6/14/04: Ending the Week Smiling
As we left Moss Landing Harbor, the fog seemed on the verge of dissipating. We had blue sky above and I predicted to our passengers that it shouldn’t be very long before we had a couple of miles of visibility.

When will I learn?

The fog became thicker and moister, blotting out everything past a quarter mile. We lost the bright blue canopy overhead. The air smelled wonderful, it was laced with a heavy odor of kelp and salt. But enjoyment of such things is momentary when faced with the dilemma of finding whales in such a reduced world. Not to mention the fact several of our passengers had started their days under less-than-ideal circumstances.

There was the family whose fifteen year old son couldn’t quite make it out of bed. Then, after a late departure for Moss Landing, they realized they’d left the camera behind. While buying their parking pass, a large vessel headed down the fairway and they were certain they’d missed the cruise.

One woman realized she’d misplaced her wallet, which can cause great anxiety. Her sister had dropped the party off; maybe it was in the car. I suggested she call her.

“I would, “ she shrugged, “but she has my telephone.”

So there we were, headed west. I explained on the P.A. that we’re a lot like the almond growers whose slogan used to be, “A can a week is all we ask.” In our situation, it’s two miles of visibility. If we have that, we can find whales.

After nearly an hour, the sky started to peek through. Then we could make out a distant, hazy horizon.
“Folks, we’re just about through this fog!” Steph announced. I grabbed my jacket, threw my binoculars around my neck and scampered up the ladder to the top of the bridge where my view grew to several miles in a matter of minutes.

We were near a favorite feeding area for whales; I was sure I’d spot them soon. I did and called out, “Blow! Blow! Another blow! All blue whales!“ just as the turbo kicked in. A solid wind line was coming our way from the west and with it, frothy whitecaps. This was starting to turn into one of those days when office work has its appeal.

But once the wind hit, it wasn’t as bad as we’d thought. Seas were decent and the whales were great. We had blue whales all around and calling out sightings became laughable as Steph said, “We’ve got one at 12 o’clock, another whale at 3 o’clock, two whales at four o’clock--make that 3 whales at 4 o’clock--and here comes another pair off our 11 o’clock!” Finally he summed up sightings by saying, “Folks, we’ve got whales everywhere.”

Whatever kind of rocky start our passengers had experienced earlier that morning, they were now completely crazy with excitement. One woman, who had to wear a neck brace because of debilitating arthritis, positioned herself at the back of the sun deck so she had good support and visibility. I called across to her and said, “You’ll be tired tonight, but this is sure worth it, hmm?“ She beamed with satisfaction.

I kept track of the surfacings from up top and several times, I heard the whales before seeing them. They were that close. When one turned our way, its massive head cleaving the water, I caught this shot. I love the way the whale seems to glow. I glanced down at the port rail to see numerous passengers were also in the right place at the right time. Excellent.

On the ride back in, four or five different people said they knew what my column would be about next week. I don’t think it ever occurred to them that I wouldn’t write about this trip, because it was special. They were right, it was, but perhaps not for the reasons they expected. Although the whale sightings were great, we have been enjoying such good fortune on most trips. What made the cruise so special was the way it started for our passengers, how they held out hope and how they responded to nature.

It’s a lucky person who goes home at the end of the work week smiling. I know of two such people; I’m one and I‘m married to the other. See you out there.

6/8/04: GRAY WHALES 1/MAKAH 0
For years, we have fought the Makah Indian gray whale hunt. Killing whales had nothing to do with restoring Makah pride, reducing alcoholism or ending domestic violence. But all of these claims and more were put forth as they worked the system.

Japan wanted to weaken our status as an anti-whaling nation, so it encouraged the tribe to exert their rights from the Treaty of 1855, which accorded them the right to whale “in common with the citizens of the United States.” The problem was, we quit whaling.

Through a tumultuous series of victories and setbacks, we always stayed true to the premise the time for whaling is over. Killing whales as a means of recapturing one’s past was doomed to fail. There is no going back, as Bruce Springsteen’s great song “Glory Days” so eloquently illustrated.

Today, the 9th Circuit Court of Appeals ruled to deny the U.S government and Makah Tribe's petition to rehear the case, known as Anderson v. Evans. The court also ruled that "no further petition for rehearing…will be accepted in this case." The defendants’ have only two options left to them: Live with the decision, or go to the Supreme Court.

This has been an emotional spring on the Monterey Bay as baby gray whales have struggled to survive its crossing and killer whales have worked to see they didn’t. The 9th Circuit Court of Appeals has made life a little easier for this ancient species.

Last week, we hosted a benefit whale watching cruise for our local, coastal conservation organization, Save Our Shores. As people called to make reservations, we fielded numerous questions about the chances of seeing orcas.

We explained that the gray whale migration has wound down and along with it, sightings of killer whales would decrease to perhaps one or two a month.
“So,” we summarized, “there’s a chance of seeing killer whales, but not a huge one.”

This explains why we saw a large pod of transient killer whales on that cruise! There were several adult males with their tall dorsal fins, quite a few females and at least one calf. It was a true gift, since windy conditions prevented us from ranging out where the blue whales feed and with orcas in the vicinity, humpbacks were scarce near shore.

We learned a lot about the blue whales, their feeding patterns and most notably, how they hear at a fascinating presentation at Seymour Marine Discovery Center last week. Seymour Center is part of Long Marine Lab at U.C.S.C. Don Croll of Long Marine Lab helped us make sense of a complicated subject by simplifying it.

Don studies how and why whales communicate. Based on where they are and what they’re doing, he tries to understand the meaning of their sounds. As an example, he described a human, holding an infant, saying, “Hey, baby.” The connotations of how these two words are uttered can be very different from a guy in a bar who says the same thing to a woman seated next to him. Sorting out what the whales might be saying is quite a job and it might not even be related to the present.

Steph seized on this idea: Perhaps when a blue whale male finds abundant food, he broadcasts the fact with his powerful voice, hoping to attract a female. But since it’s believed blue whales don’t mate here (no one knows where they mate), his intent isn’t necessarily to mate with her in our waters. It might be to plant the seed for a later date (no pun intended, but it is a pretty good one). When they run across each other down south, in what is most likely the mating season, he might say, “Hey, baby…remember all that krill I turned you onto up on the Monterey Bay?” It could loosen her up better than a margarita.

Seymour plays a big part in our never-ending search for the pieces to the puzzle out there on the water. Much of this comes from their evening presentations by the scientists at Long Marine Lab, who are intrinsically tied to the facility and highlighted throughout.

Aquariums and museums focus on habitats and creatures. Seymour is based on the science around those creatures. It houses a small aquarium with intriguing displays that are easy to grasp. Rather than just giving answers, they inspire visitors to think like a scientist and ask questions. Focusing on approaches such as Looking, Testing and Puzzling, they guide kids and adults in how science is done and encourage them to dive in.

