How does an 18-foot-long, 2,000-pound whale carcass simply vanish? This enigmatic question has left divers and photographers by the San Diego coast scratching their heads.

Earlier this year, Doug Bonhaus seized the opportunity of calm seas to dive into Scripps Canyon. As he submerged, a massive object took shape beneath him: the lifeless body of a baby gray whale.

Typically, whale falls are rare jewels of the ocean floor, usually located deep beneath the waves, often discovered only by remotely operated vehicles. However, this particular gray whale calf was found much shallower, around 115 feet deep.

The local marine biologists speculated that this tragic scene reflected the calf’s desperate final moments. Witnesses had spotted a whale matching its description nearby, struggling to find its mother and approaching boats in a plea for help.

Soon, news of the accessible whale fall spread like wildfire, attracting other adventurous divers, including Jules Jacobs, an underwater photojournalist renowned for his writings in The New York Times.

Jacobs, undeterred by the challenging descent, navigated the waters alongside a team, his dive lights revealing the emaciated calf, whose features bore a haunting expression of sorrow.

Determined to document this rare opportunity, Jacobs returned a week later, only to find a piece of the whale’s tail missing, likely taken by scavenger sharks eager for a meal.

When Jacobs made a third dive in late February, he held his breath at the thought of encountering the decaying body, only to find an empty seabed—the calf had completely disappeared.

Gray whales, majestic giants capable of growing up to 45 feet, embark on one of the longest migrations of any mammal—from the warm waters of Baja California to the frigid feeding grounds of the Arctic. The missing calf and its mother were presumed to be en route, separated at a vulnerable stage.

Despite a recovery period, gray whale populations grapple with a boom-and-bust cycle, exacerbated by climate change, ship collisions, and entanglement in fishing gear.

Yet, a whale's death doesn't mark the end; it often births new life. A whale carcass becomes a thriving ecosystem, feeding scavengers, enriching the seabed, and fostering a vibrant community of marine organisms.

"A whale fall is a bonanza, providing as much food in a short period as normally reaches the sediment in 200 years," explained Craig Smith, oceanography professor at the University of Hawaii.

Whale decomposition occurs in stages, beginning with scavengers like sharks. Then, opportunistic worms engage in a feast, followed by bacteria that produce hydrogen sulfide, supporting hundreds of marine species.

But the mystery remains—what happened to the calf's carcass? Did some eager scavenger make off with it, or did natural processes magically lift it from the ocean floor? Marine biology professor Gregory Rouse speculates that gas buildup from decomposition may have caused the carcass to float, adding another layer of intrigue to an already captivating story.