Mouth open, I swallow water. Trying not to choke, I kick to the surface and chuff. The sun has set. Moonlight glistens on lazy waves like a thousand sparkling diamonds. Dog paddling, I pull my hair away from my face and wring it out.
Something cold and smooth smacks against my body, again. I turn in a circle, looking for the intruder. A few yards away, a dolphin’s head pops up. It starts to chatter, the sound sharp and staticky. This dolphin isn’t interested in play.
She dives out of sight before coming up a few yards away, chattering again. This time more high-pitched and squeaky. Again she dives down and breaks the surface farther away, still chattering.
I start toward her. She looks at me, as if to make sure I’m following, before heading out to sea. We swim about a mile before she stops. In the distance, an engine hums and the lights of an approaching vessel cut through the gloom. Cautiously, I swim forward to get a better look. A chill that has nothing to do with the cool water runs the length of my body.
Oh my God! Fear paralyzes me. I stare in disbelief. The ship has a mobile platform. What is a research vessel doing this close to my home?
The dolphin splashes her tail in the water to get my attention before diving down. I follow, my limbs stiff, my movements jerky. The dolphin stops swimming and floats. I pull alongside her.
My heart beats fast and hard, thumping against my rib cage. Up ahead is a sophisticated marine mammal trap, a young dolphin captured inside. The dolphin is around the same size as the one I played with the other day. I swim forward to study it.
A bait bucket of finely woven mesh houses a hundred small fish. It’s what lured the young dolphin in. The trap sprung when contact was made with the mesh bucket.
The baby cries pitifully. Its mother answers. There’s no room for it to turn around.
I study the trap. It would be a simple matter to slash the mesh. I reach for my knife. My heart sinks. Lately, I’ve been in too much of a hurry to strap it on, a dangerous mistake. I swim closer and study the mouth of the trap. I’ll have to figure out how to spring it.
I run my hands around the round lip and find a hinge. Now, all I have to do is find the spring. Painstakingly, I run my hands along the cool metal.
The baby continues to cry. His mom bumps her snout against the wire mesh near his head to comfort him.
I run my hands around the frame twice before I discover it. My chest heaving, I breathe a sigh of relief. I press the spring.
Nothing happens.
Mom starts to chatter at me, the sound sharp and high-pitched. Both she and the baby are nervous.
Even in the cold water, beads of sweat form on my body.
This time when I press on the spring and stick my fingers inside the mesh, I pull against the frame. It gives an inch and snaps back into place.
Encouraged, I try again. I grunt, pushing the lever and pulling at the edge of the frame. I manage to get it open a couple of inches. I pause when I hear a whirring noise.
The ropes tighten and the trap begins to move upward.