Cambria Audio Adventure

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Over New Year’s, Michael and I visited three wonderful natural sites along California’s central coast.


The Elfin Forest in Los Osos


The elephant seal rookery near Piedras Blancas Lighthouse






Moonstone Beach, Cambria.










To hear the sounds made by the large male elephant seal ...












and the calls between the females and their pups...


Or to hear why it is called Moonstone Beach and why the boardwalk is so important.



LISTEN to the PodCast -
Cambria Audio Adventure

The Central Coast is a great get away for a long weekend. The birding is fantastic and the elephant seals will be in residence through February.

Delisting the Gray Wolf

Yesterday, January 29, 2007, the United States Federal Government delisted the gray wolf in the lower 48 states. Since 1974, the gray wolf has been protected as either “threatened” or “endangered” under the Endangered Species Act. But today, that protection is gone.

As Americans populated the continent, they saw the gray wolf as a threat and competitor. Whether it was wolves preying on naive domestic animals, hunting prey humans wanted for themselves or because wolves would not relent to human domination, these top predators were exterminated from the Atlantic to the Pacific. In California, the last known wild wolf was trapped in Lassen county in 1924.

Since an experimental reestablishment of wolves began in Yellowstone National Park in 1995, there have been avid supporters and vitriolic opponents. While the humans debated, the wolves multiplied and reestablished balance in the ecosystem. In short, they did what humans could not. They controlled the elk population by eliminating the sick and weak. They resurrected damaged plant communities by reducing an overabundance of browsers. And they helped a growing list of species recover in the Park–song birds, beaver, fox and others–because of the improvement to the habitat.

But while the Park was returning to a wild balance, wolves were leaving to colonize beyond its boarders. In Minnesota and Wisconsin, Canadian wolves were crossing the boarder to colonize the areas, long devoid of top predators, that offered prime habitat. While the movement of these wolves is good for the natural environment, human fear of a top predator has again taken over rationality.

Now that the gray wolf is no longer designated as an “endangered species,” states will be able to “manage” wolf populations as they see fit. Idaho, Montana, Wyoming, Minnesota, Michigan and Wisconsin will decide if wolves will be protected, shot on sight, poisoned, trapped or shot with a license as trophy game. Residents of Alaska have been trying to express their desires to their public officials for years regarding rational treatment of their wolves, yet despite votes to stop it, gray wolves are still shot from planes because of the power of the hunting lobby.

What will be the fate of the gray wolf in the 21st century. Will 21st-century humans use their intellect to learn to live with a top predator for the betterment of the land and ecosystems or will we react with primal fear and greedy short-term gain to once again drive the wolf to near extinction?

Is living with a large predator difficult? Yes. But we conservation-minded Americans expect Africans to share space with the African lion and Indian villagers to find ways to live with the Bengal tiger. We haven’t pressed as hard to save gray wolves in Europe or Mexico. Maybe it is because we secretly know it would be hypocritical.

All of our eyes should be watching these states where wild wolves are now in the cross hairs. The Great Lake states have been allowing their wolves to recover naturally, the Rocky Mountain states seem poised to stop wolf recovery.

Will we repeat the bloody past or will we find ways to live beside America’s top animal predator? We should all be ready to speak up.

Native Plants Beat the Freeze

Cold weather has destroyed citrus and other agricultural crops across California. Frost damaged plants can be seen in most residential yards. But if you look past the destruction, there is something important to note: the native plants are fine.

When I began to investigate the damage in our yard, I was struck by the resilience of the native plants. Not only had they survived the frosty cold, but some, like the white flowering currant (Ribes indecorum), were blooming and happy.

In this photo you can see the cascading white currant flowers, while the blackened foliage at the bottom of the picture is one of many frost damaged spider plants (Chlorophytum).

On January 13, 2007, Los Angeles recorded its lowest winter temperature. In Woodland Hills, we had several nights between 26 - 30˚F. On the morning of the 13th there was a quarter inch layer of ice across our bird bath. I removed the layer of ice and put it on the ground. Throughout the day, the ice never melted; unheard of in sunny California.

Not only was the disk of ice still on the ground the next morning, the water in the two-inch-deep bird bath was frozen solid. The band-tailed pigeons were walking on their own ice rink, quite mystified.
















Throughout the yard, even in protected areas, exotic species, like the Mexican agave (Agave attenuata), were drooping with frost damage. While only two feet away, the newly planted native Channel Island tree poppy (Dendromecon harfordii) was unscathed.












