The conditions are perfect. It is one of those rare Chatham Strait mornings, where the winds are silent, and not a ripple touches the surface. For 10 miles distant, we can see the blows erupting from behind the curve of the earth. The spouts hang in the air, and gradually fade into the morning mists. Even from this distance, we can see the fluke prints of our old friends including Rubberlips, Asymmetry, and Grunwald. As we draw closer, a perfect circle of bubbles is scribed upon the surface. Like mercury from a broken thermometer, the silvery bodies of a herring school flash in the center of the bubble nebula. A second later a hundred thousand pounds of humpback whale erupts through the surface. For a moment, the air is filled with gnashing mouths, flippers, and distended tummies. The whole spectacle recedes into the deep, and we await the next performance. I turn to my companions and smile, we are among friends again.....