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Eyes fixed on the murky water in front of me, I curl my toes into the cold, damp sand. I scan the waves, hoping, or perhaps dreading, to see that little flash of black. At first, nothing. Just the rise and fall of the sea. Then I spot it. So fleeting, I think I must have imagined it. But there it is again. A black triangle pops up, glides down an incoming wave and disappears once more. Unmistakable. A second shape rises from the water, a little way off from the first. I grab my boyfriend’s arm and point, but he’s seen it too. A third pops up, then a fourth. My heart skips a beat. We found them. Wild Hector’s dolphins. We’d been searching for the elusive pod for days, and finally, on our last morning, here they were. We were in the Catlins, a ruggedly beautiful stretch of coast in New Zealand’s far south. A wild, desolate place, where rolling hills give way to craggy cliffs and windswept dunes. Beyond that, nothing but endless ocean. The day before, I’d been struck by the beauty of the place. Blue sky, blue sea, and golden beaches. Today is in stark contrast. It’s early. Petulant clouds scud across a brooding pewter sky, reluctant to give way to the morning light. The wind whips through my hair and skims across the frothy caps of the waves. The water is a turbid grey-green. Choppy, and uninviting. Perfect for facing demons. The elation I felt finding the dolphins begins to ebb as the water swirls around my ankles. I feel the fear rising up inside me. Despite being a strong swimmer, I’m terrified of the ocean. The thought of the unknown lurking beneath the surface is enough to make my heart race and my stomach churn. I’d never been out beyond my waist before. Even that was enough to bring on a panic attack. I close my eyes, wishing I was safely back in our tent. But then I look out at the pod of dolphins. They’re riding the waves almost like they’re surfing. I look across at my boyfriend’s eager face, knowing he wants to swim out immediately. But he waits and squeezes my hand. Still, I see the cloud of doubt behind his kind smile. He doesn’t think I can do it. Not that I blame him, I don’t think I can either. Looking back at the dolphins, I see with despair that they’re drifting further out. It’s now or never. I grit my teeth and take my first step into the unknown. It’s cold. Not the tingling, icy cold that hits you instantly, but the kind of cold that sneaks up on you and slowly seeps into your bones. With every step, I fight the overwhelming urge to turn around and run back to the safety of the shore. I make it in up to my waist. The waves crash against my chest, getting uncomfortably high. By the time I’m in up to my shoulders, tendrils of slimy weed reach up to ensnare my feet. I fight back a surge of panic. Buffeted by the waves, I kick off from the bottom. I’m swimming now. I’m swimming in the ocean. The realisation spurs me on. As each wave rolls in, I hold my breath and brace myself as it crashes over my head. As I get used to the rhythm of it, I start to realise it’s not as scary as I thought. It’s almost soothing to let the waves wash over you, to surrender yourself to the power of the ocean. And suddenly, there they are. A pod of four. I’m swimming with endangered Hector’s dolphins. In the wild! I watch their sleek shining bodies skim through the waves as they dart playfully around us. It’s total magic. Mesmerised, the terror I felt melts away into an overwhelming appreciation for the ocean and these beautiful creatures. I begin to realise that the unknown isn’t something to fear, but rather something to seek out and to embrace.