On the exposed hillside, the California holly or toyon (Heteromeles arbutifolia) thrived, unconcerned with the bitter temperatures.

Even in the more protected front of the house, it was quite obvious that the brilliant green foliage of the “Yankee point” California lilac (Ceanothus gloriosus horizontalis) was unharmed by the frost while the African daisy (Osteospermum fruticosum) turned yellow and wilted.

If creating habitat around your home for native animals isn’t enough of a reason to change your landscaping over to natives, consider the changing weather. Native plants are not only more adapted to the dry hot California summers and require less water, they also are more resilient to freezing cold.

Be water wise, habitat wise and climate wise, plant natives.

The Gift of Trapdoor Spiders

Not every spider builds an aerial masterpiece like Charlotte in “Charlotte’s Web.” Many spiders stay close to the ground and some, like tarantulas and trapdoor spiders, live underground.

Trapdoor spiders are found worldwide, from Africa, Australia, and China, to North and South America. On our hillside in Los Angeles, we are fortunate to have a colony of California trapdoor spiders (Bothriocyrtum califonicum) a native Pacific Coast species. The heavy adobe soil poses a gardening challenge, but creates prime real estate for burrowing spiders. The native clay is structurally strong, while the hillside slope allows rapid runoff of water. This combination has prevented humans from planting exotic landscaping, which in turn has allowed these trapdoor spiders to thrive.

This photo shows the first trapdoor home I discovered in our yard. Though the spider camouflages its door with dirt and debris, the large size of this protective door allowed me to spot the distinctive “D”-shaped covering.

The back edge of the “D” creates the web-constructed hinge, which allows the spider to open it’s door when it detects prey on its doorstep. The spider lifts up the door, grabs the cricket, spider or other unwary arthropod, and pulls in down into its tunnel. Layers of webbing make the eight-inch deep tunnel a cozy home for the California trapdoor spider.

The door also provides protection. From inside, the trapdoor spider can hold the door tightly closed. The precision of the door’s closure makes it almost impossible to open without damaging the door. This was the first time I was able to open this door. Unfortunately, it was because the large adult female spider must have passed away. Female trapdoor spiders are believed to live up to 12 years. I have known this spider to reside in this large tunnel for 13 years.

Trapdoor females are homebodies, preferring to spend their lives in one location. Males may wander past her door, but the female spends her life quietly underground. She is also a good mother, raising her spiderlings in her web-lined tunnel. She protects them and provides them with food for a year until they are large enough to strike out on their own.

All around the hillside matriarch there are tunnels and doors of younger trapdoor spiders. Some are eaten by other predators and their tiny doors have broken off to reveal the narrow tunnel without an owner.

Others are approaching the size of their mother’s tunnel.

Spiders are ancient creatures. The fossil record shows evidence of spiders 350 million years ago, long before dinosaurs or the first mammals. How long has this colony of trapdoor spiders lived on this hillside? Probably, long before humans lived in this valley.

The experts don’t believe the shy and secretive trapdoor spider lives in the built-up city of Los Angeles anymore. But in little fragments of native habitat, these ancient creatures survive. I am in awe of this colony of spiders. I am careful not to plant too many plants on the bare earth they prefer. I knock on human neighbor’s doors when their overwatering threatens to flood the spiders. I try to preserve their plot of hillside so their colony can continue on long after I am gone.

Native wildlife is a treasure, a gift. Big or small, plant or animal, this year make it your mission to preserve and protect.

For great PICTURES of trapdoor spiders, including a mother with her young, visit

www.dbc.uci.edu/~pjbryant/biodiv/spiders/Bothriocyrtum%20californicum.htm

Live Holiday Trees

Yesterday we packed up all the winter holiday decorations and stored them away for another year. One thing we didn’t have to worry about was stuffing the holiday tree into the recycle bin, because this year we had a live tree.

January is the perfect time to be thinking about a live tree for next year. Trees that were too small or just didn’t find homes are now reduced for clearance. Last year, I purchased two small spruces for $ 5.00 each.

While my little trees were still too small for this year, they are growing well. Because they are in pots, I can move them around in the yard to find the best seasonal location. Growing under my care in an organic backyard, these future holiday trees are not sprayed with insecticide or chemicals. When they come into my house, I know what they bring with them.

Have there occasionally been insects on the trees? Yes, and when insects are apparent, I move the trees into an open area where the birds frequent. Our native titmouse, bushtits and ruby-crowned kinglets are more than happy to scour the trees of bugs.