Seymour is located at the north end of Santa Cruz. The entrance is worth the modest price of admission alone. First, there is the 93 foot long skeleton of Ms. Blue, a blue whale. She defines awesome. Brand new at the entrance to the facility is a life-sized fiberglass set of elephant seals, including the huge male with his pendulous proboscis, the smaller female and a weaner (pup). Have a picnic with them.

With annual membership, individuals and families get unlimited entrance to the Discovery Center as well as the evening presentations. Check out their web site: seymourcenter.ucsc.edu. It just may be the best deal around. Plus, if you have a friend who‘s interested in the science of marine life, you could work on your own version of, “Hey, Baby“ on the windswept cliffs. See you out there.

6/3/04: Whales, Dolphins & a Tow to Safety
Picture this one: You’re a kid from Von Renner Elementary School in Newman, which is out in the central valley. You’ve not only never seen a whale, you haven’t even seen the ocean yet. Then your teacher, Melinda Yorke, decides it’s time to change all that. On the Friday before Memorial Day Weekend, she brings a bus filled with kids and parents out to Moss Landing. It’s her luck to catch a beautiful spring day with light breezes and clear skies. But that is only the beginning.

A couple of miles to the west, the water boils with Risso’s dolphins and Pacific white-sided dolphins. Farther out still, a bunch of blue whales provide the huge thrills one might expect from the biggest animals on earth ever. You would go back to Newman a changed person, wouldn’t you? They did.

All of the postcards from Memorial Day Weekend 2004 featured a happy ending. Saturday dawned with a stiff breeze and accompanying choppy water, making for a slog west to the blues. Ah, but the rewards that waited for us were truly gems. There were so many blue whales that we lost count. We spent nearly two hours with them.

Just after I announced we’d stay for one more sequence of surfacings, a couple of blues turned our way. They cruised by close enough to take the breath away from those who weren’t squealing like little piggies (I was part of the latter).

Here is what one of our happy passengers had to say about the cruise:

Just a brief note to let you know how much we enjoyed our trip out with Heidi, Steph and the rest of the crew. It was so absolutely awesome to not only see that many whales, but to have the opportunity to see two of them that close!

Our cruise out with you is about all that either Carl or myself have talked about since returning to dry land! I can not encourage people enough to join you on your outings. You are so "whale friendly,” you don't chase them, nor do you crowd them. You realize that we are the visitors in their natural habitat and for that, I thank you so very much.

We took the precautions that you suggested on the web-site and even rented the wrist bands [Relief Bands]. By the end of the cruise, we were tired, but not ill at all.

We also took your suggestion and visited Phil's. We can see now why you enjoy it so much! They serve such large portions that Carl and I ordered an appetizer and dinner and shared them!

Heidi, Steph, everyone...if you EVER need a spokesperson--I'll be front and center! (As we departed the dock, the [Elkhorn Slough Safari] was about to depart and many had seen the boat come in. As comments were made, we shared our experience with the onlookers!)

So-if you haven't noticed, WE LOVED IT OUT THERE WITH YOU FOLKS!!
We will return again,
Erica Doucette

Cool, huh?

On Sunday, we angled down by Marina Beach where humpbacks were feeding so close to shore, they were practically wading. Schooling bait fish were being gobbled up by tight packs of sea lions and several whales, making for an exciting adventure. I missed three of the most incredible photographs of lunge-feeding, but a lot of our passengers didn't and they were jazzed.

We had a lot of Aquarium members aboard and they had taken advantage of our discount for members, so we went over to Monterey and showed them the aquarium from the water side. As we left, Acting Captain Barry Perkins of the Monterey Fire Department called us on the VHF radio for a chat from his command post up the hill.

We first met Barry when we dove into a rescue of kids in kayaks several years ago. Barry was the Incident Commander and he won our hearts with his brilliant handling of what had the potential of being a real disaster. We don't get nearly enough chances to visit with him, but find there is some sort of a cosmic connection between us, him and marine rescues. It seems we communicate after a long spell of not having spoken to each other and then find ourselves involved in another rescue. The next day proved this once again:

I drove the trip Monday. As I steered Princess of Whales out of the harbor and into the oncoming swell, brisk wind and approaching fog, I kept thinking how a long motorcycle ride would have been a great way to spend the holiday. But within a few miles, the fog burned off and we found scattered Risso’s dolphins. One breached over and over. You can see it on our Dolphins Gallery.

Then huge slashes of water farther out cued us to a couple of speed demon blue whales. They didn’t appear to be feeding, but were having a grand romp and they led us on a merry chase out there. I called one of the Monterey whale watching boats and reported our find.

When three boats closed in, we eased away and headed toward Marina to check for near shore sightings. We were rewarded when Steph spotted a humpback cow and calf we‘ve seen regularly this spring. That baby was going off! It slapped its tail, rolled in circles and threw its pectoral flippers out of the water with a flourish worthy of a ballerina, albeit a rather large, chunky and overly dramatic one.

Several rapid breaches--complete with spinning exits from the water and cannonball landings--completed the performance. As we headed for Moss Landing Harbor, some of our frequent fliers said they had seen it all.

That was when Moss Landing Harbor Patrol called to report a vessel in distress a few miles outside of the harbor. A family with two young kids was aboard. The water was too rough for the harbor’s small patrol boats. The Coast Guard was over an hour away and Vessel Assist, a private, small boat towing company, was equally out of range. Could we tow the boat in?

Steph called the boat and determined that while they were drifting toward shore, they were not in immediate danger. He had them put life jackets on and said we’d be there soon. He rigged a tow line off our stern and attached it to a life ring.

Taking a vessel in tow is a tricky job. A small boat pitches a lot in rough seas. I needed to get close to it without ramming it. Steph would throw the life ring with the tow line and the boater would take that line forward on a pitching, slippery deck to the bow cleat.

I pulled in windward of the vessel and then drifted down near it. Steph called out distances on the radio so I could stay just ahead of the boat. He threw the ring toward them. Once the line was secure, I had Steph check it with binoculars. To lose the line as we were crossing the bar could be disastrous.

With enough tow line between us, the little boat rode along fairly comfortably, but I’m sure everyone breathed a bit easier once we glided into the calm waters of our snug harbor. I made the turn into our channel, then eased to a stop so the harbor patrol could pick up the tow and take it to their slip.

At our dock, passengers stepped off the boat energized. They had seen stupendous whales and dolphins. Even the folks who thought they’d seen it all were in for a surprise and it was a good one, with a happy outcome. Okay, I’ll admit it. Maybe I wasn’t meant to have had a long motorcycle ride that day after all. See you out there.

