Where whales, eco-tourists thrive
http://www.sfgate.com/cgi-bin/article.cgi?file=/c/archive/20...
By Betsy Malloy
San Ignacio, -- Baja California -- "Scratch her lips and she'll open her mouth," naturalist Chris Peterson urged as a 45-foot-long gray whale's face
bobbed beside our dinghy. Skeptical, we complied, teasing open a mouth big enough to make a king-sized bed pillow look like a tiny breath mint. Few
people touch a whale, let alone give one an impromptu dental exam, I thought, reaching in.
I got there because of a brochure showing a man touching a whale. The brochure grew ragged from fondling, creases turning white before finally, I was
off. The vintage DC-3 we traveled in traced a 500-mile-long, zig-zag route from San Diego to San Ignacio Lagoon on the west coast of Mexico's Baja
Peninsula, where California gray whales give birth each winter.
Donning blue-and-yellow life vests and dark-green rubber boots, we soon approached three blue-and-white wooden dinghies bobbing in the surf, groups of
six splashing through ankle-deep water. Waddling behind our naturalists like overgrown ducklings, we clambered aboard vessels the locals call pangas.
It's not often a celebrity appears on an eco-adventure, but suddenly, a whale of a star made a splashy entrance, marble-sized bubbles breaking the
water's surface signaling her approach. When IMAX movie cameras filmed her, guide Alex Romero said, they called her Morita, or "little girl." Head
naturalist Peterson dubbed her Madame X for the X-shaped scar on her head.
Scientists don't know what makes San Ignacio's whales friendly. They are sure the creatures like noise, so it's no wonder Madame X lingered. Moments
before, the boat rocked, its motor putt-putting while Romero described the annual migration. Then bedlam erupted as six adults hung over the boat's
edge, squealing, forgetting admonitions to keep the craft balanced. Accustomed to being ignored when whales appear, Romero and boatman Ranulfo leaned
backward, balancing the load.
Madame X followed the boat, popping up when it stopped, rubbing alongside like a pet cat. It takes a hearty pat to affect a school-bus-sized creature,
we learned, her skin jiggling like a gelatin-filled inner tube when slapped. The lovely lady released a stuttering sigh in response. We would have
stayed all day, but Mexican law limits time spent in the lagoon.
Too soon, we returned to camp. White, dome-shaped structures just big enough for two adult-sized cots dotted a flat, dusty landscape, plastic-pipe
framework supporting canvas roofs. Beyond, sand dunes formed beige silhouettes against blue-gray mountains. At night, the huts glowed, lit by lanterns
inside, and we slept to wind's whistle and wave's swish.
The camp was only a resting place between excursions, though, and the boats went out as often as possible. We felt Madame X's breath before seeing her
next, getting a shower as she cleared her breathing hole. A feeding whale's fishy breath smells worse than a seafood restaurant's dumpster on a hot,
summer night, Peterson quipped. We were lucky; whales don't feed here, living off fat reserves instead.
Her basketball-sized, yellow eye tracking our movements, this 70,000-pound specimen of eschrichtius robustus seemed as curious about us as we were
about her. Through clear water, her skin's details showed up: lumpy barnacles, white spots and X-shaped scar. When Peterson told us to open her mouth,
we reached in to find her bright-pink tongue textured like wet pebbles and the baleen lining her jaws a slick, off-white, plastic-like fringe that she
uses to strain tiny creatures from mouthfuls of sea water.
The boat drivers, local fishermen who work off-season in whale-watching camps, maneuvered their crafts deftly, passing the leviathans off like square
dancers changing partners. As their boat moved toward Madame X, three high school students leaned out to kiss her, their teacher's face registering
simultaneous delight and worry.
Three days after arriving, we left. Back home, I had second thoughts, wondering whether people's presence endangers the animals or environment.
Gray whale expert Dr. William Megill, Coastal Ecosystems Research Foundation founder, had answers. He said tourism has no obvious effect on the
whales, and current engagement rules keep them safe.
Are there cons to San Ignacio whale-watching? Megill said: "You may have a lot of trouble finding (a single) opponent. San Ignacio is probably the
best-run whale-watching area the world. It is set up so the local economy can thrive off the revenue: Drivers are all local, and all the logistical
support for all the camps is done locally."
Whale-watching visitors might not threaten, but the nursery lagoon teeters on the brink of industrial development. Despite status as a UNESCO World
Heritage Site, San Ignacio land can be leased to commercial concerns, and Mexico's current political climate favors industrialization. Mexico's
National Tourism Fund recently proposed a marina in the whales' migratory path, and the specter of a salt-harvesting project, scuttled in 2000, looms
again.
"Conservation is as much about social justice as it is protecting wildlife," said Serge Dedina, Executive Director of Wildcoast. The organization is
part of a conservation alliance that recently inked a deal with Ejido Luis Echeverria, a communal landholding group that owns 120,000 acres bordering
the lagoon. The ejido will restrict land use in return for income from a trust fund set up to finance community projects, Dedina said. By 2010, the
Alliance hopes to raise $9.9 million to protect all the land surrounding the lagoon.
San Ignacio whale-watching season runs late December through late March.
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