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him.
    He seemed happy. He seemed to be playing and full of energy, but how long could that last? When had he last eaten? How long would his body fat sustain him? How often did he need to drink so he didn’t get dehydrated? What would we do if we couldn’t find his mother?
    I didn’t have any answers. But as long as we tried, as long as we kept looking, there was a chance we could find her.
    Sometimes it’s the process of doing that makes things clear. If we don’t start, we never know what could have been. Sometimes the answers we find while searching are better or more creative than anything we could ever have imagined before.
    My mind continued to roam, spin, and focus as I swam. Was there a better way to search for the mother whale? What would happen if she had already moved north? Had she been calling him? Had he missed her? Had he heard her voice for the very last time? Had the baby whale learned how to communicate? Had he been calling her? Maybe she couldn’t hear him?
    I heard the deep rumble of the Long Beach Lifeguard boat. They were zooming toward us, their brightred bow cutting a V in the gray-blue water. White waves shot up against the red hull, and the V spread into fast-moving waves.
    The lifeguards patrolled the coastal waters all year round. Many of them were my friends. Some of them had accompanied me on channel swims and others watched me during my daily workouts. I was always happy to see them, but on this morning I was thrilled. They would be able to help. And they would do their best.
    They took great pride in finding and rescuing people, and they also had a deep appreciation for the wildlife that inhabited the ocean and shores. They studied the birds, marine mammals, and fishes and swapped stories about their findings. They observed the behavior of the marine animals and knew all about the migration of gray whales.
    Two lifeguards came out on deck. They were older guards, in their forties or fifties, with hard bodies, bronzed skin, broad shoulders, and very big smiles. One lifeguard had fine wavy blond hair and spoke quickly and softly. His friend was taller, with straight dark brown hair. He had a deep booming voice. I recognizedthem: They had been partners on the boat for a long time.
    When they pulled alongside me, I explained that I was looking for a gray whale.
    They told me they had been watching the northern migration. That morning they had seen a pod of five whales swimming along the edge of the Long Beach breakwater. The lifeguards had watched them swim outside Los Angeles Harbor, keeping a distance from cargo ships and tankers entering the harbor. Once they crossed the harbor entrance, they made a straight line for the Palos Verdes Peninsula, using it as a landmark, and then they followed the coast north toward Alaska.
    The baby whale surfaced near their boat. The lifeguards silently watched in complete amazement. They’d never been that close to a baby gray whale. They’d heard that people swam with them in the lagoons off Mexico and that they enjoyed being touched by people, but they couldn’t believe that they had a baby swimming right around their boat.
    I started to worry when one lifeguard said that gray whales are very protective of their young. Gray whalemothers usually don’t let their babies out of their sight. There was a good possibility the baby’s mother was dead. For a moment, I felt great sadness. I don’t know why, but I didn’t think she was dead. I reasoned with myself: Wouldn’t someone have seen a whale floating in the water, especially in an area where there’s a lot of boat traffic? Wouldn’t someone have seen something? No, she had to be alive.
    The baby whale swam ten feet from me. He spouted, bounded through smooth waters, and weaved from side to side. He swam under me and rolled over; I think he was trying to play with me. Whales love to play. They nudge each other, and as they swim their bodies sometimes touch. Sometimes baby grays ride along on their