“Whale!” I shriek, lunging for the lifeline on the beam of El Gato. “Grab my camera!”

It’s barely moving,, just a long stretch of its brownish back, but it’s a WHALE!!

No, wait. It’s not moving at all, I realize as we pass it by.

Is it dead?

No, turns out, my “whale” is a kelp bed, unworthy of even a digital photo.

I’m losing hope of seeing one, much less multitudes of the largest mammal on the planet. How can this be??

Later, as I sit in the cockpit studying Spanish, Jeff announces a whale just off our starbird bow. Seeing nothing, I accuse him of teasing me.

“It’s the spray in the air”, he explains.

Within minutes, I spot the plume of mist rising above the surf. Yes, it’s a whale all right. Within an hour or so, we spot half a dozen more sprays. I realize we’ve probably been seeing them all along, we just didn’t know what to look for.

Gliding along the Western edge of Catalina island, I’m amazed that only yards offshore the water is hundreds of feet deep. The rocky cliffs burst out of the water.

Mooring in Catalina Harbor is a new experience for us. Here, due to the number of boats vying for valuable space, along with limited swing-room, we must follow suit and tie both El Gato’s bow and stern to the mooring line.

Utilizing the new technique I am learning-using the catamaran’s two engines, I edge us closer, at a turtle’s pace, to the pick-up rod. Jeff grabs the rod on the first attempt and I bask in my newly accomplished skill.

Two Harbors is just that. Situated near the center of Catalina Island, “Cat Harbor”, on the western side, is more remote and protected than the exposed eastern shore- a five-minute walk across the waistband of the island. Isthmus Harbor on the east side is much busier, because it is a straight shot for weekenders coming from the SoCal west coast.

With one bar and restaurant, along with a well-stocked general store, those who plan to spend money ashore are a captive audience. We forgo the $15 burger and grill off the back of El Gato. Boat-cooked meals are usually superior, anyway.

Walking to the tip of Cat Harbor for sunset photos, we encounter three large bison, ancestors of a herd brought here in the 1920’s for the filming of Zane Grey’s silent movie The Vanishing American. Oddly, the film has no bison in it, nor was it filmed on Catalina Island. The bison were left behind and their offspring continue to graze the land. (Their numbers went as high as 600, and are now controlled to around 150, thanks to “bison birth control”). 

I really want a video for my “Explorer Jules” series, and they seem harmless, but I am reminded of an episode of “When Animals Attack” where an agitated buffalo tramples and gores a clueless tourist.

We keep our distance.

Hiking here is plentiful. The Catalina Trail runs the length of the Island, and at 32 miles, has abundant spur trails to explore. Over several days, we hike loop trails that offer-up topside views of both sides of the island. The indigo sky meets the clear turquoise water below. The terrain is dry, the climbs are steep, and paths are lined with thigh-high cactus that we skirt around.

Rattlesnakes are abundant here, but fortunately it is still too cool for them to be slithering about. We do encounter an elusive Catalina fox, a compact species weighing only 4-6 lbs. These beauties were nearly wiped out in the 1990’s from canine distemper, and their population is finally on the rise.

Our week here is ending, and we must point El Gato east for an evening arrival in San Diego. Four men on the monohull beside us gather in their cockpit to watch me disengage from the mooring ball and maneuver out of the by-now crowded harbor.

I impress, no doubt, with my technique, smiling to myself as El Gato glides back in to open water.

On the way out, there is a feeding frenzy completely surrounding us. But these are not fish, they are bottle nose dolphins. There are hundreds, no, thousands of them. They escort us for a full hour, jumping and playing off our bow. Chance and I sit, transfixed, on the bow pulpit seat. Some of them, I swear, swim on their sides in order to get a better look at the flufffy fido barking frantically to them.

Then, with one loud, flat slap of a tail, the masses disappear, and once again, we sail alone, leaving the natural beauty of Catalina Island behind.