The sky is filled with white cirrus clouds this morning, just
light white, allowing the thin layer of blue to pass through and
turning the calm water to a slick, almost oily shimmering silver.
Looking across the south end of Bahia de Los Angeles, the
southernmost point, Punta Roja and the nearby islands, the two
Gemelitos, little gems, Cabesa de Cavallo, Horse's Head,
La Ventana, the Window, and others are darkly silhouetted
against the lighted water. Almost an illusion.
We slept a deep sleep until almost eight, and then woke to the
sun's rays climbing through the thatched patches we have
placed over our east- and south-facing windows of the room where
we sleep. It was dead calm; no sounds of water, or birds, or wind.
I got out of bed, dressed and stood on the balcony overlooking
the sea and watched as three kayaks slipped silently through the
water heading north. The first sounds of the day were from the
voices of the people in the kayaks. It was surprising to hear
them through the distance and across the varied surfaces of land
and then water. But I could understand their conversation even
at a distance of a half-mile. They were looking for whale sharks.
These huge and yet tranquil sea beasts, whale sharks, are
becoming an attraction here, bringing researchers and tourists
to the bay. For many years there has been no recognized
etiquette, no protocol, to define the interaction between us two
beasts, man and whale shark. The sharks are friendly and have
baleens rather than teeth and live by consuming small
crustaceans and fishes. They must consume quite a few of these,
as they can grow up to 60 feet in length. They are friendly and
often will approach a swimmer in an unthreatening manner just to
inspect you. They almost encourage you to touch them. As humans
we feel a need to touch. Touch is one of our five perceived
senses and we feel we need to use as many as possible when we can.
The kayakers continue northward toward the village. Their
conversation fades. My mind is obliged, in search of constant
noise, to return to the magnificence of morning, later now. A
small breeze is beginning to stir the shore; gulls are cawking,
crows croaking, pelicans silently skimming the surface. A number
of yards off shore there are dark patches in the water amongst
the shimmering silver where bait is working to avoid some
Life, and death, continue.
Morning has broken.