Isla Tiburón and Isla San Pedro Mártir
We began our adventure with sand in our toes and ended it with warmth in our hearts. It was the two weeks in between that changed our lives.
We could hardly remember the sequence of the amazing experiences we were part of, but we knew that they were real. We knew that they were indelibly etched in our minds. And we knew that we were among the fortunate few in this world who would ever get to see such remote and natural things: endless sand dunes, moving at glacial speed, forming shapes of beauty as they are pushed by predictable ocean winds; blue whales glowing aquamarine under the ocean surface, their huge mass bursting up under a tower mist; young gray whales – tiny within the whale world – testing strange shapes and sounds and accepting with apparent glee our outstretched hands and our cries of joy; birds of many colours, shapes and sizes, some resident, others winter visitors, alive here in a desert environment and bountiful sea; humpback whales in circling sexual chase, shocking us with surprise exhalations at our bow; sea lions showing us just how to swim in their water world; desert arroyos drying, parching, cooking, and awaiting life-giving rain; dolphins, sleek and swift, easy-riders off our ship’s bow and high-jumpers in our wake; f-stops, long lenses and point-and-shoots, at sunrise and sunset, each creating images of memory; Santa Rosalia, a city of quietude, melding France, copper smelting and squid fishing into its jumbled history and colourful present; chuckwallas and iguanas, expressions doleful, watching us as we watched them.
And then came our final day. We continued our explorations, selecting Isla Tiburón for morning walks, followed by close encounters with the most important seabird nesting island in the Gulf of California, Isla San Pedro Mártir. The Phaethontidae took our attention here – red-billed tropicbirds. The son of Helios, Phaethon drove his father’s fiery chariot across the skies. Today, the tropicbirds were flying as if on fire.
Tiburón has a history of its own and perhaps a future for the Seri Indians. Their dedication to this sacred territory and its surrounding waters hopefully will result in the continuance of this unique cultural group. May they and their island live on in peace.
Peace for us was our final encounter - with sperm whales. Our ship moved quietly alongside a number of these deep-diving mammals as they replenished the oxygen in their blood and myoglobin. Sunset photographers were in their glory, as were those of us content simply to watch and listen. The warmth swelled in our hearts.
We began our adventure with sand in our toes and ended it with warmth in our hearts. It was the two weeks in between that changed our lives.
We could hardly remember the sequence of the amazing experiences we were part of, but we knew that they were real. We knew that they were indelibly etched in our minds. And we knew that we were among the fortunate few in this world who would ever get to see such remote and natural things: endless sand dunes, moving at glacial speed, forming shapes of beauty as they are pushed by predictable ocean winds; blue whales glowing aquamarine under the ocean surface, their huge mass bursting up under a tower mist; young gray whales – tiny within the whale world – testing strange shapes and sounds and accepting with apparent glee our outstretched hands and our cries of joy; birds of many colours, shapes and sizes, some resident, others winter visitors, alive here in a desert environment and bountiful sea; humpback whales in circling sexual chase, shocking us with surprise exhalations at our bow; sea lions showing us just how to swim in their water world; desert arroyos drying, parching, cooking, and awaiting life-giving rain; dolphins, sleek and swift, easy-riders off our ship’s bow and high-jumpers in our wake; f-stops, long lenses and point-and-shoots, at sunrise and sunset, each creating images of memory; Santa Rosalia, a city of quietude, melding France, copper smelting and squid fishing into its jumbled history and colourful present; chuckwallas and iguanas, expressions doleful, watching us as we watched them.
And then came our final day. We continued our explorations, selecting Isla Tiburón for morning walks, followed by close encounters with the most important seabird nesting island in the Gulf of California, Isla San Pedro Mártir. The Phaethontidae took our attention here – red-billed tropicbirds. The son of Helios, Phaethon drove his father’s fiery chariot across the skies. Today, the tropicbirds were flying as if on fire.
Tiburón has a history of its own and perhaps a future for the Seri Indians. Their dedication to this sacred territory and its surrounding waters hopefully will result in the continuance of this unique cultural group. May they and their island live on in peace.
Peace for us was our final encounter - with sperm whales. Our ship moved quietly alongside a number of these deep-diving mammals as they replenished the oxygen in their blood and myoglobin. Sunset photographers were in their glory, as were those of us content simply to watch and listen. The warmth swelled in our hearts.