5/25/04: Blues, Puffins & Cool Kids
Our tug was slicing through Prince William Sound in Alaska when I first spotted it. It flitted this way and that, but I could tell it was a Tufted Puffin, one of the small black birds with the bright orange beaks and dramatic head coloration. I tried to get a picture, but all I got was a blur and then the bird was gone. We have seen Tufted Puffins down here, but their level of cooperation was about the same as I’d noted in Alaska.

Last week, we found ourselves in a scene straight out of summer on Monterey Bay. On several of our cruises, we were surrounded by blue whales. While these enormous creatures are found here midsummer through fall, to have them arrive in big numbers in the spring is a first.

As I maneuvered Princess of Whales so that our passengers could continue to feast on the great sightings, I spied two birds sitting on the surface nearby. At just that moment, I glanced at Sergio Gomez, one of our passengers who had joined me on the bridge. He had turned toward me, his eyes opened wide. Simultaneously, we blurted out, “PUFFINS!”

Rather than continuing toward the three blue whales, I slowed the boat and eased to the right, announcing to the passengers that we had a couple of tufted puffins nearby. Both were males in breeding plumage, something we have had a lot of fun with since (“Hey,” one says to the other, “where are all the chicks the bird book promised?”). The birds didn’t bolt, as I suspected they might. Instead, they allowed us to circle them slowly so we could admire their intricate markings, bold beaks and fantastic profiles (very regal).

Some of our passengers are really into birds, but even those who weren’t got into the moment. One might argue they had little choice as the whales worked farther one direction and I circled the puffins yet again, but it helped knowing this was not a common sight.

The blue whales certainly took the cake for the biggest unusual sighting. They came by close enough that even people with single use cameras got great shots, including an outstanding group of kids from the Salinas Police Activities League (P.A.L.). I was so impressed with both the kids and their leaders.

Kids from Salinas get a lot of bad press these days, but you need to know it also has shining stars and this group is one of the brightest. Credit goes in no small part to their leaders, because they were just like the kids: sharp, engaged and wonderful shipmates.

The kids were into the experience, loved taking a turn at the wheel and they blew us away with their math knowledge--especially Julian. They were easily one of the best-behaved groups we have hosted, but they were so much more. It‘s quite a kick to have kids on board who are interested in what they see out there, from the massive whales to the puffins to little jellies called Velella velella, or “By the Wind Sailors.”

We had another outstanding kids’ organization on Princess of Whales that day. They were with the Santa Clara Lyceum and while they shared the P.A.L. kid's enthusiasm and politeness, these kids were flanked by parents who are actively involved in their children’s lives. They can afford enriching events like whale watching. Some of P.A.L.’s kids don’t enjoy such luxuries at home, making it that much more important that we bridge the gap.

The Salinas P.A.L. is privately funded and funding is scarce. Steph and I have decided to sponsor some events for them. If you would like to support a program that is ultra productive, consider calling to see how you might help out.

Brandon Hill runs the program and you can talk over ideas by calling him at 831.970.9006. Or email him: brandonh@salinaspal.com. To make a donation, go to www.salinaspal.com/donations.html. Your contribution of money, time, products or services can help make a real difference for real kids, real close to home.

Need a little more encouragement? Consider the Salinas P.A.L. motto: “Filling playgrounds, not prisons.” Consider the cost of keeping someone in prison. Compare this with the pittance of keeping someone OUT of prison. Money well spent. See you out there.

5/17/04: The One That Got Away
The Mother's Day orca attack on gray whales was so brutally vivid, I swore we would avoid another. The mother gray whale and her calf were embattled for hours and we were convinced the baby didn't have a chance.

But the grays had steadily made their way toward Moss Landing after we pulled away, and we heard later that once the grays got into shallow water, the orcas gave up and left. Emails flew between our passengers, our readers and us. Those who had been on the cruise were both glad to have been there and saddened at the sight. Women may not have been affected more, but they certainly spoke more about their reactions. For most, it was a mother's reaction to her offspring under attack, complete with tears and a heavy heart.

Male vs. female reactions took on an added twist when an Internet journal was posted by a fellow who was on another company's cruise later in the day. They witnessed the last ditch escape of the grays in 60 feet of water. Apparently that was too shallow for the orcas' comfort level, so they turned and swam away decisively. Everyone wanted to believe the baby had survived, but its chances weren't great. It had sustained hours of ramming and other assault methods by the killer whales.

The journal was interesting and included great photos, but had several of the flaws typical of an amateur's composition. The author described the orcas biting the grays' "fins and flippers," but gray whales don't have fins. Although pectoral flippers are sometimes referred to as fins, whales aren't fish and the only true fin on a whale is the dorsal fin. Grays have no dorsal fin. That was a small error, but the author's gender showed loud and clear in his description of the duties of each member of the pod.

While he noted that the large male played around at the periphery of the attack and took no active role, the author summarized it as "supervising" the hunt. Even worse, for someone describing how this matriarchal or matrilineal society functions, he referred to the females in the pod as the male's "harem." As my mom would have said, "Your Freudian slip is showing."

Orca females are fierce hunters and they run the show. The males in their pod are most likely their offspring, but it's believed those males only mate with females outside their pod when they gather with others, which protects them from inbreeding. Some males are solitary.

On Wednesday, we ran our whale watching cruise on Princess of Whales. Just outside Moss Landing Harbor, we saw a gray whale cow and calf in shallow water. The calf surfaced oddly and both whales' blows were faint and wispy. Thinking they might be the Mother's Day pair, we gave them an extra wide berth and instead visited with two humpback whales.

Nancy Black reported killer whales to the north, so we headed that way, only to find another gray whale attack had occurred and the calf was already dead. Nancy was fairly certain this wasn't the calf from Sunday.

On the following Sunday, we were joined by the Rothafels, dear people who live on the coast north of Santa Cruz. They watch the grays go by and often email us with sightings. They feel a special kinship with the calves and I knew Roxanne couldn't bear to witness an attack. I promised her there was no way we'd stay if we came upon another orca run-in with grays. So off we went and soon, Nancy announced killer whales to the west.

I steered Princess of Whales that way, but as we neared the area, Nancy reported they hadn't seen the orcas in quite a while. Steph spotted some gray whales north of us and when we saw a slash of white water erupt near them, I just groaned. There was a cow and calf pair and this was another attack. We alerted Nancy and broke the news to our passengers.

We were in the middle of the bay. The orcas systematically charged, rammed, swam up on top of the baby gray and did their best to separate it from its frantically protective mother. Although I had said we'd spend no more than fifteen minutes with them if a hunt was under way, I analyzed the situation and thought I saw a glimmer of hope.

