Adventures in Mexico!

By June Shrestha and Laurel Lam

Every two years, students and faculty of Moss Landing Marine Laboratories embark on a field studies course in Baja California Sur, Mexico. The field course is intended to give students the opportunity to lead independent field-based research projects in a new environment while promoting international exchange and collaboration. The 2018 class recently returned from Isla Natividad, located off of Point Eugenia on the Pacific coast, with many stories to share! Linked below are the blogs that each student wrote highlighting their experiences in Mexico.


1) Island Life on Isla Natividad

By Jackie Mohay, Fisheries and Conservation Biology Lab

"Imagine; you live in a small community on a remote island in the Pacific Ocean where a hardworking life is simple and fulfilling. One day you are told that a group of 20 will be travelling to your island to study it, using your resources and living amongst you for over a week. The people of Isla Natividad welcomed us with more than just open arms"  Read more...

2) And for something completely different... A healthy southern kelp forest

By Ann Bishop, Phycology Lab

"Like their terrestrial counter parts, kelp forests reflect the impacts of the human communities who rely on them. Isla Natividad looks the way it does today because of the careful management practices and intense love the people have for their island. The willingness of the co-operative to learn, flexibility to adapt, coupled, with their ability to exclude poachers has resulted in the rich underwater world we were permitted to visit."  Read more...

3) The Journey to Isla Natividad

By Vivian Ton, Ichthyology Lab

"Diving on Isla Natividad was an amazing experience. There were many habitat types such as rock reef, sandy bottom, surf grass beds, sea palm and kelp forests. There was kelp everywhere, the most they’ve had in the past 10 years. Along with the kelp, there were also so many fishes (especially kelp bass) to be seen and quite a few of them were massive in size."  Read more...

4) Catching Lizards... For Science!

By Helaina Lindsey, Ichthyology Lab

"Every inch of the island was covered in my chosen study species: Uta stansburiana, the side-blotched lizard. At first glance these lizards are unremarkable; they are small and brown, infesting every home in town and scattering like cockroaches when disturbed. However, if you’re able to get your hands on one, you’ll see there’s more to them than meets the eye. They are adorable, managing to look both impish and prehistoric, and have a brilliantly colored throat. They are heliotherms, meaning that they rely on the sun to maintain their body temperature. I aim to explore the nature of their behavioral thermoregulation, but first I need to catch them." Read more...

5) Life Was Simpler on Isla Natividad

By Katie Cieri, Fisheries and Conservation Biology Lab

"The simplicity of life that results from a unique combination of isolation and intense focus is one of the utter joys of field work. I had toyed with such bliss before... but my elation in Baja California Sur dwarfed that of previous excursions. Perhaps I have matured as a naturalist, or perhaps, as I suspect, Baja is a truly transcendent place."  Read more...

6) What does a Sheephead eat?

By Rachel Brooks, Ichthyology Lab

"For my project, I was interested in exploring the variability in diet of California Sheephead (Semicossyphus pulcher) across the island. Once we were suited up, our dive guide Ivan, dive buddy Laurel and I flipped over the side and began our descent through the lush kelp canopy towards the bottom. It took only a matter of seconds before I saw my first Sheephead swim by. Eager to get my first fish, I loaded my speargun and zoned in with little success. It took what seemed like an eternity (20 minutes) before I got my first fish, but when I did, I was overflowing with excitement."  Read more...

7) Best-made Plans vs. the Reality of Adjusting to Field Conditions

By Hali Rederer, California State University Sacramento

"My fellow students and I were immersed in rich practical “hands on” experiences integrating scientific field methods with experimental design.  This course was comprehensive and the pace was fast. Designing and carrying out a tide pool fish study, in a very short time frame, in a place I had never been, presented challenges requiring flexibility and creative approaches."  Read more...

8) Vivan Los Aves!

By Nikki Inglis, CSU Monterey Bay - Applied Marine & Watershed Science

"It wasn’t until the last star came out on moonless night that we heard it. At first, it sounded like the incessant wind whipping around the wooden cabin walls. We heard wings gliding in from the Pacific Ocean and a welling up of some invisible kind of energy. Within minutes, the sound was everywhere. The hills teemed, wings flapped frantically around us. We couldn’t see any of it, but the soundscape was three-dimensional, painting a picture of tens of thousands of birds reveling in their moonless refuge. Isla Natividad’s black-vented shearwater colony had come to life."  Read more...

9) Recollections from a Baja Field Notebook

By Sloane Lofy, Phycology Lab

[Written from the point of view of her field notebook] "Hello! I would like to introduce myself; I am the field notebook of Sloane Lofy... As a requirement for the course each student must keep a field notebook so that thoughts, ideas, and notes from the field can be used in their research papers later. To give you a feel for what the trip to Baja was like from leaving the parking lot to coming home I will share with you some of her entries."  Read more...

