We are back in Baja, where we lived for 9 months through June of last year. I am walking out to the beach for the first time since our arrival. My daughter, who I am pushing in a BOB stroller along the dirt road, drifts into her midday nap.
As we arrive at the sand, Lily is asleep. A drone flies overhead. I watch it sail out over the ocean. I notice a man on an ATV off to my left and a black Jeep Cherokee parked trunk side to the water 100 yards down on the right. No other people are in sight up or down the beach.
I turn the BOB backwards and drag it on its two rear wheels through the sand. We stop where the upward grade of the land starts to bend down towards the crashing waves. I sit, look out over the ocean, and…
In the distance, white water shoots into the air. My heart jumps, and I scan the horizon for a whale. There’s a dorsal fin; oh, and a spout! I count, one, two, three whales in sight and then…
Maybe 50 yards in, a giant pectoral fin flaps up towards the sky and then back down towards the water – smack! – back up towards the sky and down towards the water again. I look more closely. The whale is turned on its side with its long, narrow upper body fin waving towards the shore again and again and again!
My eyes well with tears.
Another whale joins in.
White water shoots up from another spout in the distance.
The whale waves continue for another minute and then I am lost in the glittering sun on water. I close my eyes and as each wave crashes, a salty mist dusts my cheeks.