When the grays surfaced to breathe, the attack escalated and the whales had to waste a lot of energy fighting back. Over and over, the baby thrust itself out of the water onto its mother's back. Often both grays turned upside down, protecting their more vulnerable bellies from ramming from underneath. Then they would sound and beat feet, okay, flukes, making a beeline for the coast near Sunset Beach. Could they be attempting another shallow water escape?

In addition, whereas the Mother's Day attack involved about 15 killer whales, there were only three this time. Nancy identified them as Star Fin, a male with a star on his tall dorsal fin; his mother, who is known as #50; and another of her offspring, a juvenile. All three participated in this hunt. Nancy was trying to drive her boat and take pictures, but we carried on a conversation as we flanked the traveling attack scene. I asked if she agreed with my conjectures; did the baby gray have a chance since they were making good progress toward the coast between surfacings and since there were only 3 orcas? Yes!

So I told our passengers and the next three hours flew by in a series of underwater rushes punctuated by surfacings and attacks. Once we were in water less than 100 feet, I called off depth sounder readings. I have never seen people so engaged; it was truly a life and death situation.

The attacks had lightened by the time we neared 70 feet and I wondered if the grays were home free. But that was when the orcas stepped up their efforts, often careening out of the water after charging into the whales. Starfin frequently leapt on top of the pair head first and attempted to wriggle between them. It worked. At one point, the baby was not only forced from its mother, it was rolled over and over by the killer whales like a log. Roxanne, who was on the bridge, ran to the opposite side of the boat, exclaiming, "Oh, no! I can't watch this!"

Blood appeared in the water many times, but we couldn't see a serious exterior wound. Sixty feet. Fifty five feet. "Don't give up!" our passengers called out. "You're almost there!" By the time they were in less than 40 feet of water, the attack was still going on and we had to go home. I felt hopeful; we all did. But we wanted to know for sure if "our calf" survived. We wished them well and headed for Moss Landing.

While still underway, Steph called Nancy to ask if the grays made it into shallow enough water to be safe from the orcas. They had! She said they got into 20 feet of water and "disappeared." Of course, they didn't really disappear. What they did was slow way down, breathe very lightly and barely surface to breathe. We call it snorkeling. I announced their fate on the PA and a thrilled cheer arose.

Taking stock, I figured the baby had a far better chance than the Mother's Day calf. The attack had been shorter, there were fewer orcas inflicting damage and the grays were in a serene area of the bay where they could recoup. While the carcass of another gray whale calf is lodged in a bed of kelp near the area where the pair escaped, this calf may survive its perilous journey north. Nature. Some days it is simply glorious. See you out there.
[A woman who was on the beach very close to where the grays "disappeared," emailed later to tell me she had watched in fascination, wondering had whales always come so close and she'd missed them, or was this as unusual as she thought. She read this update after it was forwarded to her by a friend.]

5/10/04: The Mother's Day Feast
Mother’s Day is when mothers and their offspring get together. I think the number one activity they engage in is sharing a meal. Our passengers aboard Princess of Whales included two--and even three--generations of mothers and the day dawned sunny and bright.

We’d seen killer whales on our cruise the day before, including a large male known as A24, from one of the transient pods that frequents the bay looking for marine mammals to feed on. I wondered if we might see them on Sunday, thinking they’d make quite a Mother’s Day present. People go nuts when they see orcas.

Just a few minutes out of the harbor, we got the call there was a large pod of them five miles due west, so off we went. When I spotted the males’ tall dorsal fins in my binoculars, I excitedly announced it. A collective, “Oooooo!” rose from our passengers, who grabbed cameras and video cams and lined the rails.

But as we got closer, I noted the orcas weren’t traveling. There was an occasional, large splash. These signs could only mean one thing. They were hunting. And they had found what they were looking for.

A gray whale cow and calf were in the middle of the killer whales. The baby was their intended prey. In years of work on the Monterey Bay, this is something I had gratefully missed. When asked by Dick Russell in Eye of the Whale, whether I had seen an orca attack on gray whales, I’m quoted saying, “No, and I never want to.“

The killer whales hunted like wolves, using their greater numbers to attack from all sides. The mother and baby stayed close together, while the dominant female orcas worked to separate them. It might take hours, but once they accomplished this, the kill would occur; orcas rarely swim away from an attack.

The cow slashed her flukes at them. The baby darted onto her back for protection, but it slid down into the water. The baby seemed to jump upward, because the orcas were ramming it from below. They would swim up on top of the baby, forcing it under, trying to drown it. The mother would roll over on her back and the baby would swim onto her belly, but it couldn't hold there. It appeared as though the end of this story had already been written.

Something happened to me at Neah Bay, fighting the Makah Indian gray whale hunt. Gray whales had already gotten into my head and heart, but up there, especially at night as the storms howled, they enveloped my psyche. I dreamed of being a hunted whale, the impact of a harpoon and bullets. They tore into me and ripped me apart just like they would the young gray whale killed in 1998.

I know this is a sensitive area that lies deep within and had just touched the red-hot cord to it a few days earlier. In a letter, I said we had named our company Sanctuary Cruises because, “…that little gray whale's brains were blown out by an elephant gun in the Olympic National Marine Sanctuary and we felt people need to know that sanctuaries don‘t mean total protection. Only educated, involved people mean any protection.” As I read the letter to Steph, I choked up. This, after six years.

But the Makah hunt was unnatural and this was nature. This is what orcas do. It’s how they survive. Even so, I tried taking photographs and found I just couldn’t do it. All I could think of was the sheer terror the cow and calf felt as they fought. And then I had an overwhelming urge that I never could have considered at Neah Bay. I wished I had a way to kill that baby, to put it out of its misery, to end its lost battle sooner.

We didn’t stay for the end, but instead made our way to the south where we found some happy humpbacks. They blew their stinky breath and everyone giggled. They showed their fabulous pectoral flippers and grand flukes. They even lunged out of the water as they fed close by. They were a powerful antidote to what we’d watched earlier.

As I poured the mothers mimosas in festive, brilliantly-colored stemware, we commiserated over what we had seen earlier. Most said they were glad to have been there and that it was raw and exciting, while devastating.

One told me, “That was the saddest thing I have ever seen.” I nodded, adding, “Want to know the second saddest thing?” They leaned closer. “That I can’t drink until we get back to the dock.” They laughed.

A drink would not have eased my heavy heart, but there was a glimmer of hope as we headed back to the harbor. A call from one of the boats watching the attack informed us the cow and calf had struggled all the way to shallow water near the entrance to our harbor and that's where the orcas broke off. Forget Sea World's wading pools that house killer whales; by nature, they don't like shallow water Steph and I went home and I put myself to bed. Curled up on the bed in our sun-drenched bedroom, the struggle on Monterey Bay raged in my dreams. I awoke to ruminate over the fact this was Mother’s Day. While most mothers were sharing meals with their offspring, one had been fighting to keep hers from being consumed. Nature. Some days, I can just do without it. See you out there.

