Magdalena Bay, Baja California Sur
The silence of the night crept onward into dawn as we rested at anchor near Sand Dollar Beach. Our cheeks glistened, kissed by the mist of morning as we stood quietly listening, coffee cups in hand. The entire universe had compressed around us and we felt alone, a white and ghostly island in a dark and ebony sea. Slowly our planet expanded to include the creaking call of a tern and then its silhouette. Light filtered from above bringing a hint of blue. Even as the anchor chain rhythmically rumbled into its housing we remained encased in our foggy cocoon. Droplets of moisture suspended in air can play tricks with one’s vision and senses. Fog bows arched from bow to stern and halos seemed to encircle our own reflections. Wakes merged into honeycombs stretching towards mountainous isles.
Green exploded upon us as the sun broke through. Luxuriant, verdant mangrove trees lined the narrow channel through which we wove. We were no longer alone but in a crowd of life bursting with the energy of a metropolitan region. Waders and shorebirds probed exposed tidal flats garnering nutrients for their journey north. Resident birds busied themselves with the tasks of building nests and seeking out food in their own special ways. Bottlenose dolphins too partook of the richness cultivated by the mangrove lagoons. We seemed to share in their need to feed and no one declined the offer of a barbecue on deck complete with decadent sundaes for dessert.
Breakers defined the boca or mouth, the Boca de Soledad, the end of the island and our place of repose for the night to come. High cirrus clouds were stirred by the wind into mackerel patches, which drifted away almost as if in tune with the turning of the tide. Here there was larger life within the watery world nearby. Small boats ventured from the stern of our ship, much like fiddler crabs from the safety of their burrow. If one could trace our paths early this afternoon, the circular nature of our searching could be seen. We were not on a quest for planktonic prey but for knowledge of the world of a whale. Gray whales mostly mothers and calves drew us away and then led us back home, repeatedly. Slowly we constructed an image in our minds of the massive body exposed to us in only tiny fragments, in hints and clues that had to be pieced together with that which we knew from before. At times, only flaring nares could be seen spewing a faint and filmy blow. Bit by bit, the shape of a nose, the arch of the mouth, an inquiring eye, flippers and fins, knuckles and scars could be seen. A mouth opened in the imitation of a smile and we glimpsed the pale baleen within. The eggplant like texture of their skin felt smooth between irregular clusters of sizable barnacles and orange colored lice. What do they possibly think that we are? To their eyes, we must be no more than a pod of four identical creatures with rubbery skin and flailing tentacles that tickle if they happen to touch.
The silence of the night crept onward into dawn as we rested at anchor near Sand Dollar Beach. Our cheeks glistened, kissed by the mist of morning as we stood quietly listening, coffee cups in hand. The entire universe had compressed around us and we felt alone, a white and ghostly island in a dark and ebony sea. Slowly our planet expanded to include the creaking call of a tern and then its silhouette. Light filtered from above bringing a hint of blue. Even as the anchor chain rhythmically rumbled into its housing we remained encased in our foggy cocoon. Droplets of moisture suspended in air can play tricks with one’s vision and senses. Fog bows arched from bow to stern and halos seemed to encircle our own reflections. Wakes merged into honeycombs stretching towards mountainous isles.
Green exploded upon us as the sun broke through. Luxuriant, verdant mangrove trees lined the narrow channel through which we wove. We were no longer alone but in a crowd of life bursting with the energy of a metropolitan region. Waders and shorebirds probed exposed tidal flats garnering nutrients for their journey north. Resident birds busied themselves with the tasks of building nests and seeking out food in their own special ways. Bottlenose dolphins too partook of the richness cultivated by the mangrove lagoons. We seemed to share in their need to feed and no one declined the offer of a barbecue on deck complete with decadent sundaes for dessert.
Breakers defined the boca or mouth, the Boca de Soledad, the end of the island and our place of repose for the night to come. High cirrus clouds were stirred by the wind into mackerel patches, which drifted away almost as if in tune with the turning of the tide. Here there was larger life within the watery world nearby. Small boats ventured from the stern of our ship, much like fiddler crabs from the safety of their burrow. If one could trace our paths early this afternoon, the circular nature of our searching could be seen. We were not on a quest for planktonic prey but for knowledge of the world of a whale. Gray whales mostly mothers and calves drew us away and then led us back home, repeatedly. Slowly we constructed an image in our minds of the massive body exposed to us in only tiny fragments, in hints and clues that had to be pieced together with that which we knew from before. At times, only flaring nares could be seen spewing a faint and filmy blow. Bit by bit, the shape of a nose, the arch of the mouth, an inquiring eye, flippers and fins, knuckles and scars could be seen. A mouth opened in the imitation of a smile and we glimpsed the pale baleen within. The eggplant like texture of their skin felt smooth between irregular clusters of sizable barnacles and orange colored lice. What do they possibly think that we are? To their eyes, we must be no more than a pod of four identical creatures with rubbery skin and flailing tentacles that tickle if they happen to touch.
