whales for 12 years. Directing us is Dr. Andrea Bautista, a marine biologist-veterinarian who, at 29, heads the Tañon Strait Initiative to plot whale abundance and protect them from any more killings. Chief recorder is Jean Utzurrum, 21, a fresh graduate of biology who was with the WWF’s first survey in 2003. Veterans too are Razcel Salvarita, 21, painter, writer and photographer; Rochelle Remollo, 27, who is working on her master’s in psychology and had to finish an exam, then commute five hours from Dumaguete to San Carlos to catch up with us on the first night; and Portia Nillos, 25, assistant of former environment secretary Angel Alcala at Silliman University’s Center for Research on Environment Management. Abner Elgincolin, like me, is a first-timer. The yacht, specially designed and built for sea surveys, is co-owned and captained by Juny Binamira, 43, who sailed it all the way from Bohol and must rush back after the survey for his 10th wedding anniversary. He is assisted by Louie Sapayane, 25, of Panglao, Bohol, and Elias Mendoza, 59, of WWF’s coastal preservation project in Anilao, Batangas.
We volunteers are to work three hour shifts, with 30 minutes rest in between, until we finish the day’s survey in ten hours. On each shift, we are to take turns every half-hour as front, left and right spotters on the roof deck; trackline guard at the prow to watch that we don’t hit floating logs or cut across the paths of swimming whale; environment parameter recorder at the stern to take water temperature and salinity; and fish-gear monitor of locations of payaos (fish aggregating buoys), net casters and trawlers sighted at port and starboard sides. In addition, two us each day must cook meals, wash dishes and, at day’s end, clean the equipment and compile the records.
Action starts as Steppenwolf is blasting "Born to Be Wild" on the boat’s powerful outdoor speakers. A splash, followed by what looks like a spurt of water, alert us to the presence of cetaceans only 200 meters away. The spurt is actually hot air being condensed when a dolphin exhales upon surfacing from a long, deep dive for food. We all have an adrenalin rush as we crane for a better look through binoculars. By the dolphins’ features and activity, which we shout to one another, we can pinpoint the type. "Is the face flat or is there a long snout?" Dr. Ari tests us on our crash briefing two days before. "Triangular fin," somebody notices. And then the dolphins jump out of the water spinning; they can only be the spinner species, which sometimes do somersaults just like in whale shows. We count their number on the surface at any one time, then multiply it by three, which is about the size of the pod. The first and second sighters then render a report.
We make seven more whale sightings this day. One was a very close encounter, initially at 100 meters. We all clap or rap on the boat to attract the dolphin pod’s attention. There are two calves between two pairs of adults, and we make the mental arithmetic on their number. Lory begs them to come closer for a digital photograph. I try mental telepathy. They oblige and Lory takes a snapshot as a calf opens its mouth in a big yawn only three meters away.
In another area, we first spot a pod at 11 o’clock about 150 meters off. Juny cuts the boat motor. Suddenly another pod surfaces at 4 o’clock only 50 meters away. At 7 o’clock is still another pod, from 200 meters. And at 2 o’clock is a fourth pod, 500 meters off. There are about 150 to 200 dolphins around us, in a feeding frenzy of squid and danggit fish for which Tañon is noted. One of the pods is poaching on fish snared in illegal nets tied beneath a s. This is one reason why the Tañon whales are being killed by some locals who think the mammals are competitors for fish catch.
Anchored at dusk in a cove, I rub my aching legs from the tiring but fulfilling day. Juny whips up a sumptuous Neapolitana pasta – noodles, for long life – for the birthday boy. As the young veterans exchange notes on the day’s sightings, I ponder over the significance of their work. They are advancing not only science but, by saving the whales, also the food and ecotourism industries, and ultimately the peace that this land will enjoy if only all people can live stably. On the boat’s speakers, Phil Collins is crooning "Another Day in Paradise."