Return to The Farallones
Back in June, I joined the Oceanic Society on a fantastic trip to the Farallon Islands. You can read more about that experience here, but it was everything I hoped for: an adventure filled with unique wildlife encounters and unforgettable moments at sea. Visiting a part of California I’d never been to was exciting in itself, but the rugged beauty and abundance of marine life made it truly special. I knew I’d have to return. And when our naturalist made one final comment as we docked, it convinced me to plan another trip sooner rather than later.
After we returned to the marina, our guide gave a short talk about ways to protect our oceans through small, everyday actions. As they wrapped up, they encouraged everyone to join another Oceanic Society adventure — perhaps even another visit to the Farallons. They mentioned that fall is a great time to return, when white sharks (Carcharodon carcharias) forage in the Greater Farallones National Marine Sanctuary. Even as they said it, I knew it would be a long shot to actually spot one in those wild waters, but I was intrigued.
Since my birthday falls in October, it seemed like the perfect excuse to go back. Before boarding the Salty Lady, our naturalist reminded us to leave our expectations on the dock as every trip is different, and nature rarely repeats itself. I still wasn’t prepared for just how different this voyage would be compared to my last one a few months earlier.
The first difference was the conditions. It was overcast and foggy again, but the ocean itself felt rougher. The swell was more pronounced, and while I’ve never suffered from seasickness, plenty of others on board weren’t so lucky. Still, the early part of the journey, out through the bay and past the Marin Headlands, wasn’t too bad. We watched a humpback whale (Megaptera novaeangliae) roll-feeding under the Golden Gate Bridge, and I even spotted a few ochre sea stars (Pisaster ochraceus) clinging to the cliffs near Point Bonita.
The second difference was more personal. I was testing out a new lens: the Canon RF 200–800mm F6.3–9 IS USM. My go-to wildlife lens tops out at 500mm, so I was excited for the extra reach. It didn’t disappoint, but it came with a steeper learning curve than I expected. Shooting handheld from a moving boat at 800mm is no small feat. I used a shutter speed of 1/1600s to freeze motion, but with the smaller aperture, I had to push the ISO higher than usual, which meant fewer usable shots. I also learned just how difficult it is to keep moving subjects in frame at that focal length, especially in heavy swell. We encountered some birds I’d never seen before, like parasitic jaegers (Stercorarius parasiticus), but I didn’t manage to get a decent photo.
The third big change was the overall lack of birds. Don’t get me wrong—there were still plenty on the islands—but this wasn’t breeding season, so the skies weren’t alive with the same frenzied activity I’d witnessed in June. Morris, the famous lost northern gannet (Morus bassanus), was nowhere to be seen, and there were far fewer common murres (Uria aalge) and no tufted puffins (Fratercula cirrhata) nesting on the cliffs.
It might sound like I was down on the trip, but that wasn’t the case. It was certainly less productive in terms of photography, but it was a good learning experience and full of interesting encounters. We got good looks at northern fur seals (Callorhinus ursinus), and stellar sea lions (Eumetopias jubatus). We saw the water erupt with anchovies as humpbacks drove them to the surface, and we finally encountered a couple of tufted puffins out at sea, cruising on the waves. They were missing their breeding plumage, but equally charming.
One thing we didn’t see was a shark. At least, not that I noticed at the time. Later, when I was at home processing images in Lightroom, I was working on a photo of Seal Rock when I noticed a small dark triangle cutting through the water. I began to scan through the sequence of images I took in that moment, and there it was, slicing through the waves over multiple shots, before dipping under the surface. It certainly looked like a shark fin to me. The more I thought about it, the more I realized it could have been a seal’s flipper. Still, I was intrigued; if that was the case, it was moving around while fully submerged with just one flipper out of the water. I don’t know nearly enough to say whether that was likely behavior. Either way, it left me fascinated and eager to return again, maybe for that elusive glimpse of a great white shark in the wild waters of the Farallons.
