Two hours of sailing off the glorious Isles of Scilly in October had landed us with a fair few gulls, a random juvenile puffin, some guillemots and four harbour porpoises. As the autumn plodded on, the chances of encountering huge rafts of seabirds had greatly diminished; a few weeks earlier sailors on this route would have encountered skuas, petrels and Sabine’s gulls; now, we had a solitary juvenile puffin. Even the gannets had dispersed. Our best hope was a glimpse of the purple sandpipers that hang out on the far-flung rocks to the west; the pelagic summer season was well and truly over.

We were out on the Sapphire, a local tripper and wildlife watching boat. To most people, a sapphire is a precious gem: deep blue, flashy and expensive. My Sapphire is far more than that. She’s still deep blue, flashy and I suspect gloriously expensive; but she has shared my happiest memories with me, while also cradling me through some of my wobblier moments.

By the time we cleared the top of the archipelago, being a rather unseasoned sailor, my face was starting to pale. The gentle, monotonous bobbing and swaying was beginning to induce a familiar weakness in my legs and shakiness in my hands as my stomach quietly protested. I’ve never actually been seasick, but it’s been a close run thing at times. As we rounded the bottom of St Mary’s, the largest of the Scilly Isles, we faced the full force of the Atlantic Ocean and things were looking far from peachy.

An ‘avian desert’ wasn’t helping the situation. With nothing to distract the eye and excite the mind, I was beginning to gaze with longing at the cloudy shape of the islands looming to the north, two or three miles away. The frenzied flocks of feeding gannets that had haunted the sea for weeks now quite simply weren’t there. Even Bella, the boat’s resident spaniel, seemed listless and bored.

Then the cry went up from the boat’s captain, Joe: ‘Dolphin!’

Sickness forgotten, adrenaline pumping, I snapped into action. As every other passenger ran to port side, scanning the horizon wildly for the tell-tale white water, I threw myself towards the bow of the boat, scrambling over fenders and nearly impaling myself on a fishing rod in the process. No matter – there was time for pain later. Lying stomach-down with one arm wrapped around the railing, I leant forwards (probably quite dangerously, in retrospect) over the side of the boat, breathing hard and waiting.

One second passed, then two, and then:

‘Here they come!’

Three, four, five, ten elegant shapes crested the water only a couple of feet below my outstretched fingertips. My head and shoulders lay a good foot beneath the edge of the boat, as I gripped hard with my left arm, stretching the right out towards the surface of the sea; where there had been turquoise only a few seconds before, now powerful and exquisite creatures skimmed the water, sending clouds of mist and spray into our faces as they broke the surface. Deep creamy yellow down the side, stormy blue and slate grey; the classic dolphin shape, smaller than many species but surprisingly large at such close range: the common dolphin.

So near the water, it felt as if we were travelling at considerable speed, although it was probably no more than 10 knots; dolphin after dolphin skimmed the surface, sometimes completely clearing the water in a skilled leap, flicking their tails expertly as they landed to propel themselves forwards. Occasionally one would flip over to lie on its side, and a moment of understanding, or recognition, would pass between us as eye contact was made. This might sound anthropomorphic, but surely this is why there are few human beings who do not smile when they see a dolphin – and not in the patronising way we do with some animals. We see in their gaze an intelligence that is inherently familiar yet completely alien. For us, it is almost inconceivable how creatures can live and prosper beneath the sea; we envy their freedom, their spirit, their obvious love for life, yet we love them for it, too.

It could have been minutes, or hours, that the dolphins rode beneath the bow wave. As they sliced the water the spray caught the setting sunlight, so that it looked like sparks of fire were erupting from the surface. So close to them, I was oblivious to everything else; I knew that there were others around me, but I felt completely alone, almost like I was flying. The only thing I was aware of was Bella, who ‘sings’ to her ocean friends: a frenzied stream of yelps, yips, barks, snaps, howls and whines combines to make a truly ear-splitting racket. I suspect her canine ears can hear the dolphin’s echolocation and she’s hopelessly tormented by them. To make it even better, the ocean had by no means calmed, and I was soaked as wave after wave broke over the boat, drenching my head and torso; this only made me feel closer to the dolphins, just out of reach beyond my outstretched finger tips. A soft voice from my partner whispered in my ear: ‘Look up.’

I tore my eyes away from the spectacle beneath me. From every direction dolphins were streaming in towards the boat – countless in number, it seemed. As each pod beneath us peeled off or shot forwards like torpedoes, easily outstripping the boat, another moved in to take their place. It was as if they sensed the sheer, unadulterated joy that was radiating from the front of this little vessel and the bodies both on and below it, separated only by a few inches of air.

Afterwards, it was estimated that there had been as many as 150 individuals around the boat, including many calves. As the autumn progresses the number will increase, sometimes creating ‘super pods’ that contain many thousands of individuals.

I’ve seen many photographs and videos of those magical few minutes, and (not to discredit the takers – some were superb) not one of them conveys the entire spectacle. It would be impossible to do so with an image: in this case, words manage it better.

I lay lost in this world for an age, so close and yet so far away from these most wonderful of animals. Gradually, the last of them peeled away, and then with a final flick of the tail, we were alone again.

Standing, shaking, freezing and wet through, I realised that my cheeks were soaked with tears. Salty water mingling with salty water.

Lucy McRobert, 2016