At over 70 feet in length, you might think it would be difficult to photobomb. This fin whale proved that size is just a number.

During an early morning briefing while cruising up Norway’s northern coastline, my guide provided very specific instructions to avoid swimming over a bait ball. These masses of herring form in defense of the orcas’ hunting tactics, as the whales drive the fish towards the surface. 

The advice stems from the possibility of a humpback or fin whale colliding with you when they lunge from the depths to feed on the herring—directions that are far easier to internalize from the warm, relaxed cabin of the boat than from the frigid November Arctic waters where pandemonium plays out.

Chaos arrived on my third morning in the water when we spotted a pod of orcas beginning their hunt. I soon found myself surrounded by the whales as they circled to push the herring into a more compact formation. The fish swim in synchrony, shifting directions periodically with the hope of avoiding their demise. I did my best to stay on the outside of the bait ball as the feeding frenzy began.

My head was on a swivel for a few minutes, trying to capture the orcas in action. Suddenly, a giant emerged from the darkness below. Fixated on this animal in the distance and with my mask limiting my peripheral vision, I was oblivious to a second whale heading directly towards me. My camera caught the moment before my eyes did.  It wasn’t until a flash of gray appeared beneath me that I looked down. I was greeted by the top of a fin whale—the second largest species on the planet—just a few feet under my fins. 

I remember blurting out a muffled four-letter word into my snorkel and jerking my legs up, as if that would provide any legitimate protection. The reality was, if this fin whale wanted to take me for a ride, I would have had little say in the matter.

I somehow managed to keep my camera locked on the animal, continuing to press the shutter as it surfaced to breathe. Even with a wide-angle lens, the proximity and scale of these creatures are staggering. A photograph of the fin whale off in the distance would have been sufficient to look back on as a memory of the encounter, but it was the surprise visitor directly below that made this image a keeper—the ominous bow of a living cruise ship forging ahead, stopping for no one.

One of the questions I’m asked most often is whether being in the water with these animals is an intimidating experience. Everyone has their own threshold for what they are comfortable with, but I’ve found that having a camera in front of me provides a greater sense of security. Not in the sense of having a physical barrier—a small plastic housing wouldn’t stand a chance in a collision with an animal weighing 50 tons—but a mental one. When you’re focused on trying to capture an impactful image, you often become numb to the absurdity unfolding around you. 

There are moments, though, when the absurdity becomes completely palpable. 

This was one of them.