Boca de Soledad
We awoke this morning to a calm sea, anxious for the day ahead. You look out on the unassuming waters, wondering just what kind of encounter awaits you. We all know they’re out there, but will they really introduce themselves? From the confines of our ship, they seem so elusive. It’s not until we venture out in the Zodiacs that we realize how close we are to these California gray whales; it’s not until we are this close that we can understand their lure. The whales become more than a cause, the focus of conservation efforts and fundraisers: the whales become a part of our world, our conscious and our hearts.
Just one glimpse of a cow-calf pair diving down several hundred feet from the Zodiac will take your breath away. Their deep gray coloring, covered with white barnacles and yellow-orange whale lice, surfaces through the water – two holes and the mist of an exhalation, followed by the ridges of a dorsal hump, and a strong kick of a fluke, leaving behind a slick oval of displaced water. These footprints become our road map as we track the great whales through their breeding grounds. The calves are between one and two months old now. It’s time to get them ready for their journey north, so the moms take them out for their daily exercises, from a morning stroll to a vigorous workout swimming against the current.
We witness this all from afar. We see blows off in the distance. Soon, we’re upon them and a cow-calf pair takes a break from its migration training. The calf splashes the water, waving a fin in the air, imploring us to stop and watch. Then he rolls over his mamma, dives down one side and back over again. Mamma just lollygags, allowing her young one to use her back as a playground. Every once in a while, the calf takes a break from playing to peek its head up just enough to flash us a closed-mouth grin. We respond with clicks of our cameras and grins wide enough to catch a gull. Playtime ends and the pair makes its exit, but not without saying a grand farewell. Mamma leads the way: she makes one final nod to us before diving down, swimming directly under our Zodiac. Her breadth seems to span almost the entire length of our boat. Time slows as she gracefully tucks her head and dives down, slowly raising and lowering her fluke just off our starboard side. Her calf mimics her movements, a little more playful with the fluke before he dives down and swims under us.
We don’t need to see anything else today, but it seems the whales here in Magdalena Bay have more to show us. The have welcomed us into their home, providing ample entertainment. We see them spy hopping, breeching, and snuggling up to our Zodiacs. We revel in the excitement of our experience, and celebrate our day with a Fiesta back on board. While local musicians liven up the lounge, a calmness hangs in the air outside the ship, interrupted only by the occasional spout of a California gray whale.
We awoke this morning to a calm sea, anxious for the day ahead. You look out on the unassuming waters, wondering just what kind of encounter awaits you. We all know they’re out there, but will they really introduce themselves? From the confines of our ship, they seem so elusive. It’s not until we venture out in the Zodiacs that we realize how close we are to these California gray whales; it’s not until we are this close that we can understand their lure. The whales become more than a cause, the focus of conservation efforts and fundraisers: the whales become a part of our world, our conscious and our hearts.
Just one glimpse of a cow-calf pair diving down several hundred feet from the Zodiac will take your breath away. Their deep gray coloring, covered with white barnacles and yellow-orange whale lice, surfaces through the water – two holes and the mist of an exhalation, followed by the ridges of a dorsal hump, and a strong kick of a fluke, leaving behind a slick oval of displaced water. These footprints become our road map as we track the great whales through their breeding grounds. The calves are between one and two months old now. It’s time to get them ready for their journey north, so the moms take them out for their daily exercises, from a morning stroll to a vigorous workout swimming against the current.
We witness this all from afar. We see blows off in the distance. Soon, we’re upon them and a cow-calf pair takes a break from its migration training. The calf splashes the water, waving a fin in the air, imploring us to stop and watch. Then he rolls over his mamma, dives down one side and back over again. Mamma just lollygags, allowing her young one to use her back as a playground. Every once in a while, the calf takes a break from playing to peek its head up just enough to flash us a closed-mouth grin. We respond with clicks of our cameras and grins wide enough to catch a gull. Playtime ends and the pair makes its exit, but not without saying a grand farewell. Mamma leads the way: she makes one final nod to us before diving down, swimming directly under our Zodiac. Her breadth seems to span almost the entire length of our boat. Time slows as she gracefully tucks her head and dives down, slowly raising and lowering her fluke just off our starboard side. Her calf mimics her movements, a little more playful with the fluke before he dives down and swims under us.
We don’t need to see anything else today, but it seems the whales here in Magdalena Bay have more to show us. The have welcomed us into their home, providing ample entertainment. We see them spy hopping, breeching, and snuggling up to our Zodiacs. We revel in the excitement of our experience, and celebrate our day with a Fiesta back on board. While local musicians liven up the lounge, a calmness hangs in the air outside the ship, interrupted only by the occasional spout of a California gray whale.
