Moby Sick

Moby Sick

Call me Ishmael. Call me captain. But don’t call me seasick.

That’s more than I could say for most of the 80 people – including my wife, Sue – who recently went out on a boat to watch whales but instead, in a stunning display of mass disgorgement that even Herman Melville couldn’t have imagined, gave new meaning to the old whaling term “Thar she blows!”

Our high-seas adventure began aboard the Viking Starship, a 46-metre long vessel out of Montauk, N.Y. Under the able command of the friendly and experienced crew – Capt. Joseph DiLiberto, mate Alex Georgiev and naturalist Artie Kopelman – the Starship set sail at 9:30am on a six-hour tour, a six-hour tour (sorry, Gilligan’s Island fans) about 24km into the Atlantic. Destination: the feeding grounds of majestic marine mammals, including the fin whale, the second-largest species, which can grow to 25 metres in length.

Before Sue and I boarded, I noticed a sign on the dock next to the ship. It read: “No firearms allowed onboard.” Now I know why: If you get violently sick out on the water, you’ll want to shoot yourself.

A storm had passed offshore the night before and the morning broke cloudy and chilly, but the conditions, if not ideal, weren’t bad enough to cancel the trip.

Kopelman stood on deck with a microphone as the boat chugged out of the harbour and, in a funny and informative routine that included fascinating facts about the creatures we hoped to see, explained what we should do in the event of seasickness. Ill passengers should not use bags but should go “over the rail,” Kopelman said, adding: “And not into the wind.”

The first sign of trouble came about five miles out, just past the Montauk Point Lighthouse, where the Viking Starship acted more like the Jefferson Starship: It was rocking and rolling in the increasingly churning ocean. Several people, who had turned greener than the water, clutched the rail. Others, disregarding Kopelman’s instructions, clutched bags. Sue clutched me.

Apparently, I was the only passenger, in addition to a group of little kids, who was having a good time. It was like being at an amusement park except that no one else thought it was amusing.

Among the afflicted was Sue, who got sick five times. It may have been a record. At one point, I went inside to get her some napkins and spoke with Kobi Kobayashi, who runs the snack bar.

“I guess business hasn’t been too good today,” I said.

Kobayashi shook his head and replied, “I made three breakfasts – sausage and eggs – but they probably went over the side.”

Kobayashi, a former commercial fisherman from Japan, has also been a filmmaker. He was the cinematographer on the 1977 Oscar winner for best short documentary, I’ll Find a Way.

“If you made a movie about this trip,” I noted, “you could call it I’ll Find a Wave. A lot of people have.” Kobayashi didn’t disagree.

About 12 miles out, Capt. Joe decided to cut the trip short and turn around. “It’s too bad,” he said, “because we’ve had an 80 percent success rate this year. We’ve been out 20 times and have seen whales 16 times. None today, though.”

“Maybe they’re sick, too,” I suggested.

“Seasickness is mostly mind over matter,” said Capt. Joe, adding that he used to get sick as a boy when he went on fishing trips with his father and uncles. “You grow out of it.”

On the way back in, the water had calmed considerably, so Capt. Joe let me take the wheel. For five minutes, under strict supervision, I was Capt. Jerry.

About half an hour later, after the real captain docked the boat under sunny skies, Sue and I, along with scores of ashen-faced, wobbly legged, would-be whale watchers, disembarked. I was going to ask Sue if she wanted to get some clams for lunch, but I didn’t want to end up sleeping with the fishes.

Zezima is a swell humorist even when he’s at sea. He can be reached at

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