This is a recording of humpback whales singing in a canyon whose walls bounce sound around like a concert hall. It seems that whales appreciate a venue with great acoustics too! Their operatic pyrotechnics are thrilling as they vibrate through my chilled dew-soaked body in the middle of the night floating on the Sea of Cortes. I’m back in Los Frailes this time in a different sailboat with a different captain. She’s a skipper who has been sailing her 45 ft Morgan ketch around the Sea of Cortes mostly solo for the past 4 years.
Actually we aren’t back in Los Frailes yet. It was our destination but that afternoon the boat’s diesel engine overheated and capitane Vicki shut her down immediately. We spend the day troubleshooting; replacing hoses, tightening screws and listening to every sound. As night creeps in Vicki declares work done for the day to be continued next morning. So we’re floating on the calm seas off the East Cape of Baja California Sur. Good time to drop the hydrophone. Whale voices rise up and envelope us. We are enthralled and calmed. “I’m turning in” Vicki heads down to the aft cabin. I find myself on night watch soaked, exhausted and in love with the undulating stars in the black sky.
Just above the eastern horizon Venus is bright. Orange Mars attends her on one side and dimmer Scorpio on the other. As I watch 2 shiny yellow spots emerge from the sea. They swell into horns and then become a bright bowl floating on the the water. It’s the crescent moon rising out of the ocean! The whales’ songs fade with the starlight as dawn brightens the sky.
When Vicki wakes up we discover that the engine shutdown was caused by flotsam and jetsam clogging up the raw water intake. It’s no big deal and a common problem.
What was clogging the water intake
After clearing the intake and hoses and tightening up the water maker belt which was making disturbing noises we get underway again and make it to Frailes to anchor and snooze. In the morning I take the kayak to paddle a surf landing on the beach and freedive along the NW shore. The constant wind and waves stir up the sandy bottom. Visibility is about 5 meters in the silty water. However it’s fun to follow a herd of parrot fish around in the surging surf.
We spend a couple of days in Frailes recovering our energy. scanning for whales and listening for whalesong. We see a few whales but not the busy nursery of Moms and calves that I had hoped to encounter. “let’s retrace our track to where we heard the whales and find them again” I suggest. We motor out along our track for a few hours but don’t hear anything. “I want to head back” Vicki says. I would like to stay and give it more time but it takes a lot of patience to be with whales. Mostly it’s long stretches of waiting. So we start to head north in the late afternoon. There’s a little bit of breeze. “I’m gonna raise up the main” Vicki says as she unties Rhiannon’s yellow sail cover. “I’ll leave the hydrophone down while we’re sailing” I say. We rig it off the stern and hear whalesong through my speaker. “I think it’s getting louder” I shout ” Is that a whale that just breached off our beam about 400meters?” We are sailing along Cabo Pulmo a couple of miles offshore as the sound amplifies. We zone out to healing sounds of whales singing and ocean waves washing over the hydrophone cable.
We are lucky. Onno is amazing, competent AND easy going!! This is a rare combination in a ship’s captain.
In fact, after Roger and Aashima come aboard the 4 of us spend a lot of time laughing …… and eating. Turns out Onno is a professional chef and Aashima is a great cook. I cook some but most of my contribution is washing dishes – especially in rough weather. I have never been seasick.
The good part: The first days we were anchored in Frailes I recorded the whales singing. They were close. “From the reverb of their voices I’ll bet they are singing near pinnacles” I say to the crew.
“Onno, can I look at your chart plotter? I want to check out the topography of the ocean bottom around here. Up north the whales like to sing in cathedral-like structures; pinnacles and canyons. I think they like the acoustics – they sound fabulous!”
“Aha! There’s a canyon just to the south of Los Frailes” I think we’ve found their concert hall” I record the whales singing on the 4 days we are anchored off Frailes. A few Humpback whales including a mother and calf acually swim past Lost Pearl. These recordings are still not the best because the background of shrimp and sand masks the whale sound when we are anchored so close to the shore. However you can hear more of the song.
Unfortunately this is the last recording I could make from Lost Pearl because we had to leave Los Frailes. Onno’s dinghy was stolen in La Cruz and he has to get to La Paz to pick up another one at the repair shop. Onno and I head out in Lost Pearl early in the morning to catch a calm weather window and motor north to Los Muertos. Roger and Aashima drive there to meet us. We count Olive Ridley sea turtles on the way there and a gorgeous young whale shark glowing in the sunlight slips by Lost Pearl just under the water’s surface. The Sea of Cortes is still magic even though much has been lost.
