Puerto Gato, Baja California Sur
San Francisco, San Jose, San Diego and Santa Cruz, the cities of California lent their names to the islands of the morning. Tiny San Francisco, barely a dot on the map, cradled us in its idyllic turquoise bay throughout the night. A flaming sunrise lit the eastern sky as we passed the southern tip of Isla San Jose and morning erupted along with the breaching of a humpback whale. Isla Santa Cruz overshadowed its southern neighbor, San Diego, no matter which view we took. From south or east and even west neither looked inviting enough to explore, for their steep sided walls plunged straight to the sea.
From a distance the spirit of Las Animas resembled a comic book whale or a ghostly Moby Dick. We circled close to the whitewashed islet where galloping cacti marched in squadrons across a flattened plateau and down its sloping face. Big stick nests were scattered here and there, each tended by a chocolate-naped brown pelican. A peregrine falcon perched, ready to pursue any unsuspecting songbird that might drop in or a tiny grebe drifting nearby. Patrolling mobula rays flew through the seas, only their tiny "wing-tips" visible at the surface until some sudden stimulus propelled one skyward. Its attempts at flight were artistic and won points for acrobatic style but fly it could not do. Dolphins too, crossed the barrier of sea and air, their porpoising movements exposing streamlined bodies built for the watery world in which they lived. But as smooth as their movements seemed to be, none could match the grace of the dance of the tropicbird.
Desert. What image does this single word convey? Some may think of drifting dunes where the soil is salty and water percolates away. Yet others will see a land rich in life like that where we walked today. Rainfall is sparse and may often come in great gushing cloudbursts and raging streams, which scour away soil and destroy all in its path. Even as it subsides life is bursting forth. Tiny rootlets surge in search of that precious liquor of life. Dry looking sticks dress in new and verdant leaves. Creosote bushes exude the most fragrant perfume. It did not rain today but we enjoyed the treasures bestowed by monsoons of the summer past. Where some years the ground is barren and dry, today crisping grasses formed a flaxen carpet between limber stemmed shrubs. Mesquite blossoms cried for honeybees to carry away their sweet nectar reward and in the process set in motion the transport of pollen to pistil and formation of beans, a treat for animal and bird alike. We were attracted to the colorful floral displays, the pinks or purples, reds, whites and yellows but only the jackrabbit would dare to bite upon the greenery offered here. Every plant seemed to stick or stink. Trees and shrubs if not armed in thorns produced leaves with musky smells. Spines guarded the juicy cortex of cacti whether they were six inches small or sixty feet tall. Hooked or fuzzy hairs turned herbaceous foliage or tempting seeds into unpalatable, undesirable bites. Yet in all this harshness, signs of animal life were abundant. Forbidding, yet beautiful are our desert shores.
San Francisco, San Jose, San Diego and Santa Cruz, the cities of California lent their names to the islands of the morning. Tiny San Francisco, barely a dot on the map, cradled us in its idyllic turquoise bay throughout the night. A flaming sunrise lit the eastern sky as we passed the southern tip of Isla San Jose and morning erupted along with the breaching of a humpback whale. Isla Santa Cruz overshadowed its southern neighbor, San Diego, no matter which view we took. From south or east and even west neither looked inviting enough to explore, for their steep sided walls plunged straight to the sea.
From a distance the spirit of Las Animas resembled a comic book whale or a ghostly Moby Dick. We circled close to the whitewashed islet where galloping cacti marched in squadrons across a flattened plateau and down its sloping face. Big stick nests were scattered here and there, each tended by a chocolate-naped brown pelican. A peregrine falcon perched, ready to pursue any unsuspecting songbird that might drop in or a tiny grebe drifting nearby. Patrolling mobula rays flew through the seas, only their tiny "wing-tips" visible at the surface until some sudden stimulus propelled one skyward. Its attempts at flight were artistic and won points for acrobatic style but fly it could not do. Dolphins too, crossed the barrier of sea and air, their porpoising movements exposing streamlined bodies built for the watery world in which they lived. But as smooth as their movements seemed to be, none could match the grace of the dance of the tropicbird.
Desert. What image does this single word convey? Some may think of drifting dunes where the soil is salty and water percolates away. Yet others will see a land rich in life like that where we walked today. Rainfall is sparse and may often come in great gushing cloudbursts and raging streams, which scour away soil and destroy all in its path. Even as it subsides life is bursting forth. Tiny rootlets surge in search of that precious liquor of life. Dry looking sticks dress in new and verdant leaves. Creosote bushes exude the most fragrant perfume. It did not rain today but we enjoyed the treasures bestowed by monsoons of the summer past. Where some years the ground is barren and dry, today crisping grasses formed a flaxen carpet between limber stemmed shrubs. Mesquite blossoms cried for honeybees to carry away their sweet nectar reward and in the process set in motion the transport of pollen to pistil and formation of beans, a treat for animal and bird alike. We were attracted to the colorful floral displays, the pinks or purples, reds, whites and yellows but only the jackrabbit would dare to bite upon the greenery offered here. Every plant seemed to stick or stink. Trees and shrubs if not armed in thorns produced leaves with musky smells. Spines guarded the juicy cortex of cacti whether they were six inches small or sixty feet tall. Hooked or fuzzy hairs turned herbaceous foliage or tempting seeds into unpalatable, undesirable bites. Yet in all this harshness, signs of animal life were abundant. Forbidding, yet beautiful are our desert shores.