10) From Scientist to Local

By Jacoby Baker, Ichthyology Lab

"Every day we worked with locals, spending hours with them in the pangas, learning the areas where we were diving and what species we may find. Our relationships quickly morphed from strangers, to colleagues, and finally to friends as we shared our dives and helped each other with our projects. The diving was fantastic, but the chance to be taken in by the town and being accepted so fully into their culture was an experience that you can’t find just anywhere."  Read more...

11) Snails and Goat Tacos: The Flavors of Baja

By Dan Gossard, Phycology Lab

"Science is not typically described as "easy". This trip to a beautiful, remote, desert island wasn't the easy-going vacation-esque experience one may have expected. Hard work was paramount to collect as much data as possible in a relatively short amount of time. Conducting science at Isla Natividad was a privilege that I greatly appreciated and I hope to return there one day to follow up on my research."  Read more... 

12) 600 Miles South of the Border

By Lauren Parker, Ichthyology Lab

"If there is one thing I have learned from traveling, it’s that nothing turns out exactly the way you plan it. Tires crack, caravans split up, radios fail, water jugs leak, and you realize that coffee for 20 people cannot be made quickly enough to satisfy the demand. However, beautiful things happen just as often as the unfortunate. Friendships form and others strengthen; new skills are discovered and developed. A flowering cactus forest turns out to be one of the most beautiful things you’ve ever seen. The wind slows and the sun comes out."  Read more...

 


Eager to reminisce about previous trips to Baja?? Check out our previous posts:

 

Adventures in Mexico 2018: Life was simpler on Isla Natividad

By Katie Cieri, Fisheries and Conservation Biology Lab

I stared around at my dusty colleagues, blinking stupidly under the fluorescent lighting of the In-n-Out. Freed from the van which had been my home for countless hours, I found myself suddenly conscious of my briny skin and stiff, desert-impregnated clothes. These trappings of nomadic life, which I had up to this point worn as a badge of honor, felt suddenly dingy and out of place next to the immaculate white and red of the establishment. While I gazed around in disbelief at the hustle and bustle of Southern Californians sneaking a hamburger dinner, a passage from John Steinbeck’s The Log from the Sea of Cortez worked its way up from my subconscious.  He writes of himself and his fellow explorers: The matters of great importance we had left were not important….Our pace had slowed greatly: the hundred thousand small reactions of our daily world were reduced to very few.” Only now, amid the harsh reality of commercial America did I realize the truth of his words- during the past two weeks in Baja my reactions had indeed been reduced to very few.

I couldn’t tell you at what point I first began my transformation from frantic Moss Landing Katie into Katie the easy desert rat. It could have been in strolling in Cataviña among the Seussical wonder of boojum trees, or while floating next to a panga buoyed up by kelp and post-dive euphoria. Regardless of the timeline, I can tell you that the Katie of Isla Natividad had few concerns. Her most pressing questions were: When will I next eat? When will I next sleep? Where are the orange fish? What’s the Spanish word for that? (Luckily for me, on Isla Natividad, the word for Garibaldi, is, in fact, Garibaldi.)

The simplicity of life that results from a unique combination of isolation and intense focus is one of the utter joys of field work. I had toyed with such bliss before in the fanciful rainforests of Australia, or the bright turquoise waters of the Bahamas, but my elation in Baja California Sur dwarfed that of previous excursions. Perhaps I have matured as a naturalist, or perhaps, as I suspect, Baja is a truly transcendent place.

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The sun sets over the whimsical skyline of Cataviña, Baja California Sur

On my boat ride out to Isla Natividad, as I drew ever closer to its brown crags, I must admit that the John William’s score of Jurassic Park was on infinite repeat in my mind. The massive Macrocystis mats stretching before me certainly gave the impression of the Land that Time Forgot. (My later encounters with nocturnos, otherwise known as black-vented shearwaters, certainly built upon this impression. These birds return to the island each evening under the cover of darkness to flap and stumble towards their nest holes. This activity is accompanied by calls that are, in a word, unsettling; they seem to have been inspired by a velociraptor with a sinus infection.)

Amid these splendors, my days on the island had a lulling simplicity. The warm southern sunlight streaming through my cabin window in the morning would wake me. I would stumble awkwardly out into the light and shuffle my way down to the dive locker which munching my morning meal. In an hour or so I’d scramble into the back of a white pickup with my classmates, awkwardly stabilizing SCUBA tanks with my feet as we descended the steep boat ramp. Once aboard a sturdy panga, I’d assemble my dive gear in its startlingly blue interior. Our boat captain, Jesus, would navigate the thick kelp beds with skill, occasionally raising the outboard motor to throw up a shower of water and kelp pieces. On our ride out to that day’s dive spot we might be lucky enough to catch a glimpse of a refreshingly shy sea lion or dolphin.

