We paddled across the bay, subject to scrutiny by passing pelicans and seals groaning from shore. We’d set out at sunset on a still October night with a group led by a local outfitter, dozens of people hoping to witness the phenomenon before winter weather ended bioluminescent viewing season and made nighttime trips too dangerous. Sea stars, bony fish, crustaceans, squid, and even some whales and sharks glow to warn, stun, distract, illuminate and attract other creatures.īut on Tomales Bay, dinoflagellates steal the show. Bioluminescence is actually a fairly common trait in ocean life. Scientists think that dinoflagellates glow - or bioluminesce - primarily for self-defense (the flash they emit when their cell walls detect pressure is the result of a chemical reaction and seems to deter some predators). I submerged my hand, and each finger left its own trail of sparkles as the kayak glided ahead. At first the effect was faint and fleeting, a cool, pale glow that flickered out after a second or two. As the blade pulled through the water, I saw its wake glimmer below the surface. So I took a big paddle stroke, and I watched closely. If the amazement on Liz’s face was any indication, conditions were right. And when conditions are right, the ocean’s surface lights up at the slightest touch, giving off an alien glow that rivals a sci-fi movie’s special effects. We were there because some species of dinoflagellates actually glow from within - a phenomenon known as bioluminescence. The tiniest zooplankton eat them, and in turn feed a web of life all the way up to the mightiest whales.īut Liz and I aren’t scientists, and we were definitely not there to eat. The organisms also play a foundational role in the marine food web: They photosynthesize, turning energy from the sun into food for all the ocean’s animals. Dinoflagellate populations respond quickly to variations in water temperatures, weather conditions and nutrients, so scientists learn a lot about ocean chemistry and biology from studying them. We’d come in search of dinoflagellates - single-celled organisms found in all the world’s oceans. Liz and I were drifting in a double kayak on Tomales Bay, the long, skinny slice of seawater that sits next to California’s Point Reyes National Seashore. “It’s definitely happening,” she concluded. It was a pitch-dark night, but I could still make out a smile lighting up her face. She dipped her hand in, swirled her fingers experimentally, then looked up at me.

I looked over my shoulder at my friend and kayak co-pilot, Liz, who had stopped paddling and was leaning over the edge of the boat, looking intently at the water.

National point reyes seashore