Bahia San Gabriel, Isla Espiritu Santo
Our first evening aboard the National Geographic Sea Bird did not pass uneventfully. A westerly wind blew unabated throughout the night, stroking the Gulf of California’s waters into an even bed of white caps. After leaving the protected waters of La Paz’s inner harbor, our vessel fell into the rhythm of the sea, rolling in time with the chaotic play of wind upon water. Such a dance did not last long however. At some time during the night, our vessel anchored in Bahia San Gabriel on the western shore of Isla Espiritu Santo, protected from any long-fetch disturbance of sea.
The day dawned cool and breezy. The sky, a patchwork of wispy high cirrus and lower stratus clouds, was illuminated in dazzling shades of saffron, peach, burnt orange, and blood red by a rising Ra. By the time Expedition Leader Jen Martin’s mellifluous tones had gently coaxed us from our slumber, the undulating, rugged topography of Isla Espiritu Santo had been cast in a golden-brown glow by the light of the swelling sun.
Virtually the entire arc of Bahia San Gabriel is fringed by a swath of soft, almost snow-white sand – gateway to myriad explorative and leisure activities. Behind the beach is a low flat comprised of coralline and rocky sand, peppered with a variety of saline-tolerant flora. On the flat’s southern flank is a mangrove inlet. In keeping with the bounty of opportunities the region offered, our vessel’s fleet of kayaks was dispatched to the beach for all of us to take advantage of the spring tide. The present celestial arrangement (principally, a full moon), coupled with a knowledge of local tidal timings, allowed us access to the mangrove forest in the bay’s southeast quadrant.
During breakfast the crew had set up beach chairs, fresh water, and the kayaks. Following an obligatory kayak briefing, we launched, then fanned out along individual paths of discovery. The bulk of our lean, torpedo-shaped fleet aimed for a narrow portal on the mangrove forest’s northeastern side. The tide had already begun to fall, causing a free-flowing, low cascade rushing from the mangrove’s central lagoon. Negotiating this was a challenge. Strong, even strokes and a straight line of approach were necessary (in double kayaks coordinated efforts were mandatory or an aborted effort would result) to power through the onrushing current. Once inside, a tranquil realm of mangrove trees sprinkled with various species of avian fauna was our domain alone. Frigate birds, terns, and pelicans reposed on the branches of red and white mangrove trees. Some male frigates, clearly compelled by the ancient and genetically-grounded urge to mate, had inflated their flaming-red gular pouches in an effort to impress the nearby available females of their species.
With a falling tide, time was clearly against a long and languid reconnoiter within the lagoon and a mounting hazard – it was time to “shoot the bow,” to head back out the mangrove forest’s tiny portal. Kayak by kayak, one by one, we brought our bows in direct line with the gathering torrent and rode the descending tide’s energy out of the mangroves and back into the broad bay of San Gabriel.
Paddling back across the bay, it was evident the tide was dropping rapidly. Across the shallows of liquid turquoise we stroked with some haste, lest we be stranded on the flats. Towards the beach our efforts were more akin to polling than paddling.
Maximizing time and opportunities in a given area of the world on any given day is a Lindblad maxim. Shortly after beaching our kayaks we broke into walking groups for an exploration of Isla Espiritu Santo’s terrain. Saltbush and pickleweed dominated the flats. Mangroves (red, white, and a few black) abounded along the lagoon’s edges, while various species of cacti (cardon, sweet and sour pitaya, and cholla, among others) dominated the flanks of the surrounding hills. Returning to the shore it was obvious the beach real estate had expanded considerably. A long walk through the brilliantly-colored shallow water brought us to the Zodiacs. We had indeed made prudent use of the tide’s time.
Following a BBQ lunch on deck we boarded Zodiacs and made way to the bay’s northeastern corner for a date with the underwater world. Baja California boasts no coral reefs, save for one National Reserve just north of Bahia Los Frailes, Cabo Pulmo National Park (a region significantly south of us). However, select small sites within the Gulf of California harbor outcrops of stony, calcium carbonate-secreting corals. This afternoon we happened upon one. The coral heads were healthy, vibrant, and reasonably extensive just below the rocky shore. From a Zodiac platform comfortably anchored in the shallows we dropped overboard into coolish waters with decent visibility.
Sergeant-major damselfish, graybar grunts, king angelfish, Cortez rainbow wrasse, and even the unmistakable reef cornetfish were among many that swam amid the shallows. Numbers of species and of individuals were impressive. A bald, and seemingly lifeless, shoreline held a bounty of life below its edge. Plunging into a new and, for some, alien medium had opened the doors to a faunal richness of Baja not obvious to the uninitiated or cursorily observant. In one stroke of activity we had witnessed the reality that Baja California is not just an arid peninsula sparsely strewn with desert plants, but a thriving biosphere (an ecological zone if you will) encompassing not just land, but air and…water.
