Whale Camp
It was meant to be a check off the bucket list. It was so much more.
When I left America for my trip to Mexico on February 1st, I was listening to the playlist I made myself for the trip, particularly this song.
As the engines roared, the nose of the plane lifted, and New York faded from view, I began to cry as I took in the lyrics.
you say ‘there’s not a lot of me left anymore
just leave it alone
but if you’re by, and you have the time
tell the Northern Lights to keep shining
oh, lately it seems like they’re drowning’
I met C at the airport, and we made our way through the hustle and bustle to find our car. When we arrived at our beautiful resort, our room wasn’t ready, so we headed to the pool for a cocktail and some fish tacos. It was about 75 degrees out, sunny, and not humid. February in New York is aggressively grey and cold, and it felt so good not to be freezing. I tipped my face up to the sky. The sun felt like a warm hug from a friend you haven’t seen in a long time.
Our room wasn’t ready when we arrived, so we were directed to hang by the pool and have a drink in the meantime. As I sipped my delicious margarita, I felt a twinge of bougie guilt. We were only two weeks into our current National Nightmare, and it felt strange to be lounging at a spot with an infinity pool and a swim up bar.
But then we looked out to the ocean and saw them.
I saw a spout. Then another. And another. And then, just out of the corner of my eye, a majestic humpback whale breaching1 - launching their giant body out of the water - in the distance. I had heard that you could see humpback whales from the beaches in Cabo, as they gather there during their migration2, but I didn’t believe anything could be so good.
The humpbacks are my favorite. I’ve been obsessed with them since I was very small. I couldn’t tell you why, and when I was asked about my love of whales several times on the trip, I found it hard to articulate. Maybe it’s their size, their gentleness, their mystery. Maybe it’s because they, like us, are mammals. All I can really say is that I feel completely at peace in their presence.
A lot of people are scared of the ocean, and especially scared of whales. I do not fear the ocean, but I respect its power. And the whales - huge as they are - do not wish to hurt us. They are only trying to live their whale lives, once in a while poking their heads up to see what the heck we are up to.
If they knew the truth, they’d stay under the surface as long as they could.
Jet lag forced me out of bed the next day around sunrise. I went out onto the balcony and took out my sketchbook and my watercolor travel kit. Then I saw them - a slew of humpbacks not far from shore. I observed them for a moment, and then I asked myself what the fuck I was still doing in the room. There was a BEACH available to me, and I hadn’t even dipped a toe in. It’s usually the first thing I do when I arrive at any waterfront location.
I grabbed my stuff and ran down to the beach. I took off my shoes and waded in, just to my calves, and felt the powerful undertow. I understood why there was no swimming allowed. The water was surprisingly warm, considering the air was chilly.
If I ignored the desert landscape, Mexican architecture, and the mountains behind me, it reminded me a bit of Cape Cod. The Pacific Ocean has always felt different to me than what I grew up with, but here, I felt very much at home.
I sat down in the sand and got out my sketchbook. I heard the whale before I saw it - a massive exhalation of air from giant lungs. I looked up to see a huge humpback surfacing, probably 50 feet or so from shore. My eyes filled with tears. The 7 year old girl in me wanted to rush into the water and swim out to him, but the adult version of me knew better. I grabbed my phone instead to take some photos.
He let out another huge exhale as he popped up once more, then disappeared into the depths. I was lucky enough to catch it on video.
After two amazing days in Cabo - including a truly spectacular humpback whale watch - it was time to head to our “glamping” adventure. The word “glamping” is exactly what it sounds like - Glamorous Camping3.
Our merry cohort came from all over - New York, Rhode Island, LA, the Bay Area, Oregon, Mexico. Everyone was warm and lovely. Politics came up quickly, but in vague, searching ways. It became clear very quickly that we were all politically aligned, which was a relief. In retrospect, I shouldn’t have worried about the folks who wanted to visit a protected whale sanctuary. As we learned later on from some of the guides, the hardcore MAGA hats are only interested in the sharks.
When we got to the airport, we got to go to a place I never thought I would get to see: the private plane terminal. I don’t think private jets are morally ethical, but boy, skipping Security Theater sure is nice.