 

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The view from a high hill on Isla Natividad

These rides were breathtaking, but my most treasured moments came in the unique silence that one can only experience on SCUBA. The rhythm of your breathing falls in time with the sway of the kelp and the pulse of ocean surge. As you weave through the kelp forest even the infinitesimal problems that remain with you on Isla Natividad float away with your exhaled bubbles. Emptied of my surface thoughts, I’d set myself to following the pugnacious, yet comical fish that California has chosen as its representative. I hovered above, and beside, and occasionally below these flamboyantly orange fish for countless minutes. Even now, I dream in orange. I timed the often clumsy, yet somehow beautiful dance between a territorial male and his would-be usurpers. My constant vigil was interrupted only by an occasional glace to scribble notes on my slate (white- what a revolutionary color!) or a brief interlude to find another unwitting subject. Garibaldi are, quite honestly, ridiculous, but their desperate self-importance gives them an endearing quality. Their willingness to attack other fish, their own kind, starfish, transect tapes, and even divers that may intrude upon their precious territory is nothing short of foolhardy. But you cannot help but admire their staunch determination. And, while I will never strive to emulate their pugnacious natures, I do hope that my brief time among them taught me something about focus and perseverance.

Eventually these submarine reprieves would be interrupted by my frustrating human need to breathe oxygen. I would haul my awkwardly burdened body back into the boat, rest, and repeat. My eventual return to land each afternoon was as reluctant, but not quite as jarring, as my return to California, USA. Looking back, I can comfortably say, life was simpler on Isla Natividad.

Adventures in Mexico 2018: Catching Lizards… For Science!

By Helaina Lindsey, Ichthyology Lab

I left Isla Natividad with six blisters on my feet, two ways to say “lizard” in Spanish, and thermal ecology data for thirty-seven impossibly fast reptiles.

Every inch of the island was covered in my chosen study species: Uta stansburiana, the side-blotched lizard. At first glance these lizards are unremarkable; they are small and brown, infesting every home in town and scattering like cockroaches when disturbed. However, if you’re able to get your hands on one, you’ll see there’s more to them than meets the eye. They are adorable, managing to look both impish and prehistoric, and have a brilliantly colored throat. They are heliotherms, meaning that they rely on the sun to maintain their body temperature. I aim to explore the nature of their behavioral thermoregulation, but first I need to catch them.

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A more colorful example of Uta stansburiana, showing off his characteristic side blotch.

It is 9:00 AM, and I have already been awake for three hours. One of the many secrets to catching lizards is to wake up before they do. Like most people, they are sluggish and slow in the morning, and thus much easier to catch. I stalk around the edges of a dilapidated palapa that sits on the beach in front of our cabins. My lizard-catching partner, Mason Cole, circles around to the other side of the board that I am eying. We each crouch next to one end of the board, taking a moment to make sure that our lizard nooses are ready to go. The nooses in question are crudely constructed metal poles with a loop at the end to tie a slip knot of dental floss that can be slipped over the lizard’s head. We lift up one end of the board and I duck my head underneath it, scanning for movement. I see a small brown flash dart across the sand, and I yell “Lagartija!” We stick our nooses under the board, angling to trap the little guy between the two of us. He puts up a fight, fleeing under another board, then back to the original. Eventually I get my dental floss loop around his neck and jerk up, and the hunt is over. I gently take the loop off the lizard’s neck and flip him over, examining his underside. We record his sex and throat color, then I take the temperature of the lizard and the sand under the board with an infrared temperature gun. Before I take a picture of him, I pull out a tiny bottle of white-out and paint a “23” on his back, marking him as my 23rd lizard caught on the trip so far. I snap a few photos, then place him in the small cooler that is draped around my shoulder. The cooler is filled with the other lizards I have caught today, looking like a team of football players in numbered jerseys.

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The result of a hard morning’s work: a cooler full of lizards

When we have caught enough lizards, we begin the familiar trek up to the research house where I have been running my experiments. I immediately get to work, setting up my row of wooden tracks with heat lamps at one end. As the tracks heat up, I measure and weigh the lizards before placing them back in the cooler, now with a frozen water bottle to cool them down a little. For my experiment, I am looking at how quickly the lizards heat up and how their behavior affects their body temperature, so I want them all to start at a similar body temperature. I place a lizard in the middle of each track, then cover the track with a sheet of mesh. Because of the heat lamps at one end, each lizard has a temperature gradient ranging from 25o C to 45o C, allowing them to move up and down the track to control their body temperature. After allowing them to acclimate for 5 minutes, I begin taking their temperature every 2 minutes for an hour while also taking note of their behavioral changes.

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Taking the temperature of the lizards using an infrared temperature gun.

The last step, of course, is to release them back into the wild, confused but otherwise unharmed. With this data I hope to quantify how the lizards on this island thermoregulate, compare them to other populations of Uta stansburiana, and hypothesize how they may react to climate change and rising global temperatures.

Adventures in Mexico 2018: The Flavors of Baja

By Dan Gossard, Phycology Lab

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The three non-"fish people" (Phycology Lab) in the Baja crew within an indoor abalone and seaweed aquaculture room (I'm on the right).

