BAJA WHALE WATCHING:
NATURE'S GRAND PARADE
Story and photography
by Margaret & Eric Anderson

Some authorities say she navigates by direct vision and mention the whale's spy-hopping: After surveying her surroundings from just beneath the surface, she sticks her head out of the water vertically as if to get her bearings. Another theory suggests that she uses her memory -- after all, the brain of the gray whale developed 30 million years ago, long before that of primitive man. Other scientists maintain that the whale uses an elaborate sonar system to get where she's going. The migration instinct may now be inherited, but in the beginning, it probably was based on the reality that the whale's feeding ground in the far north became blocked with ice. Though whales barely feed on their long migration south, at the end of the journey is a warmer environment where calves born with little insulation have a better chance of survival.

During this great migration -- the trip spans 50 degrees of latitude -- the gray whales swim in pods of up to 16 members or, like the one up ahead, alone. The light fades. The whale waves its fluke as if to say farewell -- and disappears into the indigo deep.

Although whales are the main attraction on this particular trip, the circumnavigation of Baja by Sven-Olof Lindblad's company is a naturalist's delight. Lindblad, son of Lars-Eric, the famous adventurer, was himself an East African explorer and wildlife photographer before he formed his own company to bring the outdoors to Americans -- in comfort.

His naturalist is giving a talk to the passengers now, and it's obvious he loves whales.

"All life started in the sea," he says, "then some forms moved onto land. One warm-blooded animal decided there wasn't much future there. It went back to the sea and became the perfect advanced marine animal. Whales are in some respects our equals," he says, "level-pegging with us in terms of intellect, understanding and ability. But in other ways they are superior. They don't plot things, they don't build things -- they don't have hands to get them into trouble."

Baby whales, of course, can get into trouble in cold seas. As if sensing this, the pregnant females are the first to begin the migration. Yet on the second day of our trip, we see two whales 50 feet ahead of the ship. One is much smaller than the other; the larger whale uses its body to keep the smaller one close to the surface. It's a baby whale born on the migration! At times the youngster seems to struggle for air, but always the mother is there, providing support as they swim on and on to their destiny.

That sighting is barely over when another announcement sends passengers scampering upstairs. A school of about 300 dolphins has decided to put on an oceanarium show to equal any in the world of circus. An arena four times the size of a football field is a roiling mass of dancing dolphins. Like antelopes bonging across the African veldt, like skiers flashing down the side of a mountain, they leap across the ship's path, dozens in the air at any given moment.

It's as if Mother Nature has lifted a curtain on a great spectacle and the dolphins are there to warm up the audience. Half a dozen flash in front of the bow of the ship and start to ride its pressure wave. It seems they're saying, "You've seen the opening chorus of the great parade, now watch the acrobats." Those acrobats perform at times of their own pleasing, but our captain chooses when to send in the clowns -- the seals -- by bringing the ship to their beaches.