The view underwater from a whale shark’s tail; In the murky winter water a 20 ft long whale shark’s head disappears into the gloom
After 3 days the social and economic inequalities of Cabo San Lucas are getting to me. They remind me of how privileged I am as a Canadian tourist in this world where 1% of the population controls 99% of the wealth. I am happy to leave a few days later for the east cape.
Several stops and one flat tire later we are in Frailes driving out to the beach as the sand gets softer … and deeper.
“Better get out of this soft stuff while we can.” announces Roger as he contemplates the soft sand mixed with cobbles under the tires. He clambers back into the truck. “We’ll back out on our tracks coming in” I hop out of the camper to find our tracks and guide us out onto the harder pan.
I am relieved “Whew! Let’s look for the boat”. We scan the bay “Is that it?” A double masted wooden ketch is riding high on the 2 foot chop a few hundred meters off the beach. “She’s a beauty” Roger sighs. Lost Pearl is a 1978 45ft custom built Hardin ketch. Quite a few Hardins were built to customer specs at that time. The heavy wood and full keel weighs in at 17,000 pounds. For reference our Blue Parrot is 27ft with a fin keel and weighs in at <6,000 pounds.
“is that him, in the dinghy, heading into shore over there?” The wind is whipping up white caps cresting the chop. The beach ends in sand banks piled 3 meters high at the shore. Pickup trucks push pangas on trailers into the water down a bank that has been slightly levelled. Onno is steering the dinghy toward the panga launch area. He has to jump out of the dinghy and quickly yank it up the bank before the next wave sucks it back into the ocean. We run to help him pull the dinghy up and over the sand bank.
That night I sleep on Lost Pearl squeezed into 1/2 the V-berth amongst sails, empty buckets and fishing poles. But I love the motion of the bow riding over waves on this windy night and soon fall into a velvet sleep rocked by Mama Ocean.
The next day Roger leaves to pick up Aashima from La Paz. Onno and I organize the boat and extend his gopro selfie pole from the deck of Lost Pearl so I can drop my hydrophone into the Sea of Cortes for the first time. “I can hear them. They’re singing!” (Oh frabjous day!) I think it’s a different song from the Salish Sea song in 2020. I didn’t get a good enough recording this Fall.”
Unfortunately this still isn’t a great recording. Because Lost Pearl is anchored in shallow water close to the shore you can hear the sand hissing as it moves with the surging surf in waves towards the shore. There is also an intense snapping sound made by shrimp and barnacles as they feed.
Today is a special day. The sky is blue, the water calm, and we are out with 7 guests in a panga captained by Julian my favourite lanchero. Bonus: Shari has come along this trip to guide so Terry and I can concentrate on video and sound recording.
A mama and baby are approaching the panga “Over here” “Come over here” cry the excited guests. “Come in, yes Come right in” croons Terry in his best baby cooing baritone. Baby has been resting on Mom’s snout. He seems a little hesitant at first but then he slowly swims closer to the boat and sticks his snout into Terry’s palm. “Hello! Hello!” croons Terry, juggling the underwater video camera in one hand and an affectionate baby whale in the other. Shari is ecstatic. After 30 years her voice still carries the wild excitement and adoration she feels around her Grey whale friends. Shari and Terry overload the small POV camera microphone with their joyous exclamations. But who can fault them for that.“Ouzer, ouzer, ouzer!” What a Lovin’ Baby Whale!
In spite of logistical problems at Whale Camp all is forgotten out on the water when a whale swims over to your panga to shower your group with whale breath, make eye contact or just loll around the boat. When a Mom and baby show up the humans get a little giddy with excitement. We oooo and aahhh and coo and sing/talk to this adorable 4metre (12ft) infant. And if Mom allows and Baby wants to be petted, nuzzling a rubbery velvet snout into your hand a human feels blissed and blessed by all that is good in the universe.
Today was one of those blessed days. Curious whales, playful adolescents, benign Moms and cuddly babies visited our panga. They amused themselves (and us) by pushing the panga around with their snouts, finessing agile manouvers underneath it, showering fountains of water and allowing us to touch and pet them.
This baby loved to be petted and kept returning for more, enchanting the smitten humans with her cuddly nature and winning gaze.
