Some travel memories stay with you. Others live in you.
This one? It took root in my chest, somewhere between my heart and my lungs—the moment I slipped into the deep blue of Saleh Bay and came face to face with a Sumbawa whale shark.
I’ve seen sunsets in deserts, hiked volcanoes, even jumped out of a plane once. But nothing—absolutely nothing—prepared me for this kind of stillness, this kind of presence, this kind of awe.
Let me tell you how it happened.
It Started With a Whisper
I was in Lombok, having a lazy coffee morning at a beach café, when I overheard someone say, “You know there are whale sharks in Sumbawa, right?”
I paused. Whale sharks? In Indonesia? Not on some faraway reef?
Later that evening, I Googled it. Fell into a rabbit hole. Discovered Saleh Bay, and the stories of people swimming alongside wild, free-roaming whale sharks in the early morning hours.
It didn’t take long. The next day I booked a ferry to Sumbawa.
The Journey to Saleh Bay
The drive to the tiny harbor felt like something out of a travel documentary—rice fields, sleepy towns, kids waving as our car passed. It was early, still dark, when we boarded the small wooden boat. The kind that creaks when you shift your weight.
There was just a handful of us. No massive tour. No loud speakers. Just the sound of water lapping and the gentle hum of the engine.
Our guide, a soft-spoken local man named Hadi, explained how the whale sharks were often seen near the fishing platforms called bagan. They come for the plankton-rich waters stirred up by the lights and nets. No baiting. No feeding. Just nature doing its thing.
And that already felt right.
First Glimpse
We hadn’t even stopped the engine when someone gasped.
“There—look!”
At first, I saw nothing. Just the sea, calm and glassy.
Then it happened. A shape—slow, wide, impossibly graceful—emerged from beneath the surface. The head, the white speckles on its back, the sweeping tail.
A whale shark. Real. Here.
I felt something rise in my throat. Fear? Awe? Disbelief? A mix of all three.
The Entry
Hadi motioned for us to get ready.
I tightened my mask, adjusted the fins on my feet, and waited for the signal. My stomach churned. Not from nerves, but from something bigger. The kind of nervous you get before a life moment.
He nodded.
I slid into the water.
Silence and Shadows
The first thing I noticed underwater was the silence. Muffled. Peaceful. Everything moved slower. Time, sound, even thought.
Then I turned.
The whale shark was swimming right past me.
It was massive—maybe 7 meters long—and yet it moved like it weighed nothing. Just gliding. No rush. No fear. Just being.
I froze. Not out of panic. Out of respect. Like I had just stepped into a cathedral.
Eye to Eye
At one point, I swear it looked at me.
Not like a human looks at you, obviously. But like… it noticed. Acknowledged. Not threatened, not curious—just aware.
Its eye was small. Its body, covered in white dotted patterns, looked like stars against the blue. I couldn’t move. I didn’t want to. I just floated there, taking it in.
This wasn’t a fish. It was a force.
They Come and Go as They Please
Over the next couple of hours, we saw four more whale sharks.
One swam in large, slow loops. Another came right up to the edge of the boat. A third hung deeper, letting only its silhouette tease the surface.
None of them were fed. None were touched. And that made it all feel even more special.
This wasn’t a zoo. This was a meeting—on their terms.
The Water Didn’t Feel Scary
Funny thing? I’m not usually a fan of deep water. The idea of not seeing the bottom freaks me out. But here in Saleh Bay, that fear never came.
The water was clear, warm, and open. But it didn’t feel threatening. It felt alive. Full. Welcoming, even.
And with every minute I spent floating there, I felt more connected. More grateful. More present.
The Moment I’ll Never Forget
There’s one moment that stands out.
It was quiet. The group had drifted apart slightly. I was alone in my patch of sea, bobbing gently, breathing through my snorkel.
A whale shark approached slowly from the left. I held my breath—not because I was afraid, but because I wanted time to stop.
It swam alongside me, less than two meters away.
I turned my body slowly, matching its path.
For about twenty seconds, we moved together. Same direction. Same speed. Like a dance. And in those twenty seconds, something shifted in me. I wasn’t just a visitor. I was part of it.
The Ride Back
We didn’t talk much on the way back.
Everyone just stared at the water. Reflecting. Smiling. You could tell something had changed for each of us. Maybe not huge, life-altering changes—but little internal shifts. The kind that matter.
When we reached the dock, Hadi thanked us softly and said, “They don’t always come like that. You were lucky.”
I didn’t feel lucky. I felt honored.