This fall we did purchase a larger tree, a six-foot Colorado blue spruce (Picea pungens glauca). Weighing over 200 lbs. in its large black plastic tub, the tree had to be slid on a ramp into the house, but it was well worth the extra effort. Instead of a gradually drying dead tree, our living tree delighted us and our visitors with brilliant green growth. It was amazing to watch the unfurling buds at the tip of each branch.

Tomorrow, the blue spruce will go back outside with its smaller brethren I’ll miss it greeting me each morning when I come downstairs. My grove of living holiday trees are not just winter decorations, they have become members of the family. Each species is slightly different in color, stature and texture, but when they come into the house, they all succeed in bringing the outdoors in.

Some of our growing holiday trees:

• Giant sequoia (Sequoia gigantea); seed from 2000, a mighty giant in its infancy (10 inches tall, 3 inches growth in a year)

• Black Hills spruce (Picea glauca ‘Densata’) spruce with somewhat soft, deep green needles; growing well (22.5 inches tall, 4 inches in a year)

• Dwarf Alberta spruce (Picea glauca ‘Conica’) short stiff needles; not growing robustly (22.5 inches tall, 1.5 inches in a year)

• Colorado blue spruce (Picea pungens glauca); beautiful blue green with chartreuse new growth (6 feet tall); this year's Holiday tree in the house.
  

Last Minute Gift

Today is the shortest day of the year. Have you been outside today? Did you take a minute to stop and revel in the splendor of the natural world around you?

Whether it is a geranium in winter, a wisp of white cloud or a relationship with a loved one, life is fragile. The soft gray mourning dove on the bird feeder today may be a Cooper’s hawk’s lunch tomorrow.

It is easy to take for granted the tree you walk by every day, the spider in the corner, the family member that is only a phone call away.

If you are rushing to buy those last minute gifts, ask yourself “Why?” If your answer is “To prove you love them.” Stop.

Love doesn’t come in a box.

Love is time together. Love is listening. Love is placing value on a relationship itself.

In the new year, put your efforts toward protecting and preserving the things you cherish–your family, friends and this planet that nurtures us all.

Podcast Bolsa Chica Wetlands - Part 2

Recently we spent two Saturdays at Bolsa Chica Ecological Reserve birding for shorebirds. 75% of the bird species in North America migrate and a large number of these species are shorebirds. Part of what makes Bolsa Chica so exciting is the variety of birds that pass through or who come to spend the winter. Some of these birds fly all the way from Canada and Alaska.

You might ask, “What is so special about a reddish egret?”

















“What does a little island of dry ground with sandpipers have to do with Bolsa Chica?”












Or “What are those willets doing?”











Listen to our first PodCast - Bolsa Chica Audio Adventure and find out.

Click Here to listen to the Podcast!

Bolsa Chica located along Pacific Coast Highway in Huntington Beach, CA.
The pathways are easily accessible and the birds are close. Give the Gift of Tranquility - Take your loved ones to go watch the birds for an hour.

Bolsa Chica Wetlands - Part 1

Bolsa Chica Ecological Reserve in Huntington Beach, California is a one of Southern California’s birding gems. We spent a morning there learning to identify the variety of shorebirds. Sometimes this can be a tricky task because many of these migrating birds are visiting Southern California when they are in their drab non-breeding coloration. That means you have to look harder at their behavior, their beaks and feet.


Some birds like the long-billed curlew have a very distinctive feature.
The long downward curving beak on this large shore bird helps it stand out in a crowd. To the far left of the two curlews is a willet in its winter plumage. A somewhat larger sandpiper, gray with a medium-length, straight beak, the willet may not stand out at first, but in flight they flash very distinctive bands of black and white on their wings.

The whimbrel is the most widespread member of the curlew family in North America. It’s long bill also droops downward, but it isn’t as long as the long-billed curlew and the lower mandible or lower part of the beak is pinkish at the base. The whimbrel typically forages alone and, while small groups may fly together, they do not tend to mix with other species. We saw this individual foraging on its own. The whimbrel has two bold dark stripes separated by white at the crown of the head. The whimbrel also tends to probe around with its beak more than the other curlews as it looks for food in the mud.

Tiny sandpipers like the western sandpiper and the least sandpiper can be a real challenge. The large flocks at Bolsa Chica that swirl like schools of fish, are mostly western sandpipers. Westerns tend to flock in larger groups than the least sandpiper. But a large flock can sometimes have several different species milling together. If you see them feeding on the shoreline, the western sandpiper has black legs while the least sandpiper has pale greenish-yellow legs. Both are brownish on the top and white-bellied.