Feb. 11: Guerrero Negro is obscured in clouds of dust as we pull up to the agricultural monitoring station outside the city. Wind whirls gritty sand into our faces. Dirt grinds between our teeth. The worker in charge of spraying the undercarriage of vehicles with herbicide sanitizer grins at us and doesn’t even attempt it in the gritty gale.
“Poor guy” we sympathize as we close the window after handing him 10 pesos for the undelivered treatment.
There is only one main road in Guerrero Negro, full of topes, the ubiquitous speed bumps that regulate traffic in Baja. Stop signs can be placed anywhere whithin 10 metres of the actual stop and attached to a nearby building way over to the side so vigilance and constant scanning is key.
“Shari is at the Baja Oasis, have you got the directions?” I ask Terry
“Look for the orange water tower” he says. “You can’t miss it.” And we didn’t miss it, or the turn off to the motel.
“Shari està aquí?” I query the young man who shows us where to park in the hotel compound.
“No està, hasta pronto” He replies along with a stream of mui rapido español of which I catch about 20%.
Shari shows up an hour later – and so do the guests leaving for Whale Camp the next day. We hug each other but barely have time to connect before other duties prevail. Shari greets the guests, helps them to park, find their rooms, wifi etc. Then we slowly make our way to the restaurant next door for dinner after a long hungry day. Yum.
Feb. 12: It isn’t the best sleep in a worn out queen size bed that rolls both of us into a heap in the sagging middle. But the shower is welcome. We do have a chance to visit the Pronghorn Antelope Sanctuary with the guests and get up close and personal with individuals of this endangered Peninsular Pronghorn species.
Shari’s husband has towed her trailer camper to the hotel where it is parked inside the hotel family’s compound. Unfortunately the electrical system isn’t connected properly so I work on fixing that as Terry does laundry and Shari tries to find out whether the Collective finally have all the permits they need to open the camp to visitors. It’s down to the wire but it’s Mexico and it’s politics and of course bureaucracy rules everywhere!
We have a little time with Shari to read over the guest lists and get briefed on our duties at the Whale Camp with the guests. The Camp is a 1½ hour boat ride across the wide, shallow lagoon. Shari informs us that we will be guiding at least one and possibly two 2hour trips out of the camp each day. We can’t wait to hang out with the Whales!
WW Blog: Powell River to Ojo de Liebre Jan 31 – Feb. 11, 2018
Highway From Hell
After deciding that nothing would induce us to drive the “Highway from Hell” in Northern Baja again, whales worked their magic and changed our minds. Grey whales to be precise – the Greys of Ojo De Liebre Laguna, located outside Guerrero Negro on the border of Baja norte and Baja Sur. I will spare you the details involved in 4 weeks of intense preparation for this 2018 Baja Expedition.
We made the decision in late December. Shari Bondy, Grey whale advocate and guide asked us if we would assist the Laguna Del Mar Fishermen’s Collective to offer whale watching ecotours in their off season. In return we could live in their “Whale Camp” on the edge of the Lagoon and be able to do lots of filming of whales and people interacting. It was an offer we couldn’t refuse.
Following is a brief synopsis of our trip to Ojo De Liebre from Powell River to open the story before the Grey whales steal every scene!
Jan. 31The last 3 weeks have been a whirlwind of preparation and communication. Repairs to our Mitsubishi Delica van and additions to our AudioVisual and camping gear required a few days in Vancouver to access equipment and expertise unavailable in Powell River.
Portable Solar Battery Charging System
“Do you think we really need the whole solar charging system?” I ponder out loud to Terry. “We’re going to be at Whale camp most of the time we’re in Baja and Shari said there’s plenty of solar power there to charge batteries.” We are determined to pare down the amount of stuff we are packing into our little Delica this trip. It’s still a tight fit though. We will be constantly moving everything around the van in order to pull out the bed so we can sleep in it.
“Some music for the road would be nice.” Terry muses, “I could have used some last year on that long drive home from East Cape”
So I spend a day copying song files from CDs to our tablet to plug into the Delica tuner. Unfortunately the factory installed radio is tuned to Japanese frequencies. This means that North American stations are never received clearly. Plus, the antenna is not grounded properly so the radio periodically emits ear splittingly high pitched shrieks!
“I think we’re going to need a new radio” I say to Terry. We purchase an after market USB/Bluetooth model in Vancouver which we plan to install ourselves – later on that.
Feb. 2 Repeating our strategy from 2017 we pull up to the Canada/US border at dusk.
The US border official takes a moment to register that Terry, in the left hand passenger seat, is not driving the right hand drive Delica. I flash him my most winning smile from the driver’s seat.