Our first evening aboard the National Geographic Sea Bird did not pass uneventfully. A westerly wind blew unabated throughout the night, stroking the Gulf of California’s waters into an even bed of white caps. After leaving the protected waters of La Paz’s inner harbor, our vessel fell into the rhythm of the sea, rolling in time with the chaotic play of wind upon water. Such a dance did not last long however. At some time during the night, our vessel anchored in Bahia San Gabriel on the western shore of Isla Espiritu Santo, protected from any long-fetch disturbance of sea.
The day dawned cool and breezy. The sky, a patchwork of wispy high cirrus and lower stratus clouds, was illuminated in dazzling shades of saffron, peach, burnt orange, and blood red by a rising Ra. By the time Expedition Leader Jen Martin’s mellifluous tones had gently coaxed us from our slumber, the undulating, rugged topography of Isla Espiritu Santo had been cast in a golden-brown glow by the light of the swelling sun.
Virtually the entire arc of Bahia San Gabriel is fringed by a swath of soft, almost snow-white sand – gateway to myriad explorative and leisure activities. Behind the beach is a low flat comprised of coralline and rocky sand, peppered with a variety of saline-tolerant flora. On the flat’s southern flank is a mangrove inlet. In keeping with the bounty of opportunities the region offered, our vessel’s fleet of kayaks was dispatched to the beach for all of us to take advantage of the spring tide. The present celestial arrangement (principally, a full moon), coupled with a knowledge of local tidal timings, allowed us access to the mangrove forest in the bay’s southeast quadrant.
During breakfast the crew had set up beach chairs, fresh water, and the kayaks. Following an obligatory kayak briefing, we launched, then fanned out along individual paths of discovery. The bulk of our lean, torpedo-shaped fleet aimed for a narrow portal on the mangrove forest’s northeastern side. The tide had already begun to fall, causing a free-flowing, low cascade rushing from the mangrove’s central lagoon. Negotiating this was a challenge. Strong, even strokes and a straight line of approach were necessary (in double kayaks coordinated efforts were mandatory or an aborted effort would result) to power through the onrushing current. Once inside, a tranquil realm of mangrove trees sprinkled with various species of avian fauna was our domain alone. Frigate birds, terns, and pelicans reposed on the branches of red and white mangrove trees. Some male frigates, clearly compelled by the ancient and genetically-grounded urge to mate, had inflated their flaming-red gular pouches in an effort to impress the nearby available females of their species.
With a falling tide, time was clearly against a long and languid reconnoiter within the lagoon and a mounting hazard – it was time to “shoot the bow,” to head back out the mangrove forest’s tiny portal. Kayak by kayak, one by one, we brought our bows in direct line with the gathering torrent and rode the descending tide’s energy out of the mangroves and back into the broad bay of San Gabriel.
Paddling back across the bay, it was evident the tide was dropping rapidly. Across the shallows of liquid turquoise we stroked with some haste, lest we be stranded on the flats. Towards the beach our efforts were more akin to polling than paddling.
Maximizing time and opportunities in a given area of the world on any given day is a Lindblad maxim. Shortly after beaching our kayaks we broke into walking groups for an exploration of Isla Espiritu Santo’s terrain. Saltbush and pickleweed dominated the flats. Mangroves (red, white, and a few black) abounded along the lagoon’s edges, while various species of cacti (cardon, sweet and sour pitaya, and cholla, among others) dominated the flanks of the surrounding hills. Returning to the shore it was obvious the beach real estate had expanded considerably. A long walk through the brilliantly-colored shallow water brought us to the Zodiacs. We had indeed made prudent use of the tide’s time.
Following a BBQ lunch on deck we boarded Zodiacs and made way to the bay’s northeastern corner for a date with the underwater world. Baja California boasts no coral reefs, save for one National Reserve just north of Bahia Los Frailes, Cabo Pulmo National Park (a region significantly south of us). However, select small sites within the Gulf of California harbor outcrops of stony, calcium carbonate-secreting corals. This afternoon we happened upon one. The coral heads were healthy, vibrant, and reasonably extensive just below the rocky shore. From a Zodiac platform comfortably anchored in the shallows we dropped overboard into coolish waters with decent visibility.
Sergeant-major damselfish, graybar grunts, king angelfish, Cortez rainbow wrasse, and even the unmistakable reef cornetfish were among many that swam amid the shallows. Numbers of species and of individuals were impressive. A bald, and seemingly lifeless, shoreline held a bounty of life below its edge. Plunging into a new and, for some, alien medium had opened the doors to a faunal richness of Baja not obvious to the uninitiated or cursorily observant. In one stroke of activity we had witnessed the reality that Baja California is not just an arid peninsula sparsely strewn with desert plants, but a thriving biosphere (an ecological zone if you will) encompassing not just land, but air and…water.
