It is well known that many whales migrate great distances from feeding grounds in cold waters closer to the poles to breeding grounds in the warmer waters of the tropics. Some species like the humpback whale range throughout all the oceans and seas of the world while others like the gray whale have a much smaller range. But all these species have the same story of near extinction due to over-hunting and then, more recently, some recovery thanks to a global effort to stop the slaughter.
However the Atlantic populations of the gray whale were indeed hunted to extinction over two hundred years ago when mankind coveted its blubber for lamp oil and its baleen for corsets. But the species survived in the Pacific with a small group hanging on near Russia, and a much larger one, with over twenty thousand individuals today, persevering on North America's western coast. It was several individuals in this latter population that I recently had a chance to see on a boat trip out of San Diego.
These gray whales spend the summer in the cold seas off Alaska and the winter in the warmer waters off Baja California in Mexico. Their migrations hug the coast and make for easy sightings from not only whale watching charters but also from the shore. On my mid-January excursion out of San Diego's harbor, I took the Hornblower Adventure with a couple hundred other wildlife lovers to see some southbound whales just a few miles at sea.
Most of these gray whales are traveling to Baja to mate, and some of the females to give birth. Mexico's warmer, shallower bays offer some protection for newborn calves to start maturing before the more perilous journey north for the summer. In open seas the juveniles are often the target of hungry killer whales and sharks.
Identifying a gray whale over another species is usually easy to do as soon as you notice the spout of wet air spewing in the distance. The whale's double blowholes form two clouds of mist often in the shape of a heart, giving some help at exactly who she is when a seadog hails, "Thar she blows!"
Of course for the average person seeing any whale, even just part of its lengthy back, is a momentous occasion. The gray whale grows to as long as fifty feet, close to the size of the more numerous humpback whale, but much smaller than the blue whale's almost hundred feet. Still, the gray whale is five times the mass of an African elephant!
But the gray whale doesn't have much of a dorsal fin or hump like those other whales; instead it's got a distinctive series of bumps or knuckles leading to the double flukes of its tail. Especially unique to the species is the mottled appearance of the whale's skin. Not at all uniformly gray, it's covered in scars and motifs as a result of sea lice and barnacle attachments. In fact, an individual whale may carry a few hundred pounds of these hitchhikers.
On my morning outing to see these ocean giants, it was a surprise when the first whale sighting of several was that of a mother gray whale and its calf. Showing dimples and fetal folds, the youngster might have only been a week or even days old. Most likely conceived thirteen-and-a-half months ago in Baja, the calf's mother apparently couldn't wait until reaching that safer destination to go into labor.
Recognizing the perils of that still long and slow journey, the mama whale seemed to try keeping her much greater and intimidating size between us and her infant. And in a couple of photographs, the calf appears to be riding uncharacteristically high out of the water as it hitches an easy ride on the back of its much stronger mom. It was a lift of another sort for those of us observing from our charter boat's deck: the joy of seeing one more whale on the long and hopeful road to survival.
However the Atlantic populations of the gray whale were indeed hunted to extinction over two hundred years ago when mankind coveted its blubber for lamp oil and its baleen for corsets. But the species survived in the Pacific with a small group hanging on near Russia, and a much larger one, with over twenty thousand individuals today, persevering on North America's western coast. It was several individuals in this latter population that I recently had a chance to see on a boat trip out of San Diego.
These gray whales spend the summer in the cold seas off Alaska and the winter in the warmer waters off Baja California in Mexico. Their migrations hug the coast and make for easy sightings from not only whale watching charters but also from the shore. On my mid-January excursion out of San Diego's harbor, I took the Hornblower Adventure with a couple hundred other wildlife lovers to see some southbound whales just a few miles at sea.
Most of these gray whales are traveling to Baja to mate, and some of the females to give birth. Mexico's warmer, shallower bays offer some protection for newborn calves to start maturing before the more perilous journey north for the summer. In open seas the juveniles are often the target of hungry killer whales and sharks.
Identifying a gray whale over another species is usually easy to do as soon as you notice the spout of wet air spewing in the distance. The whale's double blowholes form two clouds of mist often in the shape of a heart, giving some help at exactly who she is when a seadog hails, "Thar she blows!"
Of course for the average person seeing any whale, even just part of its lengthy back, is a momentous occasion. The gray whale grows to as long as fifty feet, close to the size of the more numerous humpback whale, but much smaller than the blue whale's almost hundred feet. Still, the gray whale is five times the mass of an African elephant!
But the gray whale doesn't have much of a dorsal fin or hump like those other whales; instead it's got a distinctive series of bumps or knuckles leading to the double flukes of its tail. Especially unique to the species is the mottled appearance of the whale's skin. Not at all uniformly gray, it's covered in scars and motifs as a result of sea lice and barnacle attachments. In fact, an individual whale may carry a few hundred pounds of these hitchhikers.
Recognizing the perils of that still long and slow journey, the mama whale seemed to try keeping her much greater and intimidating size between us and her infant. And in a couple of photographs, the calf appears to be riding uncharacteristically high out of the water as it hitches an easy ride on the back of its much stronger mom. It was a lift of another sort for those of us observing from our charter boat's deck: the joy of seeing one more whale on the long and hopeful road to survival.
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| An infant gray whale, maybe a newborn because of the fetal folds and dimples, with its mother who remains mostly submerged. You can see the baby's pair of blowholes. |
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| Infant gray whale and its much larger mother off the coast of San Diego. |
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| Infant gray whale and its much larger mother. |
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| "Thar she blows!" Unique spout signature of a gray whale due to its pair of blowholes. |
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| Gray whale with whale watching ship and Coronado Island in the background. |
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| A gray whale's two flukes as it dives. |
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| Mottled back of a gray whale showing a mosaic of barnacles and sea lice discolorations. |
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| Bumps or knuckles on a gray whale's tail section. |
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| Whale watchers and San Diego panorama. |
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| Gray whale's flukes descending on a dive. |
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