Life in the Field

After much contemplation, I decided to bring my laptop along on this journey to the unfamiliar coastal desert in Baja California. A laptop would facilitate more efficient data entry at our site and allow for statistical analysis on the return trip. The morning after our arrival at Punta Eugenia, however, made me question my decision. On that day, we packed all of our belongings on a number of panga boats and ferried them and ourselves from the mainland to Isla Natividad - and the journey was fairly bumpy.

Powerful currents and swell defined the "yellow" conditions that were the last categorical color for allowable transit. I was on the last of the boats and all of my gear was sent over on the first boat, which did not ease my nervousness. Once I was aboard the last panga and underway on the wavy route, my unsteadiness was quickly replaced by thrill, excitement, and anticipation. The opportunity to explore an unfamiliar place and dive into a rich and bountiful system is an opportunity not to be missed. If you are presented with that opportunity, prepare wisely, facilitate your safety responsibly, and journey into the unknown.

Our journey thus far had been filled with friendly interactions with the locals at every stop. We ate goat tacos and were pleasantly surprised to discover that they were some of the best tacos we've ever had. Our boat operator was no exception and pleasantly exchanged conversation with the few of us that also spoke Spanish. This conversation was multi-tasked over concurrent concentration and deft navigation through these dangerous waters. This most definitely wasn't his first trip. I wouldn't be surprised if he had thousands of these trips under his belt. Hindsight has provided me with multitudes of questions I would love to inquire of the islanders and their way of life. For someone who thrives in a coastal environment, someone like myself, it seemed to be a very enjoyable way of life.

At the end of the day, muscle soreness was a poignant reminder of the amount of gear we had hauled on these pangas. The local method of hauling gear utilized designated truck drivers to navigate pick-ups into the surf zone to connect with the pangas and transfer gear. As a reminder, metal and saltwater aren't the best of friends - one could say they have a corrosive relationship. The saltwater and the bumpy dirt roads are the likely culprits for the average island truck life expectancy of 3 years. If the amount of gear that was frequently transported throughout the year equated to anything near to what we brought to the island, that was likely another contributing factor.

Research Project

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Two Eisenia arborea juveniles at differing developmental stages (the left is older).

Prior to the start of the trip, I decided to study the most abundant understory kelp (and the only observed understory kelp) at Isla Natividad: Ecklonia arborea. Ecological interactions between understory and canopy kelps have been well established; the niches of the two subtidal kelps E. arborea and the giant kelp (you may be more familiar with) Macrocystis pyrifera overlap along the California and Mexico coast. E. arborea and the giant kelp M. pyrifera compete for resources in the subtidal kelp forest within this range, however M. pyrifera favors  colder waters while E. arborea favors  southern, warmer waters. Additionally, E. arborea have the capability of persisting in high wave energy environments, which allow them to form forests within exposed areas and within the intertidal zone. Established forests of E. arborea can prevent the inside establishment of M. pyrifera. Oceanographic disturbances such as El Niño events ) favor the understory kelp as well by the combination of warm water exposure and heavy wave action.

I didn't know what to expect, but my 8 days of diving around the island introduced me to a new underwater world. Forests of Macrocystis pyrifera around the 7km by 3km island contained individuals with differing densities. Understory forests contained forests of Eisenia arborea as far as the visibility allowed and further (with exceptional visibility, keep in mind). Within both of these ecotypical forests, the dominant kelp was interlaced with its competitor. Assemblages with these two kelps appeared to vary in terms of the density relationship between the two species between sites (data pending). Field collections of whole individuals at non-protected sites were used to compare some of these appearance characteristics to see whether they vary between sites or whether certain morphological characteristics correlate with others. These collections were analyzed immediately following diving and typically lasted through dinner (even with the gracious help of my colleagues).

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One of the morphological characteristics I was examining was stipe hollowing of Eisenia arborea. The exact mechanisms (both ecological and biological) for E. arborea hollowing are unknown, but an increased hollowing with decreased latitude relationship has been described.

The Flavors of Baja

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A wavy turban snail (Megastrea undosa). These shells were all around the island, as the snail is one of the primary fished resources from the island. These yielded approximately 4 x 4 x 4cm worth of meat per individual.

The food at the island was understandably a delicious melange of various seafood. I experienced one of the most exceptional snacks between our daily dives. Surface intervals between dives were accompanied by delicious wavy turban snail treats courtesy of our divemaster and boat operator. The efficient and quick chopping apart of numerous snails' shells with an onboard machete yielded a small bucket's worth of tasty morsels. These snails were less like the escargot from the land and more like an abalone. This treat itself highlights the bountiful harvests that the ocean can yield. Further so, this treat highlights the necessity of managing these resources in order to preserve and allow for their continual use for future generations. The wise implementation of the islanders' Marine Protected Areas illustrates a clarity that I wish was more prevalent in American coastal communities.

Reflections on my experience

Science is not typically described as "easy". This trip to a beautiful, remote, desert island wasn't the easy-going vacation-esque experience one may have expected. Hard work was paramount to collect as much data as possible in a relatively short amount of time. My colleagues and I took apart and measured 137 individuals and conducted 16 dives in a total of 9 days on the island. Conducting science at Isla Natividad was a privilege that I greatly appreciated. I hope to return there one day to follow up on my research with Eisenia arborea.

