Entries about birds

Far back in a desert arroyo, in the depths of a narrow slot canyon, there is an oasis that belongs to the birds and the bees.

This place is very near where rain water begins its brief journey through the desert. Not far away is the end of the canyon, the very top of a slot box canyon. It is possible to climb out, and to be out, is to be atop a short mountain overlooking a formidable country of crumbling rock formations and twisted canyons.

It begins like this: As rain hits the coastal mountains, gravity takes hold of the water molecules and sends them on their way down to the lowest point possible by the easiest route possible. In short, this is where rivers are born, though here in the desert they flow only very occasionally.

This slot canyon is narrow, maybe four feet wide at the bottom, a dry wash, strewn and choked with gravel, boulders, and giant stones wedged between the walls. They are immovable by man, but with time, water, and wind could move them. For me, they are an obstacle to an easy hike, but I prefer a challenge anyway. It’s as though nature has gouged into the rock with a knife, and is still in the process of polishing the edges of the cut.

It’s shady here for much of the day. Only during high noon does the sun slant its way down to the bottom. Even then, it doesn’t completely reach every nook and cranny of the rock. The lighting is contrasting: a slow and steady change from dark and light, black and white.

I’m perched on side of the slot canyon. I’m about thirty to forty feet up off of the canyon floor, sitting on a smooth rock covered in bird shit. I like my perch. It is a unique place to sit, and I know of only two other people who have sat here.

Next to me is a rounded bowl of smooth rock. At its base is a pool of brackish water perhaps twenty feet in diameter and at least two feet deep. It’s probably deeper from the force of the water falling that carved this place. It smells faintly of rocks, dust, bird shit and old water. A thirsty man would guzzle it down and relish the liquid, but I take pulls on my water bottle to quench my thirst.

This natural cistern is really a feast for the senses, and mine are in tune with the place. There is a warm desert breeze softly touching the side of my face. It’s warm, and I can feel the heat of the day immersed in it, even though I’m sitting comfortably in the cool shade. My views are of the far side of the rock canyon, and of the pool filled with floating bits of plants, and water insects. There are water striders mostly, whose light weight and surface tension of their feet allow them to walk on water. Some unfortunate bees have also landed in the water. When they beat their wings in a futile attempt to regain flight, narrow concentric circles emanate from them and radiate outward. Picture visible radio waves broadcasting from the a radio station. The surface of the water is black, except for the perfect reflection of the top of the canyon. I can only see a narrow thumb shaped slot of the top of the canyon, due to the black rock of the top of cave.

The birds and the bees make this pool special. The bees are everywhere, attracted to the fresh water. The place is filled with the constant thrum of lazy bees, buzzing and flying around seemingly aimlessly. In the book, “The Zoo Keeper’s Wife,” there is a passage which refers to the ‘rumba of the bees.’ I’ve always liked this line, and this place definitely was filled with the Rumba of the Bees.

Desert birds are also attracted to fresh water, and it wasn’t long before a flock of black chinned sparrows flittered down to take a drink. They flew in as a flock of five. They cautiously flew down, five feet at a time, eyeing me up, as they made their way to the water. Who was this intruder? I was someone to keep an eye on, but not someone to pass up a drink of water for. I kept still, with my camera ready, and it wasn’t long before they started drinking. The birds took turns drinking and watching. There is safety in numbers, even when drinking.

They flew off, and left me alone again with the bees. I was satisfied with my find, this was a good place to sit and spend the morning. I thanked the bees, and excused myself, climbing down the rock cliff back down to the dry wash of the arroyo.

Utah By The Sea

I was leaning on a rail on the stern of the ship looking at our destination with mix of excitement and fatigue. I had been up for 17 hours, having worked the night shift, and I was tired. My eyes felt like they had been sand burned on the backside of them and squeezed in a vice. However, I was looking at one of the more compelling landscapes I had seen here on the Baja Peninsula, and I was catching my 4th wind of the night. My day was definitely looking up.

When seven o’clock hit, I gave my partner a high five, signaling the end of my day, and I headed directly to my room to get ready for my adventure. I was ready to go in seconds, donning my quick dry tan shorts (which are see through when you get them wet, thanks, morons) an adventure shirt and my day pack. I went back upstairs and our boatswain (bo’sun) was ready to give me a ride to the beach, an hour earlier than anybody else.

