Hull Canal & Boca de Soledad, Baja California Sur
There was no time for extra sleep this morning, even after a late night drive across the Sonoran Desert of the Baja California Peninsula. We awoke quietly at anchor in Bahia Magdalena and quickly headed north through a rich, scenic waterway separating the shifting sands of Isla Magdalena from the main peninsula. Bird identification was our first challenge. The soft mud lining the mangrove marshes are replete with invertebrate life. Young fish grow bigger here, seemingly safe among the dense prop-roots and shaded overhang. Long-legged and long-billed shorebirds are here to escape the frozen ponds, marshes and tundra of their birth. Long-billed curlews, willets, marbled godwits and small sandpipers flew past us or perched on the mangroves watching the falling tide; when the tide is out, their table is set. Brant's geese and redheads rose in unison, practicing for a long migration back to the Arctic. Mangroves and lagoon waters are super-productive habitats; the birds have staked their claim.
Soon, though, we passed through the narrow and shallow Devil’s Elbow and our attention was drawn away from birds. “Gray whales ahead!” It is to these nursing waters that this rebounding species has returned, even after the relentless whaling of the 1800s and into the 1930s drove this ancient species to the brink of extinction. Fat mother whales are here, mobilizing their insulating blubber into astonishingly rich milk. Their 1500-pound calves must, in turn, metabolize this milk into muscle and blubber in preparation for a remarkable journey north to the west and north coasts of Alaska and Canada. It will be a long and challenging run.
Our real prize came later as we ventured into the secretive realm of the gray whale. Virtually all of their life is spent below the surface, where we rarely can penetrate. From our small boats, though, we were able to approach closely, to hear their explosive blows, to see the incredible girth of the mothers, to watch for the gentle plume of atomized water from the calf, and to witness the intimate, tactile movements of mother and calf, always remaining within touch of each other. That these gentle mammals should tolerate our approach, and indeed willingly approach us, after the injustices that we inflicted upon their predecessors, is difficult to comprehend. Yet it is happening, and definitely more frequently.
Shore expeditions were also part of our day. The sand dunes and beaches are simply incredible. And a new game has begun on Isla Magdalena. Two coyotes, one wearing a single size 12 Adidas and a San Francisco 49ers shirt, and the other placing a regulation-size football after the snap, are kicking field goals somewhere out there. Our teenagers won’t be leaving their sporting equipment near the mangroves the next time they jog off into the dunes.
There was no time for extra sleep this morning, even after a late night drive across the Sonoran Desert of the Baja California Peninsula. We awoke quietly at anchor in Bahia Magdalena and quickly headed north through a rich, scenic waterway separating the shifting sands of Isla Magdalena from the main peninsula. Bird identification was our first challenge. The soft mud lining the mangrove marshes are replete with invertebrate life. Young fish grow bigger here, seemingly safe among the dense prop-roots and shaded overhang. Long-legged and long-billed shorebirds are here to escape the frozen ponds, marshes and tundra of their birth. Long-billed curlews, willets, marbled godwits and small sandpipers flew past us or perched on the mangroves watching the falling tide; when the tide is out, their table is set. Brant's geese and redheads rose in unison, practicing for a long migration back to the Arctic. Mangroves and lagoon waters are super-productive habitats; the birds have staked their claim.
Soon, though, we passed through the narrow and shallow Devil’s Elbow and our attention was drawn away from birds. “Gray whales ahead!” It is to these nursing waters that this rebounding species has returned, even after the relentless whaling of the 1800s and into the 1930s drove this ancient species to the brink of extinction. Fat mother whales are here, mobilizing their insulating blubber into astonishingly rich milk. Their 1500-pound calves must, in turn, metabolize this milk into muscle and blubber in preparation for a remarkable journey north to the west and north coasts of Alaska and Canada. It will be a long and challenging run.
Our real prize came later as we ventured into the secretive realm of the gray whale. Virtually all of their life is spent below the surface, where we rarely can penetrate. From our small boats, though, we were able to approach closely, to hear their explosive blows, to see the incredible girth of the mothers, to watch for the gentle plume of atomized water from the calf, and to witness the intimate, tactile movements of mother and calf, always remaining within touch of each other. That these gentle mammals should tolerate our approach, and indeed willingly approach us, after the injustices that we inflicted upon their predecessors, is difficult to comprehend. Yet it is happening, and definitely more frequently.
Shore expeditions were also part of our day. The sand dunes and beaches are simply incredible. And a new game has begun on Isla Magdalena. Two coyotes, one wearing a single size 12 Adidas and a San Francisco 49ers shirt, and the other placing a regulation-size football after the snap, are kicking field goals somewhere out there. Our teenagers won’t be leaving their sporting equipment near the mangroves the next time they jog off into the dunes.