DG_5Saying goodbye is also never easy. The relationships we've developed with the community on the island were very rewarding and positive. I also hope to return to the island just to touch base with the islanders there, be it the island's head of ecotourism, the island's divemasters and boat operators, restaurant owning family, head of aquaculture, our drivers, or the multitudes of others that showed us an amazing time. Our departure marked the end of our time at Isla Natividad, but just another step in our progression as aspiring scientists. We continue forward with our studies with the aspirations to explore and discover the unknown.

Adventures in Mexico 2018: The journey to Isla Natividad

By Vivian Ton, MLML Ichthyology Lab

It was thanks to the Baja class offered at MLML that I got the chance to travel to Isla Natividad. Isla Natividad is a beautiful place full of life, despite being a small island right off the point of the Baja California Sur peninsula. The people there made you feel welcomed and part of a family. It felt like a mini vacation rather than work as time slows down there as you sit in front of your cabin that is facing the beach and watching the dolphins swim by.

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My cozy cabin for the week on Isla Natividad.

The Journey

While there are many ways to go down in Mexico and get to Isla Natividad, preparations must be made beforehand. It took months of planning and working out the logistics. Everyone had a role and a research project to conduct while on the island.

We left early from Moss Landing, stopping in San Diego for the night. From there it was a scenic route to Ensenada. Ensenada was a bustling city and it was there where we met Andrea and Jeremie, fellow graduate students from Mexico who’ve joined our trip. Jeremie showed us his favorite place for fish tacos and they were delicious!

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Once we’ve had our fill we left for Cataviña, a desert valley full of endemic succulents and cacti.
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Some plants during the trip. Boojum, lupin, busera (top); Boojum(closeup), unknown plant, cardon (middle); Poppy, octotillo, ocotillo flowers (bottom)

The trip there was quicker this time around passing into Baja California Sur by the afternoon. We were rushing a bit since conditions for the ferry weren’t looking good and would only going to get worse later that day. However, the fishermen from Isla Natividad managed to pick us up in the end. It was a little scary going full speed through the waves and there were times where I was lifted off my seat and my feet wasn’t touching the boat, but our driver was skilled and got us to the island safely.

Island Life and Research

Once we were onto the island, everything seemed to have calmed down, literally. The wind wasn’t blowing and the sun was out and shining. Our guide, Mayte, the head of ecotourism on the island gave us a tour of the island. The views were breathtaking and I love how everyone knew one another and chatted as we walked by.

Over the next week and a half, those of us with projects in the water dove practically every day. Diving there was an amazing experience. There were many habitat types such as rock reef, sandy bottom, surf grass beds, sea palm and kelp forests. There was kelp everywhere, the most they’ve had in the past 10 years. Along with the kelp, there were also so many fishes (especially kelp bass) to be seen and quite a few of them were massive in size. The Sheephead there were the largest I have ever seen. I was also lucky enough to see a couple rare and tropical fishes such as the longnose puffer.

My project was to compare total fish abundance and communities inside and outside of the MPA (marine protected area). Isla Natividad is special in that it has two MPA under its jurisdiction. These MPAs were created recently in 2006 and was set place by the people living there. The people of Isla Natividad are mainly fishermen where invertebrates are their main source of income such as abalone, lobster, octopus, wavy turban snails, and sea cucumber. Although there are fin fisheries around to a smaller extent, finfishes are mainly caught for subsistence. While Isla Natividad fishermen have exclusive rights to fish for invertebrates within Island waters, anyone can catch the fishes as long as they have a permit. MPAs are important in protecting biodiversity and the ecosystem within it. Some benefits for implementing MPAs include higher ecosystem resilience against storms, creating essential networks and refuge for fishes and invertebrates, and increasing total abundance and biodiversity of kelp forest organisms,  causing a spillover effect for fishermen.

Anyone with a diving certification should dive there at least once, you won’t be disappointed. By the end of our stay it felt like we have been living there for months as we got used to the island life and I was sad to go when it was time to leave. I had a lot of fun at Isla Natividad and would like to thank the people of Isla Natividad for helping and lending out their facilities to us during our time there. I hope to visit them again in the future!

Adventures in Mexico 2018: What does a Sheephead eat?

By Rachel Brooks, Ichthyology Lab

The sun was beaming down during our 15 minute commute to our designated “dive locker” near the abalone farm. I was on my way to get geared up for our first dive day at Isla Natividad. As I walked, a mixture of emotions ran through my head. I was excited to get in the water and explore the luscious kelp forests surrounding the island but I was nervous as well.

