August 31 -- Whenever a 40-foot-long humpback thrashes its 30 tons around in Angongil Bay, it is a spectacle to behold; one that everyone on our skiff perceives a bit differently, I might add.

The Yale-educated research scientist sees Individual One, a subject of study. He thinks cetacean, DNA, abundance estimation.

The writer sees the protagonist that propels her story. She thinks Herman Melville was right on when he described this species as the "most gamesome and light-hearted of all the whales, making more gay foam and white water than any other of them."

The Malagasy boat pilot sees a "Big God." He thinks it is a "fady" -- a strictly forbidden taboo -- even to whisper the common word "trozona" (which means whale). When out at sea, the locals refer to Howard's individual and my protagonist as "Zanaharibe," a title that acknowledges they not only respect this creature but also fear it.

The Malagasy culture is steeped in ages-old myths, customs and traditions, many of them relating to the whale. Of the 18 ethnicities, or tribes, that comprise Madagascar's population, each has its own ancestral teachings, practices and ceremonies. Within the tribes, there exists variation from community to community; even from family to family. The beliefs that I'm relating are particular to the Betsimisar, aka people who live along the northeastern coastal region of the Masoala Peninsula, which includes Antongil Bay.

"The people here, most of them are afraid of whales," explains Armand Marozafy, an English-speaking guide from the coastal town of Maroantsetra. "They think the whale is very, very important; king of the water. The sea belongs to the whale, and thunder is the girlfriend of the whale. If the weather is bad, they think the whale causes it."

Armand, 32, used to plant rice for a living before he answered an advertisement for guide training -- a cooperative effort sponsored by CARE, the Peace Corps and the Wilderness Conservation Society. Now, Armand knows the trails and the flora and fauna around this region as well as any naturalist. He points out the ruffed lemur and the masterfully camouflaged leaf tail lizard as readily as he rattles off their proper Latin names.

For the past couple of years, Armand has been among a handful of Malagasy guides to receive formal training about marine mammal conservation, specifically as it relates to the whales in Antongil Bay. Their teacher: Howard, of course. Their classroom this year is on the wet deck (it's raining, of course) of Howard's biggest boat, the one named Express IV.

To open this year's guide-training workshop, Howard is play acting; pretending to be Joe Tourist; claiming not to know an odontocete (toothed whale) from a mysticete (baleen whale). He is not too convincing. Paul, a star student, keeps slipping and calling him "Mr. Howard Scientist."

These guides have a clear sense of who Howard is and what he's aiming to do when he shoots his crossbow. The same isn't true for the local fishermen, whose tippy hand-carved pirogues we zip by when we're working a group of whales.

"Not many people understand Howard," Armand says. "The belief of many Malagasy people is that he has a strange power, a magic, that enables him to go after the Big God.

"I believe, now, the whale is a very interesting animal," Armand adds. "A mammal, not like a shark; not a danger.

"Things change. I have seen the proof, the practice, the reality of the whale."

Howard's five barefoot students take notes about everything from the best way to identify individual humpbacks (by their fluke pigmentation) to why the "right" whale is thusly named. (Whalers identified it as the "right" whale to kill because it was slow and relatively easy to capture). The students scrawl sentences in French and Malagasy, their economical script filling tattered papers; one uses a spineless 1993 date book as his copybook.

A guide's daily services can be purchased for about 25,000 Malagasy francs, the equivalent of about five dollars. The hopes of each of these guides is to establish himself early as an expert in the cutting-edge industry of local whale watching.

Howard, aka Joe Tourist, asks Paul if whales were ever hunted here in Antongil Bay.

"No," Paul says. "Not now."

"But how about 125 years ago," persists Howard.

"I'm not sure," Paul admits.

"Good answer," says Howard. "If you're not sure about something that a tourist asks you, it's best to say that you'll try to find out the correct information and give it to them later."

Howard proceeds with a bit of a history lesson about the Charles W. Morgan, the last of the wooden American whaling ships which hunted in these waters in the 1860s. (This historic ship, as well as the captain's log which describes coming to Antongil Bay, can be seen at Mystic Seaport Museum in Mystic, Conn.) "Mazava?" ("Understand," Howard asks.)

Five heads nod.

Off in the distance, a solitary pirogue raises its sail -- an empty rice sack -- and heads toward the mainland. The wind is picking up: Evidently, the whale god is not pleased about something.

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