This is one advantage of being a deckhand for this company: if you plan ahead and have your things together, you can find yourself all alone on a beautiful desert island taking in the early warm sunlight glinting off of the water. And that’s where I found myself on this morning.

I was dropped off a mile away from the ship, around a huge rock ampitheater and past several jutting rock fingers, and on a beautiful soft sand beach. As the zodiac motored away in the distance, I took stock of my surroundings. I had options, I could hang out by the beach and scramble around on the ledges and boulders as I made my way to my pick up location. Or I could hike up into the high country, following an arroyo far up into the mountains. I chose the former, because this beach was too irresistible. The sandstone rock ledges that jutted into the sea were too intriguing to pass up. I wanted to dive in from the rock. I love diving, though not from any height. I love the all or nothing feel of it. To fly, even briefly in a perfect arrow into cool refreshing clear water is a pastime I hope I never tire of. There is a moment in mid-flight when I wonder what the water temperature will be. It’s far too late to change course, and my destiny has already been sealed, but I like the fact I think of these things after it’s too late to change my momentum.

Punta Colorado is located on the northeast corner of Isla San Jose in the Sea of Cortez just off the east coast of Baja California Sur. It reminds me a lot of southeast Utah, where the red sandstone cliffs form cool rock statues and walls. The only difference is, Punta Colorado has an ocean at the base of its gorgeous cliffs.

It was hot. I shed my shirt, and hiked around in shorts, sandals and sun hat. I climbed down to a secluded sand beach and rolled around in the cool, rolling surf. I let the swell throw me around, rolling on my back and stomach right next to shore. It was so refreshing. I continued along, climbing on a rock shelf tip and took in the scene. The mountains dropped down to the sea. Rocky fingers led my eye to distant islands, and the sea was aqua-marine (of course) and crystal clear. I watched schools of fish swim around the submerged rocks. I drank some water, smiled, and looked for a suitable diving spot.

I set up my camera on my tripod, and tried timing some jumps. After seven tries, I still didn’t time out a perfect mid air dive, but I had fun trying. I finally gave up and just swam around. The day was glorious, and I seized it with all I had left.

The Final Footprints on Isla Magdalena

The ship was anchored near the Boca la Soledad at the extreme northern tip of the south island that makes up Isla Magdalena. Isla Magdalena is actually two separate long and skinny barrier islands that protect Magdalena Bay. A narrow and turbulent body of water separates the two islands and this entrance is called the Boca la Soledad. There are strong currents here where water from the bay flows out, and meets the rolling surf of the Pacific Ocean.

As usual, I was the first person to step ashore, and I was alone. I love being alone on deserted desert islands. It’s one of my goals to have dessert on a deserted desert island. Would that mean I would have been desserted on a deserted desert Island? Only Dr. Seuss could say. I digress. Sorry.

It was a cold day. The wind had been blowing hard for three days straight, and it reminded me of fall. If I was still in the states, I would’ve considered the weather almost summer like, but I was used to the summery weather of winter in Baja, and not ready to be cold yet.

I walked north along the shore into a grove of dead mangrove stumps. The bent and twisted trunks were bleached white with the constant sun and were sand blasted by the wind and sand. I switched to black and white and set down to capture some appealing scenes. This mangrove graveyard was very cool, the warped stumps and branches worked well with the patterned clouds in the sky.

I crawled through the mangroves and back to the beach. It was covered in a wide variety of appealing shells. The surf kept rolling high up on shore as a very thin carpet of sea water tumbling the thin shells around before letting them lie once again. I’m turning into a shell fanatic. I love looking for interesting designs and colors that I haven’t seen before, and I think they are quite beautiful. I enjoyed picking up some of the shiny pearled ones with intricate designs on them. I’m a bit like a raven, I suppose. “Oooh! Something shiny!”

The hard packed sand near the water was ruffled and patterned from the retreating surf. It was like the ocean was making a sand painting, blending black and brown in an elegant display of natural art.

The sky added its own design to the scene. It was beautiful azure blue, and a wide set of small puffy popcorn ball clouds floated along directly overhead. The contrast was magnificent, especially combined with the dynamic sand painting in front of me.