“Where are you going” he intones, taking in the 2 kayaks perched on top of the van.
“We’re going to Baja, Mexico” Terry informs him, handing him our passports.
“How long will you be in the United States?”
“4 or 5 days”
He gives the passports back to Terry. “OK”
And we’re through – yipee cayay!
We spend the night at a rest stop in Northern Washington state. It only takes an hour to shuffle all the stuff around in the van so we can pull out the bed.
Feb. 3 Drive, drive, drive. We barely stop the next day. Then we Bearly stop at the Black Bear Diner for dinner – good food, good choice. The moonlit night is clear and traffic is bearable so we motor on through Oregon, climb the passes into Northern California and finally stop to sleep in our favourite spot near Shasta caverns.
Temperatures are warm now – yipee cayay eh?
Feb. 4 We spend a lovely lazy morning watching birds and critter life at the Shasta Lake campground. “The lake is so low” we observe – drought conditions again after the previous year of plentiful precipitation. Dry, dry through the miles and miles and miles of agribusiness monoculture.
“How many liters of water does it take to grow 1 almond?” I wonder. “3 gallons I think” says Terry. The wind rips over flat, dry fields. “It’s sure easy to imagine a dust bowl here”.
At midnight we find some running water – the Kern River tumbling below a single lane winding road. We pull off into a pull-out and set up the bed.
“How much traffic could there be this late at night?” I fret as a few large trucks rattle by. Lots evidently.
“Ten times the population equals ten times the traffic” says Terry
It’s hard for a small town Canadian to get used to the relentless stream of vehicles.
Ear plugs save the night.
Feb. 5 We drive, drive, drive through the hot, hot, dry, dry. Seems to take forever to get to Joshua Tree National Park.
“Geez it’s HOT” I complain.
“You didn’t have to drive back from Baja to Powell River without air conditioning last year at the end of May” Terry reminds me.
Too many attempts to get the air conditioning working in the Delica have proved expensive and futile. We give up on a cooling system. Electrolytes and constant hydration becomes our prime directive. “Hmmm, thermometer reading 31°C outside, 34°C inside” I note. The windows are down, hot wind is humming in our ears – “Isn’t this the way our parents used to do it 100 years ago when we were kids?”
It’s lucky for us that we arrive at Joshua Tree around 5pm on a Monday.
“There’s still lots of room in the campgrounds.” smiles the park biologist, who also registers guests and sells souvenirs. “If you’d come anytime this past long weekend we would have been full. It gets crazy here. We had 3 million visitors last year! She adds “This is your last stop for water – there isn’t any in the campgrounds”
OK – lucky us. We slowly drive the road to the campsites, noting the dry, red, broken rocks. Soon broken rock becomes pillowy boulders nestled in piles and archways with surfaces sanded smooth by the scouring wind. “This Landscape was sculpted by nature, the most ingenious sculptor” I pronounce “and don’t those Joshua trees look like something out of Dr. Seuss?” The rock sculptures are ornamented with cactus gardens sprouting from dusty sands. We are in awe of our incredibly beautiful home – planet Earth.
Pillowy Boulders of Joshua Tree National Park
However, “lots of room” proves to be a little optimistic. Most campsites are occupied – usually by huge RVs sandwiched together. We pass 105 campsites………
Lots of Campsites Available!
Then we turn around and retrace our route, choosing a place where we can pitch our tent back from the road on a sandy hill. A grey bunny checks us out as we set up camp at sunset. We snuggle into our sleeping bags.
Feb 6 At 3am the moon disappears behind boulder walls revealing a sky full of stars. They flash in the cool, crisp air – inviting us for a wander through wonders by starlight.
Terry taking sad leave of Joshua Treeby starlight.
Morning brings a dilemma. “You have to walk the cactus trail!” the park biologist had enthused.
We are behind schedule but we can’t just drive past an intriguing trail without investigating. More good luck – a group of 3 tourists stops at the trail, led by a knowledgeable naturalist guide. We tag along to learn about the choyas and a bit about how the indigenous peoples used the plants in the area. Reluctantly we leave, vowing to return to this fascinating place.
It’s another long hot drive without AC through the interior of southern California. But there are moments of transcendant beauty in the coloured cliffs of the Box Canyon. The Salton Sea on the other hand holds no joy or possibility of a cooling swim. We sweat out the hot miles to the border at Calexico/Mexicali and cross around 3pm.