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California Sheephead

For my project, I was interested in exploring the variability in diet of California Sheephead (Semicossyphus pulcher) across the island. To do this, I would be spearing Sheephead with a goal of collecting 20-30 individuals among three distinct areas for a total 60-90 fish. Being a virgin spearfisher (wo)man, my biggest worry was not being able to get one Sheephead, let alone 60+ across the seven days of diving…
As we began unloading gear off the truck and into the boat, I had the opportunity to meet our diving guide (Ivan) and boat captain (Jesus), who would be with us for the remainder of our diving expeditions. Our first dive site of the day was at Punta Prieta, one of the two Marine Reserves surrounding the Island. After a couple failed attempts to enter the water, we finally found a site where the current backed off and within minutes our team was in the water. Our first dive was strictly exploratory; we practiced our skills, got a lay of the land, and determined whether or not there was a need to tweak our projects before our next dive.

For our second dive, we ventured over to La Guanera, a non-reserve fishing site. This was the site where I would begin to collect my Sheephead samples. Before we hopped in the water, my dive buddy, Laurel, and I got a quick run-through (again) on how to use our speargun and sling. Ivan, who was either (1) interested in my project or (2) cognizant of our spearfishing experience (or rather lack thereof), was adamant on diving with us. Once we were suited up, Ivan, Laurel and I flipped over the side and began our descent through the lush kelp canopy towards the bottom.

It took only a matter of seconds before I saw my first Sheephead swim by. Eager to get my first fish, I loaded my speargun and zoned in with little success. This was the general theme for most of the dive: load, point, shoot, miss, and try again. It took what seemed like an eternity (20 minutes) before I got my first fish, but when I did, I was overflowing with excitement. Throughout my time on the island, I was able to hone in on my spearfishing skills progressing from collecting 5 fish a day to 20-40 fish a day.

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Rachel Brooks diving for Sheephead.

Overall, I was able to collect a total of 80 fish for my project. I am truly grateful towards the people of Isla Natividad; not only were they eager to share their resources and knowledge for our projects, but they accepted a group of 20 gringos with open arms and made us feel like family. So, to the people of Isla Natividad, thank you and I can’t wait to see you again!

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Graduate student Rachel Brooks with Sheephead for research project.

Adventures in Mexico 2018: 600 Miles South of the Border

By Lauren Parker, Ichthyology Lab

I can hear the waves crashing on the shore somewhere nearby and the bristle of polyester as someone shuffles in their sleeping bag. It’s not enough to make me open my eyes to check the time; I’m hoping its early enough for me to let the sounds of the ocean breaking on the sand lull me back to sleep. Then someone’s alarm goes off; someone else unzips a mummy bag. I open one eye, then the other. I resign to untangling myself from my sleeping bag and crawling towards the ladder that will let me down from the topmost bunk. I hit my head on the ceiling because it’s about a foot above my face where I sleep. Someone has started water boiling for coffee on the camp stove to keep the caffeine vultures at bay for the time being.LP_1

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Island life is quiet, aside from the gulls and the waves. The town is nestled at the south end of the island where it is more or less protected from the prevailing northwest winds. It is characterized by colorful houses and even more colorful people. Everyone here has been more than willing to share food and drink with us, open their homes to us, and pick us up in the back of pickup trucks as we hike a mile from our cabins into town. Our boat captains and dive masters are indispensible aids as we adapt our class projects to the rotating dive teams and changing ocean conditions.

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Our first dive was rough. Strong winds resulted in rough seas and a boat full of vomiting scientists. What is more, we jumped in the water and our carefully planned dive fell to pieces. Currents were strong, visibility was poor, and everyone was a little rusty. I surfaced from that dive thinking we all seriously needed to re-think what we were doing here. However, after spending a much-needed surface interval in the sun, we followed the recommendation of our crew and jumped back in the water somewhere nearby. I rolled backwards off the boat and into an aquarium. The kelp reached 50 feet from sand to surface in thick vertical pillars. Sheephead weaved in and out of the underwater forest and Kelp Bass stared at us from the darkness between the columns as we descended. Sunlight shown through the kelp fronds creating beams of yellow in all the green. It was beautiful, and completely unexpected.

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We spent two weeks systematically planning, failing, and re-making our plans. If there is one thing I have learned from traveling, it’s that nothing turns out exactly the way you plan it. Tires crack, caravans split up, radios fail, water jugs leak, and you realize that coffee for 20 people cannot be made quickly enough to satisfy the demand. However, beautiful things happen just as often as the unfortunate. Friendships form and others strengthen; new skills are discovered and developed. A flowering cactus forest turns out to be one of the most beautiful things you’ve ever seen. The wind slows and the sun comes out. We stared with open mouths as the desert changed around us: from city to farmland to high desert to salt flats. We sped along cliffs dodging semi-trucks and stray cows, ate fresh fish tacos and slept among the boojum trees.

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I hope other students took away from this expedition as much as I did. But for now, I will focus on lessons I have learned. Always talk to people and make as many new friends as you can. Each person is unique and can be learned from. If you do not speak the language, make an effort learn it. A word or two, even. Take advantage of every opportunity: go yellowtail fishing after no sleep, eat snails straight out of the ocean, stay an extra night in a foreign city, take a shower in the freezing ocean. You may never be here again. Lose your expectations. More importantly, if you have expectations, be OK with it when they are not met. It is my experience that, usually, things will work out.

