Hull Canal, Baja California Sur
One might think that this past week was about whales. Looking back at our “postcards home” these leviathans of the deep have certainly taken center stage. But there has been so much more here in the land where desert and sea co-mingle. As our eyes were opened to this plethora of life, an understanding was gained as to just why these charismatic creatures choose to occupy the waters here about. In fact, the story goes right back to the creation of the Gulf, a geologic tale of fascinating forces that put in place cold deep waters in one locale and shallow warm lagoons in yet another. It is here in the most southerly lagoon of the Baja Peninsula that our attention was focused today.
Silence. The nursery was at peace. Glossy green leaves merged with themselves and lime green ovoid forms, papering the walls. The wainscot, a tangled web of reddish roots and branches, had its upper limit etched perfectly horizontal by the tides. Like a spider creeping in cracks and crevasses, a green heron slowly and gracefully moved. Hidden in the shadows, it seemed to elongate. Head and neck lengthened stretching the body outward and down until it appeared as if the point of balance had surely been exceeded. Snap! A tiny fish was snatched from the shallow waters. Again and again the motion was repeated. Food was plentiful here in the mangroves and bird life was abundant. Without this jumbled jungle of roots and twigs the chain of life within the sea and the surrounding shore would be a fragile thread.
Silence. Alone or seemingly so, one could cease paddling, drift with the current, pushed by the wind. Like a senescent golden leaf, the kayak chooses its channel. Silence is the sound of grains of sand suspended in the sea slipping along the hull. Silence is the breeze and the bouncing of branches against themselves. It is the distant sound of the surf crashing upon the shore, a percussive background to the flutelike song of a meadowlark. It is the space to reflect upon the week, to ponder our presence here and rerun the day within our minds.
This day that began with silver seas and frolicking gray whales drew to a close with a deeper understanding of their birthing grounds.
One might think that this past week was about whales. Looking back at our “postcards home” these leviathans of the deep have certainly taken center stage. But there has been so much more here in the land where desert and sea co-mingle. As our eyes were opened to this plethora of life, an understanding was gained as to just why these charismatic creatures choose to occupy the waters here about. In fact, the story goes right back to the creation of the Gulf, a geologic tale of fascinating forces that put in place cold deep waters in one locale and shallow warm lagoons in yet another. It is here in the most southerly lagoon of the Baja Peninsula that our attention was focused today.
Silence. The nursery was at peace. Glossy green leaves merged with themselves and lime green ovoid forms, papering the walls. The wainscot, a tangled web of reddish roots and branches, had its upper limit etched perfectly horizontal by the tides. Like a spider creeping in cracks and crevasses, a green heron slowly and gracefully moved. Hidden in the shadows, it seemed to elongate. Head and neck lengthened stretching the body outward and down until it appeared as if the point of balance had surely been exceeded. Snap! A tiny fish was snatched from the shallow waters. Again and again the motion was repeated. Food was plentiful here in the mangroves and bird life was abundant. Without this jumbled jungle of roots and twigs the chain of life within the sea and the surrounding shore would be a fragile thread.
Silence. Alone or seemingly so, one could cease paddling, drift with the current, pushed by the wind. Like a senescent golden leaf, the kayak chooses its channel. Silence is the sound of grains of sand suspended in the sea slipping along the hull. Silence is the breeze and the bouncing of branches against themselves. It is the distant sound of the surf crashing upon the shore, a percussive background to the flutelike song of a meadowlark. It is the space to reflect upon the week, to ponder our presence here and rerun the day within our minds.
This day that began with silver seas and frolicking gray whales drew to a close with a deeper understanding of their birthing grounds.
