Sand Dollar Beach & Hull Canal
After touching down in La Paz on the east coast of Baja California the day before, we boarded busses for the long haul northwest across the peninsula to San Carlos. The ride was lengthy and came on the heels of our individual plane journeys to LAX. Following boarding the National Geographic Sea Bird our Captain took our vessel a few miles off shore and dropped anchor in calm waters off Sand Dollar Beach. After our first shipboard meal a quiet slumber came readily.
We awoke to calm seas and blue skies brush-stroked by a few high, but non-threatening cirrus clouds. Our first excursion in Baja found us traversing the soft sand of Magdalena Bay’s myriad dunes from the lagoon towards the Pacific Ocean. At first glance the dunes appeared almost lifeless and sparsely vegetated. However, a closer inspection revealed a realm rich in specialized plant species and small fauna. Sand Verbena, a slender, short-lived species was spread wide in patches along our trek. Locoweed, also called rattleweed because the seeds in the thin, dry inflated pods rattle when the wind blows or the plant is shaken, was conspicuous across the dunes. The natives chewed locoweed to relieve sore throats, and the boiled roots are reputed to relieve toothaches. While large and even small mammals were absent, their tracks were not. Crossing the desert sands were the occasional paw prints of coyotes, hares, and probably a few of the locals’ canine pets. A few ghost crabs, inconspicuous to the untrained eye, were spotted reposing in the thin shade offered by the desert foliage. Throughout our trek large concentrations of shells, principally clams, cockles, scallops, and murexes stood in stark contrast against the shifting sands – immediately raising the questions of how and why they were there. They are middens left by native peoples from time immemorial and perhaps more recently attended clam bakes. They stand as testimony to the richness of this apparently barren zone and the sustenance it can provide to humans.
Back aboard the National Geographic Sea Bird naturalist Mike Nolan gave us a presentation on gray whales in preparation for our next couple of days in these waters, where expectations are high for viewing these noted leviathans. As the sun climbed higher across a field of blue our ship made way through Hull Canal to the northern reaches of Magdalena Bay. In this narrow channel mangrove trees encroach from both sides. These important land builders, spread wide across our Earth’s coastal, tropical climes, provide refuge for numerous species of fish and aquatic invertebrates, as well as prove valuable habitat for nesting birds. Double-crested cormorants, great-blue and reddish herons, brown pelicans, and the occasional white ibis dotted the tree tops. Common mergansers, red-headed ducks, and Brandt’s geese strode the water as we moved up the channel. Long-billed curlews, willets, whimbrels, black-bellied plovers, and spotted sandpipers gathered on the sandy stretches between groupings of mangroves. And overhead the magnificent frigates soared on invisible currents of air. However, it was the occasional Osprey, plunging into the water from great heights to grab a fish, that focused the greatest attention across the forecastle deck.
Across the watery straits small rafts of bottlenose dolphins came to ride the National Geographic Sea Bird’s bow waves. All eyes dropped downward over the bow. That was until someone called out, “blows in front of the ship.” On final approach to Boca de Soledad telltale signs (blows) of this region’s most famous seasonal visitor had all eyes trained forward. As our vessel slowed speeds and bridged the gap between us and a mother and calf pair of gray whales the front of our ship was densely packed with eager onlookers. Whaling reduced the California population in the 1850s after the discovery of the breeding lagoons in Baja California, and again after the turn of the century with the introduction of floating factories. Protection from international agreement in 1946 has allowed the population to grow to its current estimated level of 20,000 or more animals. Today the fact that they willingly approach boats with excited tourists instills any knowing soul with a sense of marvel. Our short time with these whales was a minor evolution of new and awed discovery.
After touching down in La Paz on the east coast of Baja California the day before, we boarded busses for the long haul northwest across the peninsula to San Carlos. The ride was lengthy and came on the heels of our individual plane journeys to LAX. Following boarding the National Geographic Sea Bird our Captain took our vessel a few miles off shore and dropped anchor in calm waters off Sand Dollar Beach. After our first shipboard meal a quiet slumber came readily.
We awoke to calm seas and blue skies brush-stroked by a few high, but non-threatening cirrus clouds. Our first excursion in Baja found us traversing the soft sand of Magdalena Bay’s myriad dunes from the lagoon towards the Pacific Ocean. At first glance the dunes appeared almost lifeless and sparsely vegetated. However, a closer inspection revealed a realm rich in specialized plant species and small fauna. Sand Verbena, a slender, short-lived species was spread wide in patches along our trek. Locoweed, also called rattleweed because the seeds in the thin, dry inflated pods rattle when the wind blows or the plant is shaken, was conspicuous across the dunes. The natives chewed locoweed to relieve sore throats, and the boiled roots are reputed to relieve toothaches. While large and even small mammals were absent, their tracks were not. Crossing the desert sands were the occasional paw prints of coyotes, hares, and probably a few of the locals’ canine pets. A few ghost crabs, inconspicuous to the untrained eye, were spotted reposing in the thin shade offered by the desert foliage. Throughout our trek large concentrations of shells, principally clams, cockles, scallops, and murexes stood in stark contrast against the shifting sands – immediately raising the questions of how and why they were there. They are middens left by native peoples from time immemorial and perhaps more recently attended clam bakes. They stand as testimony to the richness of this apparently barren zone and the sustenance it can provide to humans.
Back aboard the National Geographic Sea Bird naturalist Mike Nolan gave us a presentation on gray whales in preparation for our next couple of days in these waters, where expectations are high for viewing these noted leviathans. As the sun climbed higher across a field of blue our ship made way through Hull Canal to the northern reaches of Magdalena Bay. In this narrow channel mangrove trees encroach from both sides. These important land builders, spread wide across our Earth’s coastal, tropical climes, provide refuge for numerous species of fish and aquatic invertebrates, as well as prove valuable habitat for nesting birds. Double-crested cormorants, great-blue and reddish herons, brown pelicans, and the occasional white ibis dotted the tree tops. Common mergansers, red-headed ducks, and Brandt’s geese strode the water as we moved up the channel. Long-billed curlews, willets, whimbrels, black-bellied plovers, and spotted sandpipers gathered on the sandy stretches between groupings of mangroves. And overhead the magnificent frigates soared on invisible currents of air. However, it was the occasional Osprey, plunging into the water from great heights to grab a fish, that focused the greatest attention across the forecastle deck.
Across the watery straits small rafts of bottlenose dolphins came to ride the National Geographic Sea Bird’s bow waves. All eyes dropped downward over the bow. That was until someone called out, “blows in front of the ship.” On final approach to Boca de Soledad telltale signs (blows) of this region’s most famous seasonal visitor had all eyes trained forward. As our vessel slowed speeds and bridged the gap between us and a mother and calf pair of gray whales the front of our ship was densely packed with eager onlookers. Whaling reduced the California population in the 1850s after the discovery of the breeding lagoons in Baja California, and again after the turn of the century with the introduction of floating factories. Protection from international agreement in 1946 has allowed the population to grow to its current estimated level of 20,000 or more animals. Today the fact that they willingly approach boats with excited tourists instills any knowing soul with a sense of marvel. Our short time with these whales was a minor evolution of new and awed discovery.
