First there was a dolphin, a brief glimpse of its sleek, slate-gray trunk arcing across the surface, and then, before you knew it, there were so many dolphins. More dolphins than you could count. So many dolphins that as soon as one crested the waves and the cluster of Defector staffers oohed and ahhed and hollered to their comrades It's over there!, the hollering would come from another part of the boat, for another pod of dolphins. They were playing—chasing each other, leaping, flipping their flukes skyward against the setting sun. Breasting the waves for no other reason than because they could, and because their bodies were designed to do it, and because their brains are designed to enjoy doing it. At one point three dolphins, side by side, so close as to be touching, emerged from the water and silently re-entered it, so perfectly choreographed it could be from a dream or a Disney film. In the failing light they were almost black amid the choppy waters, except for the flash of a fluke or the splash of a reentry. They were in the distance, clustered off the tip of the breakwater where the inlet became the ocean, surely hunting for the fish that amass where the currents change. Then they were near our boat, so near that it could not have been anything but deliberate—they were curious. They were checking us out. It felt like in the whole universe at that moment there was only us and them, their world so close to ours yet so separate, and for a few minutes they were blessing us by crossing over. One was so near that it and I made what I will go to my grave insisting was eye contact. I will think of that dolphin for a long time; will it think of me?
Dolphins are no doubt on the short list for the most magical animals to see in person. (No, I do not imply by "magical" anything supernatural, and no, I will not define it further, because I wager you know exactly what is meant.) At one point, someone wondered aloud how long we'd have to be out on that boat seeing dolphins before seeing a dolphin stopped feeling like the most amazing thing that had ever happened to a human. Almost before that person finished their sentence, another dolphin breached the surface, and everyone on board gasped and cooed, indicating that however long it might require, we had not come close to reaching it. There are some animals that are just like this—some animals where for various anthropocentric considerations (beauty, intelligence, rarity, accessibility, etc.)—it is simply never anything less than sublime when you are reminded you share a planet with them. But which animal is the most magical of all? An objective though necessarily incomplete ranking:
- Whales
- Dolphins
- Big cats
- Elephants
- Orangutans
- Bears
- Non-orangutan apes
- Large birds of prey
- Coral
- Pinnipeds
- Tortoises (unusually old or large)
- Octopuses
- Moose
- Deer
- Colorful frogs
- Monkeys (jungle)
- Butterflies
- Penguins
- Otters
- Rhinoceroses
- Hippopotamuses
- Large spider (at a distance; not on your property)
- Hummingbirds
- Armadillos
- Fireflies
- Sharks
- Semi-common Australian weirdos (kangaroo, koala, etc.)
- Mantises
- Foxes
- Hitting a deer with your truck
- Monkeys (city)
- Raccoons
No disrespect intended to the animals who didn't make the list. Maybe your vibes are just off.
What are some magical animals you have seen?
