A day at sea is an ideal way to observe the wide variety of wildlife that lives much of its life at the ocean's surface, where salt water meets air. Of course only a small percentage of fish species regularly breaks through this barrier: the flying fish is one. Meanwhile hundreds of varieties of birds know how to dive underwater hunting for food. And many mammals like whales and seals thrive in this zone, as they spend all or significant periods of their lives swimming through the seas.
So whether your interest is in birding or whale watching, a plethora of tour companies offer an itinerary that will satisfy your curiosity about these surface-visiting animals. Hornblower Cruises, for one, offers a three-and-a-half hour winter trip twice a day out of San Diego for sightings of gray whales as they migrate between Alaska and Baja. I wasn't disappointed on my sunny, mid-January trip when the staff pointed out eight individual southbound gray whales, including at least one mother and newly-born calf, just several miles off the California coast.
But even more frequent in these cold Pacific waters are dolphins, cetacean cousins of the much larger whales that get the star billing in the advertisements for boat excursions. Several species like the bottlenose and the Pacific white-sided populate this corner of the ocean, but it was the simply named common dolphin that I'd see on my specific outing. Of course the excitement of seeing any of these mammals in the wild is never one you'd describe as merely common.
Despite the stationary tricks of begging and tail-wagging that a captive dolphin performs in a commercial marine park, an individual you encounter on the open seas never seems to stop swimming. While it often appears effortlessly streaking through the water with its dorsal fin breaking the ocean surface, more often than not it's leaping and diving, exposing its sleek body to the rest of the air-breathing world.
In addition, dolphins never seem to be alone. On my excursion, a pod of dozens appeared in the distance, only to be described as hundreds when the captain said he was positioning the boat for an encounter. "You never chase dolphins, you let them come to you," he said. And came they did: over a thousand.
Small groups looked like they were herding fish into bait balls as gulls and pelicans were opportunistically picking off their own meals near the water's surface. When we got closer, many of the dolphins rode throughout the wake our swift moving boat was churning. Off the bow, on our port and starboard sides and behind the stern - encircling us - scores of these marine mammals leapt and dove in aerial acrobatics.
Our seasoned captain even circled the boat, making a large, round wake in a sort of nautical donut that attracted the attention of a few more dolphins. Were they imagining an especially-large whale's footprint, and what additional food it might attract? Or was it a chance for more fun and easy riding? Well, it's hard to say because that's the thing about dolphin watching: we observers are really only a passing curiosity, a brief turn-off on these swimmers' fast ocean highway.
So whether your interest is in birding or whale watching, a plethora of tour companies offer an itinerary that will satisfy your curiosity about these surface-visiting animals. Hornblower Cruises, for one, offers a three-and-a-half hour winter trip twice a day out of San Diego for sightings of gray whales as they migrate between Alaska and Baja. I wasn't disappointed on my sunny, mid-January trip when the staff pointed out eight individual southbound gray whales, including at least one mother and newly-born calf, just several miles off the California coast.
But even more frequent in these cold Pacific waters are dolphins, cetacean cousins of the much larger whales that get the star billing in the advertisements for boat excursions. Several species like the bottlenose and the Pacific white-sided populate this corner of the ocean, but it was the simply named common dolphin that I'd see on my specific outing. Of course the excitement of seeing any of these mammals in the wild is never one you'd describe as merely common.
Despite the stationary tricks of begging and tail-wagging that a captive dolphin performs in a commercial marine park, an individual you encounter on the open seas never seems to stop swimming. While it often appears effortlessly streaking through the water with its dorsal fin breaking the ocean surface, more often than not it's leaping and diving, exposing its sleek body to the rest of the air-breathing world.
In addition, dolphins never seem to be alone. On my excursion, a pod of dozens appeared in the distance, only to be described as hundreds when the captain said he was positioning the boat for an encounter. "You never chase dolphins, you let them come to you," he said. And came they did: over a thousand.
Small groups looked like they were herding fish into bait balls as gulls and pelicans were opportunistically picking off their own meals near the water's surface. When we got closer, many of the dolphins rode throughout the wake our swift moving boat was churning. Off the bow, on our port and starboard sides and behind the stern - encircling us - scores of these marine mammals leapt and dove in aerial acrobatics.
Our seasoned captain even circled the boat, making a large, round wake in a sort of nautical donut that attracted the attention of a few more dolphins. Were they imagining an especially-large whale's footprint, and what additional food it might attract? Or was it a chance for more fun and easy riding? Well, it's hard to say because that's the thing about dolphin watching: we observers are really only a passing curiosity, a brief turn-off on these swimmers' fast ocean highway.
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| Common dolphins off San Diego. |
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| Common dolphins off San Diego. |
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| Common dolphins off San Diego. |
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| Common dolphins off San Diego. |
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| Common dolphin in ship's 'donut' wake. |
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| Common dolphins. |
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| Common dolphin. |
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