CLICK HERE to WATCH a flock of sandpipers.

Bolsa Chica is a wonderful place to experience sandpipers, ducks, pelicans and more. Give the Gift of Adventure this Holiday Season. Take your loved ones to a nature preserve and explore.

More Information and Directions to Bolsa Chica Ecological Reserve.

Next week we’ll post our first
AnimalBytes PodCast - Bolsa Chica Audio Adventure

Birds and the Art of War

There is wisdom in an owl sitting motionless in a tree, wisdom and a lesson to be learned.

It was a seemingly quiet morning. A few mourning doves and house finches dabbled at the feeder. A band-tailed pigeon perched on the precarious tip of a slender cypress along a nearby driveway. Up the hill in the neighbor’s yard, a lone scrub jay called with urgency.

The jay’s alarm squawks became frantic, a second scrub jay joined in. Then a harsh “caw” took up the warning. Within minutes a single crow became a mob of 20.

High in the upper branches of a young eucalyptus tree perched a dark brown figure. Crows rushed the dark villain. Their sleek black bodies plunged toward the still figure but always maintained a safe six-foot distance. Other crows sat like glossy sentinels in adjoining trees cawing raspy threats. The air became a kaleidoscope of black wings and pointed beaks.

At first I thought one of the red-shouldered hawks was using the tree as a vantage point; frequently crows will mob a hawk and drive it off. But the shadowy bird in the tree didn’t move, didn’t give any ground.

The crows grew to a murder of 40. Black voices raked through the air.

This threat was personal, it was a great horned owl.

HEAR the Crow Alarm Calls.

The great horned owl is one of the few creatures that poses a threat to crows. In the dark of night, this large bird of prey can steal a sleeping crow right off its perch. Identifying danger in their midst, the crows were determined to drive away the predator while the light of day still offered them protection.

And here is where the situation became more than just black birds squawking. Typically, scrub jays do not share space with crows by choice. Crows, after all, are known to take the hatchlings of smaller birds as food for their own youngsters. Similarly, crows and ravens compete for territory. I have watched the local family of 15 - 20 crows mob the pair of ravens that have been checking out real estate in our neighborhood. Jays, crows and ravens are all intelligent birds and they prefer to keep their distance from the competition.

But in the owl, these birds had a common foe. The pair of scrub jays did not have the size or number to drive off the great horned owl. The jays not only attracted the attention of the crows, they continued to work alongside the crows aiding in the harassing cacophony. The crows sent for reinforcements, extended family members arrived, expanding their usual number well beyond 40. If the mob could press the owl out of the tree and into the air, they could drive it off, chase it out of their territory.

After an hour of constant effort, most of the crows moved on. But the owl was not forgotten, four stouthearted defenders perched in the tree encircling the threat. Throughout the day, crows arrived to take their turn at the watch.

The owl moved closer to the tree trunk, its tawny feet with dagger-like talons gripping the smooth gum bark.

By 3:00 PM the day was slipping away. The approaching night brought renewed urgency. The black mass returned and they brought with them the calvary, ravens. Bigger and bolder, one raven flew right into the treetop. With menace it croaked and waved its pointed beak within a foot of the owl. Several times it rushed the quiet predator, while crows raucously filled the air. Still, the owl did not move.

Here it was, two forces in direct opposition. Each side knew themselves and their abilities. The jays, crows and ravens looked danger in the face and declared its presence. They put aside their conflicts of similarity and banded together against a shared threat. The crows had the strength of numbers. If they could maintain their harassment of the enemy, they might be able to unsettle the owl, press it to make a mistake and take to the air. On the wing in daylight, the owl would be playing by the crows’ rules, they might gain the upper hand.

But the owl knew the best strategy for a lone predator was patience. Its back was safely against the tree trunk. Its sharp talons and beak posed a great enough threat to keep even the large raven at bay. If the owl could maintain its position, it was safe. The harassment and threats never ruffled its soft brown feathers.

On this day the owl prevailed, it stayed on its eucalyptus perch until evening drove the crows to roost.

Know your enemy and know yourself. Fight your battle, not your opponents. Study the travails of others, bird or human, strategy is strategy.

Project FeederWatch

It’s that time of year again! Not Halloween, not autumn, not back-to-school.

It is FeederWatch time!

All across North America, backyard scientists are cleaning up their bird feeders, restocking their bird seed and preparing for a winter of counting native birds for Cornell University’s Project FeederWatch.