Alas, a fancy Lear jet was not our ride. We boarded a 15 seat Cessna Grand Caravan to head to San Ignacio Lagoon. The lagoon is part of the El Vizcaíno Biosphere Reserve, the largest wildlife preserve in Mexico. You can’t get there by car. The area is strictly protected by the Mexican government.4
I have never flown in a plane that small, and when we got out onto the runway to get in, I was a little nervous. It felt sort of like when you decide to go on a really scary rollercoaster, and there is no line. No agonizing wait involved. Once you’re on, it’s too late to change your mind.
I prefer it that way.
When your pilot is just a dude sitting a few feet in front of you, it helps take the mystery out of flying. The flight was pleasant and uneventful, with a stunning view of the ocean, mountains and desert. When we came in for a landing, I was surprised to find that we landed right on a dirt airstrip. We were truly in the middle of nowhere.
When we arrived at camp, we had lunch, and our camp manager gave us the lay of the land. We had no downtime, as we were handed rubber boots and told to get dressed and meet at the panga loading area for our first whale watch.
Once aboard the panga (it was a bit of a learning curve figuring out how to hoist ourselves in), we sped towards the observation area. And I do mean sped - that little boat could cook. All we had to hold onto was the benches on the boat, and it bounced around quite a bit. At that point, I was feeling a bit overwhelmed. In just three days, I had gone from a car to a plane to a car to a boat to a bus to a plane to a car and onto another boat, and was feeling Quite Done with vehicles.
I tried to go into the experience without expectations, but I could not get the thought of touching one of these magnificent creatures out of my mind. Was it all false advertising? Were my hopes too high?
Our naturalist, Scarlett, enthusiastically gave us information on the lagoon. Gray whales give birth and bring their young into this lagoon, in part to protect them from Orca, who hunt the Grays in the wild. The lagoon is also shallow and doesn’t have a strong current, so it’s a good spot to teach them how to swim.5
A pod of dolphins escorted us to the observation area. Over the next three hours, we saw gray whales nearly everywhere we looked - some spy hopping6, some engaging in mating behaviors. It was exhausting, and we didn’t get to touch any of the whales yet, but the beauty of the lagoon and being immersed in nature was a welcome change for my brain.
That night, we all gathered for a presentation by one of the naturalists7, as well as cocktails in the well appointed Bar Tent8, where I would spend a lot of my time. It had all the comforts you could want, including a pool table and some excellent mezcals on offer.
The next morning, we set out bright and early for the next watch. It was a cloudy, chilly, and overcast day. It wasn’t windy, though, and the ride out to the observation area was a lot smoother than it had been the day before.
Not long into the watch, a magical thing happened. I am still not sure how to put it into words, but I will try.
A big gray whale came swimming towards us, and she had her baby in tow (fun fact: baby whales are called calves). There were two other boats near us, all of whom had idled their engines. The local captains and the naturalists are very mindful of the whales, and they take extra care to never chase or frighten the whales. Our captain stopped the boat, and we just sat, bobbing and waiting.
The mama whale and her calf (Scarlett told us she thought he was about three weeks old, based on size) swam over to one of the boats, and we watched as they all gathered to the edge of the panga. I heard something, and I wasn’t sure what it was, but we all realized that the entire boat was singing to them. She got even closer, and everyone on the panga reached down to give her pets.
The sight of these kind people singing to this Mama and her baby was so incredibly moving, and I started to cry. You can hear me sniffling in this video.
It was hard to be patient as we watched Mama and baby swim to the second panga, where the folks there got to reach down and give her a quick pet, too. I felt pangs of jealousy, and Little Kari was dying, but I kept my emotions in check. Everyone told us that the whales react off of your energy, and that being calm and quiet would pay off in the end. So we waited.
AND THEN IT HAPPENED.
Little Kari was having a moment. Big Kari was, too. I tried to be as quiet as possible, but it’s so hard not to squeal when you see a very tiny whale pop his little head up and say hello to you.
Scarlett was being cautious. There was a moment where Mama was “logging”, aka resting, and she wanted us to wait until she was awake to make contact. We entertained the baby, who was being incredibly cute and also active. She must have been tired, and we all know little ones wear their mothers out. We were more than happy to be temporary Whale Sitters.
