Magdalena Bay
Today’s expedition report celebrates all creatures, great and small. Magdalena Bay, on the Pacific side of the Baja California Peninsula, was formed when sand carried by a south-flowing current along Mexico’s Pacific coast connected two islands. Isla Magdalena is now a single island, fifty miles long, with large landmasses at its north and south end and a low connection of sand. Behind this barrier is Magdalena Bay, where we will spend the next few days. This morning we left the Sea Lion by Zodiac to walk across the sand barrier to the opposite Pacific side. We paused to focus on the incessant movement of the sand, forming dunes that march across the landscape, north to south. Sand grains are blown up the gently sloping windward side of the dunes, only to fall off and tumble down the steeper down-wind side. The surface of the sand retains a record of animals that have recently passed this way – coyotes, jackrabbits, lizards, crabs, a sidewinder rattlesnake, and even the scratches of a beetle. In other places the dunes have been stabilized by the growth of plants. Here, in this seemingly austere environment, were small splashes of color – the purple flowers of a succulent-leaved sea purslane, the bright yellow of an evening primrose, the purple and lilac spike of the rattleweed, the cluster of white flowers of a milkweed vine clambering over desert shrubs. When we reached the Pacific coast, we found it rich with marine shells, especially the sand dollars that give the beach its name. The same current that deposits the sand also deposits the remains of marine animals; in addition to shells we found bones of fish, pelicans, dolphins, sea turtles, and even a small toothed whale – a perfect natural laboratory for a lesson in anatomy.
We returned to our ship and continued on through narrow Hull Canal, passing herons and egrets, cormorants and pelicans, and brant geese that make a migration nearly identical to that of the gray whales: from Mexican lagoons to the tundra of northern Alaska and Chukotka … and all of this with an escort of magnificent frigatebirds soaring overhead, seemingly without effort.
Ahead of us was the nursery area of the gray whales, where the gray whales come to calve, nurse, and exercise their young, all to prepare them for the long migration to summer feeding grounds in shallow water off the north coast of Alaska and Chukotka. As we approached, our full concentration was directed forward. Suddenly, with an excited cry, a keen-eyed guest proudly announced the first spouts – the large, bushy spout of the mother whale, the smaller but more frequent poofs of its young. Our count of cow-calf pairs soon reached double digits as we proceeded to our anchorage near La Boca de Soledad – the Mouth of Solitude – the shallow northern passage between the nursery lagoon and the Pacific Ocean. Here we spent the night in eager anticipation of tomorrow’s experience with the great whales of Mexico’s coastal lagoons.
Today’s expedition report celebrates all creatures, great and small. Magdalena Bay, on the Pacific side of the Baja California Peninsula, was formed when sand carried by a south-flowing current along Mexico’s Pacific coast connected two islands. Isla Magdalena is now a single island, fifty miles long, with large landmasses at its north and south end and a low connection of sand. Behind this barrier is Magdalena Bay, where we will spend the next few days. This morning we left the Sea Lion by Zodiac to walk across the sand barrier to the opposite Pacific side. We paused to focus on the incessant movement of the sand, forming dunes that march across the landscape, north to south. Sand grains are blown up the gently sloping windward side of the dunes, only to fall off and tumble down the steeper down-wind side. The surface of the sand retains a record of animals that have recently passed this way – coyotes, jackrabbits, lizards, crabs, a sidewinder rattlesnake, and even the scratches of a beetle. In other places the dunes have been stabilized by the growth of plants. Here, in this seemingly austere environment, were small splashes of color – the purple flowers of a succulent-leaved sea purslane, the bright yellow of an evening primrose, the purple and lilac spike of the rattleweed, the cluster of white flowers of a milkweed vine clambering over desert shrubs. When we reached the Pacific coast, we found it rich with marine shells, especially the sand dollars that give the beach its name. The same current that deposits the sand also deposits the remains of marine animals; in addition to shells we found bones of fish, pelicans, dolphins, sea turtles, and even a small toothed whale – a perfect natural laboratory for a lesson in anatomy.
We returned to our ship and continued on through narrow Hull Canal, passing herons and egrets, cormorants and pelicans, and brant geese that make a migration nearly identical to that of the gray whales: from Mexican lagoons to the tundra of northern Alaska and Chukotka … and all of this with an escort of magnificent frigatebirds soaring overhead, seemingly without effort.
Ahead of us was the nursery area of the gray whales, where the gray whales come to calve, nurse, and exercise their young, all to prepare them for the long migration to summer feeding grounds in shallow water off the north coast of Alaska and Chukotka. As we approached, our full concentration was directed forward. Suddenly, with an excited cry, a keen-eyed guest proudly announced the first spouts – the large, bushy spout of the mother whale, the smaller but more frequent poofs of its young. Our count of cow-calf pairs soon reached double digits as we proceeded to our anchorage near La Boca de Soledad – the Mouth of Solitude – the shallow northern passage between the nursery lagoon and the Pacific Ocean. Here we spent the night in eager anticipation of tomorrow’s experience with the great whales of Mexico’s coastal lagoons.
