
I had an opportunity to do some interpretive training recently, in a rather unique setting—on a cruise ship. The Central Coast Natural History Association was hosting an ocean cruise as a fund-raising activity to help support California State Parks. On the days we were at sea, we included some interpretive training presentations for the docents on the cruise.
The docents and other parks supporters were just a small part of the nearly two thousand people on this cruise ship. During one of our training sessions, looking at various audience segments, it was pointed out that many of the folks on the ship were spending more time in the buffet line or the casino than outdoors on the deck. While a few of us were spending time on deck looking at seabirds and marine mammals, hundreds of other passengers were in the spa, watching movies in the theater, or playing cards in the casino. It became a kind of challenge we issued to ourselves: Let’s see how many of those folks we can get interested in looking at the ocean that is passing by.
We had some limited success standing on the deck with binoculars looking at passing seabirds. The few passengers that walked outside on the decks might stop and ask what we were looking at. And a few others stopped by to listen in on our conversations about glaciers, shearwaters, sun dogs, and sea turtles. But we still weren’t reaching much of that “casino crowd.” We were about to concede defeat in our efforts to connect more passengers to the ocean world around them.
Then something happened that turned the tide in our favor. A few humpback whales appeared during lunch one day, plainly visible from the crowded buffet seating area—if one was paying attention to the ocean, and we were. I could see the docents jump up, pointing and cheering “whales!” Soon hundreds of diners were on their feet, eagerly looking out at the ocean to spot the whales. They were asking “What kind are they?” “How big are they?” and many other questions.
Over the next few days we saw more whales and dolphins—and more passengers looking out at them. It restored my faith in human kind and in the power of enthusiastic interpretation to inspire even a seemingly “unreachable” audience. Of course the help of charismatic megafauna like whales certainly helps. I’m not sure we’d have seen the same reaction if we had jumped up and exclaimed: “There’s a Xantus’s murrelet!”
I was reminded how essential it is as an interpreter to get excited about your subject and share that passion with others. That childlike curiosity resides deep within each of us, but it can be easily buried and suppressed as we grow up. An enthusiastic interpreter can peel away that overburden and allow that curiosity, that sense of wonder that Rachel Carson spoke of, to help us rediscover our connections to the world around us. Our own personal passion for nature, history, and heritage is nearly irresistible when applied skillfully—especially when you throw in a whale or two.







