Stalking the whales in Ensenada
http://www.newsday.com/travel/am-whale04,0,3846595.story?col...
BY STEVE HENDRIX
February 2, 2007
I was a man searching for a whale. I was also a man waiting for the e-mails that would tell me where to look. Call me You've-got-mail.
Don't worry, this isn't a Melvillian story of whales, the sea and the nature of man's obsession. It's a story of whales, the sea and some really
excellent umbrella drinks. (And it's way shorter than that other one.) Although I wasn't obsessed with whales, I really did want to see some. When I
e-mailed for advice from some wildlife-savvy friends, word came back that the place to be at this time of year if you're a whale -- or a whale watcher
-- is Mexico's Baja Peninsula. Baja is the winter end of one of nature's great migrations, the annual loop of gray whales from Alaska to the warmer
currents of Mexico and Southern California. They come down between late December and early April, frolic in the balmy 50-degree waters, birth their
babies, then head north for another Arctic summer.
There are small-ship specialty cruises devoted to the winter whales of Baja, complete with Zodiac outings and wildlife hikes. But those were more
time- and money-consuming than my whale enthusiasm would support. (Ahab would have scoffed.) A friend suggested something quicker and cheaper: Book
any winter cruise heading south out of Los Angeles, and I'd be all but guaranteed to find myself among the leviathans. And he wasn't talking about the
line at the midnight buffet.
A distinctive crowd
That's how I ended up onboard Royal Caribbean's Monarch of the Seas on a January Friday as it pulled slowly out of the Port of Los Angeles. We were
bound for Ensenada, Mexico, on a three-day, three-night itinerary that would include one full day at sea in whale-rich waters. (See route on Page D9.)
There were longer trips that included stops at Catalina Island and San Diego. But at $775 for an outside stateroom, a weekend quickie with a bunch of
partying Angelenos sounded just about right.
There was something distinctive about the crowd that was line dancing around the pool bar or otherwise honoring our departure. Sunglasses were common
long after sunset, and great hair was everywhere. Even the guy in the Holt Electric Service windbreaker had anchorman locks and a surfer tan.
The elapsed time from castoff until I overheard my first plastic surgery conversation was less than 30 minutes. ("Just go see him, there's no
obligation," said a 40-something blonde in a black leather jacket to a 40-something blonde in a red leather jacket. "Make it a retirement present to
yourself.") Inside, the routine would be familiar to any cruise veteran. A restless program of bingo, shopping primers for the next day's stop in
Ensenada, frozen-drink specials at countless bars, first-night dining room confusion and a line 20 people long to make spa appointments.
One thing the ship didn't seem to include in its expansive program was anything to do with the migrating whales all around us.
There was a two-page catalog of excursions, from Mexican folklore to wine tours, but no whale-watching trips. There was no naturalist on board, not
even a whale book in the scant, Danielle Steele-heavy library.
But what Royal Caribbean didn't provide, Mother Nature did. The next morning, I was up with the sun, thanks to jet lag and my having bailed out on the
Rockin' Dueling Pianos the night before. I was nursing coffee in the chill morning gray of Deck 11 as Capt. Lindegren swung us inland and pointed the
bow between some guano-covered rocks into Ensenada's harbor. Fifty yards off the starboard side, my eye was drawn to a puff of mist, quickly followed
by a second. Two slick and sparkling backs rolled out of the charcoal-colored sea; a third cloud of mist and a third back emerged just behind them.
The trio disappeared, only to repeat their undulating breach a few seconds later.
I had met my whales. In the words of Ahab: Phew.
I was thus an easygoing whale enthusiast when I walked down the gangplank into Ensenada. Formerly a major tuna center, it's gaining ground as a
tourism spot for Mexicans and a cruise port for Americans. It's a pretty city, a wide harbor in the protective hug of the surrounding mountains. I
walked from the ship to the busy stretch of docks and began asking about whale-watching cruises. The answer was always the same: "Sergio. Sergio will
take you."
Whale cruises every day
I found Sergio in a tidy storefront office in front of a fishing pier labeled Sergio's Sport Fishing. Yes, he had whale cruises leaving every day
during the winter. Today's would take off at 11 a.m. The cost for four hours was $25.
I may have been hoping for a rusty old scow with Sergio at the helm, but the Ensenada Clipper turned out to be a trim, if austere, 85-foot trawler.
About 20 other tourists were aboard, all Mexican families and groups of friends. We each put on an orange life jacket, and the guide, a biology
student from the local university, handed me a pamphlet describing the route in English. But her spiel was in Spanish. Not to worry; her microphone
broke after five minutes, and we all went without commentary.
For an hour, we motored out through light rain and four-foot seas to the rocks guarding the entrance to All Saints Bay. It was cold, but almost
everyone stayed on deck. One man, a restaurant owner from near Tijuana, wore a serape under his life vest.
"Over there," cried a crew member, pointing to the right. "Two ... three of them." It's not "Thar she blows!" but it did sound better in Spanish.
We all gathered along the starboard rail, and the captain gunned it toward the spouts. Before we got close, another pod surfaced much closer, three of
them to the left. No one missed it as the two adults ended their rise with their tails in the air, a tandem dance of grace and might.
"Mira! Mira!" called the crowd. "Look! Look!" For the next 90 minutes, we trailed six or seven groups, probably 15 whales in all. Sometimes the
skipper idled alongside them, 20 or 30 yards away, close enough for us to hear the air rush from their blowholes in a fountain of spray and whale
breath. Of all the whale trips I've taken, only Alaska, with its garish leaping orcas, was more satisfying than this bare-bones cruise out of
Ensenada.
On the way back in, I struck up a conversation with an engineering professor and his wife and sister. We talked whales and politics, and when we
docked, they invited me to join them for a coffee to warm up. As always when you run into friendly locals, that led to the best times and the best
food of the trip. In this case, the fish tacos of Ensenada.
A surprise delicacy
"Forget those places near the ship," Roberto had said of the tourist stands lining the waterfront. Instead, he drove us five blocks inland to Taqueria
El Fenix, a small street-corner stand that would have been unassuming except for the huge crowd gathered around it. We joined the throng, waving like
pit traders until we caught the eye of the woman in charge. She handed over, on a fresh tortilla, a hunk of fish, battered and fried in a kettle. It
was the kind of surprise delicacy that road-food gourmands live for. The fish was white and steaming; the beer batter was as light as tempura.
Those fish tacos -- I had four -- were a perfect goodbye from Ensenada. And they were basically my last brush with sea life on the cruise. The next
day was a bust, whale-wise. We spent the day idling about 20 miles off the coast of San Diego in an international limbo that allowed the casino, bingo
games and bars to run at full speed all day. There were belly-flop competitions, salsa lessons, rock climbing, yoga classes and lots of mating rituals
to observe, particularly around the pool bar. But no whales.
[Edited on 2-3-2007 by BajaNews]
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