Flash!

Well hello, adoring fan! I'm sure this isn't necessary, but I'll just go ahead and introduce myself for humility's sake. Name's Flash Gordon. Species is Zalophus californianus, but just call me a California sea lion. Even thouh I'm from Canada–Hollywood egos, right?

Sea lions all have star potential, but only a few of us "make it". We're smart, charismatic and a pretty attractive species, if I do say so myself (and I do). Humans seem to like our antics and trainability. My buddy pal Clyde worked the arena circuit for years at the San Diego Zoo, but he's the exception. Some of us have tried to be social media influencers, but it just ends up sounding like a lot of barking.

Anyway, I'll admit to being handsome, photogenic, and lovable—but honestly, all I ever wanted to do was be a sea lion. You know, a wild animal? I never asked to be a star.

See, I was just swimming around in the waters around Tofino, British Columbia one day looking for food when this whole thing started. I'd go out hundreds of kilometers to sea looking for food (did you know even though they've cause fish stocks to plummet, some human governments still have annual kill quotas for sea lions? Ridiculous!), which is sometimes hard to come by.

Anyway, I was diving around out there when something shiny caught me eye.

Sure, it was weird, but I told you—we're smart! Of course I'm gonna take a look, and what do you know, but there's a big fat coho salmon stuck to this bright thinga-ma-bobber! Boom–down the hatch, my friend and off to the next one (don't judge me, I bet you've snatched pizza crust from someone else's table).

But soon as I choked that fish down I knew something was wrong. For one thing–you know when it feel like something's stuck in your throat? Yeah, I had that feeling. Because something was stuck in my throat.

Was it that bright thing? I was in such a hurry to eat that I didn't really think about it too hard before gulping. Heck, most things that float around in the ocean get dissolved in a sea lion stomach eventually!

But the dang thing was bothering me. I hacked and I hucked and I horked–

It plopped out—but still anchored in my throat!

Oh crap! I had just become a statistic! There's some areas where nearly 8% of pinnipeds like yours truly get stuck on some leftover human crap. I'd seen what happens, and it ain't pretty.

I shook my head and barked and went just about crazy trying to get it out, but couldn't. I even asked a crab for help (do you have any idea how demeaning to ask a favor from an arthropod?!). Nothing worked.

Ugh. Sometimes life stinks. It used to be I just had to worry about sharks and orcas, but now something as simple as a fishing hook might get ya. Making it in the wild is tough, but it doesn't do any good complaining into the dark void (the Pacific Ocean). You can't let a little setback like a synthetic torture device slow you down, even if it's literally dragging from the side of your mouth.

I tried to stay positive, but with a few days the pain got worse. I couldn't swallow. Plus–how well do you think I was catching fish with a frikkin' flashing beacon coming out of my grill?!

My blubber started with wither away. I wasn't gonna make it, and I knew it. Oh well—at least I could do it peace. I hauled myself onto a jetty and waited for the end.

That's where they found me.

A group of humans, staring right at me. Now, I'm not usually too shy with my 8 foot long, 800lb. of pure handsomeness, but too much human attention is usually pretty dangerous for animals (“Give ’um to me, George. I’ll take ’um back. I didn’t mean no harm, George. Honest I didn’t. I jus’ wanted to pet ’um a little”). Even a friendly tourist might blow my hunting cover, and an angry fisherman might do a lot worse than that–kaPOW!

One of these guys did have a gun. He was aiming at me!

I heard a soft pssht and was gone, slipping down the wet rocks into the water in a well... in a flash of course!

But I needed one last breath before my dive, and I felt a little jab at the last second.

Lame, I thought, some dweeb with an air gun is using me for target practice!

Still, better stay away, just in case. I barely had anything left in the tank, but I didn't need to be peppered by Red Ryders^TM before I died. I tried to stay underwater. Usually, if I need to, I hold my breath for about ten minutes, but after just a couple I started to get reaaally sleepy.

My bad luck was getting worse. I was gonna pass out under water and drown, which is bar far the most embarrassing way to die for a marine mammal (that would be like those purportedly intelligent humans dying from doing something stupid–oh wait).

I had no choice, and crawled back onto the jetty. Whatever, let's just get this over with.

But instead of the barrel of a rifle, I just saw this jerk.

Ughh. He leapt off the boat with a grin that said, "I'm gonna touch a sea lion!". Cringe. Go pay $60 at a Sea World if that's how you get your kicks. I'd almost rather be finished off with a 0.30 caliber than be this guy's glory days story.

I just wanted to be left alone. And I could barely keep my eyelids open.

Then I noticed something in his hand.

A net?—A NET!??!

Are you kidding me?! Fishing gear?!! The derelict crap that humans spew into the ocean, like 13 billion line hooks a year?! And he was just gonna chuck it over me like I'm a damn Pokémon?!

No way–the schmuck had to go down.

But I was really, really tired at this point, so I couldn't risk a full frontal. I played dead, literally. I laid my head down and pretended to give it all up (one of my best performances, by the way). I was exhausted, starving, battling early septicemia and all of that–but my blood was also boiling with misanthropic rage, and if I could take one of these "stewards of the environment" down with me, I wouldn't waste my chance.

So I played it cool, and pretended to sleep. He got right up next to me–had the gall poke me with his boot!!!

Once I see his feet planted on the rocks from my barely raised eyelid, I send it. The bilious fury of persecution lit up my belly and and I launched myself up. Eight-hundred pounds of bestial vengeance was now staring this goon face at eye level, and ready to unload.

He—adorably, steps back. Oh, you didn't come to play, apewuss?!

Then he slips! On his back, right in front of me, spread-eagle like a flipped-over abalone!!! I roar fish fish fumes into the sky and line up my shot.

Okay look–nothing happened. I was so gassed at that point, all I could manage was a long yawn and then the lights went out. Sure, I would have gotten a bit of perverse vengeance pleasure from trouncing the little punk, but I'm not really the vindictive type. None of us are, really. Animals just want to be left alone to do their own thing.

I thought the game was over for me, so I was pretty surprised when I woke up. For one thing, my throat didn't hurt at all. I looked down and the flasher was gone! I also felt phenomenal, even though I was nowhere near the ocean (as far as I could tell).

Turns out the idiot with the net was tagging along with the vet team at the Vancouver Aquarium. That little jab was an anesthetic, and once I was out they pulled out a fish hook out of my esophagus! That felt nice.

I stayed there for a few days. I gotta say, pretty nice! There was unlimited fish. Frozen, not fresh, but whatever–I didn't need celebrity treatment, I was just happy to be alive. And they got me back out to wild, where I've always want to be.

You know, it's true humans are at their worst when they forget about balance. They'll trample on you just to get famous or catch a million fish. But there are some–really, these people really do exist—who actually spend their lives saving us. That's amazing. They're the only species I know who would do that.

So yeah, when they asked for my blessing to share my story, I said why not? Maybe it'll help somebody else out in the future?

Besides, I look good on camera.

Consider a donation to the Vancouver Aquarium marine mammal rescue program here.