The strong currents of the sea caused the breaking waves to curl ashore in a power display of water. I watched a little blue heron look for its lunch in the shallow surf. It’s long twig like legs look like they might snap at any minute, but it held its own as the water surged around it. A flock of sanderlings ran out in the retreating surf to eat, and before the next wave would arrive, they would sprint back toward shore. They never were caught by the water, and I was impressed by their speed.

That was where I spent my afternoon, simply amazed at this magnificent landscape before me. I have a good sense of my landscapes, and some of them “speak “ to me more than others. I find myself hyper-sensitive to the subtleties of the scene, and I am truly living in the moment.

I set my camera down and sat down in the sand to take it all in. I breathed deeply, taking in all I could of the fresh ocean air. I knew I was making my last footprints on Isla Magdalena, and I knew I had made good ones. I didn’t plan it, but I had inadvertently saved the best for last. The Boca la Soledad is an amazing place. It was textural, sensual, and beautiful, and I will take it with me, stored in my memories, my journal, and my photographs.

On Pelicans
When considering the birds of the Baja Peninsula, the one that comes first to my mind is the Brown Pelican. They are quite prevalent and found all around the Gulf of California. The pelican is an interesting bird to watch, and I see these birds everyday. The pelican is a large bird, perhaps three feet long from head to foot with a long wingspan to accommodate such girth. The pelican has a brown goose like body, but beefed up and far bigger. Its neck and head are white compared to the brown of it’s body. Its bill is also quite imposing, and very pronounced and heavy. Picture a “dunce“ cap connected to the face of a bird. While swimming, they often have it tucked comfortably on its chest, probably for support of the monstrous thing.

Underneath its heavy bill is a thin expandable gullet like skin sack. Talk about a double chin, this thing is amazing. While feeding, the pelican snaps at a fish catching it and a lot of salt water in the sack, then it drains the water and eats the fish. I don’t know how much it can expand, but it looks as though they could slam a quart of water in about a second.

I love watching the pelican skim over the surface of the water. All birds try to conserve their energy, and the pelican will pump its wings for five strokes to give it lift up off the water, then arc its wings in glide position and soar over the water, slowly falling lower until it pumps again. This is how they cross the water, often in a single file group.

Its feeding behavior is quite impressive. It will fly above the water, anywhere from 3 feet up to 15 feet high. When it spots fish, it straightens its body into an arrow bill first diving fast and straight into the water bill first. The fish rarely stands a chance against such an attack. It is impressive to watch, and on my list of photographs I want to take.

On a darker note, this amazing feeding behavior is also its downfall. The big pelican doesn’t have eyelids or protection for its eyes. Every time it dives into the water, it does a little bit of damage to the eye. Over time, the bird goes blind. A blind pelican is more or less a dead pelican. It’s somewhat sad really, to watch the birds snapping at fish they can’t see.

What I’ve been contemplating lately are the piles of pelican bones I find in the rocks of the desert islands around the region. One of our naturalists informed me that the pelicans go for “one more dive.” Think about that. I don’t know if pelicans have much of a thought process, they might not ever know what they are doing; they are just doing what they’ve always done when they make that final dive. They might even think they are still over water, who knows? It’s a sad affair, but a good death.

A Magical Two Hours at Puerto Los Gatos

I woke up out of a sound sleep kind of groggy, but hungry and wondering where we were. To my delight and surprise, we had anchored at Puerto Los Gatos, a beautiful bay surrounded by the majestic Sierra de la Giganta mountain range that runs along the eastern side of the Baja Peninsula.

Our ship has visited this PLG before, but I had to work during that visit. My tongue was hanging out on that visit. I longed to hike around in the foothills and up to the sharp desert peaks of the surrounding mountains. It’s just so damn beautiful here. The mountains recede in layers to the distant horizon a different shade of purple gray with each jagged layer.

I grabbed my daypack that I keep handy, put on my sandals and caught the next shuttle to the shore. I didn’t have a lot of time, and I didn’t have a plan. I just started hiking, and figured to get up on a nearby ridge. Walking across the low areas around the creek was a cactus maze. I had to back track at each dead end, as the cactus and thorns were impassable. Finally, I reached the incline of the ridge, and started up. The ground opened up, and I was able to zigzag my way up to the top of the ridge. Success!

