In the Wake of Giants

On board a luxurious phinisi, Shamilee Vellu sails to Indonesia's Komodo National Park on the trail of some larger-than-life creatures.

- Shamilee Vellu

HAVING GROWN UP with a deep fear of the ocean, my initial reaction after jumping into the bay was, frankly, terror. Salt water flooded my snorkel, making me gag. Below the surface, monumental forms drifted like icebergs. Two whale sharks, the largest fish on the planet, glided around me, their blue-gray skin a Morse code of chalky dots and dashes.

But then my guide, Yoyok Hariawan, took my hand in the water, which instantly calmed me. As we bobbed on the surface together, he pointed out the animals' distinctively shaped caudal fins, their unexpectedly cartoonish smiles, and their preternatural grace. The two specimens, though juveniles, each measured more than 20 feet in length. As I watched them, my fear faded into quiet awe.

We were floating in the choppy waters near Indonesia's Komodo National Park in Saleh Bay, one of the best places in the world to see whale sharks up close. One of these magnificent creatures had a weathered satellite transmitter bolted onto its dorsal fin, most likely attached by the nonprofit Conservation International, which started tagging these endangered animals in the country in 2015.

Whale sharks are a mysterious species, and despite tagging efforts like the one we witnessed, much about them, from their breeding habits to their maximum size, remains unknown. Their dark upper bodies and white bellies provide camouflage from both above and below, allowing them to seemingly pop out of nowhere and disappear again.