5/4/04: Girish Did It Again
Girish Hullatti is 3 for 3. Last year, he picked a day to go whale watching with us during blue whale season. While we regularly see these enormous, fascinating marine mammals from midsummer through late fall, Girish chose the one day when they were lunging from the water with uncharacteristic abandon.

A photo of one of those whales, taken that day by first-time whale watcher, but avid photographer, Stig Thormodsrud, was so extraordinary, I posted it on our web site. A fellow from World Book Encyclopedia saw it and contacted me for help in tracking down Stig for possible publication. It was that kind of day, fantastic heaped on top of remarkable.

Then in January, Girish came out for gray whales. We had a day filled with migrating grays in every direction and some truly thrilling “drive-bys,” where the whales decided to take a closer look at us. A lot of people had Girish to thank for both memorable days, because he had invited them to join him through a Stanford University list serve. Next, he hoped to have a similar experience with humpbacks, so I encouraged him to read my updates on our web site to pick a lively time.

May rocks for humpbacks, so on a recent Sunday, Girish and his entourage arrived with the same high expectations as before. He delivered a bouquet of fresh roses to me as he did last winter. What other job on the water brings such delightful benefits? I’m pretty sure I never got roses working on tug boats.

Off we went for the day’s adventure. Had we tried to get ten miles out of Moss Landing, we’d have been disappointed. We picked up our first couple of humpback whales about six miles to the south and they escorted us back to the north, punctuating our trip with numerous tandem flukings when both whales sounded at the same time. Then three more whales appeared nearby.

Photographers on board--many with top of the line cameras and lenses I can only dream of having--got shot after shot of the graceful animals. Jim Herd is one of them; this is his shot. He discovered what I have over the years, that every frame--no matter how close to the previous one--shows something different.

“The same fluke an eighth of a second later looks like it's from a different whale,” Jim said. “I don't know why, maybe light reflected differently.” Indeed. Subtle nuances of light and angle can alter a whale’s tail so that it bears little resemblance to the shot before.

Girish is a generous person. He moved about the boat, glorying in the fun and excitement his friends were sharing with him. He smiled the entire cruise, especially when the whales surfaced behind us, then came our way and graced us with yet another round of incredible photo opportunities strung together like perfect pearls.

It wasn’t until we’d docked and said good-bye to everyone that I realized Girish doesn’t take pictures. He seems to have no need to corral the experience onto paper to preserve the memory. He’s simply in and of the moment. An admirable state in which to exist. See you out there.

4/25/04: Articles of Faith
The humpback whales were groovin' on the bay. They were lazily swirling along in twos and threes. There is a bunch of whales out there now. The water was calm, the sun sparkled on it and illuminated the surfacing whales in an another-world-like glow.

Then we spotted it: A plastic shopping bag drifting on the surface. Just a couple of hundred feet from the whales, the bag could be taken into one of their mouths as they fed. If swallowed, it might cause an obstruction and lead to death. It happens more often than one might think.

We maneuvered alongside the bag and scooped it up, but then we spotted another. And another. Past the bags, there was a balloon. Then a large plastic food wrapper. We got what we could, but with the increased vessel traffic on the bay with salmon season open, it was a job we couldn't finish.

Fishers don't head out there planning to litter. They get preoccupied. Anyone who fishes knows the thrill and fascination that comes with the territory. You've got a fish on. The stowed bag works free and takes flight. Once loose, maybe it's too much of a hassle to go back and pick up. The next boat that passes it figures it isn't their problem; they didn't do it. If they viewed this garbage as we do, as little time bombs floating along out there, I think they might get involved in the remedy.

Every once in a while, someone emails us and asks how they can help the marine environment. Whether their self-appointed mission is to save the whales in general or protect water quality specifically, they are impassioned people who want to make a difference.

Some dive into projects looking for the big, quick fix and certain glory that will shine on them for their grand efforts. That type doesn't last long. Others are old enough to know it's a long slog to effect any appreciable change, but they choose not to dwell on such factors. They encourage youngsters to join them.

They're the people who go to the beach empty-handed and return with arms full of broken glass, plastic bottles, plastic soda rings and Safeway bags. Over time, they felt a need to act.

They're the ones who go crazy on our boats as we scoop the same jetsam out of the water, where it can cause direct and irreparable harm to marine life. We attract these folks like bees to flowers. Kindred spirits.

So if we can't do it all, what do we do? It came to me on a motorcycle ride, which I use to muse and collect my thoughts after a hectic and demanding week. We were in the Gold Country. Steph and I had just detoured to check out Jackass Hill, where Mark Twain stayed in a tiny cabin and wrote. I headed up the hill first.

I'd been mulling over the little things we do against the rising tide of things that need to be done. While it can be likened to peeing up a slack rope, I wanted to find a great name for people who fight the good fight even when their chances of completion are dismal. I came up with The Drop in the Bucket Brigade. Whether it's one drop or twenty, whether the bucket ever fills or not, doing the right thing is exactly that and it deserves notice.

Michele Wyres manages the Moss Landing RV Park. She walks the beach and picks up garbage. Michele decided to organize a beach clean-up for April 25th. It was well advertised, but I spoke with her the evening before and she was concerned no one would show up. I empathized--it's territory we know well, do-gooders doing good alone--but I offered her a couple of free whale watching cruises for the hardest workers in case anyone did materialize.

Only 3 people did, a grown man and two kids, but the four of them went out there onto that beach and they rocked. I nominate them all for The Drop in the Bucket Brigade. Lifetime membership, no dues, no rules other than keep doing what they're doing. I think I will have to make T-shirts. See you out there.

4/20/04: An Amazing Weekend
For people who spend a lot of time with whales, seeing something new or different is a fairly rare experience. Couple it with having the chance to share it with a few hundred Girl Scouts and their families from the Central Valley and Yosemite area. Add in a charter for a woman celebrating her birthday with friends. Toss in beautiful weather. Now you have an idea of what the past week gave us.

As I said in the brief update Saturday (as though many people check email on weekends), we saw orcas almost every day last week. This is a very hot time for them on the Monterey Bay because they come here to hunt the baby gray whales heading north from Baja with their mothers. We had a pretty fun time of it working with Nancy Black, who studies killer whales, and the sport salmon fishers, who hit the water earlier than we do. They are a resource we don't have in the winter.

