LIFE IN THE MANGAL

Winter 2009

Great Parks: The El Vizcaino Biosphere

This is an article from WaveLength Magazine, available in print in North America and globally on the web.

To view a copy of the entire magazine online, click here: WINTER 2009 WAVELENGTH MAGAZINE

As the first pink rays of dawn tint the water ripples, I step outside to watch sandpipers gathering breakfast. If the tide is out, there may be a coyote hunting for scallops in the shallows. Most mornings, the tracks around my tent tell me the trickster had visited me again looking for an easy theft under the cover of night.

The smell of coffee and warm tortillas waft from the morning’s cooking, and the first osprey of the day passes overhead looking for minnows lurking near the water’s surface.

A flock of wimbrels congregate on the beach, fringed by gulls.

An ibis in flight

A young night heron.

The peculiar peccary.

It is morning in San Ignacio Lagoon, Baja Mexico, and another day in paradise is beginning.

I work here as guide and cetacean naturalist, now in my 12th season. This lagoon is a giant nursery for the pacific gray whale, gaining international fame for its whale watching, but my work here has allowed me access to a second world the public rarely sees.

The channels of San Ignacio that the whales frequent are surrounded by miles of mangroves, and they in turn support a wildlife ecosystem unparalleled in the world.

Mangroves are, by definition, coastal shrubs and trees that thrive in a brackish environment. The term ‘mangal’ refers to a large area encompassing all the plants in the mangrove swamp or forest. About 110 species of foliage fall under the umbrella of mangroves, each adapted to exploit and thrive in this unique environment. The entire lagoon is surrounded by mangal.

In an area of extreme tidal exchanges such as in this lagoon, mangroves impede water flow and provide a natural habitat for oysters and clams, and this in turn becomes a wildlife haven.

When I am not on the water working with whales, I am kayaking through the hundreds of mangrove channels that are home to over 300 species of sea and coastal birds and a myriad of land creatures that are drawn to the prey-rich environment.

To view the mangal from the air, one would think it a barren land, mostly devoid of wildlife except for the expected rattlesnake or scorpion. But that is misleading. The mangroves of Baja contain one of the largest concentrations of wildlife in all of Mexico.

Due to the remote location of this lagoon on Baja’s southwestern shore, and the almost total lack of human invasion into the mangroves, animals show little fear at my approach. The silence of my kayak allows me to enter their world almost without restriction. I can glide over a crystal clear littoral, where sand dollars the size of pancakes litter the sandy bottom while watching crabs hide from my passing shadow by holding spiny urchins over their heads as a shield.

The water is so clear I can watch sea stars walk along the sandy bottom taking prey as one of the most efficient predators in the ocean.

The nests of osprey, blue herons and cormorants are all available to my camera while curious night herons watch this strange creature in a kayak pass silently by. On sandy breaks, thousands of curlews gather as one, landing and taking off with military precision while black scoters keep pace with my boat on the water. I know one channel where a pair of oystercatchers has nested for three years. I can usually count on one of them for a warm welcome.

But it is not just seabirds that inhabit the area. If I am early enough, I might catch coyotes digging for clams or scallops, their coats glistening in the sun from their protein-rich seafood diet. The coyotes here eat so well they resemble wolves in size. Hauling out to wander on foot through the countless islands that dot the lagoon I have encountered peccaries, foxes, tarantulas, rattle snakes and even a lone wolf.

While wolves are rare in Baja I spotted one’s tracks along the shore one morning and followed it through the ice plant to almost stumble on its nightly lair. The click of my camera shutter startled it just as it was waking and it jetted off into the chaparral like a smoky apparition.

I have watched coyotes raid nests for eggs, and was entertained by one for several minutes. After digging a young octopus out of its cave, the hapless coyote ended up with its would-be prey wrapped around its snout.

Roadrunners are a common sight, jetting in and out of the ice plant, usually with a lizard in their beak.

Three different mountain ranges ring this lagoon, standing purple in the morning’s mist to provide a dramatic backdrop for long drafts of hundreds of pelicans flying in formation. Osprey prefer to hunt in the early hours here before the local pangas take to the water and stir things up. They nest for life and build epic homes from driftwood that can weigh hundreds of pounds in order to stand up to the powerful chubascos that blow in from the open Pacific. They are a welcome sight and most of the whale camps have built platforms to aid them in their nest construction. These sea eagles are the top of the aviary food chain in the lagoon. Above it all, high up in the thermals, stately frigate birds coast on unseen currents.

In the distance you can see the “Three Virgins,” all active volcanoes that last blew their tops about 10,000 years ago. The lava runoff from that final blast traveled for several miles before cooling off in the ocean. The lava now lines much of the lagoon’s coast, alternating hard, jagged formations in between stretches of white sand and ice plant.

This is where my camp is located.

I can sit for hours drifting with a lazy tide and watch Pacific gulls picking up clams from the tidal flats and drop them onto the lava to break them open, proving that what many consider to be a dumb bird has, in fact, enough cunning to use tools.

Deep in the mangrove maze there is little difference when the tides exchange and I can glide silently along, like a log on the water, unobtrusive enough to have birds land on my deck for a rest, or even to peck at my bungee cords in hopes of supplementing a nest. Often when I return to my boat after an excursion on shore I will find dozens of curious birds going over my craft in search of whatever they can carry off. Over the years I have been accepted by these animals as a resident not to be feared. In this vast silent arena, a kayak is the perfect entry vehicle.

Paddling here is not difficult, and in fact it is so easy it would be a perfect spot for beginners to learn, if only it wasn’t so inaccessible. But it is that very remoteness that accounts for the still wild environment. In my twelve years in this lagoon, I have yet to encounter another paddler in the mangroves.

This lagoon is part of a two-million hectare preserve called El Vizcaino Biosphere. Everything in it, on land or under the water, is protected under Mexican law. While the Mexican government is not known for its environmental policies, in San Ignacio Lagoon they know the treasure they have and work hard to keep it pristine. There is a warden who watches over all and has authority to issue citations if anyone is caught harassing the animals.

While thousands visit this lagoon each year to see gray whales, no more than a handful ever venture off into the labyrinth of the mangroves. They are a natural treasure and for me, a getaway within a sanctuary.

You can reach James Dorsey at whalekeeper@yahoo.com.