“And that?” she asked, indicating a beautiful white plantation house.
Blake looked to where Carson pointed, then chuckled. “Lots of folks get confused seeing that here among all these office buildings, like a diamond in the rocks. That there’s the original plantation home of the Ball family. It was built on their plantation, Marshlands, along the Cooper River. Some time back the College of Charleston saved it from being torn down and had the house moved here, where it was restored. It’s used for offices now, and not a day goes by that I don’t drive by it and smile and thank God for preservationists.”
He pulled into a large parking lot. “And this,” he said, indicating a spreading, expansive office building, “is my home away from home.” Without ceremony they gathered their cooler and bags and she followed him into the modern building. It was spare and sprawling, a maze of long linoleum hallways. Peeking in some of the rooms, she glimpsed crammed offices, laboratories, computer rooms, and storage rooms; in the hall, she saw rolling carts with specimens en route to one of the labs. It was a beehive of activity, everyone already hard at work or walking somewhere with papers in hand and a purpose. At last they stopped in one of the identical small offices, this one with two metal desks and crammed with computers and equipment.
“I just have to grab a few things,” he told her, clearly preoccupied. “Make yourself at home.”
Carson was intrigued at this peek into Blake’s life. His shared office was far from glamorous, but she could tell from the photos of dolphins posted on the walls, the awards he’d won, the maps of the Charleston-area rivers with red pushpins marking coordinates, that he was committed to his research. When she spotted a hoard of photography equipment, however, she zeroed in. It was an impressive, quality array of cameras.
“Pretty top-notch equipment. Who’s the photographer?” she asked him.
Blake was searching through files. “I guess I am,” he replied. “We’re collaborating on the research project.”
“What are you studying?” she asked.
“It’s a long-term study,” he replied, walking over to rummage through his desk. “It’s similar to several photo-ID studies being conducted along the southeast and Gulf coasts of the United States.”
He picked up a piece of equipment and, satisfied, smiled. “As you’ll soon see.”
“I didn’t know you were a photographer.”
“I’m not,” he answered, grabbing the bag of camera equipment. “But I’m good enough to get my job done. Here, take this,” he said, handing her the red cooler. “Come on, we’re wasting daylight.”
She had to rush to keep up with his long strides down another maze of institutional halls. He pushed open a pair of double doors and suddenly they were in the back of the building on a boat ramp. Several large research boats were docked out here. Another man, tall and broad-shouldered, was unhooking the trailer of a boat.
“That’s our ride,” Blake said with obvious pride, pointing to the large black Zodiac. “Pretty cool, huh? It’s fast and handles the chop like a champ.”
Carson heard the awe in his voice and thought he was just another Southern boy, in love with his boat. But she had to admit, this one was very sleek looking.
He handed her a personal flotation device. “You have to put this on,” he told her. Then, “You don’t get seasick, do you?”
“It’s a little late to ask that question,” she said with a laugh, then shook her head. “I was born to be on the water.”
A half hour later, Carson was holding tight to the rope in the Zodiac as it sped through the Charleston harbor. The Zodiac was an inflatable marine craft over twenty-three feet long and outfitted for research rather than comfort. It was thrilling to hear the roar of the outboard motors and feel the spray as they cut through the chop of the harbor water like a knife through butter, low in the water. She got weary of holding on to her hat, so she stuck it between her knees, smiling with a giddy feeling of euphoria as they streamed across the water.
She looked to Blake standing wide legged at the wheel of the boat. She couldn’t see his eyes behind his sunglasses but knew they sparked with excitement, like hers. From time to time he’d check papers as he steered the boat, reminding her that this wasn’t a joyride for him but part of an important, multiyear research study.
They left the harbor and the water calmed as they entered the first of a myriad collection of rivers and waterways that made up the heart of the lowcountry. The tides breathed in and out of the wetlands, their rhythms as complex and interconnected as the veins in her body. Overhead, she saw a line of pelicans fly in formation, and in the grasses, herons and egrets hunted. They passed under bridges she’d crossed countless times in her car. From beneath, she heard the rumble of the cars overhead and wondered if the people in the cars even looked out at the magnificent water below. Had she? How different it was to be below in a boat, skimming across the water like a fish.
Blake abruptly slowed the engine and pointed. “Dolphin. Twelve o’clock.”
Carson sprang to attention as Blake jumped for the camera and immediately began clicking. “There are two,” he called out. “Adults.”
Carson raised her hand over her eyes, squinting, but she couldn’t see anything but water.
“Where?”
He ignored her question, lowering his camera to scan the water. After another minute, Blake shouted, “Three o’clock.”
By the time she turned her head in the right direction, at best she caught the tail fluke of a dolphin diving. She turned her head to see Blake standing at the podium recording the sighting.
“That was number ninety-eight for sure. And eighty. Those two guys are pals,” Blake added. “They’ve been hanging around together for years now.”
“You know the dolphins?” Carson asked.
Blake nodded. “We’ve been doing this for years, so we’re at the point where we can recognize them on sight. The dorsal fin markings are as unique as fingerprints.”
“But you only saw them for maybe, what? A second?”
“That’s enough.”
Carson felt like a rank amateur. “I can’t even see a dolphin in the time you spot it, identify it, and take its picture.”
“The pictures are critical. When I return to the office later, the team will study the photographs, search for scarring and injuries, to solidly identify the dolphin. We know then the status of the pod, which dolphins are missing, sick, or additions.”