Whale Watching

An adult gray whale surfaces near the beach in Malibu. All photos © 2020 Suzanne Guldimanm

They sought it with thimbles, they sought it with care;
They pursued it with forks and hope;
They threatened its life with a railway-share;
They charmed it with smiles and soap.

—Lewis Carroll, The Hunting of the Snark


Every winter, California gray whales take part in an epic migration from the Arctic to the warm waters of the Sea of Cortez in Baja, and back again. The first southbound whales are usually spotted passing Malibu in December; the first northbound whales usually begin to appear in February.

One of the first northbound whales we've seen during the current 2020 season. It helps when someone else spots it first and is helpfully pointing!

On the way south the whales are traveling fast and rarely linger; on the journey north, females with new calves stay close to shore. They often travel in small groups made up of adults, calves and young whales, and are often joined by dolphins.

March is usually the peak time to look for northbound gray whales off the coast of Malibu, but numbers of northbound whales have already been spotted, and the migration usually runs through the end of April.

Even though these animals are giants it can still be hard to see them, not unlike Lewis Carroll's long-sought but perpetually elusive snark. How do you see whales? The first rule: take time out to go to the beach and look for them, and don't give up if you don't see any the first time, or the second, or the third.

Here's a closer look at the same whale. That telltale spout is the easiest way to spot a whale, but there are other clues: ripples on the surface of the water, a Loch Ness monster-like glimpse of a tail fluke, flipper, or dorsal ridge, or the presence of other animals like dolphins or gulls, in the area. We'll take a closer look at all of these indicators in this post. 

There are plenty of good options for whale watch cruises out of Ventura, Marina Del Rey and San Pedro, but I like to watch for whales from the shore. Corral, Zuma, Leo Carrillo and the small pocket beaches along PCH between Malibu and Point Mugu beaches are all good spots for whale watching, but the best spot is usually Westward, where the whales come close to shore to feed and rest.

It's worth paying to park in the Westward Beach lot at this time of year. Bring a chair and an umbrella and picnic and make a day of it; or walk up to the top of the Point Dume Nature Preserve and watch for whales from one of the viewing platforms—there are two new platforms this year, although some trails in the nature preserve have been closed for trail work and the new beach staircase that is going in later this spring.

There are no guarantees in whale watching, whether on a boat or on the beach, You may see a dozen or none at all, but an hour  or two spent watching for whales is never time wasted. In its own way, it's a form of meditation.

The first thing I look for is any kind of disturbance on the water: a gathering a birds, ripples on the surface of the water, all of these can be signs that whales and other marine mammals like dolphins and sea lions are present.

The sudden presence of a large number of gulls means a good chance there are marine mammals around. In this case it was dolphins, attracted to the same bait fish the gulls were catching.

Gulls following a dolphin, hoping for a share of lunch.

This lone dolphin caught my eye at Westward Beach. 

There was too much wake out there for just one dolphin. Something much larger was in water.

A massive gray whale surfaced a second later, one of the biggest I've ever seen.

Here's her calf, popping up to spout. 

Most gray whale sightings are of a distant spout or puff of breath far out to sea or a Loch Ness Monster-like hump. My attention was drawn by the narrow line of darker water before I saw the whales spouting.  And the bigger band of dark water in the distance?

That dark line was the wake from a mega-pod of more than 100 common dolphins swimming past, almost out of range for my telephoto lens. 

Often all you see is the puff of breath with no whale in sight. They can hold their breath for a long time and its easy to lose track of them before they surface to breathe again.

During the northbound migration in the spring the whales come closer to shore and linger in one place longer, mothers rest and nurse their calves, but even whales that don't have young may take a break and rest near the shore, offering whale watchers a closer look at the heart-shaped spout that is the classic sign of a gray whale. 

If the whale is close enough to shore, you can sometimes you can hear it before you see it.

A ring like this is produced when the whale exhales and dives. Gray whales feed on the sea floor, scooping up mud that they filter through their baleen for the amphipods, krill, worms, and other invertebrates that are their main food source.  Gray whales are more adaptable than some of their relatives, and have been known to snack on small fish and squid—prey that also attracts dolphins, sea lions and seabirds.

