There is an interesting story I just read on nytimes.com about a whale that no one can identify. Scientists have said they don’t think it’s a blue whale, the largest creature on the planet, and not the second largest whale either, but such comments intimate that they think it’s of similar size. Not discussed thoroughly is whether scientists believe this is a new species. They call it the "52 herz" whale because of where its sonorous moans register (as regular as a metronome, as the article describes.)
While the article discusses the poignancy of this lonely whale's lament, to me the article drives home how much there still is to learn about life on this planet. I don’t believe in Bigfoot, per se, but I think it’s possible for a large ape-like creature to go undetected in the vast nothingness of the remaining heavily wooded regions of the Pacific Northwest. Gorillas were once considered mythological creatures. I can’t take the Loch Ness monster seriously when science shows there isn’t a viable food source for such a creature as has been described. Yet, if the creature is smaller than people think and amphibious, perhaps the food issue is less of a problem.
The lives of the large and mysterious continue to captivate us. Perhaps it’s because we tend to think of ourselves as less than we are. "I can’t do that. I’m not that important," we say. "I can’t go there, I’m not a star." And when others do things we wouldn’t ourselves do, we say, "Who the hell does she think she is?" or "How does he get away with that?" In the meantime, we swim through our lives nearly under the radar, our voices heard in the distance but misunderstood.
I admit I feel sorry for this whale, because it seems to be so much like us. Among the things we humans need to learn and relearn is that we’re not alone. It’s said over and over, sometimes at different frequencies, but we must recognize ourselves in others.
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