That's what I was thinking on Saturday, watching with both fascination and horror as a gaggle of children frolicked with 1,360-kilogram Luna, the lonely and, apparently, very patient orca.

Limbs dangled. Rows of sharp whale teeth flashed. Parents giggled and took pictures as their offspring pulled at a gnarled plastic boat fender lodged between the orca's gaping jaws.

You remember Luna, the young killer whale that has been hanging about this scenic coastline of northwest Vancouver Island for the past three years.

He has become an international celebrity. But to local fish farmers, loggers and float plane operators, the hardworking men and women who eke out a living on the sea, Luna is ''that whale.'' They say it with a dismissive sneer, much the same way Bill Clinton described Monica Lewinsky as ''that woman.''

Luna, they say, is a mischievous pest that chews on their equipment and interferes with their work. He is swimming around Nootka Sound like he owns the place. He poses a risk to human life, insist his detractors.

Luna, the curious killer whale.

CREDIT: Deddeda Stemler, The Times Colonist
Luna sightings delight whale watchers in B.C.'s Nootka Sound.

''That whale is a damned menace,'' snapped one man, standing at the float plane dock, a few metres from where Luna and the children played their game of tug-of-war. ''I want it out of here. It doesn't belong here.''

Officials from the federal Department of Fisheries and Oceans agree; this year, they were prepared to spend approximately $150,000 in an ambitious scheme to lure the young whale into a net pen. The plan was to harness the four-year-old whale, lift him into a container and truck him south, where he would be released and, hopefully, reunite with his familial pod.

Luna was separated from the other orcas after following an aged uncle deep into Nootka Sound. The uncle died. Luna, then just a year old, was unable to navigate his way out. He turned up at a government dock at the foot of Muchalaht Inlet, about 40 kilometres from the open sea. He has remained in the area ever since, feeding on wild salmon and cavorting with boaters, with whom he has occasionally clashed.

The DFO's efforts to reunite him with his pod failed miserably, thanks to a counter-campaign launched by the local native people. Members of the Mowachaht/ Muchalaht First Nation marshalled all their resources, and tugged at the heartstrings of whale lovers everywhere, to keep Luna from the clutches of cold-blooded bureaucrats and marine biologists. Paddling about the sound in war canoes and singing traditional songs, they drew Luna away from DFO boats last month, scuttling the reunification plan.

The Mowachaht/Muchalaht say the orca represents the spirit of their late chief Ambrose Maquinna. Just before dying three years ago, Chief Maquinna told elders that he wished to return to Nootka Sound as a killer whale. Luna arrived a few days after his passing.

The battle for the orca has attracted media from across North America. This summer, news of Luna's situation spread far and wide. Without doubt, he has become a major tourist attraction.

Children especially adore the whale. They insist the feeling is mutual. Others aren't so sure. The fact is, no one really knows, because Luna isn't talking.

What's clear, however, is Luna has become a revenue generator, a mammalian money-maker in a region that has seen its economy decimated by the closure of a pulp mill seven years ago.

''I sort of hate to say it, but Luna has become a big draw,'' says Phillip Lum, a resident of nearby Gold River.

Like hundreds of other folks in the area, Mr. Lum lost his job when the pulp mill shut down. ''There's not much work around here,'' he says. ''Tourism is one of the few things we've got going for us. There's no doubt that people are coming here to see Luna.''

I arrived in Gold River on Wednesday and promptly headed down to the government dock on Muchalaht Inlet. There was no sign of Luna. The whale had moved down the inlet, to Nootka Sound, I was told. If I stuck around until Saturday, I could take a tourist boat to the old Indian settlement of Yuquot. There, I would surely see the whale.

So there I was, on Saturday morning, stepping aboard the MV Uchuck III, a converted freighter. Joining me were about 100 other gawkers. Everyone was buzzing about Luna.

Eight hours later, we chugged back to port, disappointed. The trip was fine, the scenery spectacular. But there had been no sign of Luna. The whale, it seemed, had vanished.

As we approached the landing, a U.S. couple told me of their encounter with Luna the night before, down at the government dock.

''We played with him for at least an hour,'' bragged Bob, an entomologist from Texas. ''It was awesome.''

Just then, someone shrieked. ''It's Luna!'' No, it wasn't Luna. It was a piece of seaweed, floating past.

The Uchuck drew closer to the dock. Up went another cry. Another alleged Luna sighting. And this time, there he was, flashing about the water beneath us, his dorsal fin slicing the surface.

The Uchuck docked. Luna swam behind the stern. We all rushed to the end of the boat. No one wanted to get off. Luna then swam over to a small aluminum craft and began chewing on a fender hanging from its side.

''You know,'' said a Uchuck worker, ''you would get a better view if you just went over to that boat.''

So we did, about a dozen of us. There, we got up close and personal with the whale. Luna sprayed water at us through his blowhole. Kids knelt down, and touched his giant nose as it poked above the surface.

''No petting,'' shouted one of their parents. ''We don't want Luna to go to the aquarium.''

Then began the game with the fender. A boy yanked it from the whale's mouth and dangled it in the air. Luna made a strange warbling sound and lunged at it. The crowd screamed with delight. This went on for another half-hour. The game would have lasted even longer, had the parents not grown tired of it.

Luna wasn't going anywhere. But I had to wonder: Was this really something that should carry on?

Luna didn't seem the angry type, but accidents do happen. What would be the reaction if Luna carved a chunk of flesh from a child's skinny, unprotected arm? Who would be blamed? What would happen if the plastic fender somehow got lodged in Luna's throat and caused the whale to choke?

Strictly speaking, such contact with Luna is illegal. The federal Fisheries Act says: ''No person shall disturb a marine mammal except when fishing for marine mammals under the authority of these Regulations.''

The children on Saturday had no such concerns. To them, their encounter with the orca was simply ''cool.'' One of their parents, however, did have some second thoughts.

''It does seem a little too good to be true, getting so close to a whale like that,'' acknowledged Mike Hoekstra, visiting the area with his wife and two children. ''It's almost unnatural.''

I had to agree.

© National Post 2004