“They’re coming this way,” shouts Tom. “Looks like they’re going to bow-ride.” I wedge myself against the rail and peer down into the translucent water where, sure enough, three dolphins materialise beneath my nose. Their domed heads rise as one, blowholes flaring with a hydraulic “pfff” as they break briefly into our element before slipping back into theirs, torpedo bodies jockeying like Olympic cyclists in our bow wave.
More converge from left and right: 16 in total, including two youngsters that race in tight tandem with their mothers. The hourglass flank pattern identifies these as common dolphins – a smaller, more ocean-going species than the better-known bottlenose. But whatever the species, dolphins always spark the same thrill. We dash from bow to stern, gasping like kids at fireworks as the exuberant cetaceans escort us through the water.
