Lea’s kiss that morning came as a complete — albeit not unwelcome — surprise. I was at the Oregon Coast Aquarium to watch her paint, which she did in fact do quite well. Every time Lea completed a work of art, or some other important task, the trainer rewarded her with a tasty treat of herring or squid. Lea gulped down a lot of fish that morning. Really, a lot.
Then came the moment when I was summoned over to Lea for a kiss. I moved in close, and meeting her mouth to mouth, experienced for my first ever sea lion kiss.
In the 14 years I’ve been here, I’ve probably written more about the Oregon Coast Aquarium than any other attraction here. And I’ve been happy to do so. Not only is it a fabulous place to visit, but many times, the aquarium was the one bright spot on a journalism beat that saw far too much dark. They were fun stories and I loved sharing them. But as Jim Burke, director of animal husbandry, reminded me when I sat down with him recently at the Oyster Cloyster, some of those stories were a little nerve wracking themselves. Like the time they introduced the five sevengill sharks to the tanks, and I was invited inside to watch. It was early in the morning and though the place was quiet and fairly empty, it hummed with a certain energy. No one knew how it would go, but I, being the writer I am, could imagine all kinds of bleak scenarios. And so I stood alone in the underwater tunnel watching and worrying and hoping I was not about to see blood in the water.
One at a time, they weighed and measured each shark, than placed it in a canvas sling and raced the 200-pound fish up three flights of stairs to the top of the tanks where the shark was released into the water.
“It was a very stressful time,” Burke told me that night as we sat down over seafood and wine, at what is, by the way, my absolute favorite event here on the coast. “Anytime we move anything, it’s extremely serious. The nature of having a fish out of water makes the clock tick. You don’t want to take extra steps. When it was over, I felt a lot of relief.”
As did I. And I’m happy to report those sharks are thriving to this day.
I was also there when they introduced Mojo the sea otter. They don’t come much cuter. But I was wicked sick, and as we stood outside watching and waiting in the rain and wind and cold, I hacked and wheezed and shivered. And all I really wanted was to go back home and crawl in bed. Jim knew how I felt. Getting Mojo here had been no picnic.
“Mojo came down from Alaska to Oakland,” Jim said. “A local pilot was to fly him here. But Obama was in the Bay area and the pilot was delayed by the Secret Service. The transport had to be done in a 12-hour window. I had to contact the Secret Service and fax them my 55-page permit that allows us to transport this endangered species. It took two hours of phone calls. Mojo finally flew into Newport at 3:30 in the morning during a horrible storm. He landed in horrible weather and went on exhibit in horrible weather.”
As I well recall.
I could go on for pages about my experiences at the aquarium — the time the octopus reached out from its tank and wrapped a tentacle around my wrist, nearly causing me to forget my house training; or the time I had to walk the narrow stretch between the top of the shark tanks to observe feeding time.
And then, there was Lea.
Of course, you can’t just pucker up and run, there’s a certain protocol you gotta follow. And so Lea did as instructed, holding her little sea lion mouth to mine. Then, just as we were about to end our smooch, Lea let go an ever-so-hearty belch right through her nose. It was the pungent belch of a million little fishies and for the rest of the day, I could taste the raw herring and squid just as if I’d sucked down a few hundred myself.
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