moving effortlessly through the water. Whales could be seen in the distance, breaching most of their bodies’ length out of the water’s calm surface or spy hopping just enough to see who was in the vicinity. Bottlenose dolphins appeared from nowhere, bow riding in thesurf stirred up by the pangas, much to the delight of all the passengers aboard.
Suddenly, the pangateer cut the throttle, slowing the boat to a quiet glide along the shimmering water. He and the naturalist were especially alert then. The whales that had seemed so distant a moment ago were now a mere fifty feet away. We all held our breath; this was what we’d been waiting for. Slowly, an enormous barnacle-covered gray whale mother made her way toward the panga, which was about half her length. She was followed by her shiny black calf, which, even though it was only a few months old, was already as long as the boat. The whales were only a few feet away, and we were at their mercy, hoping that the stories we’d been told about the friendly whales of Laguna San Ignacio were true, and that they wouldn’t upend our panga and spill us into the frigid waters of the lagoon.
“Lean over the side and splash a little water toward them with your fingertips if you want them to come closer,” the naturalist advised. There was no question that we wanted the whales to come closer. This was the moment we had dreamed of. The mother whale appeared to show her infant what to do next. She eased closer and closer to the boat, until her head rose up out of the water mere inches from the side of the panga. As she met our gaze, we reached out eagerly and began to stroke her scarred gray head, whispering soothing words to let her know that we, too, were friendly. The encounter continued for a minute or so, before she dived down and resurfaced several feet away on the other side of the boat.
Her calf, who was learning this behavior from his mother, inched closer to the boat, much to our delight, as we couldn’t wait to stroke his smooth black head. His body had not yet been invaded by the barnacles and sea lice that had attached themselves to his mother’s skin, nor had he suffered the injuries from run-ins with ships or other creatures that had left his mother with deep scars. We continued to pat every part of him that we could reach until his mother finally swam away and he followed after her. We had all heard about people who had managed to actually kiss a whale or rub the baleen plates in its mouth, which are used to filter its food, but for us on our first day in the lagoon, it was enough just to be able to touch the whales. It is not an overstatement to say that this demonstration of trust from creatures who have suffered so much over the centuries at the hands of whalers and other humans was a life-changing experience for me and all the other passengers aboard the tiny fishing boat.
The gray whales of Laguna San Ignacio were not always friendly. They could not afford to be. After the captains of European whaling ships discovered what a fertile hunting area these nursing grounds were, the waters of the lagoon ran red with the blood of slaughtered whales. Then the mother gray whales would attack the whaling ships ferociously in a futile attempt to save themselves and their calves. The whalers called them “hardheaded devil fish” and learned to fear them, even as they harpooned them by the hundreds, hunting them almost to extinction. Not until 1949 did the International Whaling Commission end this bloody practice, once again allowingmother gray whales to give birth to their calves in the peaceful sanctuary of the lagoon and to prepare them for the long migration north to the Bering Sea and beyond.
For decades after the hunting ended, gray whales and local fishermen maintained an uneasy truce, staying as far away from each other as possible. The story of how that all changed is legendary in Laguna San Ignacio. One day in 1972 two local fishermen were out in their panga
Suddenly, the pangateer cut the throttle, slowing the boat to a quiet glide along the shimmering water. He and the naturalist were especially alert then. The whales that had seemed so distant a moment ago were now a mere fifty feet away. We all held our breath; this was what we’d been waiting for. Slowly, an enormous barnacle-covered gray whale mother made her way toward the panga, which was about half her length. She was followed by her shiny black calf, which, even though it was only a few months old, was already as long as the boat. The whales were only a few feet away, and we were at their mercy, hoping that the stories we’d been told about the friendly whales of Laguna San Ignacio were true, and that they wouldn’t upend our panga and spill us into the frigid waters of the lagoon.
“Lean over the side and splash a little water toward them with your fingertips if you want them to come closer,” the naturalist advised. There was no question that we wanted the whales to come closer. This was the moment we had dreamed of. The mother whale appeared to show her infant what to do next. She eased closer and closer to the boat, until her head rose up out of the water mere inches from the side of the panga. As she met our gaze, we reached out eagerly and began to stroke her scarred gray head, whispering soothing words to let her know that we, too, were friendly. The encounter continued for a minute or so, before she dived down and resurfaced several feet away on the other side of the boat.
Her calf, who was learning this behavior from his mother, inched closer to the boat, much to our delight, as we couldn’t wait to stroke his smooth black head. His body had not yet been invaded by the barnacles and sea lice that had attached themselves to his mother’s skin, nor had he suffered the injuries from run-ins with ships or other creatures that had left his mother with deep scars. We continued to pat every part of him that we could reach until his mother finally swam away and he followed after her. We had all heard about people who had managed to actually kiss a whale or rub the baleen plates in its mouth, which are used to filter its food, but for us on our first day in the lagoon, it was enough just to be able to touch the whales. It is not an overstatement to say that this demonstration of trust from creatures who have suffered so much over the centuries at the hands of whalers and other humans was a life-changing experience for me and all the other passengers aboard the tiny fishing boat.
The gray whales of Laguna San Ignacio were not always friendly. They could not afford to be. After the captains of European whaling ships discovered what a fertile hunting area these nursing grounds were, the waters of the lagoon ran red with the blood of slaughtered whales. Then the mother gray whales would attack the whaling ships ferociously in a futile attempt to save themselves and their calves. The whalers called them “hardheaded devil fish” and learned to fear them, even as they harpooned them by the hundreds, hunting them almost to extinction. Not until 1949 did the International Whaling Commission end this bloody practice, once again allowingmother gray whales to give birth to their calves in the peaceful sanctuary of the lagoon and to prepare them for the long migration north to the Bering Sea and beyond.
For decades after the hunting ended, gray whales and local fishermen maintained an uneasy truce, staying as far away from each other as possible. The story of how that all changed is legendary in Laguna San Ignacio. One day in 1972 two local fishermen were out in their panga
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