Baja

The Road to El Pardito: A Middle Seat Perspective

Hannah McGrath

Kierstin Thigpen, Ichthyology Lab

Few travelers consider the middle seat to be the best spot on a road trip. We often think of it as cramped and crowded, without even a window or headrest to use for a nap. A ride in the middle seat usually results from losing a coin flip or drawing the shortest straw, and we do our best to keep it fair by ensuring every passenger does at least a bit of time in this undesirable position. However, for four days, I called the middle seat my home as we journeyed from Moss Landing, CA down the Baja Peninsula toward a small island known as El Pardito. Over those four days, I learned the valuable lessons that the middle seat has to offer about centering yourself in the moment and enjoying the ride.

As we headed south toward La Paz, each mile brought something new to see: a new landscape, a new town, a new form of life. While the middle seat may not offer a window to nap against, it provides a central all-around view of the journey through every window. I could look to the side at the layered mountains and spined plants of the Baja deserts. This view gave a fleeting glance of the present as boulders, boojum trees, and the occasional cow or donkey went flying by. For a look at where we had come from, I would turn around and see the colorful buildings and crowded streets of the town we had passed through. This view of the past offered an opportunity to reflect on the new culture and community in which we had immersed ourselves with every interaction in this new place. And as I peered through the windshield at the turquoise water ahead, I caught a glimpse of the adventure to come where the road would turn to ocean and we would trade trucks and vans for pangas in the final stretch to El Pardito.

A stretch of desert on the final miles of the drive.
A stretch of desert on the final miles of the drive.

Not only did the middle seat center me in time and space, but it surrounded me with all my traveling companions. Being in the middle creates a direct line to every other seat in the van, and it gave me the chance to chat, sing, laugh, and build connections with each of my classmates. Time in the classroom may have allowed us to learn about each other’s research interests, but time in the van allowed us to learn about each other. Through music, conservation, games, and endless laughter, a diverse group of people filled over a thousand miles with friendship, family, and unforgettable memories.

A roadside photo opportunity.

The middle seat gets a bad reputation, and in many cases rightfully so. It does not offer the most leg room. Naps do not come easily. And it is not the epitome of comfort. But do not let these shortcomings blind you to the magic that comes with time spent in the middle. On your next road trip consider using the middle seat to center yourself and connect to the people and the world around you.

Family photo in the R/T Boojum. Photo Credit: Jess Franks

Comida Y Familia—Culinary Chronicles from the MLML Baja Class

Hannah McGrath

Jess Franks, Phycology Lab

Food has a remarkable ability to unite people, bridging social tensions and fulfilling communal desires. For some, it’s a basic necessity; for others, a delightful indulgence. At home, meals often follow a predictable routine, offering comfort and meeting expectations. You know whose turn it is to cook dinner, who’s on dish duty; and when you’re not in the mood for cooking, there’s always the option to order takeout. As someone who appreciates the art of cooking, and tends to indulge when it comes to food, traveling always presents unique culinary opportunities.

Our class trip to El Pardito added an extra layer of complexity to meal planning. Questions arose: What would we eat, considering everyone’s dietary needs? Who would take charge in the kitchen? And perhaps more crucially, who would do the dishes? These decisions needed to be made for every meal.

Unlike my usual routine of coffee for breakfast and leftovers for lunch, our journey demanded a different approach. To capture the reality of our food journey, I diligently recorded our culinary delights in my notebook. On road trip days, we ate tacos for lunch—the first day in Ensenada with Alison Haupt, and the second day we had fried fish tacos on the way down to Guerrero Negro. We (Scott) liked that taco stand so much that we stopped there again on the road trip back up the peninsula. Our first dinner was at Gonzo in Carlsbad, CA, featuring spectacular ramen—a much needed energy boost after a full day on the road. Crossing into Mexico, our first homemade dinner of burritos was prepared in the parking lot of the only hotel in Guerrero Negro with vacancies on Easter weekend.

On El Pardito, dinner was prepared by Sofia y Simon, supplemented with a salad prepared by whoever was on food group that day. Sofia y Simon, a kind and welcoming couple residing on the island, welcomed our attempts at Spanish, told us stories of their past, and facilitated our communal meals with their beautiful palapa and culinary abilities.

Every night unfolded with a familiar rhythm: the food group gathering an hour before dinner to prepare the salad, Simon and Sofia guiding us through meal prep—often involving warming tortillas or crafting tofu and chickpea dishes for our vegetarian friends. Once the culinary stage was set, we meticulously arranged the dining area underneath the palapa, playing with the feng shui of the tables on several occasions. Finally, Simon rings the bell, everyone else climbs the stairs to the palapa, and Simon brings out dinner.

