‘Let the party begin! It won’t stop till it’s spring in the Arctic’: my week as a grey whale

San Ignacio! My dream, my hope, my goal, my achievement! My home, my holiday, my love nest, my playground, my nursery! San Ignacio my life, my joy – you get my drift. It really is rather good to back in San Ignacio Lagoon in Baja California. After the longest migration of any mammal on the planet, you’d hope for something nice at journey’s end. San Ignacio is always even better than I remembered.

Monday

I had a last snack a few days earlier: dropping down to the bottom and flipping sideways to dredge out a vast gobful of mud and shrimp. I filtered out the good from the bad and swallowed: tasty enough. I won’t do that again for months.

Tuesday

I cruised between the narrow gates that divide the lagoon from the sea: inside the place was heaving with whales. It’s like a human coming home for Christmas only better: so many of us and no one has to eat, still less cook. Let the party begin! It won’t stop until it’s time to head back to the Arctic in the spring. One half of the year for eating, the other for social life. Perfect.

Wednesday

They used to call us devil fish. About three whale-lifetimes ago the little humans used to join us in the lagoon and they killed as many of us as they could. They only stopped when they’d more or less succeeded. They called us devils because we defended ourselves: we’d get under their damn boats and turn ’em over. Only one devil out there, it seems to me.

Thursday

No grey whales in the Atlantic any more. Humans got the lot. But these days, us Pacific greys are doing all right. All through our long lagoon holidays we remain in good heart. No orca and no shark dare show his face or his fins in here: we have this small, enclosed and crowded bit of water to ourselves. It’s whale soup: and fairly bloody wonderful.

Friday

Today it happened. Now we are two. Out she slid, tail first, up she came and breathed her first breath: a little heart-shaped blow. If all goes well, this misty breath will one day be a heart you can see a mile off. No sooner did she breathe than she sank again and no sooner did she sink than she suckled. Not my first time: but I felt the same old joy as well as the old worry. We’ll stay here till maybe April, and then head back north: nearly 7,000 miles at a steady 5mph (1.3kmph), chugging back up to the shrimp-rich mudbanks of the Chukchi Sea.

Saturday

Here they come again: little humans in their boats. But these days they carry neither harpoons nor evil intentions. They want only to love us. Fair enough. When I’m in the mood I’ll go right up to the boats for a good old stare and I’ll even allow them a little cuddle. Why not? We’re all friends now. You even could call it forgiving. Which is not the same as forgetting.

Grey whale (eschrichtius robustus) CV

Lifespan About 60 years

Eating habits Prawn cocktail à la boue

Hobbies The art of conversation

Sexual preferences A handsome aficionado of San Ignacio

Photograph by Robert Harding / Alamy