I Want to Be David Attenborough

The last two weeks have been sort of bleak. I can't seem to get much done. I work because I need to but I find my mind wandering and then I just knock off and go do something stupid and pointless. I guess that is what one does at times like these. Lately I've been watching The Blue Planet a lot and finding some strange comfort in the soft but enthusiastic voice of David Attenborough. I want to be like him.

I think I first fell in love with Sir David about thirty years ago when he had a series on PBS/BBC called The Tribal Eye. I loved that show but even more I loved this big, beefy, pale skinned Brit with a delicious accent and a voice that managed to be both soothing and excited at the same time. And I loved that he had the courage to bare his imperfect Anglo physique and don loin cloths in order to courteously participate in tribal rituals that would scare the crap out of most flabby white guys.

Last night I watched an episode of The Blue Planet that was about coasts and tides and beaches and all the creatures large and small that populate them. I have been to the Bay of Fundy and watched the drama of the tides but last night when I was listening to David Attenborough describe the marine life there I thought, Oh gosh, I've got to go back there! It must be wonderful, I think to know so much about the world, be so enthralled by it and have the means and the ability to share that knowledge and enthusiasm with others. He talked a lot about crabs and showed a crab actually abandon his old shell and move on to a new one and, though I guess I knew in theory how that worked, I found myself laughing at the comical appearance of the crab as he wriggled and tugged at his new home. One of the things I love about Sir David is that he can treat each subject seriously but he has a dry sense of humor and isn't so strictly scientific that he can't project a little hint of anthropomorphism on a crab in search of a more comfy and accommodating dwelling.

I've written about the Spring Tides here in Gloucester before and posted pictures of them but last night, listening to him talk about the gravitational pull of the sun and the moon I finally managed to wrap my brain around how those tides operate. And for as often as I have watched the tidal creek along Nautilus Road fill in with the tide or empty out with it --- and watched the remarkable patterns of waves and flowing water formed along the beach and the surf with the movement of the water --- it left me a little breathless to hear him talk about the surge tides in the Amazon that can rush inland for 200 miles when the gravitational tugs are working together.

When I lived in Texas we often took the Bolivar Ferry across the channel to Galveston. It was a wonderful way to cross the channel and sometimes pods of dolphins would show up to guide the ferry where it needed to go. They seemed to be of the opinion it would get lost without them. I remember a moonlit summer night when we rushed to get the last ferry back. We had been drinking sangria on the terrace of the Hotel Galvez and listening to music coming from The Balinese Room on pilings out over the water. It was a beautiful night and the dolphins were in their glory leaping out of the waves and flashing in the moonlight as the escorted the ferry home. I don't know why dolphins do such things though I'm sure Sir David could tell me. There's a thought --- being on the upper deck of the ferry with warm summer breezes and silver moonlight and a soft, slightly husky and ever-impassioned voice explaining dolphin behavior --- or just luxuriating in the wonderousness of it. Either way would work I'm sure. That's the way to see the world...

Thanks for reading.