Punta San Marcial
The first rays of 2003 peaked over the hillsides and cast a warm glow on those of us standing on the bow of the Sea Bird, ever vigilant for marine mammal spouts. We were not disappointed. Soon after sunrise the ship passed through a feeding pod of common dolphins. Although most of the dolphins were intent upon their task, a few took a brief break to bowride with us, the white swoop on their sides visible under the water as they rolled on their sides to look up at us. Taking our cue from the dolphins we headed in to breakfast, returning to the bow as we heard that a strong blow had been sighted. Was it a blue whale, the largest animal ever to live on earth? Unfortunately, we will never know, as the whale remained elusive. How could an animal as large as a whale simply disappear to the mysterious depths, not to be seen again despite our scanning the surrounding waters for over an hour? The naturalists threw down the gauntlet: form your own hypothesis as to where the whales wander when they seemingly effervesce. Tomorrow we will hear the tall tale inventions—perhaps there may be truth in some of them. Only the whales will know. The lack of the whale was hardly noticed, however, as we watched tuna splashing and magnificent frigatebirds fighting and attempting to steal fish from each other. One male frigatebird flew by low enough that his red pouch was clearly visible. We steamed on to our anchorage at Punta San Marcial where we launched kayaks and snorkeled from the beach. Under the water, forests of ostrich plume hydroids waved gently to and fro, Mexican goatfish rooted in the sand for invertebrate snacks, and schools of puffer fish swarmed around us. Scuttling between the boulders, an octopus attempted to mimic a rock before disappearing into a small crevice. Bluechin parrotfish wended their way through the coral heads while green morays peeked out to survey the scene. We repositioned to a nearby beach and walked onto terra firma to explore a lovely unnamed arroyo. Butterflies of all sorts flitted over our heads and Costa’s hummingbirds zoomed past on all sides so that we were continually turning in circles to watch them feed on the multiple tubular flowers lining the arroyo. Encountering a small depression in the sand we “became ant” and tickled the sand with a stick. Luckily we were not “ant,” because suddenly a (comparably) large pair of jaws shot out from underneath the center of the pit and viciously attacked our stick. A hungry antlion was disappointed to sink its jaws into wood rather than crunchy ant cuticle. Rounding a bend in the trail we flushed out a roadrunner but saw no Wile E. Coyote scheming behind the rocks. The earlier rains have given the plants here such a boost. The area is so green that for a moment I thought I was walking through a jungle except for the sight of the sandy wash under my feet as I ducked my head to avoid a low-lying branch. The serenity on the bow before dinner as I watched the night grow darker caused me to smile and think “If only I stayed in Baja my New Year’s resolution would be easy to keep: to appreciate the beauty and tranquility of nature and not become embroiled in small everyday stresses.” Today was a good beginning to, and hopefully a positive omen for, the rest of the year.
The first rays of 2003 peaked over the hillsides and cast a warm glow on those of us standing on the bow of the Sea Bird, ever vigilant for marine mammal spouts. We were not disappointed. Soon after sunrise the ship passed through a feeding pod of common dolphins. Although most of the dolphins were intent upon their task, a few took a brief break to bowride with us, the white swoop on their sides visible under the water as they rolled on their sides to look up at us. Taking our cue from the dolphins we headed in to breakfast, returning to the bow as we heard that a strong blow had been sighted. Was it a blue whale, the largest animal ever to live on earth? Unfortunately, we will never know, as the whale remained elusive. How could an animal as large as a whale simply disappear to the mysterious depths, not to be seen again despite our scanning the surrounding waters for over an hour? The naturalists threw down the gauntlet: form your own hypothesis as to where the whales wander when they seemingly effervesce. Tomorrow we will hear the tall tale inventions—perhaps there may be truth in some of them. Only the whales will know. The lack of the whale was hardly noticed, however, as we watched tuna splashing and magnificent frigatebirds fighting and attempting to steal fish from each other. One male frigatebird flew by low enough that his red pouch was clearly visible. We steamed on to our anchorage at Punta San Marcial where we launched kayaks and snorkeled from the beach. Under the water, forests of ostrich plume hydroids waved gently to and fro, Mexican goatfish rooted in the sand for invertebrate snacks, and schools of puffer fish swarmed around us. Scuttling between the boulders, an octopus attempted to mimic a rock before disappearing into a small crevice. Bluechin parrotfish wended their way through the coral heads while green morays peeked out to survey the scene. We repositioned to a nearby beach and walked onto terra firma to explore a lovely unnamed arroyo. Butterflies of all sorts flitted over our heads and Costa’s hummingbirds zoomed past on all sides so that we were continually turning in circles to watch them feed on the multiple tubular flowers lining the arroyo. Encountering a small depression in the sand we “became ant” and tickled the sand with a stick. Luckily we were not “ant,” because suddenly a (comparably) large pair of jaws shot out from underneath the center of the pit and viciously attacked our stick. A hungry antlion was disappointed to sink its jaws into wood rather than crunchy ant cuticle. Rounding a bend in the trail we flushed out a roadrunner but saw no Wile E. Coyote scheming behind the rocks. The earlier rains have given the plants here such a boost. The area is so green that for a moment I thought I was walking through a jungle except for the sight of the sandy wash under my feet as I ducked my head to avoid a low-lying branch. The serenity on the bow before dinner as I watched the night grow darker caused me to smile and think “If only I stayed in Baja my New Year’s resolution would be easy to keep: to appreciate the beauty and tranquility of nature and not become embroiled in small everyday stresses.” Today was a good beginning to, and hopefully a positive omen for, the rest of the year.