Then, Mama woke up. She came even closer. Scarlett told us not to touch her tail or her blowhole, as it would trigger a reflex that could result in one of us being injured, or Mama could injure herself on the boat.
I gently put my hand in the water, and spoke soothingly to her. She let out a huge exhale from her blowhole, and we smelled her fishy breath. She slowly and gently raised her giant head up to my hand, and I touched her. She was softer than I imagined. It’s difficult to describe what she felt like, but it was closer to memory foam than rubber. It was the skin of a warm blooded animal.
One of my fellow campers and an excellent photographer captured this magic moment on his GoPro. I am in the blue jacket. I can’t even put into words what this was like. I get weepy even thinking about it. My thanks to my fellow traveler Wei (that is how he wished to be credited) for allowing me to share this moment with you all.
That afternoon, I decided not to go on the second watch. I was exhausted and needed a break, plus I also wanted to explore the area around camp. I had never been somewhere so remote.
Someone told me there were bikes near the bar tent that you could just grab and take on the dirt paths around camp. I grabbed one and headed off. I rode maybe two miles - if that - and I came across a section of beach that seemed intriguing, so I pulled off and stopped. The sand was full of treasures - the skeletons of birds, fish and turtles, shells of mollusks and bivalves, sea glass, rocks. Proof of life.
I do not know if I ever have been as completely alone in my life as I was on that beach. There was no one around for miles. I could have cried, screamed, run around naked, or acted as batshit insane as I wanted and no one would have known except me and the sea birds. There was no Wi-Fi or cell service, so I had nothing to distract me from my solitude.
Its funny how feeling true happiness and peace - even for a moment - amplifies how miserable you’ve actually been. I had been desperately unhappy for months.
But here? Here, I was happy.
The next morning, it was cold and blustery. The water was much rougher than the day before. Our panga was bouncing up and down as we got splashed in the face with sea spray. Normally I like this sort of thing, because I’ll take any ocean adventures I can get, but I had made the rookie error of wearing a cotton hoodie under my windbreaker, and the tips of my sleeves got wet. I should know better than that, having grown up near the water. I know that once the damp cold sets in, it’s almost impossible to get it out.
My hands went first. They always do. My fingers were so cold that in an act of desperation I stuck them onto my bare belly, which was not enjoyable, but I got some feeling back in my fingers. It was only moments after taking them off my skin that they were cold again, even colder than before. I finally just sat on my hands, hoping I wouldn’t fall off the boat.
Our guide noticed my distress. He handed me a pair of gloves.
“Sorry they’re a little big,” he said.
I gratefully put the comically oversized gloves on my pale, frozen hands and almost immediately began to relax. I hadn’t asked for them, but he noticed I was cold, and handed me gloves. It was a stupid thing, but I was nearly teary eyed with gratitude. I had a lot of these moments on the trip. Moments that reminded me that people are still kind. That we can still pay attention to each other.
The last night of camp, we all had dinner and then spent the evening outside by the fire pits watching the sunset, sharing some laughs and beverages, and trying to keep the outside world away for just a little while longer.
The day we left camp, our final whale watch had been cancelled. The winds were kicking up, and it wasn’t safe to go out on the pangas. I had mixed feelings. I was feeling a little done with boats and being cold, but I was sad I wouldn’t get to say a proper goodbye to the whales.
The silver lining was getting to spend the last few hours of camp chatting it up with Team Glamping. We had only known each other for a few days, but we had forged a bond. There is a lot to be said for being in a group of people who share your particular niche interest. In fact, I was starved for it. I didn’t have to mask, either. For the first time in a long time, I got to be my full weirdo self without feeling self conscious.
C and I decided to take one last walk on the beach. One of our cohort - an environmental scientist from Berkeley - decided to join us. She saw some trash that had washed up on the beach, and began to pick it up. C and I followed suit. It felt good to be giving something back to this magical place, at least for a moment.
