Bahia de San Ignacio
Camera lenses and sunglasses covered with whale snot! That’s when you know you have been really close to a cetacean. Early morning found our ship, the Sea Lion, dropping anchor at the mouth of Bahia de San Ignacio, one of the three major calving lagoons for the California gray whale.
As Zodiacs were dropped and readied for this morning’s exploration, a panga arrived with local Mexican guides, who would take us in search of whales. These men have grown up on the shores of San Ignacio, acting as seasonal guides and fulltime fishermen, and practically know the whales by their first names.
A short, splashy ride soon had us among the great leviathans. These were primarily mother-calf pairs; the males having done their biological duty were long gone…headed north to the Bering and Chuchi Seas for another summer of almost continuous feeding.
Since the 1970s, gray whales have occasionally exhibited a most peculiar activity for a large creature of the wild, something us anthropomorphic humans call “friendly behavior.” Some of the whales, often the juveniles, appear to be curious about our little boats, placing their head against the side pontoon or slowly gliding underneath or soaking us with a playful swish of the tail. A lucky few reach over the side and pet the gentle giants, which feel like a wet, rubber inner tube, except where barnacles and whale lice have attached themselves.
This so-called friendly behavior is even more puzzling when one considers that twice whalers nearly wiped out this species. It’s possible that a few of the oldest whales may remember those awful days. Yet, today, there is no sign of malice toward us humans. Do they know that we come in peace, armed only with cameras and not harpoons? I’d like to think so.
Camera lenses and sunglasses covered with whale snot! That’s when you know you have been really close to a cetacean. Early morning found our ship, the Sea Lion, dropping anchor at the mouth of Bahia de San Ignacio, one of the three major calving lagoons for the California gray whale.
As Zodiacs were dropped and readied for this morning’s exploration, a panga arrived with local Mexican guides, who would take us in search of whales. These men have grown up on the shores of San Ignacio, acting as seasonal guides and fulltime fishermen, and practically know the whales by their first names.
A short, splashy ride soon had us among the great leviathans. These were primarily mother-calf pairs; the males having done their biological duty were long gone…headed north to the Bering and Chuchi Seas for another summer of almost continuous feeding.
Since the 1970s, gray whales have occasionally exhibited a most peculiar activity for a large creature of the wild, something us anthropomorphic humans call “friendly behavior.” Some of the whales, often the juveniles, appear to be curious about our little boats, placing their head against the side pontoon or slowly gliding underneath or soaking us with a playful swish of the tail. A lucky few reach over the side and pet the gentle giants, which feel like a wet, rubber inner tube, except where barnacles and whale lice have attached themselves.
This so-called friendly behavior is even more puzzling when one considers that twice whalers nearly wiped out this species. It’s possible that a few of the oldest whales may remember those awful days. Yet, today, there is no sign of malice toward us humans. Do they know that we come in peace, armed only with cameras and not harpoons? I’d like to think so.