Project FeederWatch offers a unique opportunity for anyone with a willingness to participate: the chance to be a citizen scientist collecting valuable scientific data on wild birds. In backyards and school yards across the continent, people like you are vital to gathering information on migratory bird movement and population density.

Field biologists can only be in a limited number of locations, informed citizens can provide valuable eyes and ears for science. Data collected by school children and birding hobbyists for Project FeederWatch has identified specific bird species expanding their territory north in response to climate change. Last year varied thrushes were documented further east than ever before and western hummingbird species were spotted on the east coast. Observations at bird feeders typically identify the first outbreaks of avian disease and provide vital information on the pattern by which the disease spreads.

Scientists around the world use Project FeederWatch’s 20 years of data to study population cycles, migration patterns and the effects of human activity on the natural world.

Can you make a difference counting birds visiting a feeder on your apartment balcony? YES!


When your sightings are combined with those of thousands of other FeederWatchers, every bird you see, or don’t see, helps scientists have a more complete picture of bird populations across the country.

Even if you are just beginning to recognize your local birds, your observations are valuable. In October I gave a workshop on how to participate in Project FeederWatcher at the Wild Birds Unlimited store in Woodland Hills, CA.

In its 20th year, Project FeederWatch needs you more than ever. Whether you count on a ranch, an office balcony or a school yard, information on wild birds is vital to understanding the effects of global warming, how avian flu might travel across the country and, most importantly, the health of our planet. Wild birds travel around the globe, they are “the canaries in the coal mine.”

The effect of West Nile virus is decreasing in my neighborhood. How do I know? Because I have been a FeederWatcher for six years. We went from seeing scrub jays every time we counted to recording NONE for 2 years. Now, we see an occasional young pair. The scrub jays are making a come back. The ruby-crowned kinglet has returned for the winter, but this time it has a friend. I have come to know the birds that visit my yard as neighbors and individuals. Get to know your wild neighbors and Make A Difference–count birds for Project FeederWatch.

“To learn more about Project FeederWatch or to register, visit www.birds.cornell.edu/pfw or call the Lab toll-free at (800) 843-2473. In return for the $15 fee that supports the program ($12 for Lab members) participants receive the FeederWatcher’s Handbook, a poster of the most common feeder birds, a calendar, complete instructions, a subscription to Cornell Lab of Ornithology’s newsletter, BirdScope, and the FeederWatch Winter Bird Highlights. The season runs from November 11 to April 6, and participants may join at any time.

It’s our 20th year, and we’re counting on citizen scientists to help us track birds for the next 20 years.”

The Beauty of Monarchs and Jerusalem Crickets

Beauty comes in many forms. For me the Jerusalem cricket is just as beautiful as the monarch butterfly. I know. You think I’m crazy. How can I compare the delicate finery of a dazzling butterfly with its bold black-and-orange stripes and clown-like, white polka-dotted body to the naked brown of an earth-burrowing, spiky-toed “potato bug.”

It’s easy really, if you get to know them as individuals.

Yes, the monarch floats through the air on elegant wings, but look closer. The monarch sipping from my buddleja has been around the block. There is a chunk missing from its right lower wing–possibly a bite taken by a predator during the summer. This tough guy is probably headed to a temperate spot to spend the winter with some of his buddies.

The black dot in the thicken stripe on his posterior wings, shows that this is a male. Those dots are scent glands. Each flutter of his wings spreads a pheromone calling card to females looking for love. He doesn’t beat his wings to look angelic, his agenda is sex.

Can you really call him delicate? No. I have helped tag pugnacious monarchs. They are strong little creatures that wriggle and push their way out of your grasp. Rub the colored scales off their wing and the resulting clear chitin window provides a resilient surface for a stick-on tag. This monarch is a tough guy, a scrapper, a butterfly that can migrate hundreds of miles one 6-inch wingspan at a time.

Now look again at the Jerusalem cricket. Her glossy round, honey-colored head with small brown eyes can look somewhat human, hence the name “Niñas de la Tierra” or earth child. Many in the Hispanic community see her head as skull-like, a death head. But she isn’t poisonous, she isn’t a killer. Typically the Jerusalem cricket spends her days underground in moist soil emerging at night to munch on plant roots and decaying matter. Some call her potato bug, though this female wouldn’t touch potato.

I had this girl in captivity for two weeks while I was teaching a class on arthropods. We found her out for a late night stroll hunting for a suitor. Jerusalem crickets don’t waft their scent like butterflies, instead they drum their abdomens on the ground to call in a mate with irresistible tribal tunes. Each subspecies drums their own rhythm.