Each evening’s menu boasted comforting staples like arroz y frijoles, ensuring solid digestive movements, and fresh fish caught by the island’s fisherman. One standout dish that left a lasting impression was the yellowtail (“Jurel”) sashimi. The tale of its catch—a spontaneous fishing excursion by Michael resulting in a bountiful catch—added a delightful twist to our culinary adventures. Drizzled with lime, jalapeno, and red onion, the sashimi became an instant favorite, feeding ~20 of us and offering leftovers the next day.

Mealtime wasn’t just about nourishment; it was our daily rendezvous for sharing stories, exchanging laughter, and reflecting on our day’s escapades. Our tradition of sharing the “Favorite/Coolest thing you saw today” allowed each of us to relive special moments, fostering deeper connections amidst shared experiences. These conversations seamlessly transitioned into planning our next day’s adventures and coordinating logistics—a testament to our collective endeavor and collaborative mindset.

As the evening wound down, we embraced the less glamorous yet essential task of dishwashing. While the food group bore the primary responsibility, the communal spirit often prompted others to lend a hand, reinforcing our ethos of mutual support and teamwork.

This nightly ritual, spanning about 3 hours, wasn’t a mundane chore to us. It encapsulated the heart of our journey—a time of togetherness, shared responsibilities, and the bonds that grew stronger with each passing meal. In retrospect, my favorite part of the day was the simple act of sharing meals.

 

Diving During the Eclipse: a Unique Fieldwork Experience!

Hannah McGrath

By Duncan Campbell, MLML Ichthyology Lab

Total solar eclipses over tropical reefs are a rare and exciting occurrence - There will only be 54 more total eclipses this century, and more than half of those will occur near the poles, in the middle of the ocean, or over large landmasses. In Mexico, there will only be 2 more total eclipses this century. The effects of eclipses on land are well documented, but how do animals underwater respond? We knew that we were going to experience a 90% total eclipse during our trip to Isla El Pardito in Baja California Sur for MS 273: Marine Environmental Studies of the Gulf of California and had planned to be on shore watching it with eclipse glasses. However, once we got there a few of us had a more interesting idea. Why not go for a dive during the eclipse? I was diving constantly for my project, but I really didn’t have the time to slow down and explore during my dives. I was excited to observe how animals behaved during a unique celestial event. Plus, how many people can say they went for a dive during a nearly total solar eclipse? 

The Eclipse itself!

The idea of an eclipse dive had been bouncing around for a few days, but it mostly just a “wouldn’t it be fun” idea. The night before the eclipse, while we were planning the next day’s activities, I decided that I absolutely had to do it. It was a challenge to plan - we were going out on a boat that morning, and if we were delayed while returning, I might miss my chance. The eclipse peaked at 11:00 AM, and our boat would be getting back between 10:00 and 11:00. Since you always need buddies while you’re diving, I roped in one of my classmates, Jonah, and our TA, Roxy. We brought extra air tanks on our boat and decided that if we were running late, we would dive off the boat to get in the water on time. Fortunately, we timed our return perfectly and managed to get back, set up our gear on the beach, and walk into the water around 10:30. 

We had great conditions starting the dive - the water was calm, clear, and warm.  We swam south towards one of the deeper reefs surrounding El Pardito. Unlike most of our dives, where we were covered in transect tape reels, data slates, and other scientific equipment, this time we only had dive lights and underwater cameras.  We worked our way deeper into the reef, watching and recording as the reef slowly darkened. At 11:00, the eclipse reached its totality, the point where 90+% of the sun is blocked. The water had become noticeably darker than before, and it felt like we were diving at sunset. 

The light twenty feet underwater, around 11:00 AM during the totality.
Wrasses swimming closer to a coral head during the eclipse, while Roxy looks at something cool in the background.

On land, eclipses cause birds to stop singing and send most small animals into hiding. The air gets colder and the light vanishes without a clear cause, an event like no other.  However, without a change in temperature or other characteristics, an eclipse is just a change in the light underwater. Plenty of other things, like a storm overhead or dirt in the water, can change the amount of light underwater. It’s hard to tell how much fish respond to the eclipse vs other events as eclipses are a rare occurrence for a comprehensive analysis. To me, it seemed like the fish were more timid than usual, darting away and hiding from us. The schools of tiny wrasses that usually hovered over the corals hid closer to the rocks and inside the heads of corals. The larger fish swam away a little more quickly, and we saw less of the big predator species like snappers that usually patrol the reefs. It may not have been that unusual, but it felt like they noticed that something was different. We took photos and videos, but the dimness and change in environment doesn’t show well on camera.

The light thirty feet underwater at 11:30, after the eclipse.

It was an odd experience seeing how silent the reef felt, even with the constant burble of my scuba gear in the background. It was strangely still and slow, and even after the light started to come back, it was a little subdued. It’s hard to say if the animals really did react to the eclipse in a significant way, but it sure felt like they did. The fish around El Pardito aren’t particularly afraid of scuba divers, and usually swim right up to you. You can practically reach out and touch most fish. Pictures and videos can’t quite do justice to the experience of a sunset dive at noon.

