Dean & JoJo: The Dolphin Legacy

By Dean Bernal

This is the true story of a profound interspecies friendship between man and dolphin including 64 brilliant rare photos. Dean Bernal visits the quiet bays of the Turks and Caicos Islands and meets a wild bottlenose dolphin named JoJo. Fascinated by the beauty and playfulness of the intelligent animal, he is immediately mesmerized and they soon become companions in the crystalline blue waters of the islands. This sparks the beginning of a deep friendship that spans decades. But when the encroachment of man and his machines severely injure JoJo, it forces Dean to administer aid to his suffering friend to save him from certain death. There are growing controversies with unscrupulous government officials and Dean is called to action.The love for this dolphin keeps Dean fighting. And as JoJo touches more and more people, Dean learns about our human ability to heal ourselves through nature and how compassion shown to animals brings us openness, sensitivity, and peace.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Nov 29, 2012
• ISBN: 9781626750067

Book preview

Islands

Chapter 1

Loss and Love

When JoJo is injured, I care for him emotionally as well as physically.

JoJo’ stealthy approach from the deep

(Photo courtesy MacGillivray Films)

JoJo likes to tease windsurfers

JoJo often follows me for miles when I jog along the beach

Even though I never feed JoJo, he often brings me fish and lobsters

Oh no, not again JoJo, I said. I shook my head and grinned. It was going to be another day blessed with his mischievous presence.

A group of tourists and resort employees from the beach roared with laughter watching JoJo. my bottlenose dolphin friend, press against the centerboard of a wind surfer. The man standing on the board, brows drawn together in obvious consternation, repeatedly attempted to push it down. He clearly thought he was dealing with some sort of mechanical problem. He had no idea that a practical joking dolphin was directly below him.

I’ll have to admit that the windsurfer put up a good fight. He’d press against the centerboard, arms straining against the resistance, only to have the centerboard pop right back up again. Poor guy, no matter how hard he tried, he could not get it to stay down.

This just keeps getting better, I chuckled. But be careful, JoJo, he’s getting pretty mad.

The frustrated man finally figured out that someone must be teasing him. With a few choice curses words, he slid beneath the sun-speckled waves to grab whoever might be under the board causing the problem. All of us on the beach craned our necks to see what would happen next. Suddenly the water churned like an undersea vent and windmill arms appeared as the sailboarder scrambled to the surface. He shot out of the water as if a great white shark were attacking him and swam toward shore in a great splashing panic.

When the man scampered to the crystal white beach and heard our laughter he turned around to realize that the culprit was a dolphin, not a shark. Soon, he was laughing too, and joined in with others wading out into the water to get a closer look at JoJo.

Two points to JoJo for his Jaws impersonation, I said, starting a new round of chuckles and back slaps. Then to JoJo, Awesome prank, buddy.

JoJo sent a spray of water out of his blowhole as if he were Robin Williams taking a bow. Show off, I thought.

Within seconds, the roar of a jet ski sent everyone scattering in different directions, still giggling as it sped close to the shore. But then a loud thump like a sonic boom echoed through my body. The laughter died and my heart stuck in my throat.

Everything went blank when I saw the thunderous impact of machine meeting mammal. And then it was dead quiet, not just for me but for everyone on shore.

Oh my God, I gasped, mouth agape.

I was speechless. JoJo lay motionless in the water. From sand to structure and street to shore every tourist, swimmer, and resort worker in Grace Bay stared in silent disbelief, many with tears running down their faces.

The Jet Ski had struck JoJo as he was surfacing to breathe and flipped him on his side. My friend, who had just been entertaining us all only a second ago, was absolutely still. I just stood there refusing to believe that the most unique creature I’d ever known was gone. It couldn’t be. Not like this.

JoJo can you hear me? I whispered. I closed my eyes and tried to feel his breath from where I stood on the beach.

I looked inside myself. No part of me felt it was JoJo’s time. Like a transplant patient who wonders if he or she has taken on the donor’s personality traits, I knew I carried JoJo’s spirit inside of me. We shared a deep exchange of life energy. I now experienced the intuitive senses of JoJo on good days, bad days, days of fear and pain, and days of triumph and great emotion. Our relationship reinforced my belief that all animals have feelings and emotions, share companionship, feel pain and express love in many ways.

