When Carol and I pulled up to the kiosk at Salt Point State Park to check into our camp site, the ranger stated matter of factly, “People have been seeing whales.” This soon proved to be a gross understatement.

Salt Point is a gem of a park set along the rugged coast of northern Sonoma County. The park straddles Highway 1, to the east it is heavily forested, to the west is mostly open coastal prairie that slopes gently down to the spectacular Pacific Ocean. There really aren’t enough superlatives to describe the coast up here, breathtaking and awe-inspiring always seem to be my fallbacks. Crashing surf, fog, white caps, rocky beaches, secret coves, wheeling gulls, dive-bombing pelicans and basking harbor seals all combine to create a dramatic tableau of wonder and beauty. Oh, and sometimes there are whales.

After setting up camp we made our way down a narrow trail through the forest that opened up about 200 yards from the bluffs. The view was expansive in all directions; rugged coastline to the north and south, the ocean, fog free and clear to the horizon, was calm and robin’s egg blue, sunlight danced on the surface like thousands of tiny angels. We had barely stepped out of the forest when we spotted the first whale: a pure white wisp of spray that stood out against the blue of the water shooting straight up into the air followed by the dark, glistening shape of a whale’s body. As it dove down we saw the small dorsal fin on its back. This was a humpback whale. 

Most of my whale watching experiences have been with the grey whales. They migrate from Alaska to Mexico and back every year. Their appearance along the California coast is predictable. If you find a good spot with a clear view and a high vantage point, at the right time of year you can be assured of seeing at least some whales. The humpbacks aren’t such a sure thing. They do live around our part of the coast but sightings of them are random and unpredictable. That was not the case today. Carol and I parked ourselves atop a rocky outcropping on the edge of the bluff and watched in awe as a non-stop parade of humpback whales swam languidly past us. They came in groups of two, three or four, mostly adults but several juveniles too. These are massive animals, weighing up to 40 metric tons and measuring between 45-50 feet in length. Every so often the ocean’s surface would erupt and a whale would breach, leaping out of the water and returning with a mighty splash. There were partial breaches too where a whale would roll onto its side and splash its huge pectoral fin against the surface. Deeper dives rewarded us with views of their tail flukes. Sometimes a whale would be head-down splashing its tail back and forth. Mostly though they swam peacefully back and forth just surfacing to breathe and go back down again. This group stayed within a narrow section of the coast, a mile or so at most. We were out there for nearly three hours and not a minute passed without seeing multiple whales. It was a jaw-dropping display, made more special by the totally unexpected nature of the encounter. We always hope to see whales on our excursions to the coast but this exceeded our expectations, to say the least.

The wind had picked up so we hiked back to camp to get warmer clothes. We drove back down to the bluffs in our van for sunset and were rewarded with yet another spectacular sight. Both the cresting waves and the whale spouts were now backlit by the rays of the setting sun, causing them to shimmer like silver fountains when they were blown back by the wind. As soon as the sun melted into the marine layer along the horizon the whale activity stopped. It was bedtime for the humpbacks.

We got up the next day half wondering if our magical encounter with the whales had been a dream. We headed back to the bluffs for a planned hike. To our delight the whales were still out in force and as active as they had been the day before. However, our trail took us to the north and away from the center of whale action but there was still lots going on. The surf was high with massive waves thundering against the rocks below us. The coastal prairie was alive with golden crowned, white crowned and song sparrows. We saw a pair of kestrels doing their acrobatic dance above us, a lone meadowlark stood watching as we passed, its lemon-yellow breast feathers shining in the sun. We even saw  a red tailed hawk dive down and come up with a lizard in its talons, but along this section of the trail, no whales.

When we returned to whale central we parked ourselves in chairs on the cliff edge and once again watched the show go by. The breeze had all but disappeared and the dancing angels of sunlight had returned to the ocean’s surface. Carol and I sipped wine and just took it all in. The whales were less demonstrative today but spouts were still everywhere. I found myself lulled into a blissful state of reverie, it felt as if I were in the midst of a slow motion dream.

My late 30s were a time of great personal struggle. It was during this period of my life when I had a recurring dream. I’m standing atop a promontory high above the ocean. Whales and dolphins of all types and sizes are cavorting in the surf below me. How I wanted to be down there among them experiencing their freedom. Finally, once in this dream I was down with them. I awoke the next morning  feeling  exhilarated; it was as if something that I had always wanted had finally come to pass. While I didn’t actually get into the water with the humpbacks at Salt Point, I experienced some of that same exhilaration. For me, this really was a dream come true.