Every summer, members of the North Pacific whale tribe feed off the coast of Northern California and put on a show that can feed your soul.
By Bridget Lyons
August 6, 2024—You’ve heard of “forest bathing,” the ancient (but recently popularized) practice of immersing yourself in trees to connect to nature and relax. Well, I’m introducing the Hilltromper community to my new favorite outdoor activity, one I’m calling “whale bathing.”
Two weeks ago, Chief Hilltromper Mike Kahn posted a series of videos of whale flukes and fins on Instagram. The caption read, “Lots of whales off the coast of Pacifica! Sightings all week long.” I watched his reel again and again, struck by both the creatures’ proximity to shore and the apparent variety of locations from which the snippets had been filmed.
Meanwhile, I was in the process of making plans to get together with a Marin County-dwelling friend for an afternoon of outdoor fun. Leslie didn’t want to drive all the way down to Santa Cruz, and I didn’t want to drive all the way up north, so I suggested we rendezvous in Pacifica to try to spot some whales. “Sure,” she said in her text. “We can meet near the pier to look for them, then maybe go for a hike, then if we don’t see any whales, we can go back and look some more.”
The hike never happened.
As soon as I pulled up to the bluffs just north of Pacifica’s Esplanade Beach, I saw a spout. I leapt out of my car with my binoculars, worried that the whale would disappear before I had time to get them out of the case. But while I was fiddling with a Velcro closure, I saw another spout. Then, as I looked down to remove the eye cup protector, I caught a glimpse of a black mound in my peripheral vision: a back. I held my binos up to my eyes and scanned the dark patch of water about a quarter mile away. Sure enough, I was rewarded with a flip of a fluke, followed shortly thereafter by another spout—tall and column-shaped. A humpback blow.
“I think this is the spot,” I told Leslie when she arrived. Later, I found out that, really, anywhere along the Pacifica coast is “the spot” right now—as is the rest of the San Mateo County shoreline and the beaches of the Pt. Reyes peninsula. Santa Cruz County’s north coast can also provide good humpback-viewing, but it gets better north of Point Año Nuevo and the county line.
The North Pacific whale populations that winter in Mexico and Central America spend the summer between California and British Columbia. There are about 5,000 individuals in this feeding group, and we’re right along their migration route. I knew this, so I’d expected them to be up north by this point in the summer. I wondered if something unusual was going on, but Giancarlo Rulli of The Marine Mammal Center assured me otherwise.
“This is normal behavior,” Rulli said. “Humpbacks are opportunistic feeders, so they’re doing what they do: They’re taking advantage of the anchovies and herring that are hugging the coast.”
Apparently, there are a lot of these fish out there right now. According to Nicole Cristales, a naturalist with San Francisco Whale Tours, her company’s boats have been seeing large schools of anchovies and herring from the boat. “The whales are pausing along their route to feed while these resources are plentiful,” she explained.
Leslie and I proceeded to nestle into the warm sand and fix our eyes on the water—for what turned out to be two hours. Over the course of our marathon session on the bluff, we did a lot of pointing, clapping, and whooping. We were especially vocal when we caught sight of a giant head emerging from the sea, hanging in the air for a moment like LeBron James pausing at the rim, then sinking back into the water. This process of moving through a school of fish with an open mouth is known as “lunge feeding,” and it’s definitely a whale-watching highlight. We passed the binos back and forth, hoping we’d get a close-up look at their deeply-furrowed jaws as they gobbled down their midmorning meals. When we did, we just shook our heads in amazement.
During lulls in whale activity, we caught up on each other’s lives and solved the world’s problems. It wasn’t until my stomach started growling that I realized how long I’d been sitting in the same spot, hoodie zipped up against the wind, eyes squinting in the bright sun.
While we were waiting for our breakfast bagels at the Chit Chat Café across the street (which, conveniently, has huge ocean-facing windows that allow for continued monitoring of cetacean activity), Leslie turned to me and said, “It’s been a long time since I just sat and stared at the ocean like that—whales or no whales. I feel really good.”
I nodded. “We were whale bathing,” I said, and Leslie smiled.
In between bites of food, we talked about the magic of simple observation, its power to calm the nervous system and remind us of what’s really important. As someone who tends toward more movement-oriented explorations of the natural world, I was surprised by the shift I’d felt from just sitting and focusing on the horizon. I’d had the chance to observe these remarkable living things frolicking in their home environment—and I got to do it from a comfortable spot on shore. I felt so lucky.
Giancarlo Rulli summed up my feelings well. “The marine mammals we have in our backyard are something we should treasure.” No doubt. And, right now is the time to do it. In fact, Rossi said that this upcoming week was “shaping up to be a great one for seeing active lunge-feeding behavior.” It’s hard to say how much longer this run will last, since it all depends on how long the fish stay around, and their movements appear to be influenced by the patterns of cool water upwellings offshore.
When you go whale bathing, consider reporting your sightings using the Whale & Dolphin Sightings form on The Marine Mammal Center’s website. It allows you to record species and location and upload photos. Because many humpbacks can be identified by the unique patterns on their flukes and fins, quality images are helpful for tracking individuals. The Center especially encourages folks to report sightings within the San Francisco Bay so that they can warn their partner organizations about the presence of whales in the shipping channels.
A week after my initial whale bathing session, I was scheduled to meet another old friend (yes, August is social catch-up month) in San Francisco. I managed to convince her to drive to Pacifica as well, this time to Rockaway Beach. We saw just as much action there as I had seen from downtown Pacifica but with even more lunge feeding.
In case you’re worried about where to go, know that I also spotted whales from the pullout south of the Tom Lantos Tunnels. In addition, there are numerous reports on the Pacifica Whalespotting Facebook group of sightings at Linda Mar, Mori Point, and the Pacifica Pier. Pacifica resident and avid photographer David Chamberlin also provides updates via his Whale Watching in Pacifica website.
Wherever you go, plan to hang out for a while. We share the planet with these amazing animals who once lived on land before returning to the sea. Like us, they breathe oxygen through their lungs, nurture their young, have a sophisticated communication system, and live to be 80 or 90 years old. Unlike us, they travel thousands of marine miles per year, sing beautiful and mysterious high-pitched songs, and grow to lengths of 60 feet. And perhaps most unlike us, their numbers have dwindled significantly, even after 800,000 years of existence on this planet.
Go spend some time with humpback whales. Whale bathing is bound to give you pleasure, grant you insight, and, hopefully, remind you of the importance of advocating for their preservation.
Bridget Lyons is a writer and editor living in Santa Cruz. To learn more about her work and explorations, visit www.bridgetalyons.com.
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