There were two whales here a second ago. The ring of bubbles is obvious, but the smooth oval "footprint" next to it is also evidence of a whale. 

This is what is happening under the water during a spout. By the time someone shouts, "Oh look, a whale!"  The whale has exhaled, inhaled, and vanished with a flick of its powerful tail. 

Here are the "footprints" left behind on the surface of the water.

This is a beach-level view of a whale footprint. 

A second later, all you might see are some telltale bubbles. 

A whale footprint is often really a tail-print.

The gray whale's flukes are huge—easily 12 feet across. It's no wonder the tail leaves a distinctive disturbance in the water.

The tip of one of the two fluke lobes is often all of the whale one actually sees, and it can be mistaken for a dolphin fin at first glance.

The gray whale's enormous flippers are sometimes visible when the whale is rolling over under the water.

The whale's dorsal ridge suggests the back of the classical sea monster.

This species doesn't have dorsal fins, but some gray whales have pronounced dorsal "knuckles" near the tail. 

Sometimes you get a glimpse of a whale's head, or rostrum, out of the water.

You can just see the eye of this young whale as it surfaces to breathe.

Here's the barnacle-covered back of a gray whale's head, with the twin blowholes clearly visible. 

This whale is "spyhopping," poking its head out of the water and looking around.

Here's a view from above, showing how little of the whale is actually visible when it spyhops. A mature gray whale can grow to be 45 feet long, but only a small part of the animal is ever visible to the human observer standing on the beach.

Very rarely you might see a gray whale breeching. I took this photo in 2014 from the side of the road at Corral Beach. Those white lines are the five-foot-long neck groves on the underside of the whale. That's a good 60,000 pounds of marine mammal flying through the air—an impressive sight!

Even when you know you've spotted whales it can be hard to figure out what one is looking at. There are at least three whales here: one head, two tails, and the footprint left by the tail of the first whale as it popped its head out of the water.

There are whales in water in this image—the same three in the pervious photo, but you would never know it at first glance. Whales are elusive: patience and luck are key to seeing them. Gray whales may be giants but they are also fragile. 

The Pacific population of gray whales has recovered after being hunted to edge of extinction in the 20th century, but they are still vulnerable to ship strikes, trash, fishing gear, ocean warming, and even over-enthusiastic whale watchers who sometimes get too close or harass them with boats and drones.

2019 was a dire year for gray whales. There were so many deaths that an Unusual Mortality Event (UME) was declared.  It's important to give these amazing beings space. NOAA recommends observing whales from at least 100 yards away, and never swimming or paddling out to get a closer look. As much as we love to see them, we need to give them the room and peace they need to travel  safely and undisturbed. 

It is also important to continue to fight for protections for marine mammals. The gray whale has had a reprieve, but its future is far from certain, and its fate depends on us. 

Suzanne Guldimann

23 February 2020

Three guesses where the whales are. The sight of whales inspires wonder and joy in people of all ages and backgrounds. That we have the opportunity to witness this extraordinary migration is thanks to the people who fought and continue to fight to save the whales, and the coast they swim past.  Whether one sees a whale or not, an hour or two spent on the beach in February or March watching for these ancient and amazing pilgrims is one of the blessings of the year on the California coast. 

Hic Sunt Dracones—Here There Be Dragons

It doesn't actually say "here there be dragons," but Swedish mapmaker Olaus Magnus' "Carta Marina," created between 1527-39, warns of the perils of straying into undiscovered country with vivid and creative depictions of a strange and terrifying assortment of sea monsters.

We were talking of DRAGONS, Tolkien and I

In a Berkshire bar. The big workman

Who had sat silent and sucked his pipe

All the evening, from his empty mug

With gleaming eye glanced towards us:

"I seen 'em myself!" he said fiercely.

—C.S. Lewis

“I do not care what comes after; I have seen the dragons on the wind of morning.” 