“Where do we get our FMMs stamped?” I scan the customs buildings as we drive through the border and get funneled into a 6 lane roundabout. Vehicles are whistling off in all directions. We pull over into a taxi stand to ponder. “Maybe over there” Of course it’s on the other side of the 6 moving lanes of traffic. We park, run the gauntlet of cars and stumble breathless into the tourism office.
Again we are lucky – the customs official, who doesn’t speak much English, manages to communicate to us that we have 2 FMMs for the same person – Terry!
“Unbelievable! I was sure I printed one for each of us.” Terry fumes. “I checked and double checked.”
“I thought I checked too” I angsted. We had made sure to get them online BEFORE we left home because last year it took us 2 days of driving around Ensenada to get them.
The sympatico hombre at the tourism office shrugs and calls in a young man who works in the office and speaks more english to assist us. He photocopies my FMM after I email it to him from our laptop. This only takes an hour to figure out and another run through the traffic gauntlet to the van. Ay Chihuahua! NOTE: We have never yet been asked for our FMMs while traveling anywhere in Baja.
The sun is setting as we arrive at Playa Del Sol on the Sea of Cortez. Wading in the warm shallow water by moonlight after another long hot day is such a relief. We made it!
“Hóla Mexico!”
Feb. 7 Ceviche and taco brunch in San Felipe is yummy. Provisioning is easy. We register for our Telcel accounts and head off to Bahia de Gonzaga to camp for a few nights.
“Hóla Mexico – Ay Carrumba!” The highway is typical for northern Baja – a jumble of broken ashphalt, huge potholes and no shoulders. We had been lulled into false security by the smooth fast highway between Mexicali and San Felipe where the expensive vacation homes of Baja Norte’s government and corporate poobahs reside. We take 2 hour driving watches to sustain our concentration on the bad roads.
Feb 8/9: Shari wants us to meet her in Guererro Negro on Feb 10. That’s on the Pacific Ocean side of the peninsula. But here on the Sea of Cortes we are seduced by turquoise water, sandy beaches and sunny 25°C temperatures – perfect weather for kayaking and snorkeling. So we carefully navigate the boulder sized pot holes that threaten to eat our tires arriving at Papa Fernandes Campground in time to set up our tent on the beach for the night.
“OOOO, COLD WATER!” I exclaim next morning as I wade out a few meters. “We’re definitely going to need our wet suits”
Blue and Yellow Chromis and Parrot Fish in Clearer Waters
We stuff the suits into our dry packs and launch our kayaks. The plan is to paddle to a good place to snorkel. Wave action from many windy days has stirred up the sand around shore. Even in the rocky area where we decide to snorkel visibility in the cool water is only around 1 metre – disappointing. Faded forms of damsel fish, parrot fish and sargeant majors tease and tantalize us like pale ghosts.
Feb. 10 Papa Fernandes hasn’t been bueno for kayaking, snorkeling or food but we have had the opportunity for a bit of rest before undertaking the onerous next leg of our road trip. 39 km of highway construction over broken rock, bedrock, loose sand and mountain passes stretches ahead of us – over 2 hours of driving at about 20km/hr with constant attention to find aroute which won’t blow a tire or break an axle.
“They’ve been working on that road between the coasts for 25 years and it may take another 25 at the rate it’s going.” warned one of our knowledgeable friends. He added “The construction workers appreciate a cold beer if you’ve got any when you go through”
We are hot, dusty and pretty tired before we feel the lift of pavement under our wheels again. We almost coast the rest of the way to the junction at Hwy 1 where there is a tiny campground run by a leathery old gaucho. He opens the gate for us and we find a spot near an old dry tree. We are a bit too early for the spring migration when the tree will bloom and come alive with birdsong.
gritty sand into our faces. Dirt grinds between our teeth. The worker in charge of spraying the undercarriage of vehicles with herbicide sanitizer grins at us and doesn’t even attempt it in the gritty gale.
endangered Peninsular Pronghorn species.
choice. The moonlit night is clear and traffic is bearable so we motor on through Oregon, climb the passes into Northern California and finally stop to sleep in our favourite spot near Shasta caverns.
“Hóla Mexico – Ay Carrumba!” The highway is typical for northern Baja – a jumble of broken ashphalt, huge potholes and no shoulders. We had been lulled into false security by the smooth fast highway between Mexicali and San Felipe where the expensive vacation homes of Baja Norte’s government and corporate poobahs reside. We take 2 hour driving watches to sustain our concentration on the bad roads.