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Adventures in Mexico 2018: Recollections of a Baja Field Notebook

By Sloane Lofy, Phycology Lab

Hello!

I would like to introduce myself; I am the field notebook of Sloane Lofy. She is a student of Moss Landing Marine Labs, and this Fall 2018 decided to take the Marine Environmental Studies of Baja California, or as everyone at MLML calls it, the “Baja Class.” This is where I come in, as a requirement for the course each student must keep a field notebook so that thoughts, ideas, and notes from the field can be used in their research papers later. To give you a feel for what the trip to Baja was like from leaving the parking lot to coming home I will share with you some of her entries.

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Adventures in Mexico 2018: Vivan los Aves!

By Nikki Inglis, visiting student of California State University Monterey Bay

Photos by Nikki Inglis unless otherwise indicated.

It wasn’t until the last star came out on moonless night that we heard it. At first, it sounded like the incessant wind whipping around the wooden cabin walls. Then we heard it again; a growling rasp, a ghostly whisper and so, so close. We heard wings gliding in from the Pacific Ocean and a welling up of some invisible kind of energy.

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Ninety-five percent of blackvented shearwaters nest on Isla Natividad, Baja California Sur, Mexico. © Greg Gilson 2014.

Within minutes, the sound was everywhere. The hills teemed, wings flapped frantically around us. We couldn’t see any of it, but the soundscape was three-dimensional, painting a picture of tens of thousands of birds reveling in their moonless refuge. Isla Natividad’s black-vented shearwater colony had come to life.

We had been on the island for seven days and not heard a peep. Only two shearwaters had been spotted by our group - birds that had been trapped by daylight and forced to wait it out in hiding. I was starting to wonder if perhaps they hadn’t arrived yet, and only a few early-breeders were scoping out their seasonal nesting grounds. I tried to imagine what 70,000 birds might feel and sound like, but I never imagined this. The black-vented shearwater colony on a moonless night is a singular experience, but it’s not the only reason bird researchers and enthusiasts are interested in Isla Natividad. This remote desert island is a haven for seabirds and houses a myriad of rich desert habitats—largely free from human disturbance—that offer fascinating insight into distributional patterns, morphology and behavior of familiar and uncommon species.

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Nesting black-vented shearwaters

Ninety-five percent of the world’s black-vented shearwater population nests at Isla Natividad. The shearwater colony covers about 2.5 sq. km. on the southern tip of the island, surrounding the town center and lining most of the roads on the island. You can hardly take a step without running into a shearwater nest, so those steps must be taken carefully. Walking off trail is strictly forbidden, and even headlamps at night are discouraged in observance of the bird’s extreme and almost pitiable sensitivity to light. Recent aerial surveys indicate that there are about 35,000 nesting pairs of shearwaters on the island each breeding season, which runs from March to August. On Natividad, the locals call them “los nocturnos.” The locals’ pride over the nocturnos is contagious. They are adamantly protective over the colony, and there’s even a shearwater mural in town emblazoned with the words “vivan los aves.”

The nocturnos are so sensitive to light that even bright moonlight will keep them underground or out on the water. Wait for a waning moon—when the sun sets before the moon rises—and sit on a dark beach. It’s worth a trip to the island just for a brief window of moonless night to wander through the otherworldly din. Quiet just won’t sound the same afterwards.

Other seabirds

If the awe of the shearwaters’ immense but invisible presence wears off—and it might not—the island’s other bird-related curiosities offer endless exploration.  I see massive flocks of brants offshore. Divers on the boats that rounded the northern tip of the island noted double-crested cormorants on the rocky cliffs. Brown pelicans strut indignantly around beaches and glide in squadrons over breaking waves. At one time, least and Leach’s storm petrels nested here. It’s still unknown if they’ve returned since nonnative threats (ie, feral cats) have been eliminated. Researchers are also interested in whether Xantus’ or Craveri’s murrelets are nesting there now.  Circumnavigation of this wild island by panga could definitely yield some notable sightings to any intrepid birder.

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Isla Natividad’s Western gulls are an integral part of island life and have distinctly strong personalities.

Shorebirds

The sunrise casts a pink tinge on the tide’s fizzy froth. With each ebb and flow, a flock of plovers forage in the wet sand, scattering as the water nips at their feet.

I spent several afternoons in the intertidal, where I watched great egrets forage in tidepools draped in kelp, and whimbrels sink their long beaks in the sand. I spotted a tri-colored heron, another bird for my life list, as they don’t make it much further north than this. There are several species and variations thereof on Natividad that can’t be found in central California.

There is a notable pattern in bird ranges in which some species from the east coast of North America snake around through the Gulf of Mexico and pop up over in the Gulf of California and the west coast of Baja, but rarely make it into southern and central California. For example, this pattern is why, on Natividad, the oystercatchers have white bellies. They’re American oystercatchers, and they’re commonly seen in the on east and southeast coasts. But further north in alta California, the black oystercatcher takes over. True to its name, it’s solid black as night. It’s perplexing, as the ecology of Baja’s pacific coast is much more similar than to California is to that of the Gulf of Mexico.

