Magdalena Bay, Baja California Sur
There was a desire to sit on the deck all night watching the progress of the half moon as it tried to erase the stars cluster by cluster. Succumbing one would have heard the background roar of the Pacific surf snatching at the shores of Magdalena Bay, stealing sandy fragments to be transported ever southerly. Exhales of whales would have been gentle puffs somewhere in the dark nearby. Like a living thing the ship would have swung around its anchor chain, always facing into the tide. Once in the deep of night she moved and as early morning light painted the eastern horizon pink and Venus glowed in the navy sky, she pivoted back again. Did the gray whales do this too? Although we could not predict just where in the confines of the Hull Canal these gentle giants would appear, it did seem to our eyes at least that their movements were as governed by the tides as those of our own vessel. Youngsters pressed against incoming or outgoing currents going nowhere but every stroke of their tiny flukes strengthened developing muscles in preparation for their journey to far northern seas. Mothers and other adults with no familial associations or of a sex undetermined by our inquisitive eyes stretched their conical rostrums skyward. Were they simply feeling the gentle breeze, spying on the world around or exercising more vigorously?
The avian world seemed more in tune with the coming of the sun than the motion of the sea. While darkness prevailed all wings were stilled but as crimson flames danced across the prairie of the horizon’s clouds silhouettes appeared. Pelicans, ibis, egrets, cormorants and gulls moved across the channel, their shapes and flapping flight distinct from one another. Magnificent frigatebirds patiently waited for Sol to warm the air and spiraling thermal currents to appear. Then they too spread their narrow pointed wings and drifted away into the cerulean sky.
It was time for us to go and we turned away from the mouth of the bay, the Boca de Soledad, puzzling at how a place so full of life could ever be considered lonely (soledad). But then the entire area seemed incongruous. Curving barchan dunes, their edges sharpened by shadows of late afternoon light and their flanks textured with delicate ripple marks embraced strange rounded moguls decorated with succulent green. Shoulder-to-shoulder with this dry edaphic desert stood verdant groves of water-loving mangrove trees. And although the entire population of our floating island home strolled the expansive hard-packed beach of Bahia Santa Maria stopping to caress giant sand dollar tests each and every one of us was able to find a moment to be alone with our thoughts and consider the week gone by.
