The large triangular fins of orca whales slice the surface of the water and the inky blackness of dawn stubbornly clings to everything as we travel by zodiac through the northern fjords of Norway. It is late winter and it will be days before we see the first shy rays of sunshine. I strain to make out the shapes as they surface—I can barely distinguish their bullet-like bodies when they break the water but I can clearly hear the whisper of their breath, a crisp sound that is expelled in a white mist every time the whales surface to breathe. I experience a primeval fear as the zodiac buckles on the choppy sea. I am trying to stop myself from