We put a call out on VHF channel 11 asking if anyone had seen whales or dolphins. Several came up and gave us information on sightings. Of course, some didn't have coordinates and their sightings may have been a little old, but they were helpful. I offered to buy them breakfast if the tip panned out ("Swing by the boat and put in your order!"). Meanwhile, if the charter skippers spot orcas, they usually give Nancy a call. She was leaving Monterey on her inflatable boat with a few assistants and since we had early trips Saturday and Sunday, we were leaving Moss Landing about the same time.

On both days, we found the orcas first. Once Nancy arrived, we worked together to keep track of them. Small pods of transients--especially without males and their tall dorsal fins--can be pretty sketchy to track sometimes. Our passengers were thrilled to see the pod and proved to be really good at spotting them after they'd been down a while and surfaced in a completely new direction.

As Don arrived with his birthday party aboard Sanctuary, we headed off to look for two humpbacks Nancy had seen to the southeast on her way across the bay. We never did find two, but farther east we did find one humpback and she gave us one of the most incredible hours of our lives. All of our lives.

This whale played around the boat as though she was a little kid showing off.

"Look at me! Watch me do this!" she seemed to be saying as she rolled over on her back and waved her long, graceful pectoral flippers fifteen feet into the air like palm trees in the wind. Then she'd dive under Princess of Whales and emerge next to the other side and blast out a big, stinky, fishy blow before turning sideways and wiggling her tail. She came at us from all directions, over and over, creating complete pandemonium on the boat. Not once did she bump us. For one full hour, we never engaged our engines.

Sanctuary had an afternoon trip Saturday as well and she was out there to witness an orca attack on a gray whale cow and calf. All of our passengers were adults and the crew checked with them to make sure they wanted to watch something most people have never seen. If they have, it's because of a National Geographic documentary. Every spring, GEO came here trying to film a complete kill. That was when we worked out of Monterey and as they lugged their gear onto Nancy's boat, I'd always wish the baby grays well out there, but eventually, they got what they came for. Our passengers wanted to watch, but in contrast to the fun we'd had, Hillary and Don reported they stared in silent awe.

On Sunday, fishers reported orcas straight out of Moss Landing several miles. He suggested we look for the birds, which is an indication they're feeding on something. We found quite a few orcas--including a male--diving and feeding off something.The birds create a bit of a frenzy as they hang around to catch bits and pieces. This group of Girl Scouts picked up on the fact and they called out to the seagulls, "Freeloaders!" It turned out they were feeding on a whale carcass that was submerged.

We watched them for quite a while, then headed off in search of humpbacks. Another salmon fisherman reported a couple between us and Moss Landing. Like the guys from Saturday who had helped us, he passed on the breakfast, saying he just hoped our passengers were having a great time. Besides, he was out there to fish!

We caught up with the humpbacks and they never varied from a southeast course, so we tagged along to their left.

"Where are they going?" passengers asked. I peered into the distance. "Looks like Embassy Suites," I answered. Perfect course. Good choice. As astounding as the week--and especially weekend--were, we haven't even started to see the big concentrations of humpbacks gorgoing after their winter's fast. Nor have we seen them breach over and over again or lunge out of the water in all directions from our boats. That's our spring and April and May give us some of the best of it.

Responses to our amazing weekend have been pouring in. Here are a few gems. "I want to tell you that I had the best time ever. Watching that humpback was the most remarkable sight I ever saw. My girls still cannot stop talking about it. I want to thank you for being so excited. Your pure love for the whales shows and in turn rubs off on everyone that comes in contact with you. Thanks again."

Sandra/Girl Scout leader troop 80/Mariposa, CA
"I just wanted to send along a few pictures I managed to get of the amazing humpback whale from Saturday the 17th's cruise. I am co-leader of Girl Scout troop 294 and I wanted to thank you so much for a really great day. All of our girls were talking about it for the rest of the weekend and my daughter even dreamed about her friend the humpback whale! What a truly amazing experience. I personally have never seen a more beautiful animal in nature and was extremely moved by it. I think many others shared my excitement and emotion about it. I think you are a terrific role model and am so glad the girls were able to have that experience. Thank you again so much! I am hoping now to get back out there sometime soon with my husband and 7 year old son to get a glimpse of that incredible creature. Be well and keep up the great work!"

Sarah Gault (Sarah's picture is shown here and it is gorgeous; we pick ours up today and can't wait!)

Remember our experience on Highway 120 up by Yosemite last week? I learned the women were from England. They flew into L.A. and were discovering California, headed for Yosemite. They stayed in Groveland the night before and after leaving, realized one had left a sweater behind at the inn. The driver made a U-turn and got confused, remaining on the left as they drive in the UK. The truck driver was headed toward the park. He saw something smoldering down off the road to the right and was looking that way when the car careened into him. On a wide open road, this doesn't make sense.

I was able to find one of the women, Fiona, at Doctors Medical Center in Modesto and relieved to know her mother had flown over to be with her. Fiona had been looking out the side windows and so she couldn't imagine why the driver hadn't realized something was very wrong. What she did know was that many people had been extremely kind to them and she was so impressed at their dedication to helping them, as was her mother.

We have had the Girl Scouts scheduled for this cruise for months. Many of them live close to where we were and of course, knew about the accident. Isn't it something how all roads lead home and loose ends join? Something I've pondered more than once recently. See you out there.

4/13/04: Time and Tide
This update is in 3 parts. First, information on the whales and dolphins we're seeing. Second, cruise information, special times and discounts. Third, a story about two sad events that hit us back to back this past week. It's a reflection on time and circumstance. How we wish we had more of the first to change the second. Just skip that part if you like; you'll have the whale and dolphin cruise information in the first 2 parts.

Part One: The spring we had in March was my kind of spring, but now that we're seeing our spring binge-eaters--the humpbacks--I wouldn't want to go back, despite the warm temperatures and early flowers. The past week, we have seen gray whales, humpback whales, killer whales, Dall's porpoise and Risso's dolphins (seen here). We have also had nice conditions for most of the cruises.

Hook is a humpback that we've seen out on the bay for years. We don't know Hook's gender, but you can't miss the extremely curved, falcate dorsal fin on its back. He/she is already in the area and if this year is like the past several, we will have many sightings between now and sometime in November.

There is no differentiating between Dall's porpoises any more than one might tell one shooting star from another. They just fly by, throwing up their characteristic rooster tails. Often, they'll dally with us for several minutes, but when we have proven to be a little too boring for them, they dash off to their next date and are gone as fast as they arrived. In contrast to how they act around us, Dall's are slow, lazy swimmers when no diversion such as a boat is nearby. You'd barely think they were the same animals.

Risso's dolphins have carried the day in the dolphin sightings around here throughout winter and now into spring. We have seen many of them, often in the hundreds and a few times in the thousands, during the time when we'd have expected to be seeing common dolphins. Commons never did materialize for more than a few sightings, leaving us wondering why. Fisher friends working crab traps reported seeing substantial bait all along the coast to the north and south, so maybe the commons just didn't have to come in here to feed.