Out of the Eclipse and Into New Environments:

As the eclipse ended, we swam deeper, through the reef towards a large sandy stretch below. We wanted to explore and see what might be down there. To our surprise, we found a rhodolith bed! Rhodoliths are calcareous red algae nodules that form on the bottom of the ocean in dense patches. This bed stretched as far as the eye could see and was full of little pebbly algae and shells. We explored the rhodolith bed for a few minutes before turning around - we had been down for about 25 minutes and only had about 50 minutes of air.  As the water brightened back up, we started to see more of the usual suspects on the reef. Brightly colored wrasses schooling above the reef, parrotfish plucking bits of algae off the rocks, leopard groupers cruising around looking for a snack. As we worked our way back across the seafloor towards the island, we started to notice little “piles” of pufferfish. Little groups of pufferfish sleeping on top of each other in full daylight. One of these groups had multiple pufferfish aggregated in an old metal basket underwater, with all the puffers clustered around a scorpionfish. We’re not sure, but we think they went to sleep during the eclipse and hadn’t really woken back up yet. It was a fascinating moment - pufferfish are fairly solitary creatures and we were shocked to see so many in one spot. 

A Scorpionfish sits next to an empty metal basket, while a pufferfish swims away in the background.
A pufferfish swims in front of the camera.

Final Thoughts:

Diving during the eclipse was a unique experience and one of the coolest dives I’ve ever been on. It was a great reminder to slow down every once in a while and enjoy the environment you’re working in, instead of just hammering on your work. We found a new rhodolith bed and saw some unusual fish behavior, none of which would have happened if we hadn’t decided to take time to explore and have fun. Our trip to El Pardito was an experience of a lifetime, and the kind of education you can never get in a classroom. I’ll remember my eclipse dive for the rest of my life. It really goes to show the value of a unique experience like MS 273, and how the best education comes from going outside and seeing the world. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Rolling Along Together: What Rhodoliths Taught Me About Community

Hannah McGrath

By Haylee Bregoff, MLML Invertebrate Ecology Lab

I had never heard of rhodoliths before our Baja Course (MS273 Marine Environmental Studies of the Gulf of California), but by the time we left El Pardito those little pink calcified wonders had left me absolutely awestruck; rhodolith beds truly are a special place. So what are rhodoliths? Rhodoliths are macroalgal ecosystem engineers that support high levels of marine biodiversity. These small calcified coralline algae are unattached (i.e., free-living) and non-geniculate (i.e., non-jointed, unlike some forms of branching coralline algae). Rhodoliths can cluster together to form beds, or individual nodules can fuse together to form larger conglomerates. Since rhodoliths have a complex branching thalli structure, they provide habitat to a diverse and unique array of associated species; they’re like small, calcified tumbleweeds rolling through soft, sandy bottoms and collecting organisms as they grow. On top of being an important biogenic habitat, rhodoliths provide ecosystem services like water filtration, maintenance of marine pH levels, climate regulation processes, and production of dissolved organic carbon and calcium carbonate.

For eleven days, we called the tiny island known as El Pardito home. Found in the Gulf of California and located about 90 km North of La Paz, the island was vibrant. Brightly painted palapas accented the clear teal water that filled the horizon. Even though we were as close to paradise as I’d ever experienced, it wasn't always easy. Days in the field were long and tiring as we woke up around 5-6 AM every day to check weather reports so we could plan our schedules accordingly. Most mornings I needed to take a second to adapt my plan and go with the flow, which is easier said than done when it comes to collecting data on a time crunch. We were living on island time; the ocean dictated our schedules so all we could rely on was each other. 

On the island, we quickly started to grow into a functional and supportive family. After spending three days trapped in cars, you would've thought that we had enough of each other, and if anything, resembled a dysfunctional family. But we were building a community, working together to achieve this unified goal of traveling and experiential learning. We woke up together, we ate breakfast together, we worked in the “lab” together, and together we were able to make these strong new connections to one another. Although at times we were fighting elements like high winds, heat, and swarms of bugs, Isla El Pardito was a refuge for us Moss Landing students; we supported one another despite our

cohort year, thesis research, or lab affiliation. Our ability to accomplish so much in such a short period of time taught me the importance of community building and collaboration.

The unifying structure of rhodoliths taught me more about community than I could have ever imagined. Although rhodolith morphology is diverse, with structures being uniquely characteristic and highly differentiated, they still roll on together. They create a habitat brimming with opportunity for life to settle and form communities in unexpected places. Beds with higher rhodolith species diversity and greater abundance are able to support more biodiverse and unique infaunal associations. Our class was like a beautiful rhodolith bed filled with unique individuals, each with our own strengths and interests. Each person with a beautifully distinct “structure” that complimented each other, allowing us to create some amazing memories together. The highlight of my Baja experience was being surrounded by passionate individuals that supported not only my growth as a researcher, but my growth as a person.

Adventures in Mexico!

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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

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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!

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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

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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

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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?

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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.