As your friendly, often-too-invested narrator Gage Neal, I'm excited to take you on the grand adventure of looking for a wild Bottlenose Dolphin I've affectionately named Ernest the Earnest. Our journey begins on the exquisite coast of Australia, a land abundant with glorious biodiversity, just itching to be explored and narrated, albeit terribly extravagantly.
We start our venture in the wee hours of dawn, when the sun teasingly peeks over the horizon, bathing the ocean in an ethereal glow. With the unyieldingly precise fishing equipment and waterproof notepad in tow, I brace myself for the tryst with the salt-ridden stage where our beloved Ernest is likely rehearsing his delicate routines.
With the hint of freshly brewed coffee laced with the sharp tang of sea-salt bracing my senses, I embark on my turquoise tinted journey. A local boat cruises us out into the ocean, lazily carving through the crystal waves, until we reach the perfect viewpoint, safe yet intimate enough to observe the grandeur of Ernest without frightening his delicate sensibilities.
On the first day, after what seemed like countless hours waiting amidst swaying loneliness and aggressive seagulls, there appears a picturesque arch— none other than Ernest himself, venturing out for his first performance of the day. The moment is so mesmerizing, I drop my sandwich to the seagulls' amusement and approach the deck’s edge for a better look. Ernest cuts a perfect silhouette against the mocking sunlight, his sleek figure accentuated in the mirror of cerulean such that it almost hurts to look, and yet, one cannot help but steal glances.
Ernest isn't a solitary artist, mind you. He is often accompanied by his lovely entourage—three zealous pelicans I've dubbed Walter, Wendy, and Wilhelm—the stickybeaks. They squawk and protest from their sea-sprayed perches overhead, their squinty eyes following Ernest's every move. I imagine them critiquing Ernest's aquatic acrobats and surface prances in a language only they can truly comprehend.
"Walter," I envision Wendy chirping, "Ernest is surely offbeat with his jumps today."
Walter, the oldest and most respected just scoffs, "Youngsters these days!", while Wilhelm, the younger, more optimistic one mutters, "Give him a break, it's a tough current today."
Ernest continues his balletic display, unperturbed by his feathered audience. His life is a ceaseless ballet, punctuated with energetic leaps that shatter the ocean’s glass surface, chasing schools of fish, playing with stray seaweed, and entertaining the prying eyes of envious turtles.
Over the next couple of days, my observations give way to fascinating revelations. Ernest isn't just an entertainer; he's an explorer navigating an underwater metropolis teeming with life. Akin to the town gossip, he frequents a vibrant coral reef, engaging in curious interactions with its domicile.
I noted an intriguing tête-à-tête between Ernest and a monstrous Moray eel—Mortimer the Morose—who's always cautiously peeking from the shadows of his coral cavern. Though Mortimer's sullen eyes may appear to be irked at the intrusion, I can't help but imagine him warming up to Ernest's relentless charm.
"He's back, Morty!" Ernest would chirp. "Trouble in the sea-town?"
Mortimer grumbles, "Leave me be, Ernest."
Yet Ernest continues his visits and prattling, and even if Mortimer doesn't express it, I suspect he enjoys the company.
In this life-altering adventure, I've come away with one lesson: the ocean, it’s nothing but a liquid sky, where Ernest and friends dance, chatter and live their best lives. Their actions seem routine, maybe even monotonous, but there's a hidden rhythm, an orchestrated symphony that only a patient observer can dissect and appreciate. Ernest the Earnest, is a testament to the free spirit, brimming with antics, audacity, and an infectious zest for life. Till next time, Ernest, keep dancing.
