Whale Hunting
Although I have had many opportunities, I have never seen a whale in the wild. In captivity at the Vancouver Aquarium, yes, but not out on the ocean where they belong. On both coasts I've gone looking, and even at the Hudson's Bay, though since it was frozen over I wasn't really looking for whales so much as poolar bears.
Once, in Newfoundland, I spent a pleasant day walking on the beach, watching out for whales in the cove while simulataneously keeping an eye out for shark teeth in the sand. As a child I once read that shark teeth often washed up on shore and they could be found by a sharp eye, though they have eluded me so far. After a while I came across a group of fishermen who were preparing their lines with their catch of herring so they could go out and catch cod, so I helped them for a few hours, slicing herring into six sections, getting covered with blood and viscera. The fishermen laughed at the landlubber, and I laughed at their jokes, spoken in a dialect almost indicipherable to me. Later that night I fried a herring fillet on my campfire and revelled in the new memories I had made. But no whales showed themselves that day.
But in a way, I have slept with whales. Coming back from the Queen Charlotte Islands on the ferry, I slept the night out on the deck, using my backpack as a pillow. I could hear the sounds of the whales swimming nearby, their whistles and their squeals sounding ethereal in the starry mist. I tried to see them, but it was too dark, the ocean and the sky blending together into nothingness. They were out there, though, and I was satisfied.