It almost seems as if some of these birds observe the U.S.-Mexico border, and want to avoid the Tijuana traffic as much as we do.

 

 

Desert birds and raptors

Ospreys rule the island. Nests occupy almost every power pole in town. During our visit, one osprey nest between the store and the laborotorio, was a constant source of entertainment. Mom, dad and two fledglings lived out a mini reality show that featured nest-building, the occasional argument and one confused teenager on the ground looking up at his nest in frustration.

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Horned larks are abundant in inland habitats on Isla Natividad.

Away from shore, the seemingly barren scrub and cactus forests come alive with lark songs. The horned lark will look familiar to California birders. Petite but statuesque, these songbirds are instrumental in the desert soundscape, balancing out the honks of the seagulls with their delicate tune.

Ravens patrol the skies over the island, roosting ominously at the lighthouse, making bold, throaty calls and sending the resident rodents cowering in their burrows.

Pack your binoculars and field guide and make the walk up to the lighthouse that crowns Isla Natividad. On the short hike, you’ll pass through seagull colonies and be subject to their insistent harassment. You’ll watch hunting raptors rocking in the sea breezes. You’ll see blue water in every direction and the flocks of seabirds beyond the breaking waves. And you’ll understand why these creatures fly so far just to be here.

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Skulls and corpses are often the only signs of black-vented shearwaters during daylight hours. But on a moonlit night, the colony comes to life.

Adventures in Mexico 2018: From Scientist to Local

 By Jacoby Baker, Ichthyology Lab

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Boat crossing to Isla Natividad.

After three long days of riding in a car through the desert the glint of sunlight on water was finally on the horizon. The energy in the van shot up as everyone shouted in excitement, eager to get out and stretch their legs. When the caravan finally pulled into Punta Eugenia we unpacked, made camp, and hoped that the wind would settle down enough that we could cross over to Isla Natividad the next day.

In the morning many, if not all of us, were skeptical on the conditions and thought it might be better to wait another day for the winds to slacken, however, we had put our faith in the locals, who knew the area better than any of us ever could.  The boat captains seemed to laugh at us as our faces showed our apprehension to get into open water, and soon enough our apprehension calmed as we saw how masterfully he navigated the waves and we began chatting about the local waters and were amazed by the environment around us.

After we arrived on the island we met with the local fishing cooperative, and proposed our field projects to them to gain permission to dive and collect samples  in their waters. The whole process was a little nerve wracking as our projects hinged on their decision to allow us to enact our research. Our  “translators” (a pair of students from La Universidad Autónoma de Baja California (UABC) in Ensenada, Jeremie Bauer and Andrea Paz) helped to relay our proposals to the locals. As each of us gained permission relief set in and we began planning our next steps. After the meeting we dove right into working on our projects, with help from the locals. The days seemed to fly by as we rose with the sun and went to bed well past dark.

It is easy to get caught up in the research and logistics while out in the field, constantly reminding yourself to not forget your data sheets, quizzing yourself on your field methods, and strategizing on what site would be best to sample next. Granted, the larger scope of the class is to learn, develop, and enact methods while in the field and learn how to adapt to situations as they arise. Something that pairs right alongside with that is navigating a new environment with locals who may, or may not, even speak the same language as you and is an experience that ordinary classes cannot prepare you for.

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Students (Jacoby Baker, Lauren Parker, and Ann Bishop) with Divemaster Jhonny and Captain Rafael.

Every day we worked with locals, spending hours with them in the pangas, learning the areas where we were diving and what species we may find. Our relationships quickly morphed from strangers, to colleagues, and finally to friends as we shared our dives and helped each other with our projects. While on Isla Natividad, the cultural festivities of Semana Santa occurred and we were all invited to join the town on the beach to celebrate, share food, music, and company. As soon as we arrived on the beach we were ushered off to every tent and introduced to the families of our hosts and everyone offered us food and invited us to stay, eat, and visit, their generosity towards us was astounding. As the night progressed barriers broke and conversations blossomed all around the tent and fire. Even though most of us spoke very little Spanish (or some none at all) and they spoke very little English, stories were being told. This had to be one of my favorite moments on the island, sure, the diving was fantastic, but the chance to be taken in by the town and being accepted so fully into their culture was an experience that you can’t find just anywhere.

Seemingly just as quickly as we arrived our time on Isla Natividad drew to a close and we began cleaning up our camp and preparing to leave the island. On our last night on the island we invited those on the island who we worked closely with to dinner as a thank you and goodbye. The small restaurant was packed with good people, food, and conversation. And the tension of being in a new environment that we all felt the week before was no longer present as we all felt like we were now part of the community. It was with a heavy heart that we left the next morning, however, we did so knowing that we would be welcomed back any time and knew that we had found a second home on Isla Natividad.

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Town on Isla Natividad