JoJo, breathe, I thought. Give me a deep breath.

I opened my eyes to see him floating. There was no motion, not even the slightest twitch.

Just breathe! I prayed.

His chest was still.

Our many days of play and adventure over the years passed before my eyes in flashes of memory. Chasing the conch. Night swims. Sonaring for fish. It was as if everything happened just that day and all of our experiences accumulated right in front of me and blended together in a turquoise kaleidoscope

I knew JoJo so well he was like a watery mirror of myself. I even felt JoJo’s struggles to survive when asleep. One night I dreamt of a shark encounter where he battled a great white, and in the morning I was pulling out triangular teeth from his fresh wounds. In another, I saw him cut by coral and on our daily swim the next afternoon there was a gash near his pectoral fin. Whenever he battled for life in my dreams the fantasy would become reality, and I would rescue him the next day from the same fate.

I have experienced several brushes with death myself and watched the transition in the lives of some of my many childhood pets and animals. Still, I thought that now might be JoJo’s time to have this experience but not actually die. I knew I had a choice. I could either hold JoJo close to me and accompany him, with love and blessings, into the beautiful place of his passing and come back without him. Or I could use all my energies and prayers to bring him back.

But for some reason I couldn’t move, I was completely still, just like JoJo. All around me were the muffled cries of children and the panicked voices of onlookers. Beyond were the azure waters of the Atlantic. But none of it propelled me forward. All of it was surreal, like a warped dream.

I just let my feet sink further into the sand, staring as a motionless JoJo began to drop from view. It was like my heart had stopped and I was frozen to that one spot on the shore.

Then JoJo’s blood slowly clouded the water and my entire body went numb.

JoJo you are getting cold. I can feel you. Don’t, I thought with a sob choking my throat. An icy chill started up my spine and finally snapped me out of my frozen state.

I dove into the water and followed the darkening trail of blood toward JoJo. He lay on his side just below the surface. At the top of his head was a large abrasion from the impact. One eye was completely closed, the skin around it sheared. I grabbed JoJo by his pectoral fin and rostrum just below his jaw, and up-righted him. I held JoJo as long moments passed without movement. He was absolutely still. I could feel his soul drifting.

He was dying.

Don’t go yet JoJo. Not yet, I said, holding him close to me. It’s not your time. I know it. Please. Feel my body’s warmth, let it fill you.

I prayed to give and share my life energy with him. Everything went silent as time stood still. No noise. No waves. No wind. The clouds in the tropical sky didn’t move; even the rays of light passing through the water paused. This stillness became ever warmer and more peaceful.

We were sharing his journey of passing.

Where’s your pulse, JoJo? I asked trying to keep the fear out of my voice.

Fighting panic, I searched to feel his heartbeat through my arms knowing all the while that I had to maintain healing energy if I was ever going to save him. I took a deep breath and blew it out imagining his lungs filling with my loving exhalation. Feel mine. It’s there for you.

I closed my eyes and focused on each beat of my heart. Thump, thump, thump. Could these vibrations transcend my physical self and restart the pumping of my kindred spirit’s blood?

Just hold on JoJo. Feel my rhythm and join it, I said, each word a whisper.

I was inside JoJo. The physical world faded, became insignificant. Passing beyond became a journey into consciousness and spirit. I felt the power of our prayer building. Then, like the echoed impact that had silenced everyone, a low beat within JoJo’s body brought me back. I heard the light wind washing over the lapping waves, tasted the ocean’s salt on my lips, and felt the warmth of the sun on my body.

Make your heart beat JoJo, use mine for strength, feel the sun, anything, I said. "But hold on just a bit longer.

Then JoJo twitched and not in a good way.

Now take my breath and breathe!

A deep gasp pulled a stuttering breath into JoJo’s lungs then a blood-spattered spray of misty air escaped his blowhole. My heart stuttered when he filled his lungs and spasmed again.

You can do it, come on, I urged.

He slapped his tail fluke and I let out a sigh of relief. But when I released him JoJo rolled on his side all over again like a dead fish floating to the surface.

No! You have to be okay, I cried, as he struggled violently to right himself.

Keep helping him. He can’t breathe! one woman called, her voice choked with emotion.