Killer whales have provided tremendous thrills for our passengers many times recently. This is the time of year that they target gray whales with their calves as they head north, so we may see them a little more than usual, but luckily, we haven't witnessed any attacks. I have the Pollyanna/Rodney King approach to nature and whale watching. Sure, everyone has to eat, but can't we all just get along? Better yet, order out. How about a nice, big salad?

Part Two: This week, Sanctuary has the duty for our weekday cruises. We leave at 9:30 and trips are 3-5 hours long but average about 4. On both Saturday and Sunday, we have a special 7 a.m. departure for our whale watching cruises aboard Princess of Whales, so that we can accommodate the Muir Trail Girl Scout Council. These are open cruises, so if you'd like to join us for a modified Dawn Patrol, sign up! We're also offering a 1 p.m. whale watching departure aboard Sanctuary on Saturday in case you're more inclined to sleep in and then figure out your day.

Part Three: There are so many incredible things we see on our cruises. Drifting jellies, cavorting dolphins, sleepy otters and lunging whales are all in our repertoire. But last week, we saw some things that were heart-breaking and they didn’t have to happen. As we departed for our cruise on Saturday, conditions were foggy and we only had about a quarter mile of visibility. Steph drove the trip, so I cast off
the dock lines and then joined him on the bridge.

A fishing boat capsized right outside the harbor,” he said somberly, between a light-hearted introduction to Moss Landing which he was giving over the PA. “Three guys aboard, two rescued, one missing. Let’s keep a good lookout as we head out.” All of our crew scoured the water.

Apparently, the fog was so thick that the boaters got disoriented, ended up in the surf zone and the boat capsized on a wave. The accident had happened so close to shore--just outside the jetties--that surfers could hear calls for help. Two of the fishers wore life jackets. Both were rescued. But one didn’t. His friends said they watched him sink after the capsizing. We saw the small boat, damaged on one side, upside down near the north jetty of Moss Landing Harbor. No mariner ever wants to see a boat in such a state. Emergency responders stood nearby, their eyes searching the water. Throughout the day, Coast Guard broadcasts described the missing person as “a man in a black T-shirt.” What we were all looking for would not be found, at least not this day and not with the hoped-for outcome.

I suppose I respond to tragedy like most people do. I want to fix things and if I can’t, I need to understand why they went wrong. If it didn’t have to happen, I get mad. Three men setting out on a fishing trip on a very foggy morning in a boat not that much larger than a pool toy, with only two wearing life jackets, qualifies as a disaster waiting to happen; it was the second one we’d encounter in less than one day.

Not 24 hours earlier, Steph and I had just left Yosemite National Park. We had such a marvelous time up there a few weeks ago, we went back. We took our small RV, which allowed the dogs to join us and we trailered our motorcycles. Skies were clear, the wide, excellent road was lightly traveled. I had just poured us a cup of coffee when we saw what looked like smoke ahead, but it was gone as fast as it had appeared. Around a wide, gentle bend, we came upon a head-on collision that had occurred so recently, crushed radiators and brake lines hadn’t fully emptied. Steph, a former paramedic, tended the three young women trapped in the small white car. Realizing the driver was injured most, he braced her head up to keep her airway open and directed attempts to pry the door off as more drivers arrived on the scene.

I checked out the driver of the pickup. Given the choice, I’ll take the pickup in a head-on collision. He was dazed, saying over and over, “I don’t know what happened!“ He had lost a tooth along with a considerable amount of blood and his ankle was broken, but he was going to be okay. I went back to the small car to help pry the door. Having grown up near the coast highway where there were intersections, but no stoplights, I had a good deal of emergency response experience by the time I was 10. What struck me about this scene was how quiet the three women were.

As more people arrived, things got chaotic. They wanted to help, but were too confused. In a tone I have never heard before, Steph bellowed, “I’m in charge!” Miraculously, everyone went silent and he directed our efforts. We could not get that door off, despite using two crowbars and a shovel on it. When Groveland Fire Department arrived, we were able to give them a concise report on all victims. The driver was in critical condition and she needed the most attention.

When the first medic rolled up, Steph had me relay the information again, but this time, he suggested they direct their most urgent efforts toward the two passengers in the white car. He was still supporting the driver’s head, but softly, he whispered into my ear, “I think she’s dead.” Just like that. On a beautiful spring day. Good Friday.

It was another tragedy and I don’t know why it happened, but I do know we gave them our best efforts. In both cases, the traffic accident and the boating accident, we didn’t know the victims. We aren’t burdened by affection for them, nor grappling with gaping holes left in their absence, as surely their families and friends are. But we were drawn into their last moments on this earth, so we try to make sense of it.

We couldn’t determine a cause for the accident. Perhaps the driver of the small car took her eyes off the road for a moment too long. Perhaps the driver of the truck had a brief seizure. Maybe it was mechanical failure. It hardly matters now. Knowing the cause or not, I can’t make sense of it, but I will tell you this: Take care. Put down the cell phone, fasten your seatbelt, wear your life jacket. Live your life as though it was precious, because it is. And it can be over so fast. See you out there.

4/1/04: Orcas for Her Birthday!
A few days ago, we had a woman celebrate her 60th birthday by taking a bunch of friends whale watching with us. Jill Harmon scheduled the cruise weeks in advance, but the morning she and her friends gathered in Moss Landing, the prognosis wasn’t great.

Skies were overcast, showers were possible and the outer bay forecast was lousy. We often have grand sightings on days when females are celebrating birthdays with us, but the odds were against us. Our best hope was to get out there fast. Don and Dave were running this trip. Don’s spent several years working on excursion boats in Hawaii and is now our relief skipper for Sanctuary. Dave, his deckhand, is a marine biologist.

An hour and a half into the trip, I received a call from Don. “We’ve had over an hour already of magic,” he announced. “Magic!” He chattered on as I asked, “What? What?” I figured they must have come across several early humpbacks that had followed the Monterey submarine canyon to the mouth of the harbor, but no. They had four killer whales. Dave had spotted them just minutes from the harbor. The killer whales were headed toward the harbor, so Don turned and cruised along with them.

It’s just magic!“ Don said again, adding that he’d told Jill, “I think we have that female-celebrating-a-birthday-thing going on here.“ They didn’t have to work out into rough water. They were able to watch the orcas for two full hours.

Often, by the time one hits 60, birthday presents are kind of a hassle. When asked what one might like, the answer is, “Oh, nothing.“ Jill got one of those presents you can’t put in a box, nor encircle with ribbons, but man, has she got bragging rights!

