Swims With Wolves

My kayak on the beach, Isla Espíritu Santo

I booked a spot on a small boat out to the islands just off the coast of La Paz, mostly interested in doing some kayaking along the edge of Isla Espíritu Santo. But the first stop of the trip was at a sea lion colony (or lobos de mar, sea wolves, as they are called in Spanish). Jorge, the captain of the boat, tossed the anchor overboard not far from the rocks, and as the three Mexican tourists and I donned our snorkel gear, he assured us in Spanish that the "wolves" were friendly and wouldn't attack us, although they did like to play.

I had to strain a bit to try to catch what he was saying over the wind and barking of the sea lions in the background, trying not to miss any vital information he might be giving out about fighting off packs of aquatic wolves, should they decide not to heed his assurances that they were friendly.

The water was quite clear and very warm, and there were a fair amount of brightly colored fish swimming about, although not as many as I'd seen when snorkeling on the coral reefs in Belize about this time last year.

I swam through a huge school of small, shimmering, silvery fish, and then looked around for the sea lions. There were maybe four or five of them in the water, darting about. They were very curious and playful, a bit mischievous, one tugging the tail of the rope where it was spliced to the length of chain attached to the boat's anchor, apparently try to untie the anchor. I took a deep breath and dove down to grab onto the length of rope, and we played a gentle game of tug of war. Then I felt a pull on one of flippers, and looked around to discover another had come up behind me, grasping the end of my flipper in its mouth, tugging as if it were trying to pull it off. Later, I saw them gently biting and tugging on each others flippers as they played.

Another came up right in front of me, hovering inches in front of me for a few moments looking into my eyes, before putting its nose right up to my mask. I gently pushed it away, and offered it a fin to chew on, which it did for a few moments as I returned the favor and grabbed hold of one of its flippers. Then it darted off, circling around, reminding me of a happy, scampering puppy, but one able to move around in all three dimensions with equal facility. Watching that was a bit disorienting.

I noticed another playing with a rock it had grabbed from the bottom, and I tried to teach it to play fetch, without much success. (Or maybe it was trying to teach me to play fetch, in which case it had somewhat better luck.)

Yet another one seemed to delight in trying to startle you, making quick passes from behind, barely skimming past, with a soft, quick brush of its head against your body as it sped by.

After probably an hour or so, we tumbled back into the boat, and headed off to another area, where Jorge dropped me and my rented kayak off so that I could paddle by myself for a while along the coast, to meet up with the others later.

The western side of the island has several fingers of land jutting out into the sea, forming long, narrow bays between them, usually with a very pleasant beach in the "webbing" between the fingers. Near the tips, the colors and shapes of the eroded rock are reminiscent of the red slick rock canyons of Utah, albeit on a smaller scale. I paddled along the smooth undulating curves of the eroded cliffs, watching bright red crabs skitter on the rocks, watched by large pelicans, my kayak skimming across the surface of the brilliant turquoise waters to a lovely beach. I spent a few minutes ashore, and another few wading, pausing to let my feet sink several inches down into the soft sand.

Then it was time to start paddling again.