A number of concerned people wiped their tears and watched as I again approached JoJo in the chest deep water.

Don’t touch him, he’ll bite you! came another comment from the crowd. A man this time.

My own words of caution were now being put to the test. But I only paused for half a second. I figured that JoJo wasn’t going to bite anybody if he couldn’t get upright to breathe. So instead of just helping JoJo to right himself before releasing him, I cradled him and observed his movements. Keenly aware of the deep but infrequent breaths he took every few minutes, I tried to assess his injury while praying he would recover.

Please, don’t let my friend die, I said again and again as I envisioned his life force gaining strength.

My father and mother taught me, when I was a child, to heal dying animals by gathering life energy around and within me in order to bring life back into an animal. I was always amazed at the power of my father’s hands as he placed them on a bird or a cat that was dying. My mother would then pass a current of prayer through my father’s hands to bring it life again. I soon discovered that I had inherited my father’s hands along with my mother’s powerful thoughts and prayers.

Now my hands grew warm on JoJo and I knew my spiritual thoughts were becoming a conduit for JoJo’s life energy. I fought to put aside all feelings of fear and doubt, since both of these emotions are created and not real, and focused on life and healing.

Finally, gradually, he regained slow movements and swam from my support. I heaved a sigh of relief only to suck it back in again as he rolled onto his side and spasmed once more. I raced over and grabbed him. I focused all of my loving energy into his struggling body, and as twenty minutes passed I held JoJo upright to breathe and waited for his tremors to subside.

When at last I pulled a tentative hand away, he floated around me in his normal upright position then glided in circles as beautiful as the love I felt for him. My shoulders and clenched gut relaxed. At last the shared balance had renewed life.

I heard the crowd burst into cheers and applause and turned to see a larger group of spectators who had gathered at the beach to observe. Their shining faces strengthened my belief that JoJo was safe. For now. They threw questions at me from all sides as I exited the water.

Is he going to be all right? one petite woman asked me. She chewed on her lower lip and adjusted her big round sunglasses.

I was at a loss for words. JoJo had been hit very hard, his eye was damaged, and I didn’t know if he had more severe internal injuries. His life force may have been strong but his physical condition was fragile.

That was a miracle, another woman in a floppy hat said as she approached me. I could feel the power of you bringing him back to life.

I half smiled and gave her a nod of appreciation, knowing that some people can feel and even see spiritual thoughts and energy when it’s gathered. Many of them have been drawn to me over the years. But even with all their prayers I knew JoJo still had to fight in order to overcome his physical injuries.

I left the chattering crowd behind as I waded back into the water, asking them not to follow me for JoJo’s safety. JoJo then led me to the small reef outcropping where we normally spent our time. He continued to swim in a slow, awkward fashion at my side as we moved around the coral. My throat constricted every time I saw him jerk in obvious pain.

Hey buddy, close one, huh? I said, suddenly feeling very small in that endless Atlantic.

I wished that I could ease his suffering even more but was at a loss of what to do. He needed to go off to his quiet place in the mangroves to heal and let nature take its course.

The sun dipped lower in the sky and set. The explosion of Caribbean color was as dull as my heavy lids. Was I only 26? It seemed as though I had aged through a lifetime in a single afternoon

Eventually, the sky darkened and I left JoJo. I couldn’t help but wonder if this would be the last time I would see his tail fin disappearing into the moonlit waters of Grace Bay.

Two weeks had passed since JoJo’s accident, and no one had seen him. I searched every square inch of mangrove, sand, and stretch of beach, combed each bay, inlet, and crest of rocky shore on foot, but he was nowhere to be found. Was he beached somewhere struggling for breath or stranded in a mangrove pass at low tide?

I could not bring myself to swim that first week, although daily I would approach the water’s edge, snorkel gear in hand, and wait for JoJo to show up.

He never did.

During the second week, I decided to start snorkeling along the deserted islands. It was quite a lonely trek each day without my dolphin companion. As I swam, my mind was vexed with troubled thoughts. Was JoJo all right? Could I have helped more if I had stayed with him through the night?

Did I do everything I could have? I asked the sea when I stopped to tread water over the turtle grass.

It was difficult to draw any conclusions regarding his recovery or fate because in the past he had occasionally missed our afternoon swims. But never for this length of time. I was also concerned that my handling of the dolphin might have frightened him.

