Today we went on our third whale watch in thirteen months, and it was by far the most amazing. Whale watches are defined by serendipity; yesterday, the same watch we went on today saw four whales. If we had seen four whales today, we would have been happy with our trip. But we saw many, many more.

I’m sorry I don’t have any pictures. I was just agape, not taking pictures. There are a few at http://www.blueoceanwhalewatch.com/monterey-whale-watching-photos/, but they don’t do it justice.

Leaving the harbor was lovely, with Elegant Terns diving successfully for anchovies, numerous sea lions braying lustily, and sea otters both eating and grooming, their primary activities. Our naturalist was very knowledgeable, too. But nothing much happened for the next hour.

We were initially exhilarated by crashing over increasingly steep waves and viewing moon and nettle jellyfish blooms, but those aren’t what we came out for, so we gradually grew discouraged, especially when it was announced that there was no sign of whales, and that we were entering the fog bank hoping to find some near the submarine canyon. In the fog, we could hardly see twenty feet. Even the appearance of a rare fog bow was scant comfort.

Suddenly, the fog cleared and we were treated to a raft of hundreds of sea lions diving to feed after three to seven humpbacked whales, with ten or so other whales in the vicinity. For at least half an hour we lingered, watching the closely-packed sea lions dive and resurface; whales single, double, and multiple blowing, arcing gracefully over the surface, and flipping up their tail flukes as they dove; churning white water as sea lions leapt aside to avoid a whale surfacing; porpoising legions of sea lions, often headed directly toward us; huge whales near our boat, close enough to hit with a ball, though no one threw one. Awesome is the only word.

This whale and sea lion feeding frenzy made me so hungry that on the return trip I retired to the cabin to eat my packed lunch. The boat’s motor roared and the sea sped by outside my window. Suddenly, the sky was split by a whale soaring out of the water–a breach! We slowed to view multiple spouts of a pair of humpbacks, but the leap was not repeated.

Later, we saw an eight or ten-foot-long mola mola, or ocean sunfish, floating on the water’s surface alongside our boat. It was logy–in distress according to the naturalist–but fascinating to view at close range. It’s apparently a jelly-feeder, and more jelly blooms followed.

During the final portion of the journey, we encountered several groups of humpbacks. Spouts everywhere. Can we go five minutes without seeing a whale? Look, another one there–yeah, seen that. No one could keep count of the number of whales sighted on the three-and-one-third hour trip.

On our next whale watch, if we don’t see a thing, I won’t complain. If I forget and do so, I apologize in advance.