A tale of graceful grays inside an ecological oasis
http://seattlepi.nwsource.com/connelly/111760_joel10.shtml
By JOEL CONNELLY
SEATTLE POST-INTELLIGENCER
LAGUNA SAN IGNACIO, Mexico -- Even by snowbirds' standards, the gray whales of our Pacific Coast undertake a remarkable seasonal migration, calving in
lagoons of Baja California during winter and then swimming 6,000 miles north to summer in Alaskan waters.
A few will stop to feed on sand shrimp near my family's Whidbey Island cabin come spring, signaling their presence with the world's noisiest
breathing.
The place to feel these great marine mammals, however, is the breeding grounds of remote Laguna San Ignacio about halfway down the coast of Baja.
This still-wild place was the recent scene of what is perhaps conservation's greatest triumph to date in the developing world.
"We have an average of 300 whales a season living here: 30 to 50 come here to calve," said Raoul Lopez of Ecoturismo Kuyima, one of a half-dozen local
outfits that take visitors on carefully regulated boat trips into the lagoon sanctuary.
An experience on the water -- plus driving 40 miles of world class washboard to get there -- will carry in your memory for many a moon.
The whales are up to 40 feet long but show the grace of gymnasts. They breach, leaping far out of the water and coming down with great splashes. Do
they do it out of curiosity or a bid to rid themselves of some pest?
Mothers and babies corkscrew, rolling over and over in unison. A "baby" gray whale is about fifteen feet long and weighs 1,500 pounds at birth. It
will consume up to fifty gallons of milk a day from its mother, growing for the spring migration north.
And they are curious, deliberately nudging up to the little boats and inviting visitors to pet their rubbery flanks. A favorite trick -- deliberate,
methinks -- is to surface and vent spray and odoriferous breath at the butts of tourists in the boats.
Gray whales here have reason to be of good cheer.
First, they are protected . . . maybe not off Washington's Neah Bay, but down south in the lagunas of Baja.
In the latter part of the 19th century, the grays were hunted to near extinction. One of their breeding grounds, Scammon's Lagoon, is named for the
whaling captain who discovered the grays' breeding ground in 1857.
A different threat emerged in the last few years of the 20th century. Mitsubishi joined with the Mexican government to plan a massive salt extraction
works here.
On the drawing boards was a 2-kilometer-long pier, a pump station, salt evaporation ponds, conveyor belts and a town.
The local fisher folk were not impressed. "They said we did not want 400 jobs. Well, we have 350 jobs with ecotourism," Lopez explained.
Ecological worries were multi-fold: Currents would have carried dirty ballast water from ships far into the lagoon. Summer hurricanes can generate
enormous amounts of water. "What would have happened if heavy metals got inside the lagoon: We have scallops, clams and a lobster fishery," added
Lopez.
Laguna San Ignacio is part of a "biosphere reserve." In the past, however, objections would have washed up against the indifference of Mexico City
bureaucrats. Big projects -- some of which don't work -- are a hallmark of Mexico's federal government.
Several factors were different in this case. Environmental groups raised an international stink over the salt project. More important, locals had a
stake in the economy as it is -- whale watching in the winter, fishing during the rest of the year.
They found an ally in a woman named Julia Carabias, Mexico's Secretary of the Environment, Natural Resources and Fisheries (and a dead ringer for
actress Emma Thompson).
Carabias came out and familiarized herself with Laguna San Ignacio. She then went back to Mexico City and turned thumbs down on the salt works.
The villagers are now writing the rules and doing policing in the biosphere reserve. Tourist-laden fishing boats are allowed exactly an hour and a
half among the whales.
Whale-watching permits once went to foreigners. Now, local operators dominate the business. A prize is given at the end of the season to the best boat
operator. An artists' cooperative from two villages now markets its wares along the shoreline.
Boatmen carefully shut down engines in the presence of grays, but a few of the whales carry scars from encounters with propeller blades. As we
watched, one whale calf whacked its tail on a propeller. Jet drives, with propellers kept inside a casing, are needed here.
Giant piles of scallop shells tell of the not-too-distant past when fishermen based as far away as La Paz, at the south end of Baja, nearly rendered
the species extinct. With local cooperatives setting limits, for instance on the number of lobster traps, the fishery is recovering.
Ecoturismo Kuyima takes its name from a big mother whale who returned year after year, recognizable by her barnacle stains and by a big white wart at
her mouth. Kuyima was last seen here in 1991.
Bouncing back out to Baja's Transpeninsular Highway, thoughts came to mind.
Gone, in 90 minutes with the whales, was my sympathy for Makah Indians' desire to harpoon these marine giants on their migration north.
As well, the whales' restraint and grace left an impression. At any moment, mother and calf could have easily upset our small boat. A slap of the
tail, or tipping with snout, would have knocked visitors overboard. Instead, the grays glided beneath us, curious and co-existing.
Would that all the world's powerful creatures -- and powerful rulers -- behaved with such grace.
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