On the other hand, perhaps he was purposely avoiding the area associated with the impact. I hated to think of the worst scenario, that maybe JoJo still needed help. Had his trail of blood made him fall victim to a predatory shark after being weakened by his injury?

The talk on the island during the two weeks after the accident was that JoJo had been hit by a jet ski and killed. This was unacceptable! A jet ski driver acting stupidly and JoJo had been gravely injured, but he had swum away. No one really knew his whereabouts, so to draw such a conclusion was premature.

I refused to believe that all the beauty and underlying meaning of swimming with this wild dolphin, who had become my companion and closest friend, had come to an end. When I thought of him I still felt his heartbeat. Even though it was weak it assured me he was still alive, somewhere.

Deep inside I felt he would be all right.

Before my daily, and now lonely, swims, I would usually spend a few minutes stretching on the pier, taking in the fresh air. Occasionally a sailboat or sleek-looking catamaran would be sailing off in the distance. It made me think that if anybody had seen the dolphin, it would be someone who spent significant time out at sea, such as fishermen who in these islands consisted of Dominicans, Haitians and local Turks and Caicos Islanders. The Haitians, whom I approached during my swims, rarely spoke English, but were often very surprised, if not startled, to see me swimming so far out at sea.

I tried describing JoJo to non-English speaking Haitians with hand motions but had trouble getting my message across. Unfortunately, the reply I usually got explained that they had not caught a fish that big to sell me that day. I remember shuddering to think that under all the dead lobsters and tuna in their boats were some pretty serious weapons and illegal spear guns that could easily have killed my friend, JoJo.

After a second week of asking fishermen if they had seen a dolphin, I approached yet another Haitian boat.

Have you seen a lone dolphin? I asked making the shape of a dolphin in the air with my hands.

Yes, dolphin, he replied with a vigorous nod of his head.

My heart lightened. He had understood what I asked. He had a broad smile that reminded me of the one JoJo always brings out in people.

Come, I show you, he said.

I hopped aboard his boat with my snorkel gear and off we went toward the barrier reef. Just before arriving, he stopped his engine and pointed to a large sand bar.

I didn’t stop to look or think. Without hesitation, I grabbed my mask and snorkel and jumped into the water. He was there. I knew it. I could feel him. I stuck my fingers in my mouth and whistled.

I heard a splash, twisted, and looked behind me. There was JoJo racing through the waves, a stream of water flying over his silvery back. He shot past me and circled twice. When he began jumping about, a sob caught in my throat.

Hey JoJo! I called, thankful to see that his injuries seemed to be healing well except for some slight swelling around his eye.

He was so excited. First he gave a spirited leap, next he dove down deep letting me watch him through my mask and then he soaked my head with a good-to-see you-Dean splash.

The Haitian chuckled at my drenched head.

I say dolphin is here. True, yes? he asked in broken English.

Dolphin is here, I said.

His beaming face and broad white smile confirmed what I now suspected: JoJo was all right. I let out the long breath that I’d been holding in for weeks.

The fisherman shook his head in disbelief as I continued to frolic with the dolphin.

Thank you. I waved and began to swim away with JoJo close at my side.

The Haitian tried to wave me back, his face a knot of worry as if he thought he were responsible for me. We were, after all, two miles out to sea. I assured him repeatedly that it was fine to leave me at the reef, that I could make it back safely on my own.

It’s okay, really. You can go. I have JoJo, I told him pointing at the dolphin.

I guess he didn’t believe me because the concerned Haitian followed us all along the reef. It took over two hours and a considerable distance before I finally convinced him that I was safe and that he could depart.

Now just the two of us, JoJo stayed within inches of my side as we explored the new reef area. It was quite large in comparison to the small coral outcropping near shore that we usually explored. There we were limited to only a few square feet of marine adventure. But here a football field-sized reef invited untold adventures. We swam in quick sprints, checking out everything possible that there was to investigate.

My friend was whole and healed at my side again. And our bond was strengthened. But I couldn’t help but wonder how long before another accident might occur.

