"What type of songs do they like?" asked Caroline, my suspicious girlfriend.
"Oh, anything really," answered Jim, "although they are partial to Elvis."

Silence fell over the boat. We'd come to Akaroa to swim with dolphins; the last thing we expected was aquatic karaoke.

Located 85-kilometres southeast of Christchurch, on New Zealand's South Island, Akaroa is a tiny settlement set between the volcanic bumps of the Banks Peninsula. Blanketing the area is the Marine Mammal Sanctuary, 1140 square kilometres of protected water that a resident population of Hector's Dolphins - the world's smallest and rarest dolphin species - like to call home.

By the time we reached the dive site everyone had chosen a song and was quietly practising. Caroline was head-banging her way through 'Bohemian Rhapsody' whilst a group of nodding Dutchman joined forces to recite 'New York, New York'. I stuck with Elvis, although how 'Hound Dog' was going to sound through a plastic snorkel was anyone's guess.

Songmaster Jim

"Dolphins ahead," shouted Jim as a pod of Hector's broke the surface. The engines spluttered to a halt and we all hurried to the back of the boat, descending one by one into the bitterly cold water.

As if waiting for the performance to start, the dolphins kept their distance as we bobbed on the spot, reluctant to break the musical standoff. "Sing!" shouted Jim. So we did, dipping our faces into the water and gargling a symphony of sounds through fluorescent snorkels. The water was murky, making it hard to see, but slowly the dolphins came closer. Rising from below in close formation to cruise past and check us out.

Hector's are very distinctive. Measuring a maximum of 1.4 metres and weighing no more than 48 kg's, they resemble baby porpoises; their stubby grey bodies streaked with a white belly and black face. Like most dolphins, they constantly look like they're smiling. As did Jim, standing on the boat wearing a similar smirk, making me suspect the two were sharing a private joke at our expense.

After a few muffled choruses of 'Hound Dog' it became apparent that my Elvis rendition wasn't up to scratch. The dolphins quickly left me in favour of an Irish girl doing a Shirley Bassey impression. Hector's circled her enthusiastically as she told them about 'Goldfinger, a man with the Midas touch'. I decided to change my tune.

"The man in the coon-skin cap..."

In a loud voice I snorkelled a repertoire of karaoke classics. 'Born to be Wild' and 'Satisfaction' failed to get a response, as did 'Daydream Believer' and 'House of the Rising Sun'. In desperation I changed tact, hoping that Hector's liked reggae, but my rendition of 'No Woman No Cry' fell on deaf ears. It was only when I broke into 'Subterranean Homesick Blues' that things began to happen. The dolphins happily returned, zipping past and breaching ahead. Again and again they circled, leaving me to conclude that dolphins dig Dylan.

Jim abruptly ended our fun, signalling us to return to the boat. Reluctantly, we swam back, leaving the playful pod behind. Back on board, he explained the reason for the callback, instantly transforming our feelings of disappointment into relief. A shark had been spotted in the area.

It was only when we got back to shore that the full extent of the danger became apparent. That morning, just after our boat had left dock, a fishing vessel spotted a ten-foot White Pointer cruising inside the harbour. They'd reported the sighting around the same time we'd been getting into the water.

Thank God we didn't hum the theme tune from Jaws.

Questions?
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