[caption id="attachment_5398" align="alignleft" width="300" caption="Is that you, Nessie?"]<a href="http://www.diaryofalatebloomer.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/05/P42900681.jpg"><img class="size-medium wp-image-5398" title="OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA" src="http://www.diaryofalatebloomer.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/05/P42900681-300x225.jpg" alt="" width="300" height="225" /></a>[/caption]

You may recall that not too long ago I had dreamed of traveling to Santa Barbara in March for a whale watching tour.

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I then cancelled my plans due to upcoming trips to Portland and Italy.  Until my money tree brings in the bigger bucks, I need to show some semblance of restraint.

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And then...wouldn't you know it?  Jimmykins needed a trophy date for Santa Barbara.  Twist of fate and twist my arm!

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On this ultra-indulgent President's Club trip, we were asked to pick daily activities to embark on.  I begged Jimmykins to reserve us a spot on the Whale Watching Tour.

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You know what often happens on Whale Watching Tours, right?  When it's this late in the whale watching season, you may not see any whales.  But you will always see people blowing chunks.

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I boarded the boat feeling quite cocky confident.  I've been on boats since I was in the womb.  If you want to go back farther than that, my ancestry on my Mother's side is Portuguese.  Think back to history class.  Remember that Magellan dude?  Just one of a slew of Portuguese explorers.

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In addition, my father was a Merchant Marine.

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In other words, I don't do seasickness.  It's not in my blood.

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I assured the nervous Nelly behind me that it was windy, but look -- no swells!  Only white caps!  You didn't take your dramamine?  No problem.

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Just as I anticipated, we surfed through those white caps without issue.   A bumpy ride hurts your bum bum, not your tummy. (Or, if we want to be technical, your inner ear.)

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5 minutes in the captain spotted a gray whale and calf!  Hurrah!  No, that wasn't the Loch Ness Monster in the photo above.  Look closer!

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<a href="http://www.diaryofalatebloomer.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/05/P42900682.jpg"><img class="alignnone size-medium wp-image-5399" title="OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA" src="http://www.diaryofalatebloomer.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/05/P42900682-300x224.jpg" alt="" width="300" height="224" /></a>

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After stalking the mother and her calf for about 20 minutes and a thousand photos, the captain announced that we would head further out in search of humpback whales.  In a perfect foreshadow, he nonchalantly mentioned that Santa Barbara rarely experiences winds such as these (15 - 40 miles an hour), but he thought that he could navigate through the elements just fine.

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It was then that I entered the cabin for the first time at the captain's advice.  There was a tremendous amount of water hitting the deck, and even though I dream of being on Whale Wars where the crew gets soaked and chilled to the bone, this captain ordered everyone inside pronto.

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The cabin air was stuffy, and the only remaining seat faced the back.  I started small talk with the couple sitting across from us.

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I first knew something was about to go terribly wrong when the female member of the couple started to turn <span style="color: #808000;"><strong>this color </strong><span style="color: #000000;">after we hit a swell that made my tea shoot like Old Faithful from the spout in my to-go cup.</span></span>

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<span style="color: #808000;"><span style="color: #000000;"><span style="font-size: large; color: #808000;"><strong>Holy Ocean Swells, Batman!</strong></span>
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Crap, Crap, Crap.

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The captain then informed us that the sudden smell of oil was not a leak from the boat, but naturally occurring oil from the depths of the Pacific.

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Between the smell, the stuffiness, and <span style="color: #808000;"><strong>the green woman</strong></span>, I started to feel a wee bit nauseated.  When <span style="color: #808000;"><strong>the green woman</strong></span> and hubby left our table (I'm assuming to power puke), I quickly hauled my hiney around the table to face forward.  Jimmykins reminded me to keep my eyes on the horizon which I managed to do only when the swells weren't crashing against the window.

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Cubby* made his rounds while assessing the seasick percentage of passengers.  When he got to me, I blurted out, "Do you have any more of that ginger candy?!?!".  (I had declined the ginger candy 60 minutes prior when I was still in cocky mode.)

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Cubby scrounged around for the last two pieces of ginger candy which tasted absolutely disgusting, but I sucked on anyway for dear life.

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And then...music to everyone's ears and stomachs:  "Humpback whale to the star bird side of the boat!  I will stop the boat and see if it comes closer."

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I ran to the deck while gasping for cool air which (thankfully) was now fresh and salty rather than oily.

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Thar she blows!  Look what I caught on film, peeps!

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After following the humpback for another 20 minutes, the concerned captain mentioned that "a few" passengers were sick, so we would turn this ship around and head <em>slowly</em> back to shore.

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Hallelujah.

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I stayed on deck and gulped as much cool air as I could.  Luckily, I never passed "3" on my own scale of 1-10 with 0 being "I feel fabulous!" , and 10 being "hurling breakfast over the back of the boat".

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My "3" nausea passed fairly quickly after Ms. Humpback.

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Other passengers were not so lucky.  Apparently, there were <em>many</em> (not "a few", captain, sir) not-so-perfect 10s on that boat, because for the rest of the Santa Barbara trip, The Whale Watching Tour reached infamy.

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Everywhere we went for the rest of the weekend, we overheard people talking about The Whale Watching Tour.  At the pool.  At the spa.  In the restaurants.  In the bathrooms.  <em>Everywhere. </em>

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Even THE PRESIDENT OF THE GIANT CORPORATION who hosted this soiree brought it up at the Awards Banquet as a joke.  Hardy har har.  (Mr. Prez was not on the boat.)

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Was it worth it?

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Absolutely!  I saw whales in the wild for the first time in my life!

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Next time, I'll venture out into calmer waters with dramamine.

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My sincere apologies, Nelly.  I now see that you had every right to feel nervous.

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*Yes, Cubby is his real name.  I forgot to ask if he was formerly a mousketeer.

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There was also a tour guide named Scooter.  No, he was not a muppet.

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