Chapter 2

Building Trust and Friendship

JoJo and I in the blue

(Photo courtesy MacGillivray Films)

Teaching children about protecting JoJo and the islands

I often climb trees to get my daily coconuts

My fins are the size of most small kids

JoJo, a dilphin friend and me

The beautiful turquoise blue waters

Is this the culprit dolphin, or JoJo?

My photo album page with JoJo when he was very young

On March 27, 1984, during several years of world-wide travel and my continued studies at the University of California at Santa Barbara, I visited a little known group of islands in the British West Indies called the Turks and Caicos. This tropical archipelago lies 575 miles southeast of Miami, 30 miles southeast of the Bahamas and 90 miles north of Haiti. Its islands appear only as small, unnamed dots on most maps. Those who visit this island nation, a British protectorate, romantically consider it part of the Caribbean, but geographically it is in the Atlantic Ocean and is closer to the U.S. mainland than are the U.S. Virgin Islands.

The Turks and Caicos offer a strange mixture of past and present. Yet the islands’ door to the rest of the world opened much more widely when a jet runway was constructed. Of course, when the first large airliner landed the airport didn’t even have a portable stairway tall enough for passengers to disembark so they had to build a makeshift ramp. But that combination of old and new was one of the things that drew me to this place.

I really hadn’t planned on visiting the Turks and Caicos. I was planning to go to Saint John, but sometimes tropical winds have their own direction. I was standing in the middle of Miami’s airport, rucksack in hand looking up at the Arrival and Departure Board when a woman with long, sweeping gray hair came up to my side.

Where are you off to, dreamer? she asked.

I thought I’d give St. John a try, I replied, wondering why she called me that. Did I have a weird look on my face?

Oh you don’t want to go there, she said. A man like you should go to a place with lonely hideaways and calm waters.

I hear St. John has all of that.

I tilted my head to the side and stared at her wizened face. She looked like a Native American elder with soft brown eyes that twinkled as if she were ready to tell a humorous legend at any moment. But beyond that teasing twinkle there was a depth to her gaze that made me listen to her words.

Try Turks and Caicos, she said, placing a hand on my shoulder. I don’t think you’ll be disappointed. She gave me a wink and toddled off.

I don’t know why I changed my plans. Was it something in her eyes or the warmth in her touch? But the next thing I knew I was on a flight to an unknown destination. As soon as I disembarked, the timeless beauty of the Turks and Caicos Islands touched a deep place within me, filling my lungs with warm salty air.

From the small airport on the island of Providenciales, I ventured directly to Grace Bay Beach, where I discovered a 12-mile stretch of pure white sand the texture of powdered sugar. The water was a turquoise color I’d never seen before. Back home the Pacific gets many shades of blue from silvery grey to an almost midnight black, but I’d never seen it turn this color in California.

When a calm wash of water ran over my toes where the ocean met the sand, I immediately reached into my carry-on bag, pulled out my mask and snorkel, and jumped in for a relaxing swim. As I entered the water all weight was lifted from my body and I could feel an immediate release of stress. Each stroke of my arms pulled me further into the vast calm of the sea. I had traveled from one busy city to another, in cars and roaring planes, and from the airport to the hotel by a rumbling salt-rotted taxi. Now my gliding arms pulled me further and further away from that hustle and bustle of everyday life. They propelled me forward to my long-awaited destination — a place far away, where I could float gently and listen to the quiet of the ocean’s soft rhythm. There I found a place of great solitude that had once only existed in my dreams.

I lay back and heaved a great ohm of a sigh. Although I knew that serenity was a natural state of mind I hadn’t always been able to achieve it without external stimuli like meditation tapes or the chants of a wise leader. Yet in that moment I felt a complete peace as if those calm still waters were a direct reflection of my true being.

After glorious moments of deep breathing, I was startled to see the sun reflect what looked like the dark gray silhouette of several predatory sharks. And they were closing in on me. I jerked my head out of the water.

What’s that? I gasped. I yanked off my mask and turned toward shore. But before my arms could complete a single stroke those triangular skin-sails drew closer.

My breath caught in my throat as I mapped out how to escape or battle these predators. Fight or flight? Which would keep me alive?

Then I looked more closely and saw that the fins actually belonged to three small dolphins. Seemingly unconcerned with my presence they drew nearer and passed by with an array of whistles and sonar clicks.

