Down To The Sea

#119 - Swimming underneath and alongside us, called “whale muggings” by old salts, we could have been mugged if they had chosen to.

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Down to the Sea

It was pleasant at first, riding the waves up and down and swaying to and fro. We were atop glassy, six, seven, and eight-foot swells that rolled underneath a deep blue sky that reaches the far horizons but for California at Monterey to the east.

And beautiful. But my stomach didn’t think so. And with my stomach in my throat, the beauty lost its edge.

The heady smell of the sea no longer seemed so.

I’d been on large bodies of water before and tossed about by wind and waves but this gentle up and down rocking motion put my stomach in unsettled mode.

I wanted to throw up. I was blue around the gills.

I tried to make myself throw up and get it over with, but it was not to be. It hung on and was at odds with all around me.

It was my first time being sick at sea.

There were times we were surrounded by whales, grays and humpbacks as far as I could tell. They were solo and in pods, or mobs as some say.

Swimming underneath and alongside us, called “whale muggings” by old salts, we could have been mugged if they had chosen to. Each one could have easily flipped us over to be either swamped or sunk. We were at their mercy had they been so inclined.

But they weren’t malicious, they seemed curious. The humpbacks looked at us with their cow-eye sized eyes. They looked too small on that massive body.

Then they are gone and reappear a hundred yards away, blowholes blowing.

There were dolphins and sea lions and harbor seals.

More than once they shared in a feeding frenzy. They appear all at once.

The ocean surface explodes as whales and dolphins join seals and sea lions, a thick mob in a chaotic chase. They look to be dancing as they feast on small fish and krill they have managed to herd into a group at the surface. Their trap.

A few minutes pass and then it is still again. The participants have disappeared but for the whales’ slow lumbering along.

A myriad of birds, gulls and such, pick up the scraps from the ravenous feast. The sea’s surface returns to smoothly rolling glassy swells.

My stomach is also rolling.

The dolphins reappear in the near distance, coming up for air, but the seals are gone, beyond the rise and fall of the ocean swells.

Otters and massive kelp beds and birds in uncountable numbers and species abound.

Most of the birds are ocean dwelling, or pelagic. Once these birds leave their birthing sites, they will only return to land for breeding and laying eggs. I’ve heard that some males will never touch land again. How odd it must feel for them to be on solid ground. Perhaps they get landsick.

Monterey Bay lies atop Monterey Canyon, a Grand Canyon-like deep canyon that runs almost a hundred miles east to west from the coastline. It was most likely an ancient river delta that carved the canyon.

It has moved northwest from further south in California on the Pacific Plate where it meets the North American Plate over millions of years due to movement along the San Andreas Fault.

The cold, nutrient rich waters well up from the depths making the bay a haven for mammals, fish, and birds. Part of the canyon is a protected conservation area, an under-water park.

Monterey Bay is a hot spot for snorkeling and scuba diving.

- I’ve been snorkeling once. On the north coast above Jenner at Stump Beach. It was November, cold and dreary, and my wet suit had leaks. There were thick kelp beds 10 and 15 feet tall in murky water that could hide a shark real easy. I was uncomfortable at best.

The abalone we got and cooked in butter on a beachside fire was the best tasting food I’ve ever eaten. -

Diving birds and birds that dive from the heights plunge spear like into the sea, resurfacing with their meal in beak.

There were groups of very small birds. They would rest, or feed for a while and then rise as one and fly some distance and settle again on the surface. They were not much bigger than hummingbirds, floating unconcerned alongside the passing behemoth whales. These birds appeared so fragile yet here they were, at home on the open ocean. I imagined them in raging storm-tossed winter storms. I found them fascinating.

The hours passed slow.

Finally, land appeared close at hand, and we entered the sheltering harbor. The large swells were reduced to breeze-blown wavelets. My stomach felt better immediately.

Upon tying up and stepping onto the dock, my legs were weak and shaking.

The hundred yards to my pickup was all it took to get me back to normal. The sharp, tangy smell of the sea now refreshingly filled my lungs.

But it will be a long time, if ever, before I take another 8-hour whale watching trip.

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