—Ursula K. Le Guin

Hic Sunt dracones—here there be dragons, the words that once warned that the explorer was venturing off the map and into the unknown, still have the power to conjure marvels, even in an era of information overload where the monsters that lurked at the edge of the map have been vanquished to the realm of fiction. There may be maps to everything on every iPhone, Pad and Pod, but we are still drawn to the unknown. And it's comforting to know that while there may not be dragons there are still marvels.

Even the most jaded and world-weary citizen of the 21st century might find it easy to believe in dragons at sunset on a winter evening on the beach in Malibu, when there's a good chance of catching a glimpse of dolphins, sea lions and migrating gray whales.

The Bay Area and the Central Coast have a long tradition of sea monster sightings. Even the Channel Islands have their share—most notably a Loch Ness Monster-like creature off San Clemente Island, but for some reason, Malibu seems sadly deficient in the sea monster department (except for the occasional oar fish), which is surprising, considering the abundance of marine mammals that congregate off shore.

However, while one may know perfectly well that what one is looking at must be a marine mammal and not some strange cryptid, getting a good enough look to tell what it is can be a challenge. All of our marine mammal species can look remarkably like something that would be right at home among the sea monsters on the map at the top of the page.

Gray whales—looking as mysterious and massive as any of the sea monsters on the edges of Olaus Magnus' map—congregate in the shallow water of Westward Beach at sunset on a January evening. All photographs © 2015 S. Guldimann

We share our stretch of coast with an amazing assortment of marine mammals, including sea lions; harbor seals; Northern elephant seals; bottlenose dolphins, Pacific white-sided dolphins, Risso's dolphins; common dolphins; orca; gray whales; fin whales; humpback whales; minke whales; and blue whales, the largest animal on earth. 

The presence of these species is one of the reasons why much of the Malibu coast is designated an area of special biological concern and why the waters off Point Dume are now part of California's network of underwater reserves, officially known as Marine Protected Areas. 

Most of the larger marine mammals keep to the deep water well away from shore, but migrating gray whales often stay near the coast on the way to and from their breeding grounds in Baja. 

I wrote an article on the winter migration for a recent issue of the Malibu Surfside News. It wasn't my finest hour as a journalist. I cut out a section on the comparative size of the different whale species and ended up saying that the fin whale is smaller than the gray whale. It most definitely isn't. 

The fin whale is second only to the great blue whale in size. According to the American Cetacean Society, fin whales can grow to more than 80 feet long and weigh as much as 70 tons. Blues can grow to more than 100 feet in length and weigh more than 100 tons. Gray whales, in comparison, grow to a mere 40-50 feet in length and weigh an average of 30-40 tons.

A gray whale surfaces near shore at Zuma. 

Grays may be small compared to other cetaceans, but a 50-foot-whale surfacing just beyond the surfbreak is an awe-inspiring sight, and a surprisingly frequent one along the shore in Malibu from December through April.

That's a gray whale calf spouting, and not a Malibu species of the Loch Ness Monster, despite appearances.

Gray whales are the most commonly observed nearshore whale species, but fin whales, humpbacks and even blues can occasionally be spotted with the help of a pair of binoculars. Blue whales and fin whales exhale a cone-shaped spout of water that can be 30 feet high, while humpbacks produce a roundish, 10-foot-tall spout. Looking for the tell-tale blast of white water is often the easiest way to spot whales. 

Whales can be hard to spot, despite their size. Looking for spouts can be the best way to locate them. 

Sometimes the presence of sea birds and dolphins indicates there are whales in the area. Any disturbance in the water is worth a closer look with binoculars or a zoom lens.

Two gray whales followed by a triangular fin—evidence of a dolphin escort. 

Many dolphin species also prefer deep water. It's rare to encounter Dall's porpoise or Risso's dolphin near shore, but both species can be found off Point Dume where the continental shelf drops off into deep water. 

This unfortunate Risso's dolphin washed up dead just north of Leo Carrillo State Park. I've never seen a live one close to shore, although they are common in the deep water further out, where they gather in large pods.

Dall's porpoise—a compact, small member of the dolphin family with black and white coloring that looks a little like the orca's—seems to prefer cold water and reportedly only turns up in winter.

