California Official Visitor's Guide 2018 - 51

reminds me to get out more often.
We've been on the water for about 30 minutes when
Captain Tom slows the boat. The water is churning
around us. We have arrived in the middle of a pod of 400
dolphins-twice the size of the average pod,
we are told. I am awed by this gathering, and
by the crescent arc of the dolphins as they
leap with the symmetry of synchronized
swimmers. There are dolphins all around
us-under the netting at the front of the
boat, in our wake, dancing in front of the
prow. There are even baby dolphins swimming in tandem with elders-not always
a parent but often an uncle, aunt, or older
sibling, we're informed. When it comes to
dolphins, it takes a village.
We follow the dolphins for 45 minutes,
due to the size of the pod-and because
where there are dolphins, there are often humpbacks. But
aside from a few sea lions, no other mammals appear.
The dolphins have brought us close to shore, so Captain Tom turns the boat around and heads west in search
of a thermocline-a nutrient-rich temperature gradient
in the ocean where the blue whales feed. But we have no
luck: no blues, no humpbacks-only a massive and slightly

unsettling Mola mola, which looks like a giant decapitated
fish head, basking on its side near the surface.
We are heading to shore when I ask Captain Tom about
the whales sighted on recent excursions. What I thought
were impressive numbers-imagining seeing 14
blue whales in one week-are actually quite low.
But the water just now is warmer than usual, so
there is some speculation that the whales might
be feeding farther north.
The coastline is in sight when a boat ahead
of us radios that they've spotted a minke whale,
among the smallest of the baleen whales. Captain
Tom turns the boat in a final attempt to show us
a whale. And the minke obliges, breaching right
in front of the vessel. While we are reminded
that it's one of the smallest whales out there, it
still strikes me as an impossibly large creature,
even in a place as enormous as the Pacific Ocean.
And a whale is a whale, of course. It's just not a blue whale.
On my drive back to Los Angeles, I still feel as if I'm out
on the water. I can taste the salt on my lips, and my legs
and head feel pleasantly wobbly and wavy. I'm not disappointed by the absence of larger, more impressive whales.
Instead, I'm amazed by the vastness of the ocean and the
things it conceals. I'm determined to try again.

There are
dolphins all
around us-
under the
netting, in our
wake, dancing
in front of
the prow.

ut before I try, I have the chance to speak
to Dave Johnston, a veteran guide from
Venture Quest Kayaking, in Santa Cruz.
He leads his adventurous clients as close
as you can possibly get to whales without
actually swimming. He's been kayaking with
whales on a regular basis for over two decades-
primarily around Moss Landing, on the shore of
Monterey Bay, which he claims is the best whalewatching spot on the coast. He says his heart
still pumps with adrenaline when a humpback,
or even a gray, leaps out of the water near him.
Scary and majestic go hand in hand.
Johnston tells me the thrill comes from how
the silence of the water around his kayak is
suddenly interrupted by a crashing breach as
the whales start jumping. It is not simply being
able to see the whales so close that impresses
him, but being able to hear them, their powerful
exhales and their trumpeting spouts. It's grand
but also dangerous, and he instructs his kayakers to drum on the hulls of their boats to warn

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Table of Contents for the Digital Edition of California Official Visitor's Guide 2018