I've long heard stories from travelers who've stared straight into a baby gray whale's eye. The mere proximity to such massive newborns in their natural setting inspires a sort of babbling awe. Friends call the experience “transformational” and “life changing.”
MARIBETH MELLIN
Travelers reach out to gray whales in Laguna San Ignacio on the southern Pacific coast in Baja. March is the best time to see baby whales.
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Frankly, I wasn't sure I'd be as overwhelmingly impressed.
After all, I've snorkeled with dolphins, sea lions and whale sharks in wild seas. The thought of petting a whale while floating around a lagoon with boatloads of fellow adventurers seemed downright tame.
I was right and wrong. Mighty cetaceans are but a small part of the overall whale-watching experience at Laguna San Ignacio on southern Baja's rugged Pacific coast. During a three-night tour with San-Diego based Baja Expeditions last March (the prime time to play with baby whales), I was blown away by our campground's setting – stark and bleak as a moonscape with white and green tents flapping in chilly winds. Planets and stars glistened in black midnight skies. Beaches littered with driftwood, rocks and whale skeletons had a desolate beauty.
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INFORMATION
Baja Expeditions: (858) 581-3311 or bajaex.com
Baja School Friends: E-mail Dick White at papaorbear@sbcglobal.net
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Solar-heated showers, amazingly aroma-free outhouses and abundant hearty meals and chilled beer made the camp far less Spartan than it first appeared. Our group of 19, ages 8 to 80 (more or less), bonded at long communal dining tables in the main tent, where local naturalists, artists and an amazing fisherwoman described whale behavior and their community's lifestyle.
It's hard to believe people actually live at the edge of one of Baja's most remote lagoons. But Laguna San Ignacio's 300 or so year-round residents have established a community rich in tradition and hardscrabble self-sufficiency. Families live in modest cement block homes surrounded by ghostly mounds of sun-bleached white clamshells. Most rely on fishing or whale-watching tourism for their income, casting their nets for lobster in summer and piloting skiff-loads of foreigners from December to March.
They hoard fresh water in tanks and barrels and rely on the brisk winds to stir up electric currents. Yet the schools have credentialed teachers, computers and abundant learning tools and supplies. Thanks to a small group called Baja School Friends, classroom shelves are stacked high with crayons, notebooks, flash cards and microscopes.
I visited the school with a group of benefactors during my expedition. Dozens of shyly grinning children wearing matching green sweat shirts with the white Baja Friends logo greeted us with crayoned whale pictures. Dick White, who founded the group in 2001 during a whale-watching trip, rushed about making sure all classrooms had sufficient supplies. Other Baja Friends contributors, who'd never even been to Laguna San Ignacio, went misty-eyed as they accepted drawings from the kids and exchanged Spanish and English chatter.
Our visit ended far too quickly – the whales were calling. We rushed back to camp for a quick family-style lunch and then boarded our assigned skiffs for the afternoon lagoon tour.
Maybe this time I'd actually touch a baby whale, I thought yet again. During our three-night expedition nearly everyone in our group had gotten close and personal with a whale at least once. Anytime someone yelled “Whale!” it seemed our skiffs would surely overturn as everyone rushed to get close to a curious baby. I always seemed to be on the wrong side of a precariously tilting boat.
Gray whales the size of buses were extraordinarily friendly and seemed to be clowning around as they nudged the boats and blew geysers from their spouts, drenching outstretched arms. Typically, a 16-foot-long baby surfaced beside the boat, followed closely by its 40-ton mother. Both floated close enough to the boat for humans to rub their barnacled sides and even stretch out to kiss their skin. Sometimes the whales suddenly disappeared, only to reappear on the other side of the boat just as I'd made it through the jumble of bodies and arms on the first side.
Finally, when the cry arose, my fellow passengers pushed me to the boat's edge and held onto my ankles as I reached toward a gray mass beneath the water's surface. Suddenly, a huge mouth filled with what looked like sharp tiny teeth opened around my hand. I'm not sure exactly what I yelled at the moment, but I was quickly corrected by whale pros saying I'd encountered the whale's baleen. Whatever. I jerked my hand back, then reached out and stroked the baby's face. Like countless whale-watchers before me, I could swear it communicated a friendly greeting. Just like the young schoolchildren excited to meet friendly strangers, the whales seemed to thoroughly enjoy their human encounters.
The combined experiences might not have transformed my life, but they certainly left gushing much like my awe-struck friends.
Maribeth Mellin is the author of the “Unofficial Guide to Mexico's BestBeach Resorts” (Wiley/Menasha Ridge)
