I can't help but smile when I think of our last night in Uganik at our remote home before we got on the compressed cattle class of modern airfare to travel to Minnesota to begin selling our hand picked salmon to hungry, appreciative people. That last night was calm and soothing without wind, wind generated waves, or even a slow swell - the kind of calm that floats tiny pieces of sand off our beach and the granules don't break the surface tension as the incoming tide lifts and carries them. To fall asleep is easy under those peaceful conditions, a kind of natural dream maker where all is right in the world. However, after I had been in a slumber for some time, a sound woke me. As I lay groggy and unsure of what exactly had jostled my subconscious into consciousness, I ran through a list of probables; a bear on the porch, a deer knocking against something accidentally, the wood stove popping, a fox yipping on the beach. However, to my surprise, it was none of these. When opening the window removed the last barrier to the world from the head of the bed, I heard it clearly and profoundly, the sound of a humpback whale fully breaching out of the water, the sploosh of the take off and the gigantic slap of the 80,000 pound animal connecting with the ocean surface again...and again and again. While we lay wrapped in the cool night air rolling in from the window, the solo whale danced, throwing a party of its own.