Nature Connection: Searching For Ambergris

When I was a little girl, I read everything I could about whales. Growing up on Cape Cod there were many stories about the history of whaling days in local libraries. Of course, back in the day most illustrations showed whales smashing boats and drowning sailors which made me nervous when I first went out on a boat.

I thought of this on a whale watch this summer as a young humpback whale named Sprinkles bobbed up and down mere feet from the boat, just off the shores of Provincetown. It appeared to be a moment of curiosity between whale and human. This bobbing is known as spyhopping, a way whales can see above the waterline, though no one knows for sure what any whale may be thinking. 

Thankfully, we no longer envision whales as dangerous killers but have learned to love the gentle and intelligent giants they really are. We can thank people like Jacques Cousteau, who worked relentlessly to help us realize that the ocean held more wonders than any of us could imagine. They showed us so much about whales, sharks and octopuses that had been unknown or at least misunderstood, and as a child I was endlessly fascinated by their work.

Our mother was such a beach enthusiast that I had learned to walk at the beach. We spent summers swimming and building sandcastles, but my mother also loved a good winter beach walk. She drove us all over the Cape to beaches like Nauset and Marconi, Race Point and Sandy Neck. She taught us to collect shells and beautiful stones, to enjoy finding mermaid’s purses and old gull feathers as well as driftwood that she told us came from shipwrecks from long ago.

One of the things I learned about in one of the many nature books I read was ambergris. Simply put, it is a product of a sperm whale’s intestines that may be found washed up on beaches, a rubbery, mysterious sort of thing. Whale poop, my little sister exclaimed loudly and joyfully. Ambergris was still highly sought after as an ingredient in expensive perfumes, and if we had found some on one of our beach walks, we’d be rich as kings. Somehow that made the idea of finding whale poop more palatable.

For one whole year my sister and I searched high and low for this mysterious substance. We didn’t know it was rarely found on Cape Cod. In fact, it is much more likely to be found around Australia, New Zealand or even Japan, but we were young and had nothing better to do than run around the beach looking for things the waves left behind.

Exploring the wrack line, that place on the beach where the sea leaves old shells of crabs and mollusks, torn seaweed, egg cases, and sometimes a sock or smooth piece of wood that looks like a duck head, is an activity I still enjoy. Every beach turns up things that are slightly different depending on the weather, the geography or the natural history of the area.

We found dead man’s finger sponges, shells riddled with the holes drilled by boring sponges, shells with different shapes and colors. We found crab shells and sometimes live crabs, fish heads and fish bones. Days, weeks, months went by and still no ambergris, no pot of gold. 

Yes, we also looked for pirate treasure on a regular basis, having found a few quarters in the wrack line as well. It wasn’t gold, but hey, we were small and it was cash. Could’ve been from a pirate. That was more fun to imagine as a source than some old guy that dropped it out of his back pocket while he lit his cigarette.

By the time fall came around again, we were beachcombing in our sweatshirts, but the findings were amazing, especially after a good storm. Our shell collections grew and we spent hours matching our finds to pictures in the seashell book my mother gave us. We had jingle shells of many colors, and oh so many bay scallop shells. We were especially fond of the black and white striped ones we called skunk shells. We had whelks with gorgeous insides, smooth and colored with deep oranges and maroons and sometimes purples. We found shells of sea urchins and sand dollars at one beach, periwinkles and dried up sea stars at another. 

And one day, we found ambergris. Lots of ambergris. We were giddy with excitement as we ran down the beach to our mother. Breathless, we begged her to come see. 

We showed her the fist-sized bulbous, squishy blobs we’d found. Some were pinkish, some were peach colored, and others were brown or gray. My mother sighed. Our faces fell; our smiles sucked away with the knowledge that we were about to be terribly disappointed.

“I’m sorry, girls,” she said, “but this isn’t ambergris. It’s not whale poop or anything’s poop. It’s a creature that died and washed up on shore. Some people call it sea pork. It’s a tunicate, an animal some people call a sea squirt. We’ll look it up when we get home.”

The blob was an animal? That was so weird. It didn’t have a face, but then again, neither did a clam or a scallop. We went home and looked at lots of pictures of sea animals that were so different from the squirrels and rabbits we were used to seeing in our backyard.

We never found ambergris or pirate treasure, but we did find out that the world was huge and hosted many, many amazing life forms. And that, after all, was a treasure chest worth keeping.

If you’re out on the beaches, keep your eye out for sea pork. It’s that time of year. And just maybe, you’ll find some gold doubloons as well.