See you out there.

3/25/04: Yosemite & California Grays
The woman calling to make reservations said she was from Fresno. “I have a whole new respect for Fresno,” I informed her, “because you’re that much closer to Yosemite.”

Yep,” she agreed, "Fresno is close to a lot of places you’d rather be than Fresno itself.” I could never handle the Central Valley heat, so it’s not likely I’d live there, but a recent adventure Steph and I took on our bikes planted the belief there are a bunch of exceptionally nice people that direction.

We left Don as captain and Noel as his deckhand for the two days. They rocked while we were gone. Nothing beats getting emails from people who were out with them, complimenting us on our crew.

The weather was still great (it lasted 2 full weeks!). Our bikes were ready to go. As we headed east past Hollister, San Luis Reservoir glittered like a sheet of diamonds, a far cry from the day we beat our way west against screaming winds at Pacheco Pass last year. Once on Highway 152 east, you just settle in for the cruise. And we did.

By mid-afternoon, we were at Mariposa. I was reminded of one of the funniest road trips I have ever taken. It was with my sister Jan, her husband Joe, their daughter Joan and my cousin Doug. He and I had flown down from Portland where I worked on tugs and Doug worked as a rehab therapist. He helps put accident and stroke victims back on track, teaching them basic skills lost after brain damage, including how to know what is and isn’t acceptable behavior. He uses the word “appropriate” a lot, a word that makes my skin crawl.

Oh, I know that, Heidi,” Doug informed me. “It would be my worst nightmare to have you as a patient, because you never did know what was appropriate behavior.” I beamed at what I perceived was a compliment, proving his case, I guess.

Anyway, Jan and Joe had been to Yosemite many, many times. Surely they’d know how to get there from the Bay Area. But after a backroads shortcut gone wrong, it appeared they didn’t. Faced with the evidence, Jan conceded the fact early on. But Joe pressed on, seeking Mariposa, gateway to Yosemite, on ever decreasing roads. We went from wide paved highways to narrow sort-of-paved trails to a dirt road to a goat track and he still wouldn’t admit we were lost. We didn’t care. The rest of us were having the time of our lives, laughing so hard we blew snot and our jaws ached. At a pee stop, I wondered if he might just drive away and leave us all in the rear view mirror.

Our whole time at Yosemite was great, but that was well over 10 years ago. How would it be this time? Perhaps because Steph and I approached it with the same devil-may-care attitude, up for anything, we were rewarded every bit as richly. The Merced River was blazing past a shoreline punctuated with brilliant purple and white blossoms. The route was a breeze: 152 east to 99, 99 north to 140, 140 to Mariposa and on to Yosemite. It really is easy; then again, maybe something has changed since Joe mounted his attack on the hinterlands.

Having read for decades about people loving Yosemite to death, complete with bumper to bumper traffic and trails log-jammed with tourists, I expected controlled chaos once we reached the park. Rangers would be half crazy and short tempered.

Hardly. We were greeted with such warmth that I bought a year’s pass on the spot. As we entered the park, the thundering river and the waterfalls that fed it made staying on the road a major task. You just want to look all directions, all the time. It was impossible keeping my mouth closed; not the first time I’ve battled that problem, but this time, it was over the incredible, vast beauty and the meandering road that often snaked under huge, cutaway rocks carved to allow the passage of trucks. Then there were the smells! Pungent cedar, bay, lichens and so much more vied for olfactory attention.

We stopped at Bridalveil Fall and were accosted in a most agreeable way by a family of Germans who informed us they were from Spanden, “The little willage where your motorcycles were built!” The son had even worked briefly in the factory there. They viewed our bikes with familial pride. We gave them a business card since they were coming our way next, but the mother warned us their time in the U.S. was drawing to a close.

Steph suggested we try for lodging inside the park, even though we knew most places book months and even a full year in advance. I was leading, so I cavalierly led us to the Ahwahnee, one of the grandest lodges in the whole Sierra. The Queen of England has stayed there. Rooms start at around $350.00, which is an amount I’d only consider if I got to take the furniture home with me. The bell staff at the 100 foot plus long red-carpeted entrance asked if we were there to look at the hotel.

“Well,” I smiled, “we were wondering how the rates run here.” They told us the regular rates, but strongly suggested we check at the front desk. It being late in the day, this made sense, so Steph went inside while the fellows and I talked motorcycles. Steph returned with a look of delighted shock. We got a smashing deluxe cabin out by a creek for about half the going rate, so we moved in.

Next day, we rose early, had breakfast and headed up to Highway 120, passing blinding snowfields in temperatures comfortable enough to ride in T-shirts. We detoured out to see Hetch Hetchy dam and the reservoir that provides over 80% of San Francisco’s water. It was a hoot. We walked across it and into the tunnel at the far side.

By noon, we were back at the Ahwanhee to check out. By then, we knew a good deal of the staff. Delaware North runs the businesses in Yosemite, the Grand Canyon and our very own Asilomar in Pacific Grove. Since we are recommended by Asilomar for our green attitude of doing business, we felt we were part of an extended family and the employees we met at the park enhanced the feeling.

Later that day, we dashed home, following the sun that tucked into the coastal hills before we’d reached our driveway. Next day, we found a note on our boat from the Germans. They'd run out of time, but said they'd enjoyed their brief visit to our "beautiful harbor. It was signed, "Proud to be from the village where your motorcycles were made!" Pretty cool. We were aboard Princess of Whales for our weekend cruises. Refreshed, newly aware of what makes for a great experience in nature, we compared notes with our passengers. Many were returnees to our company and they said they liked us because we treated them like friends, or because we seemed to genuinely care about them. It’s true. While we can’t control the water or the whales--and sometimes one or both can throw a wrench in the works--we can control how our folks are treated and the condition of our boats for their cruise.

On Sunday, our passengers included two women from Mariposa. I drove the trip and we chattered back and forth on their town, the park, the last two weeks' weather and what has to be the lousiest restaurant in Mariposa, Sal’s.

“Oh no! You didn’t eat at Sal’s” they laughed. We did, but what the heck. At least we found the town first try.

On both days, the gray whales were especially cooperative. They were in tight pods that surfaced regularly. While Saturday was a little bouncy, we also got to see a pod of spunky Risso’s dolphins and a group from the Monterey International School declared the day had been pure magic. On Sunday, a pod of five grays stayed at the surface more than they were down. Over half of the passengers aboard Princess of Whales were seasoned Sanctuary Cruises veterans and their unanimous report card for the day was an A+.

They had gotten from nature on their excursion what Steph and I had gotten on ours. A look beyond the horizon, to a shimmering world where nature rules and we are the awed bystanders. We feel tiny by comparison, but better for the experience. See you out there.