Red Urchin

"Kiss My Ab"

Simple shot of an abalone gripping the underside of a rock up in Mendocino waters. Just anticipating some free diving coming up. The non-dramatic elements, like this, please me to no end.

Now, this abalone is undersized, in legal terms, about 5 or 6 inches across that shell, I'd guess.  (I'm holding the camera quite close here.)  And, while I learned to dive while "chasing abalone", as we used to joke, I tend to look and appreciate and not take these days.  Good eating, yes, but also good thriving.

"Kiss my ab" was the motto we'd throw at each other while abalone-diving.   The good old days.  (You know, driving three hours and then limiting out in 10 minutes of water-time.   Or, better, taking our time to find the best abalone we could there off Salt Point or Kruse Ranch, imitating the harbor seals in the surge channels, diving deep into the kelp again and again, and dealing with those rocky shore exits, no matter how much the swell had risen.)  Those days were too short and too few, but golden while they lasted, silver in memory.  I'll toast those days -- and my dive buddy Keith -- with some rum in the evening after the next time I go free diving, and I'll go free diving soon just to be toasting those days, that friend.

Notebook: Whale-Watching / Kayaking

1.  I will have to set aside the camera a bit more deliberately to engage my whole sight and other senses.    Next time around.  The camera itself, turning it on, fussing with zooming and focusing, really narrows the experience.  I love having the shots to document and to spark memories, but I want to look and see more fully in the moment.

2.  The experience really was rooted in wet neoprene, in the seat of the wetsuit, in the motion of the swell under the kayak, in the lifting and the dropping and the shifting and the pulling and the pushing.  On the afternoon of the 30th, the tug was back into the harbor, but the swell was rising and the wind had created chop, so there was a constant motion -- up down thisway thatway-- that the morning had lacked, had been so flat and calm.  I love the water movement, and the sit-on-top is so well-crafted to ride such movements.  Even now, two days later, if I just sit and unfocus, I am moving in my mind with residual body sense-memories.  A lovely sensation to me.

3.  Then, besides the emphatic floating quality, the sounds!  So many birds flying, shrieking, calling, ker-plunking into the water after the anchovies.  Pelicans and terns and murres and cormorants and classic gulls.  Terns and pelicans out with us, mostly.  Then, the barking of sea lions in the distance, the splashing of seals nearby, the crunching-lunching of otters.  The chatter of humans: excited, agitated, inane.  "HOLY SHIT" were the first words out of one fellow's mouth, as he rounded the small point to leave the harbor only to be faced with a lunging whale.  (That fellow was off his game, more nervous than his date, and he shadowed JP and me off and on, nervously.  Still, such caution in such a situation is no bad thing, and his date may have been more water-savvy -- or simply oblivious -- than he was.)  The whales' spouting, blowing, and splashing.  Occasionally, the power station would let out great blasts of steam that would mimic the whale spouts--and would confuse me, for a moment, as I looked for that other whale.  The water made the most noise and the most noises, lapping and slapping and splashing and crashing along and onto the jetty, the kayak, the whales, itself.

Motley: Companion

Motley: 19+ years-of-age; 7 lbs. (down from 14 at her prime); sore and sleepy.
Still a beautiful bundle of love.  Demanding, yes, but she's earned it.

Otters: Outside the Harbor

This fellow was vigorously grooming and yet swam obliviously into our group as we hastened to make way for this creature.   He swam toward a third person's kayak, seemingly eager to board it for the dry place to groom properly, and after that person back-paddled, the otter selected my kayak as the next goal, until I back-paddled quickly as well.  Then, the otter looked to JP and approached him, but gave up after he backed off too.  Finally, the otter gave us what can only be called a withering look, dove, came up empty-pawed, dove again, and then swam away, disappearing into the distance.

Kayaking With Whales: 7/30/14

I've recently posted the most dramatic photosfrom last Wednesday's go-out from Moss Landing here, here, and here, but I want to present more shots -- less dramatic shots, mostly -- that I still will return to with awe and appreciation.  At the time I was busy paddling and observing and reacting, frankly, to the dozens of whales that kept feeding on the anchovies in the area, sharing this space with the seals, the birds, and the kayakers.  Only afterwards has it really sunk deep how special the bounty of the day really had been.  I'm fairly sure my kayak-partner, JP, has had much the same reaction.  Excitement then; awe, afterwards.

Here are some shots of those whales from the 30th, a wealth of whales.  I was using an amphibious Canon Powershot D10, which works best 8-10 feet from one's subject, underwater or in dry air, and so I missed too many shots or marred too many shots with a faulty zoom or just not enough reach, as it were, technically.  JP had a similar problem with his GoPro, that middle distance being required, and yet neither of us wanted to get too close, neither of us wanted to bother these glorious creatures.  We hung back or paddled away from any possible collisions or crowding, choosing respect over getting the shots.

The morning paddle:

Our initial view beyond the harbor mouth: what luck, a whale!

Shots from the afternoon paddle:

Postscript:
When JP and I returned a few days later with family to kayak again with the whales, we only saw three whales or, more likely, the one whale three times, and only in glimpses.  A let-down, certainly, at that time, but later that day, JP reminded me what a glory of a day we had despite not seeing the dozens of whales we'd seen on the 30th (and which I am showing evidence of with the photos below), what a glory of day we had because in the Moss Landing Harbor we paddled by and observed harbor seals, sea lions, otters by the dozen, terns, pelicans, and other rich life, beside what we saw outside the harbor as we paddled further, probably, away from land than I'd paddled before, the swell light and easy, almost flat, looking for whales, and feeling we'd missed out, even though the sea lions and the birds and even an otter or two could be found out there, you know?

Double Vision: Haul-Out

Harbor seals, here; kayakers, there.

Geese and pelicans intermingling too.