Blue and the Traveling Krill

Blue opened his mouth, ready for a snack, but the tiny specks slipped away like a cloud on the move.

He closed his mouth with a little pop. “Hey! I was right here,” he called.

The specks were krill, small sea animals that made a busy red-brown patch in the blue water. Blue was a young blue whale, and krill was just the kind of food he wanted. He had followed the patch across a wide stretch of open ocean. Now it was scattering into every direction.

A long silver fish zipped past his nose. “That patch is in a hurry,” she said.

“I’m Blue,” he told her. “Do you know where it’s going?”

The fish flicked her tail. “I only know where I’m going!” Then she darted away, quick as a ribbon.

Blue tried to follow the scattered specks. He swam left, then right, then curved around a floating seaweed leaf. Each time he came close, the krill moved apart. The water seemed full of little red dashes, but none stayed together long enough for a good mouthful.

Blue paused. The ocean opened around him in every direction. Above, the surface rolled and gleamed. Below, the water turned darker and cooler. A small turtle paddled by, humming a tuneless song.

“Do you know where the krill went?” Blue asked.

The turtle tilted his head. “The water is carrying them. You can see it in the seaweed.”

Blue looked. The leaf was not simply floating. It slid sideways, then curled around in a slow loop. A strand of drifting grass followed the same path. Even the tiny bubbles rising from Blue’s nose leaned one way before climbing upward.

“Water can travel?” Blue asked.

“Currents move water,” said the turtle. “And little animals can travel along with it.”

Blue watched the leaf make another lazy turn. Perhaps the krill had not vanished. Perhaps they were riding the moving water to somewhere else.

“I’ll look before I chase,” Blue said.

He turned his broad head toward the path the leaf had taken. The open ocean seemed suddenly full of clues. Somewhere ahead, the current was carrying a better snack.

Blue swam beside the current, not against it. He let the moving water guide him past a tall ribbon of seaweed and a soft hill of bubbles. The silver fish appeared again, looping around him.

“Are you chasing the krill?” she asked.

“Not exactly,” said Blue. “I’m following the water that carries them.”

The fish gave a thoughtful flick of her tail. “That sounds easier on your fins.”

It was. Blue did not need to dart after each tiny speck. He watched the seaweed and bubbles slide along together. The current curved around a cool, shadowy place, then flowed onward through clear water.

For a while, Blue saw only a few stray krill. They passed like little commas, one here, one there. He began to wonder if the current had carried the whole snack far away.

Then the water changed.

A narrow stream pressed gently against Blue’s cheek. The bubbles gathered closer, and the seaweed strand curled beside him. Ahead, a rusty-red cloud filled the water. Thousands of krill traveled together in the current, bobbing and turning like a tiny parade.

Blue slowed. “There you are,” he said.

He did not rush in. He watched how the current carried the krill toward a sheltered curve between two broad banks of underwater rock. The little animals gathered there, thick enough to make a proper meal.

Blue angled his body with the flow. He opened his enormous mouth and glided through the dense patch. Water rushed in, and the krill came with it. Then Blue closed his mouth and pushed the water back out through the comb-like plates in his mouth. The small krill stayed behind, ready for his snack.

“Mmm,” Blue said. “That was worth waiting for.”

The silver fish swam beside him. “You found them by watching.”

“I found them by watching the water,” Blue replied. “It knew the way.”

He took another slow pass through the thick patch, following the current’s bend. The krill gathered in the same sheltered place, and Blue ate until his hunger was quiet. Around them, bubbles rose and the seaweed waved, all moving with the traveling water.

When Blue had eaten enough, he turned toward the surface. The ocean above waited, wide and bright.

Blue rose through the water at an easy pace. The current brushed his sides and carried him upward, while the little silver fish swam along for a while.

At the surface, Blue lifted his head. He breathed out through his blowhole, sending a tall puff of mist into the air. Then he drew in a fresh breath. Blue was a whale, but he was a mammal, and mammals like him needed air from above the water.

The fish popped up nearby. “Does the air taste different up here?” she asked.

“Mostly it tastes like air,” Blue said. “But the ocean smells wonderful from here.”

The fish swished around him. “I’ll go see what’s around that patch of seaweed.”

“Have a good swim,” Blue called.

She slipped beneath the surface, leaving Blue to himself. He floated for a moment, listening. Waves rose and fell against his great back. Far away, a seabird called once, then glided on. The sea spread in every direction, with no shore in sight.

Blue lowered his head and began to glide. He did not need to search for another meal now. He had found what he wanted by noticing how the water moved. The current carried him past a band of clear blue, then into a deeper shade where the sunlight made broad, wavering paths.

A small group of bubbles streamed beside him. Blue watched them travel, but this time he did not follow them anywhere. He simply let them pass.

His body moved with the slow roll of the ocean. His fins rested at his sides, and each sweep of his tail carried him a little farther through the open water. The great sea seemed to have room for every quiet sound: the hush of the waves above, the faint click of tiny sea creatures, and the steady swish of Blue’s tail.

He surfaced once more for a breath, then slipped below again. The water closed over his back without a splash. Blue glided through the blue, full from his snack and calm from his long journey. Around him, the currents carried their tiny passengers on, while he traveled slowly through the ocean’s wide, peaceful night.