We threw out all sorts of shit, including a plastic bottle that had clearly spent a lot of time in the water. It was thinner and brittle, with chunks missing, and I tried to stop myself from thinking about where the missing pieces wound up. There was more where that came from. We filled up the trash bag until it was starting to get too heavy for us to drag back and we had to stop. That’s how much there was.
When we got back to our tent, C said, “Man, nothing to make you feel like Sisyphus like cleaning up plastic on a beach”.
We started talking about the state of the world - the very thing we’d tried to ignore for the past several days - and I started to cry.
“I don’t know how to go back home and be a person in this world,” I said, “I don’t know how to reconcile my worldview with what’s happening. I have no idea what to do”.
The real world had managed to find me, even in the middle of nowhere. I couldn’t linger on it, because it was time to go. And once again we boarded a tiny ass plane, only this time it was bringing us back to civilization. If given a choice, I’d rather have stayed with the whales.
I sat closer to the front of the plane this time. My fear was gone. And when do you get to see a plane land from this perspective? SO COOL.
When we said our goodbyes at the airport, it was bittersweet. We all exchanged email addresses and created a group folder for everyone to drop their pictures in. I said goodbye to C, who was headed to a different resort to meet up with a friend of hers for the weekend. I will always be grateful to her for asking me to go on this crazy adventure.
I hope I see everyone from Team Glamping again, and my biggest hope is that we all meet back at San Ignacio Lagoon to meet the new batch of baby whales.
I took a long, hot shower after checking into my beautiful hotel in Cabo. I got it for free with credit card points I’ve been hoarding, and was astonished at my good fortune. I had two days to myself to decompress, and that is exactly what I did. I got a massage with a view of the ocean. I ate a lot of delicious food and drank a lot of delicious frozen drinks. I did some writing and painting. I did a LOT of sleeping, but I also did a lot of thinking.
I thought about my pre-medication ADHD self, and how she never would have taken this trip. The anxiety and uncertainty of so many variables - the cost, the tiny plane, the tents, the constant travel - I know I would have talked myself out of it. I felt proud of myself for taking the leap, but most of all, profoundly grateful. I also thought about what I was returning to, and how I wanted to bottle up the feelings I had on this trip and keep them as long as I possibly could.
The night before I flew home, I found myself alone my hotel room, listening to the waves crash. I can never sleep the night before I travel, and everything was closed for the night. I found myself reaching for my phone, which led straight to doomscrolling, and the dread began to creep in again. I felt my chest tighten and my pulse quicken.
I put my phone down and went out on the balcony. I took big, deep gulps of the cool ocean night air. I closed my eyes and tried to calm myself.
In my mind’s eye, I saw Mama Whale, that beautiful creature who trusted us enough to show us her baby and pet her big head. And then, in whatever part of your brain hears memories, I heard the voices of a boat full of people singing a lullaby to a whale.
I went back into my room, turned out the lights, and fell sound asleep.
so I went by, cause I had the time
Told the Northern Lights to keep shining
they told me to tell you they’re waving
Humpbacks breach for many reasons - communication, mating, exercise - but also for fun. They seem to enjoy showing off. They are truly the theater kids of the sea, which is another reason I feel a kinship with them.
The Sea of Cortez (also known as the Gulf of California) and the Pacific Ocean meet in Cabo. Gray whales and humpback whales give birth in the warm waters of the Sea of Cortez after traveling up to 6,000 miles (!) from places like Siberia and Alaska.
Let it be known that I am NOT outdoorsy. In fact, I quit Girl Scouts after a few weeks because I had to pee in the woods.
It’s truly Spring Training for Baby Whales
Spy hopping is when a whale pokes its head out of the water to look around.
Did you know that gray whale penises are also known as “Pink Floyds”? Well, you do now. They can grow to 6 feet long! The size of a whole human man! This video was part of one of the presentations. It was introduced as a “gray whale threesome”.
This place was amazing. Every tent had a running shower, a sink and a chemical toilet. It takes months to set up the camp, which runs from January - April every year.
I love that you got to be your full weirdo self with good mammals all around. Sounds like it was a transformative experience…I’m not sure I would have come back. Such a beautiful part of the world ☀️
Thankyou for sharing this beautiful memory. I felt I was there with you. Will check the map for where in the world is Cabo?!