During the day, she slept buried in dirt. Her diurnal slumber was deep. The first time I checked her during the day, I thought she had perished. When she awoke with a start, we both jumped. Once I understood her routine, I knew to expect this party girl wasn’t raring to go until 10:00 at night.

Yes, she has large jaws which could give you a nip, but she needs them to gnaw. Of the food we offered, carrots were her favorite. Her feet are spiky and her claws can appear threatening if she is flipped on her back. But a Jerusalem cricket is a tasty high-protein snack for a skunk, bat or island fox. She needs those claws for digging, climbing and protecting herself. She isn’t toxic like the monarch.

While her carmel-colored body appears slightly chunky, her long flexible antennae wave about with the fluidity of a Hawaiian dancer. With six legs in motion, she moves rapidly, especially on a smooth surface.

She was at her most beautiful, however, climbing over bark and branches, making her way back into the night when we released her. Her clawed feet purposefully carried her across the rough terrain. Her antennae flicked out in front of her recognizing the nooks and crevasses of her neighborhood.

Both the monarch and the Jerusalem cricket are adapted perfectly for the lives they lead, I can’t think of a better definition of beauty.

Effects of the Day Fire

Is a wild fire 50 miles away really effecting the birds in my backyard? Yes.

The “Day Fire,” which began on Labor Day and grew to be one of the largest wildfires in Southern California history, continues to smolder. Over 200,000 acres have burned, much of it in the Los Padres National Forest. NASA photo from space.

Sunday, another white-crowned sparrow arrived. After gobbling down some food, the tiny wanderer hopped into the bird bath and scrubbed. When it was done, a scum of ash floated on the water.

The white-crowned sparrows, migrating south, seem to be traveling through the ash cloud and/or the charred hillsides of the Day Fire. Perhaps that is why we are seeing individuals and not the family groups that typically arrive together. The fire has added to the rigors of their migration.

Fire greatly alters the terrain. Roads and access to much of Los Padres National Forest remain restricted because of continuing fire danger and possible landslides. Even before the rains arrive, landslides threaten water drainage and habitat for invertebrates, amphibians and fish.

Few structures were consumed in the “Day Fire” due to the tireless efforts of firefighters, but the home range of many plants and the foraging area of countless animals have been greatly altered.

Interestingly, the arriving warblers, a Townsend’s and numerous yellow-rumped, are clean. They must be traveling a different route, possibly along the coast.

What a challenge it must be for a small migratory bird to travel countless miles with hopes of stopping in the wilderness of Los Padres Forest, only to find the streams are clouded with dirt and ash, the plants and insects are gone, and the oasis they planned on is a charred landscape. How many perish unable to continue their journey?

The juncos and the hermit thrush have yet to arrive. I can’t help but wonder if the fire will have an effect on them?

White-Crowned Sparrows Arrive

Perhaps people in Southern California overlook the changing seasons because we have surrounded ourselves with plants and animals from other environments that don’t reflect California's natural landscape. Reintroducing native plants to our hillside has magnified our appreciation of the changing seasons.


This afternoon I had a distinctly California-autumn moment. As I stood on the path, a Bewick’s wren hopped up from the ground to snatch dried fruit from between the carmel-brown leaves of a native ribes (wild current). The tiny dried currents were few, but they were the food of choice for the diminutive wren. Dried leaves crunched ever so slightly beneath the bird’s light steps.

Finding only a few morsels, the Bewick’s wren then flew up into a feeder dish to check out what I had made available.

Friday morning, Oct. 6, the white-crowned sparrows returned for the winter. An adult and a juvenile have been sitting high in the lavatera. In the mornings the adult calls loudly.

These seasonal visitors are about a week late. Last year they arrived on September 22 and in 2004 they appeared on September 30. Usually, a small family shows up together. I can’t help but wonder it their delay is related to the appearance of only two birds. Did something happen to the white-crown’s mate? Was there more than one offspring? Will we see the rest of the family appear in the next few days?

It must be time to travel south, because a female black-headed grosbeak stopped in on Saturday. She ate, rested all day in the tree mallow, ate some more, and then continued on her journey. Now I’m keeping an eye out for our other winter residents, the dark-eyed juncos and the hermit thrush.

The desert tortoises have found their favorite winter burrows and are close to settling in for a long sleep.

The male red-shouldered hawk has returned to roost each night in the pine trees. Apparently his fathering duties are over for the year. The Cooper’s hawk however is not happy about the potential competition. This afternoon it tried to chase off the larger hawk.

Autumn is a season of change. Perhaps that is why it is my favorite time of year. Each morning has a crisp edge of possibility.