They were all young, maybe three or four years old, and I was surprised to see them off on their own. Dolphins usually swam in pods. I glanced around for their older guardians but this trio was alone.

I didn’t have time to ponder where the rest of their pod was for long because just then one young male singled me out with intense eye contact. He peered at me with an almost knowing look.

Hello, I said, fully expecting him to turn tail and disappear.

But the animal didn’t swim away. Instead he kept staring at me as if we had been friends for a very long time. It was a look that I would never, ever forget, one you might see in a respected Lakota elder who had known great wisdom in life. And it touched something deep inside me.

I’m Dean. What’s up?

This comment didn’t send them off scurrying toward the horizon either. None of the dolphins seemed afraid, but in fact invited interaction. They circled me in the crystal blue waters and made inviting splashes with their tail flukes, beckoning me to play.

My first stroke to join them was tentative. I didn’t know how they’d react. But as soon as we began swimming around each other, I lost all fear and time slipped away. Shoving people, crowded cities, final exams, and the stress of travel all disappeared.

The three of them clicked at me as if saying, come on and play, then darted in and out of coral outcroppings. They leapt over the gentle swells of the Atlantic and chased colorful tropical fish with me hot on their heels. I wanted to follow as closely as they’d let me so I made ever-deeper dives, trying to stay under in this magical world as long as I could. Only when my lungs felt like they were about to explode would I surface with vigorous kicks, expel the stale breath and take a few swallows of the sweet tropical air.

We stayed there together gliding over the sandbars until sunset. I was in my element. And when I finally left the water I felt completely rejuvenated.

Only in time would I learn to fully appreciate and understand the healing nature of the islands and these dolphins. But already I felt I was with my own kind in a familiar and natural home.

There are exact moments in your life that can determine the rest of your future. In that moment, as the setting sun washed the clouds in purple and orange showers, I felt that I was putting into motion a chain of events that set the stage for a level of happiness and positive thought I had never before experienced.

Although I later traveled to many other islands in the Caribbean, I was constantly drawn back to this archipelago and these three dolphins. Between 1984 and 1986, I continually returned to swim with them, and the western island of Providenciales became my second home.

I met the warm and friendly Turks & Caicos Islanders whose lives were by then being affected by the inexorable advancement of the tourism industry. Still, an old world feel continued to permeate the place. While development brought electricity, telephones and thirty-three channels of cable television to the islands, a necessity such as running water might or might not be available.

At that time, it was common to walk along the Lower Bight Road and see people carrying buckets of water atop their heads from the community wells for their daily needs. On that same road one could be met with donkey calls and rooster crows, yet simultaneously hear the chatter of foreign television channels coming from a nearby house, brought in from pirated cable or a satellite dish.

Just down the way, along Grace Bay’s white beaches, there were two very small hotels which shared twelve miles of sand. A few tourists might jog the lonely strip, but for the most part it was empty except for an adventurer like me. In a single day I might see a fleet of small fishing boats heading out for a day’s work. Some carried fishing poles and nets while others ferried the occasional tourist seeking a hidden offshore domicile.

I knew I was home.

Mom, I know it’s far away, I said, back in California, trying to break the news to her as gently as possible. But really, I’m not staying just to sightsee and work on my tan. There I’ve found a place where I can make a real difference. You know, that community is still so isolated I could introduce things like environmental education, children’s programs, and humanitarian initiatives.

You can do that in California, she argued.

I can’t completely explain it, but I am drawn to those powdered sugar beaches and that isolation. And then there are the brown eyes of that one dolphin I told you about.

I know, she said. She turned away and exchanged a glance with Dad. It’s just we’ll miss you.

Dad didn’t say a word, gave me none of his usual wisdom. I didn’t want to hurt them. I knew how far away it was. But I had to go. And it wasn’t like they’d be alone. There were my two brothers and sisters to keep them company.

I’ll come home as often as I can to visit. And maybe you and Dad could take a trip there some time.

You just go, sweetheart. We know you have a destiny for to fulfill, she said. This is your path.

I went on to explain to her and my father how I planned to permanently settle on Providenciales, known locally as Provo.

I’ll be teaching the locals and the occasional tourist about protecting the ocean and land while working as a scuba instructor at the nearby resort. I finished, hoping they’d understand.

Dad had wanted