The Farallones
As long as I’ve lived in the Bay Area, the Farallon Islands have been on the periphery of my vision, literally and figuratively. These jagged, rocky outposts lie thirty miles west of the Golden Gate Bridge, but they’re usually obscured by fog. On the clearest of days, however, I catch them blinking into view from the Marin Headlands or Pacifica, epitomizing the phrase ‘so near, and yet, so far.’
That air of mystery is part of what finally drew me out there. That, and Susan Casey’s book The Devil’s Teeth, which chronicles the lives of shark researchers working on the islands and the isolation of this protected ecosystem. After finishing it, I knew I had to see the Farallons for myself, but a pandemic and a baby made it impractical for a couple of years.
I signed up for a day-long Farallon Islands wildlife expedition with the Oceanic Society, a nonprofit dedicated to ocean conservation through research and ecotourism. They’ve been running trips out to the islands for decades, and I appreciated their mission to inspire conservation by connecting people with marine life. We departed from San Francisco’s Marina District (thankfully a much shorter drive than heading to Monterey), aboard the Salty Lady. Naturalists Michael Pierson and David Wimpfheimer were onboard to help us spot and understand the region’s wildlife, from seabirds to marine mammals.
Passing beneath the Golden Gate Bridge was a fun opportunity to see the towering structure from a different perspective, but we were looking for more natural features. As we cruised around the Marin headlands, harbor seals (Phoca vitulina) lounged on rocks and a harbor porpoise (Phocoena phocoena) briefly surfaced. Gulls (Laridae, various species) wheeled overhead, but the real action was still to come.
As the coastline shrunk behind us, a few humpback whales (Megaptera novaeangliae) surfaced. I’ve been spoiled with an abundance of sightings in Monterey, and while I enjoyed seeing them, I saved my memory card for newer experiences. The first of these was much smaller, but a strange and beautiful sight: a colony of by-the-wind sailors (Velella velella)—iridescent, sail-topped jellyfish relatives drifting at the ocean’s surface. I’d seen them washed up dead on the beach at Point Reyes, so it was nice to see their translucent bodies catching the wind and cruising like miniature sailboats across the sea.
Soon, the Farallones emerged from the fog. Their serrated silhouette was unmistakable, although they appeared much wider than I was used to seeing from land. Even from a distance, it was clear the cliffs were alive with birds. Common Murres(Uria aalge), Sooty Shearwaters (Ardenna grisea), and thousands more appeared on the water and in the air. It was hard to know where to point my camera, but I decided to try a fast shutter speed (1/2000 sec) and capture as many birds in flight as possible.
Visitors aren’t allowed to land, as the islands are part of the Farallon National Wildlife Refuge and serve as critical breeding grounds for seabirds and marine mammals. However, we got a rare glimpse of someone being transferred to shore. We had a U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service staffer onboard who would spend the next eight days on the islands. A small boat was lowered into the water by crane, picked them up from our vessel, and then the process reversed to bring them ashore. It was a fascinating glimpse into life on this remote outpost.
Once that side quest was complete, we began to circle Southeast Farallon Island. The amount of wildlife crowding the rocks was astounding. The naturalists called out three species of seals hauled out on the rocks, including one I hadn’t photographed before, northern fur seals (Callorhinus ursinus). Picking them out from the boat was tricky, but it was remarkable to see such a diverse array of species in one place. The cliffs heaved with life: murres (Uria aalge), cormorants(Phalacrocoracidae, various species), shearwaters (Ardenna grisea and others). Somewhere in that crowd, the naturalists told us, were tufted puffins (Fratercula cirrhata). I strained to find them but couldn’t make them out on the densely packed ledges.
The experience reminded me of the time I visited Saint Kilda in Scotland, another rocky outpost home to thousands of seabirds. On that occasion, northern gannets (Morus bassanus) stole the show as one of the world's largest colonies. In this situation, one specific northern gannet drew our attention for a different reason. High on a cliff, nestled among the rocks, sat “Morris,” a local legend, and a very lonely boy. Morris has been visiting the Farallones since 2012, but as his species are native to the Atlantic, he’s the only known individual in the entire Pacific Ocean. Seeing his iconic silhouette, even from a distance, was a special occurrence.
We didn’t see any sharks, but as we circled the jagged rock formations, I could see where the name The Devil’s Teeth came from. Soon, though, it was time to head into deeper water where the whale sightings picked up. We saw as many humpbacks (Megaptera novaeangliae) as I typically spot on a Monterey Bay whale-watching trip—plus one unexpected gray whale (Eschrichtius robustus). Even better: a pod of Dall’s porpoises (Phocoenoides dalli) and some northern white-sided dolphins (Lagenorhynchus obliquidens) joined us briefly, cutting through the water with ease.
Then came the albatrosses. Black-footed Albatrosses (Phoebastria nigripes) soared in wide arcs around the boat, and two even landed right beside us, possibly mistaking us for a fishing vessel. It’s not every day you get a close encounter with a bird that can glide across oceans.
But the highlight of the day? A tufted puffin (Fratercula cirrhata)—finally. One floated on the surface of the water, bobbing gently with the swell. Then, as if on cue, several more zipped past the front of the boat, their orange bills flashing against the gray sky. I’ve been hoping to photograph a puffin in California for years, and this was my first chance to do so.
If you’re a wildlife photographer, birder, or just someone curious about California’s wilder edges, a trip to the Farallon Islands is unforgettable. It’s raw and remote, a reminder that even just a handful of miles from San Francisco, nature can still take your breath away.
