Swimming with Giants

It was all too sudden. Jim, the Butanding Interaction Officer on my boat, told me to jump and, like a real trooper, I did. He told me to hold on to an orange buoy while he dragged me to the site. Before I could say “afraid”, I beheld the biggest fish in the world for the first time.

The famed whaleshark, locally known as butanding, grows up to the size of a passenger bus. From November to June, peaking between February and April, they migrate to feast in the plankton-rich waters of Donsol, a small coastal fishing town 600 kilometers away from Manila, on the southwest coast of Luzon, Philippines.

The whaleshark before me was miniature in comparison to its potential, about three meters. It disappeared as quickly as it came, and soon we were scouring the area again for a second sighting.

The second butanding was too fast for me. I abandoned the buoy in order to use both arms for swimming, one hand tightly clasped to the camera. Being a poor swimmer, I trailed behind and was feeling disoriented when, suddenly, someone grabbed me by the left arm. It was Jim. I snorkeled (read: was dragged) towards another giant fish, slightly bigger than the last, about four or five meters, but no less agile. It was a quick encounter as the butanding promptly swam deeper and away from the crowd.

My third whaleshark encounter came almost as an afterthought. I dallied on the boat longer than I was supposed to. Just as I was about to jump, the boatmen stopped me. Jim had gone with the three other tourists in our boat. To make sure I didn’t miss any of the fun, the boatmen maneuvered the boat to the direction where the pack was swimming. I jumped in and swam like my life depended on it. No whaleshark. Far down below, I recognized the figure of Jim swimming face up, pointing an underwater camera at me. I did the same and pointed my underwater camera at him. I was busy composing my shot when, lo and behold, directly underneath me, a giant butanding appeared, its rough skin accidentally brushing against the back of my hand. I sucked my belly in, raised my torso and pointed my fins slightly upward to avoid further contact. Then I snorkeled like a mad woman to keep pace with it. I marveled at the serrations on its body and the lovely spots that seemed to glow when they caught light. I felt as though there was just the two of us, and, although it only lasted a few seconds, we had our moment. When its eight-meter length finally disappeared from my sight, I raised my head and screamed madly with delight.

I had two more encounters after, each one more up-close and personal than the other. I almost brushed cheeks with the last one. I moved out of its way and, in my mind, quietly thanked and bid it goodbye.