Caw! Caw! Caw! The calls of the seagulls welcomed me back, as did the sand, which tickled my toes, and the salty air, which stung my nose. I sprinted towards the water, and it caressed my skin as I stared at the blue blanket that spread out before me. I was at my happy place again—I was at the ocean.

My mother and I had arrived at Leo Carrillo State Park, a beach we were fond of visiting when we lived in Southern California. As I usually did, I began to explore the tide pools nestled along the shore. Tide pools are pools of ocean water that emerge as the tide ebbs and flows. The flora and fauna who reside in the intertidal zone possess the courage to face the crashing waves and the burning sun, all while being exposed to predators from both land and sea. They have evolved to survive the harsh conditions, and at low tide, the underwater city awakened before my eyes. The sea anemones attached themselves to the rocks like suction cups, as the hermit crabs scurried to-and-fro between them. The sea stars twinkled all around me, and I knelt down to stroke a sea urchin, which was as prickly as a cactus. Suddenly, I heard my mother call out to me.

"Emma, let's go shell hunting!"

We grabbed our buckets and set out on our treasure hunt. Along our stroll, we collected coquina butterfly and California mussel shells, as well as quite a few sand dollars. At one point, we stopped to take a break when the waves invited us to play a game of splash tag. We accepted the challenge and sprung into the water! My mother and I were having a whale of a time, until a couple whales decided to interrupt our fun.

"Emma, I see air spouts right in front of us—look up, quickly!"

I jolted upright, and sure enough, two gray whales sliced the surface of the water, their knuckled backs glistening under the sun's rays. My mother and I exchanged sly smiles.

“Can we drive to the overlook at Point Mugu to see them up-close?”

“I was thinking the exact same thing.”

With the wind springing in our faces, we raced back to the car. During that twenty-minute drive, my heart was pounding like a drum. Once we made it to our aerial vantage point, we realized that we were in the presence of a mother and her calf. The two whales were in the middle of one of the longest migrations of any mammal in the world. Their journey together had started off the coast of Baja California, where the mother gave birth in a shallow lagoon. Now, they were on their way up north to the feeding grounds of Arctic waters. The pair was staying close to shore, which allowed us to score front-row seats to the show. While the mother spy-hopped and poked her head out of the water like a periscope to scan the area around her, the calf lobtailed and slapped its tail flukes against the waves with a sound as loud as a pair of crash cymbals.

"This is incredible!" I said.

As they swam off, the mother and calf breached and flew out of the water as if to bid us farewell. All that was left of the pair was the trail of footprints they left behind, the spots where they had surfaced for air. Witnessing such majestic and intelligent creatures thriving in their natural habitat struck me with awe. As I gazed out at the ocean, a flame of passion burned deep within me. It was then that my love affair with whales officially commenced.