This was where the whole landscape opened up in a beautiful display of cacti and flowers that led to the distant rolling hills and eventually distant mountain peaks. It was breath taking, and one of the more magical hours I’ve had in 2011. Everywhere I turned, there was another dramatic view, and an easy composition to make with my camera. Puerto los Gatos had the most flowers in bloom of any place I’ve visited so far. This makes sense, as it has been the only place with running water. After awhile, I found my rhythm for photography waning, and I put my camera away. It was time to simply sit and take it all in. I let my senses take over, and I didn’t try to focus on anything, but to take it as a whole.

“Sometimes one has a feeling of fullness, of warm wholeness, wherein every sight and object and odor and experience seems to key into a gigantic whole.” John Steinbeck from “The Log From The Sea of Cortez.”

Hiking High Onto Isla Santa Catalina

I finally made it through ten days of night shift. My reward was 18 hours of freedom, and an afternoon at Isla de la Catalina. I’ve written about some of the virtues of Catalina before, about the giant barrel cactus, and the rattle less rattlesnake. This time I mostly want to show you more of the desert beauty that makes up this island. I decided I wanted to hike up high to a nearby high point, which would have elephante rock as my backdrop. Elephante is the elephant looking rock at the point of land near where we anchor. Not only is it very picturesque, but it also has great snorkeling to be had along its underwater ledge rock.

To my knowledge, I was the only person on the whole island. Everyone else had gone snorkeling, but I opted to go hiking instead. I was well ahead and away from the crowds, indeed, nobody else had the inclination to head up into the high country. I love the desert high country. The vistas to I saw were spectacular and I really enjoy climbing straight up the loose gravelly hillsides covered in cactus and shrubs.

My foresight was correct, and I had increasingly elevated views of elephante. I really wanted to show case some of the giant barrel cactus along with the elephant rock. To me, nothing would say Catalina better than this composition. I also was hoping to see the rattlesnake, but it remained unseen.

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The hike was pleasant, peaceful, and perfect. I could also add placid, peak ridden, and parrot free, but that’s just silly. Anyway, the views from the top of the highest point were gorgeous. Almost all of Isla Santa Catalina opened up. From my high point, I saw that a ridgeline led from it to a number of other high points. To the south, I could see the rugged peninsula. I couldn’t see the eastern end of the island, however. To do that, I would’ve had to climb up the high distant ridges, something I wanted to do, but didn’t have time for. As it was, I slipped and fell a few times as I scrambled down to a hidden cove for a refreshing swim in the surging sea. What a great way to end a hike. Too bad, I had to retrace my steps and climb back up the steep cactus covered ridge before slipping and stumbling back down to the drop off area. In the process, I managed to slice my toe open on a sharp rock, but oddly enough, there wasn’t any pain. It just bled a lot. Ah well. So it goes.

More Whale Sightings
Recently we’ve been getting into some great whale watching. Three days ago, I spent all morning watching humpback whales breeching and fin slapping the water. Whale watching is terrific pastime, especially when you are supposed to be working. The ship was fairly far south, down by the tip of the Baja Peninsula near a place called the “Gorda Banks.” I hadn’t seen humpbacks in a long time, and to see them launching themselves out of the water was a great reintroduction to these magnificent mammals. There were mobius rays going airborne as well, launching themselves completely out of the water with gusto.
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Yesterday, Gray whales surrounded the ship for most of the day. There were five different whale mom and calf pairs making feeding runs by the ship, and in their other favorite spots around upper Magdalena bay. The ship was anchored all day, and our naturalists were giving zodiac tours around the bay to see the whales. I was lucky enough to get aboard when I finished my shift, and I was excited to get to see the Grays from up close. We followed two sets of mother and calves, getting within twenty feet of the surfacing pair. We aren’t there to harass the whales; they were quite indifferent to our boat, which we kept at a safe distance away. What’s really cool about the Gray whale is their curiosity. Sometimes, the whales will approach one of the zodiacs, doing a spy hop to more or less check us out and see what we were. At times, they’ll even approach the boat, allowing people to touch them. Two of my friends were lucky enough to touch a whale yesterday, and I can imagine the experience would be another of my all time great life moments. It is completely dependant on the whale, if they want to come visit you, they will. There is nothing one can do to influence a whale to come close.

As it was, we watched whales up close for two hours. I’m looking forward to our next visit to “Mag bay” and perhaps, if the stars align, I’ll be able to meet a whale up close and personal.

Onward!