Up at 06:30. Prepare a large cup of coffee in my favorite Scruffy/Rodger mug. Haul my cozy sleeping bag suit, binoculars, and coffee to the cockpit, arrange a comfortable back support seat just right for viewing, and sit back to watch the waking of the day.
At times, the show is to watch the predawn, across a wide open expanse of sea, steadily brightening the eastern horizon. It begins with deep to lighter blues pushing the darkness to bed for the day. Then pinking and oranging any cloud arrangements it can reach, the colorful sky appears to have exploded beyond the horizon. Don’t look away, for in a matter of minutes the spectacle of predawn is complete. The awe of color fades away.
In a moment or two, in a dedicated concentrated area of lightness on the horizon, a speck of intense, orange light pops into view, quickly becoming larger until the whole burning orb shows itself, bringing warmth, light, and life.
The beginning of a new day.
We are traveling north, with the Baja peninsula on our port (on our left). On mornings when we are anchored with island landforms blocking the view of the dramatic sunrise scene in the East, it is to the West where I watch the dawning of the day unfold among the stark and stunning Gigantes Mountain range. On these mornings, once the sky has brightened sufficiently, the sun’s rise is reflected at the tops of the highest peaks. Being steep, multi-layered, and vertically corrugated, the honey colored ‘sun rise’ illuminates exposed flanks of rock, while the deep shadows sleep in, providing dramatic depth and contrast in the soft honey-light sliding downhill.
Another day unfolds, slow, steady, and sure.
But today, the morning entertainment is the birds: hundreds of birds of various species, all-consumed in their natural instincts of work and play. Anchored near-shore, protected from the strong north winds by Danzante Island’s hills, the show is non-stop action from pre-dawn onward.
Snowy Egrets running this way and that in the shallows, following each other fly-hopping to and fro hoping to catch the little fish near shore; Magnificent Frigates flying high, lazy circles, waiting for opportunity to snatch another birds catch or snag a flying fish on the the wing; Brown Pelicans, by the hundreds, but in small packs, soaring high in the strong winds, coasting just above the waters surface, or sitting solid on land or sea, but most spectacular, dive-bombing for breakfast, one after another, pulling their wings in at the final moment with a graceful splash. Coming up, the successful hunters tip their heads back and gulp down their catch. A common and comic feathered friend is the Yellow-Footed Gulls, often conversing with each other, whispering, arguing back and forth, sometimes everyone talking at once if there’s several gathered together. I swear, one evening the group sounded like Jon-boy’s family, taking turns to each say good-night to each other, with a little arguing thrown in. The Brown Boobies are a new species for me. Although Blue-Footed Boobies are here, these must be Brown, as no blue feet are visible. They are sleek and fast, quietly diving for their food, then up and away to other hunting grounds. I hope to see big blue feet at some point. And then there’s the Turkey Vultures, whether soaring, sitting on shore, or clinging to the sides of shoreline cliffs, they are watchers, quietly waiting, or, if sustenance is imminent, they patiently remain in close proximity for death to come to others so that they might live. And mother nature continues the cycles.