A frenzied squadron of pelicans swooped down and danced across the surface of the water on their tiptoes.
They congregated in a massed huddle, squabbling amongst each other for a prized piece of scran.
From the captain’s tone of voice, it was easy to conclude that this was not an everyday sight.
He said it was like something out of National Geographic.
Yet it was as if the birds had been summoned from the sky by Alfred Hitchcock.
We observed from a relatively safe distance as the crazed hordes descended in circles to scoop up unsuspecting fish with their enormous bills.
The goggling gaggle on the floating contraption of metal and plastic were untouched.
There were no scenes to interest the old Master of Suspense; no pecked-out eyes or nibbled bodies, not even a scratch on a fingernail.
A thrilling and altogether less hectic development emerged as the pelicans flapped away out of eyeshot.
Pods of common dolphins snuck up to make themselves visible, diving effortlessly in and out of the endless, rippling blue sheets.
The captain explained that the long-beaked surfers were enjoying a free ride from the boat as we motored along into the distance.
He had probably witnessed the same thing many times over.
For us, the dolphins were anything but common. It was extraordinary to watch the parade of nimble creatures slip and slide and splash around, I just could not get enough of the grey and white seafarers.
The skipper told everyone on board to keep their peepers peeled for a Bryde’s whale lurking beneath the waves.
I could not spot it despite zooming in with my camera. Some you win, some you lose. There was no guarantee we would see anything at all.
The tour exceeded any possible expectations, especially as I had prepared to stare into a blank blue canvas.
Davey’s Locker, located on the Balboa Peninsula in Newport Beach (about 40 miles southeast of Los Angeles), more than delivered.
Just before we turned around and headed for dry land it felt like we were the only vessel in the North Pacific Ocean.
It was not a moment worthy of a Jacques Cousteau documentary, but we cannot all be legendary sea explorers. I paused and gazed just to take it all in, resisting the urge to take more unnecessary snaps with my camera and phone. It was almost all over except for an unofficial welcoming party.
A raft of sea lions drowsily perched on top of each other barely moved a muscle as the boat breezed past them. The sight of gawking humans did nothing to stir the sleepy slouchers resting on an oversized buoy. They had seen it all before.
Back on stable ground we wandered along a pathway beside the sand and shells and stopped at Newport Beach Pier to admire a brave band of first-time surfers.
Some hung on to their boards for dear life, while others plopped into the water seconds after a risky balancing act.
It was a brief diversion as I looked out at the limitless, undulating stretch where we had been so fortunate to admire the manic pelicans and frolicsome dolphins and ponder the whereabouts of the elusive whale.
@skasiewicz.bsky.social
Stephen Kasiewicz 