Early this AM autumn offered a surprise. Coyotes frequent our neighborhood most of the year, but this morning we had a new predator in between our suburban homes. Around 4 AM the dog ran outside to bark. In the middle of the street stood a reasonably-sized bobcat.

It could be a lack of available wild water or the abundance of small prey milling around suburban homes. My hope is that some wild creatures are adapting to survive in a world choked with humans. The wild is adapting to us, can we adapt to them? Can we put aside having to be the dominant creature and find a way to just be good neighbors?

I’m going to plant more wild current and scatter some native grass seed. What are you going to do to be a good neighbor?

Autumn Watch

It has begun.

Signs of autumn are accumulating even here in Southern California.



The sycamore leaves are fringed in golden brown. Lesser goldfinches are increasing at the feeder. Green berries are forming on the toyon, the air tastes of dusty pollen and the poison oak is putting on its cloak of cautionary red.

I’m not the only one noticing the seasonal change, the desert tortoises are contemplating winter lodgings. And across Britain people are watching for ripening blackberries and flowering ivy. They aren’t just taking note, they are recording scientific data on 6 specific natural signs that autumn has come to the British Isles.

After the success of a BBC program Springwatch, that chronicled and monitored the arrival of spring, the same producers are now gearing up for Autumnwatch.

This is true reality programming. Naturalists, biologists and researchers pointing out the changing season and inviting viewers to participate - to collect data on:

1. first ripe blackberry
   
2. first ripe conker (a type of nut)
   
3. last black swift sighted (migrating bird)
4. first flowering of ivy
   
5. first ripe hawthorn berry
   
6. first sign of color change in oak leaves.

Findings are posted to the BBC’s Autumnwatch website www.bbc.co.uk/nature/animals/wildbritain/autumnwatch/

Here you can also follow the travels of ten individual brent geese as they migrate south. Radio transmitters allow researchers and the public to monitor the geeses’ progress and understand the perils these birds face in their long-distance seasonal commute. When I checked today, strong winds had forced several of the birds to remain in Greenland. They will have to wait for the weather to improve before heading on to Iceland.

In my mind this is what television and the internet should be, a creator of community.

The AutumnWatch community isn’t meeting around the water cooler or the school bench to discuss the huge explosion at end of episode one. They are comparing notes about the world they are actually a part of, “Is the hawthorn ripe yet at your house?”


Here in California our markers for the season are vastly different than 5, 000 miles away in Britain. Or are they? Fruiting plants, turning leaves, the arrival and departure of migratory birds and hibernation of certain species for the winter.

For centuries, marking the seasons was a vital part of human cultures. But today our modern lifestyle has become a run through the year. We hesitate only to nod at the winter holidays with a focus on being good consumers and to wink at spring just long enough to binge on a second spate of purchasing. Ironically these “religious” holidays are placed in their positions on the calendar to coincide with the seasonal celebrations they usurped.

There is nothing in the celebration of Autumn that says ”go forth and purchase.” Quite the contrary the celebration of the harvest is a rejoicing in the bounty provided by the Earth - appreciating what you have.

I am a bit envious of the Autumnwatchers in Britain. I want to be part of their community, working together to collect information on the moments of autumn unfolding around them, coming together to share that information and understanding more about the planet as it is and as it is changing.

In my mind the world could only be better if we all took time to note the everyday signs of autumn and then came together to share the wonders we have seen.
Go out into your yard, your neighborhood, and LOOK. Are leaves of autumn appearing? Is the ivy forming flowers? LISTEN. Has a winter bird arrived? Take a deep breath. The air is different as autumn rolls across the land. How does it feel on you face? How does it smell? Share your perceptions with others.

Let’s build a community that rejoices in the beautiful realities of our planet.

A Family of California Quail

Let me start by saying, “We do not live in a rural area.” Our house is two short blocks from a major boulevard and one of the busiest highways in the country, the Ventura or 101 FreeWay. Topographically, our backyard nestles into a small canyon, but all of our fences are shared with other yards. Beyond the neighbors up the hill, streets and houses stretch out for a half mile before you reach the chaparral of the Santa Monica Mountains.

The other afternoon as we worked in the yard, we heard a bubbling birdcall. There, moving through the shrubs and trailing down the steps into the yard, was a family of California quail (Callipepla californica). Father, with his dark brown cap and dangling topknot, was in the lead. Behind him trailed four medium-sized chicks and mom.

