Different Sides of the Same Tide
I’ve been going to Tennessee Valley, a state park just north of San Francisco California, for over ten years. What draws me back is the dramatic landscape. Upon entering the park, your eyes are immediately treated to a lush blanket of gold, pink and lavender wildflowers flowing gently across the clearly articulated strata. The resulting image provides the viewer with an endless supply of natural splendor that would drain a 19th century impressionist of their paint. If you were to continue just a few steps, your other senses would immediately get the idea that you’re somewhere special. The distinct smell of the salty Pacific Ocean continues to wave it’s fragrance for miles inland, and on quiet days you can hear the sound of the waves continuing to shape the infinitely complex California coastline.
Areas like this are the reason we have state parks in the United States. In fact, many state parks in California were founded around the same time most of those 19th century European impressionists mesmerized audiences with their painted landscapes. Thanks to American naturalists like Teddy Roosevelt, Gifford Pinchot, and John Muir we don’t have to settle for paint on canvas — we get the real thing.
But, I digress…
After pulling up to the parking lot just a little over a mile from the coast I noticed there was a sign that read, “What’s that smell?” Apparently on May 19th, a baleen whale washed up along the coast and ever inch of my being was hoping that it was still there. Suffice it to say, I wasn’t interested in heeding the National Park Service’s suggestion to “not approach”. After a short walk, my partner and I descended on the site and were immediately disarmed by the uniquely appalling, sulphuric smell of decomposition.
Could the entire thirty-five foot body still be on the shore?
As we reached the shore it was clear that something big had happened, because the audience of birds was unlike anything I’ve seen. Hundreds of gulls, albatross, and other seabirds vied for real estate along the shoreline, dashing to collect a cornucopia of fish that seemingly brimmed just beneath the waves and washed up along the shore as the tide encroached further into the valley.
At first, I assumed the entire whale washed back into the ocean because that’s where the wildlife seemed to be focused. In order to be sure I needed to get into a more strategic position, one not unlike the birds that had successfully capitalized on this rare opportunity. Unfortunately for me, my ancestors were more adept at scaling than at sailing, so if I was going to get a “birds eye” view I was going to have to climb. After ascending fifty or so feet up the cliffside, I positioned myself among the birds where I was able to get a much better idea of the landscape. It seemed like I was right, the whale was nowhere to be found along the shore, it was definitely a few yards offshore at this point.
A bit disappointed, I took the opportunity to capture as many videos and photos as I could, and you can see those on my instagram: @whale_fall_book. After carefully descending down the cliffside I observed the different species of fish that washed up along the shore, as well as the fish that were carefully extracted from the ocean by hungry, feathered fishermen. You would think that writing Whale Fall would help me appreciate the biodiversity of our oceans, but like a painting — it doesn’t compare to the real thing.
OH MY GOODNESS!
As I walked back to the trailhead, I noticed a “rock” that I dismissed when I arrived. That was no rock, it was a huge bone! In my haste, and as a result of my nose stealing the show, my eyes had completely missed a baleen whale vertebrae laying in plain sight. I rushed over to the skeleton and tried to take in all of the detail. One… Two… Three vertebrae, connective tissue, and opportunistic bivalves were all that was left. But, boy was it BIG! Characteristically myself, I put the details of the National Park Service signage out of my mind and started calculating the size of the whale, based on the evidence.
I don’t know how many vertebrae a whale has…
But, I do know a human has 33 vertebrae
How long is this vertebrae…? I don’t have a ruler.
But, I do have my hand… (My hand, pinky to thumb, is about 9.5 inches — a system I discovered as a boy scout)
It’s about the length of my hand. So, with the flippers and the skull I’m guessing about 30–40 feet?
Bingo! (later I checked the sign and realized all my deduction was unnecessary.)
After the initial quantitative rush, the other half of my brain was able to catch up and I started to notice more than the logistics of what I discovered. It was beautiful in a way that physiology couldn’t do justice. The bones were rough, not smooth. The complex surface area was host to billions of terrestrial microbes that didn’t hesitate to occupy this new, unexplored niche. The muscles and sinew were covered in sand and the partial column must have weighed more than a hundred pounds. I paused to reflect on who this belonged to, what kind of whale could have left something like this behind? How old was the whale? How much of the ocean must it have seen, and what kinds of wildlife did those waters contain? What did this whale’s song sound like?
Whales are beautiful, complex mammals. They aren’t anything like a fly, or even a magnificent house cat. They live long lives, roughly the same length as our own, and their brains are equally capable of abstract and objective-based thought. They communicate over hundreds of miles using vocalizations that stump scientists to this day. It’s estimated that humans have existed for around 250,000 years on this planet; whale fossils date back 50,000,000 years. If you’re doing the math, whales are 200 times older than humans are as a species; imagine how much more complexity nature could have explored over that time.
It truly was an honor to have stumbled (almost literally) into the remains of a baleen whale. To think, this animal traveled throughout the Pacific Ocean its entire life to ultimately conclude that journey along the beach of the park that brought me to California (from the NYC area). Both of us were drawn to the richness of the landscape, albeit on different sides of the tide.
Thank you for reading, I hope that you enjoyed this journey with me!
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Update: Shortly after returning home, I discovered that there have been an unusually high number of whale “strandings” (beached whales) along this particular area of the California coast this year and the bay area is looking into tightening regulations around fishing nets and shipping vessel speeds.
Update 2: If you’re wondering why the photos have a redish hue, that’s because there was a huge wildfire going on northeast of where I was. These are pretty common around this time of year.