Risso's dolphins are large (10-13 feet long), blunt-nosed dolphins that also go by the wonderful name "grampus."  They are often seen in the channel, where they gather in large pods, often with other dolphin and whale species, but they almost never come close to shore.

The most frequently encountered dolphins at Malibu's beaches are the bottlenose dolphin, the common dolphin and the Pacific white-sided dolphin. White-sided dolphins are usually seen farther out, but they sometimes come fairly close to shore. However, the common and bottlenose dolphins will swim right into the surf and are often seen along the coast just yards from the beach. 

Although these look like they ought to be Pacific white-sided dolphins, they are common dolphins. The common dolphin is widely distributed and can be found around the world. It's the dolphin that is Apollo's sacred messenger in Greek mythology. It's also sacred to the Chumash people. We do occasionally get a visit from another, much larger, member of the dolphin family that also has distinctive white patches—the orca, but confirmed sightings are relatively rare.

Here's a helpful size and shape comparison of the bottlenose and common dolphin, borrowed from Wikipedia. The top dolphin (image created by Kuzon) is the larger, longer, bottlenose dolphin. The bottom image (created by Chris Huh) shows a common dolphin.

It can often be hard to identify what one is seeing. In this case, the size of the animal in comparison to the surfers, and the shape of its fin indicate this is a bottlenose dolphin.

Here's the same bottlenose dolphin with what appears to be a smaller common dolphin. 

The most conspicuous marine mammal in Malibu has to be the sea lion. These gregarious, intelligent, noisy and fun-loving pinnipeds are a favorite here at the Malibu Post. One of my first articles for the blog was about them, and I never get tired of observing them.

Harbor seals and Northern elephant seals also occasionally visit the Malibu coast. Adult elephant seals are massive—males can be 16 feet long and weigh more than 5000 pounds. They spend much of their lives in the open ocean and are rarely seen near the shore in Malibu. 

However, young pups are occasionally spotted on the beach here, either resting or sometimes in distress (injured or ill marine mammals should be reported to the California Wildlife Center's marine mammal rescue team—310-458-WILD, and donations are urgently needed this time of year to supply rescued animals with medical care and the huge quantities of fish they need to eat during recovery).

A trio of sea lions play in the surf of Point Dume. Surfers may think they invented the laid-back, fun-loving California beach lifestyle, but the sea lions were already the living embodiment of that sun-and-fun philosophy long before the first human surfer arrived on the scene.

Harbor seals are less numerous in Malibu than their sea lion cousins, but there are usually a few around, especially in western Malibu. Elephant and harbor seals lack the powerful front fins that enable sea lions to move quickly and efficiently on land and are rarely seen on the shore—Malibu's beaches probably aren't secluded enough. Like sea lion and dolphins, harbor seals are intelligent and curious and like to check out what the swimmers or divers are up to. They've also been known to drop in on surfers. 

Elephant and harbor seals are sleek, strong underwater swimmers and are hard to spot in the water. If what you are watching is leaping out of the water like a mad acrobat, or popping up to watch you watching it, it's probably a sea lion.

Could this, at last, be a sighting of an elusive Malibu sea monster? It looks like a fairly convincing sea serpent, the sort that wraps sinuous coils around ships and squeeze them to bits.

Alas, this Loch Ness Monster look-alike is just part of the Point Dume sea lion colony, on their way home to the rookery for the night. 

The only authentic sea monster I know of in Malibu is this one, and it swims not in the sea but in my friends' Point Dume garden.

The American Cetacean Society offers all kinds of useful information on whales and dolphins, and the Los Angeles chapter, which is currently seeking whale census volunteers, provides links to whale watching trips, daily updates on the census, and much more on its website. Both sites are well worth a visit.

There are all kinds of opportunities to learn about the things that once existed beyond the edges of the map and that even today we are only just beginning to understand. One of the best opportunities is simply taking the time to go and look. Who knows what one might see? 

Suzanne Guldimann
21 January 2015

A mama and baby gray whale rest in the calm water off Point Dume.