While we watched with silent excitement, they explored beneath our young oak and sampled morsels between the toyon and holly cherry. Within minutes they located the scraps beneath the bird feeder and scratched at the ground searching for seed.

For three consecutive days the little family stopped in for a meal. One morning, as we watched, they demonstrated the difference in their survival skills and those of our other feeder birds.

A young California towhee swooped toward the feeder. A mourning dove mistook the diving towhee for a hawk. Doves, house finches and lesser goldfinches scattered.

The quail froze.

They stood still as stones. Whatever position they had been in, they held for five minutes. Finally, when a house finch returned to the feeder above them, father quail turned his head and slowly the crew of six began moving again.

How and why have these quail wandered out of the hills? I hear they tend to explore in the late summer when raising their brood. Perhaps they were looking for food or water.

The other factor may be cats, or the lack there of. Eight years ago we had a cat that spent his days outside. Our neighbors had a cat. The woman four houses down had five cats. Today, neighborhood cats are kept indoors. The threat from coyotes has become too great. The unforeseen benefit has been that without cats prowling the neighborhood, quail have been able to reestablish themselves in the lower foothills and feel safe dining in our suburban backyard.

For ground-nesting birds and other small creatures removing an exotic predator, like the domestic cat, can make the difference between extinction and survival. Without the cats present, a cottontail rabbit freely hops along its evening rounds between a couple of neighbor houses. Alligator lizards prowl beneath our roses while fence lizards doze in the sun on the wall.

California quail make the 62nd bird species we’ve seen in our yard.

While the family only stayed a short while before heading back up into the hills, I’m hoping they will remember our oasis of native habitat. I love the notion of living in one of the world’s largest cities and having wild quail in my backyard.

Bats In Los Angeles

Bats



Dance of a butterfly.

Bite of a fox.

Flutter of leathery wings.



Airborne wolves,

Stalking moth and mosquito,

Skimming through marmalade skies.

Mysterious, malicious, misunderstood. Why is it that Western culture thinks so poorly of bats? These hunters and pollinators of the night are vital for controlling populations of insects, especially mosquitos, and instrumental in pollenating fruit crops like banana, mango and avocado. Mother bats are devoted to their offspring and some species will provide food to injured individuals even if they are unrelated, a trait all too infrequent among humans.

Two out of every 10 species of mammals are bats–only rodents are represented by more species. I’ve seen bats at twilight in Istanbul, skimming over a lake in northern Canada, and a friend saw one from the top of the Eiffel Tower in Paris. Bats are found globally except at the poles.

As a child in Los Angeles, I watched them slip in and out of pools of lamplight in the park snatching insects on the fly. Now when I walk at dusk, I see only one or two bats patrolling our neighborhood streets. As mosquito-born diseases, like West Nile virus and malaria, become growing threats you would think people would embrace mosquito predators like bats. Instead, the shortsighted solution is to spray toxins that effect the food web and have short-term effects on the mosquitos.

Bats can live ten to twenty years, with a documented longevity of thirty-two years for a wild little brown bat, while mosquitos typically live 10-100 days. Kill off a generation of bats and mosquitos at the same time and the mosquitos will be back in swarms before the bats can attempt to recover. The resilience of insects to toxins makes this situation even worse. Even the U.S. Center for Disease Control states “There are over 125 mosquito species with documented resistance to one or more insecticides.”

Are there any mosquitos with resistance to bats? No.

A few years ago a mixed colony of big brown bats, little brown bats and Brazilian free-tailed bats were discovered at the Los Angeles Zoo and Botanical Gardens. Here, in the heart of Los Angeles, 100 - 150 bats set out on their summer-evening foray into Griffith Park and along the Los Angeles River to hunt insects.


It isn’t the spectacle of Carlsbad Caverns or Congress Avenue Bridge in Austin, Texas, but watching the small colony emerge in the twilight is exciting. This was the second year Zoo Docents have hosted a Bird & Bat Walk for Zoo members.

Each of the three nights unfolded with similar magic:

As twilight approaches a few bats drop from their daytime roost. An electronic “bat detector” lowers the frequency of the bats' ultrasonic vocalizations to clicks so we can hear them. A few scattered clicks alert us to the emerging “scouts.” They take a look around and then signal to the colony. If the air space is safe, if the barn owl or great horned owl isn’t perched nearby waiting, the clicks will become constant and over the next 10 minutes the majority of the bats will embark on their night of hunting.

Bat Walk slide show - see and hear the bats.

Watching bats is something I could do every night. So we have put up a bat box in hopes of attracting our mosquito-eating neighbors. We’ll keep you posted.