Salinas: Part One

Photo courtesy of the Los Padres ForestWatch website

If you are a lover of good books + Nature + solid, suspenseful writing + birds of prey (or a combination of any of those), you might consider reading John Moir’s brilliant narrative, Return of the Condor. It’s educational (Moir is also a teacher of science in addition to being a fine writer), but it’s also tremendously engrossing.

I say all that as preface to this:

When I left Cayucos on the morning of August 2^nd to head to Salinas (scroll two posts back to find that post), I made the decision to travel up the coast along Highway 1. I hadn’t done the drive in twenty years, but it had been so memorable the previous time, I wanted to do it again. [Side note: If you live in California, and you haven’t done the drive, get the hell up there. If you don’t live in Cali but are planning a visit, ya gotta go there.]

Driving up this coastal highway meant driving along the bluffs above the Pacific Ocean, looking down to see waves crashing along the rocks and seabirds flying—for three hours, with no radio reception and no cell reception. If I had remembered to bring my iPod, I could’ve plugged it into my car and listened to my music library—which would’ve had me singing for three hours. But I’d forgotten it. So it was just me and the sea. And let me tell you, I loved every glorious minute of it, over the one-hundred-plus mile trip, through the mist and fog of early morning into the bright sunshine dancing across the surface of the water, blue all the way to the horizon on my left, tall trees and rolling green hills to my right. A bit of heaven, for sure.

As I drove, I frequently saw the shadows of big birds crossing over the top of the car. Along the coast, we have gulls and huge brown pelicans and ravens and peregrine falcons—the same as most coastlines. But in California, we also have—because of the controversial but now successful captive breeding program—California Condors, the biggest bird you’ll ever see in the wild. (They have a ten-foot wingspan. Ten. feet. Go ahead. Take a moment; try to imagine it.)

Reading John Moir’s book some years ago raised my awareness of the treasure that these big ugly flying dinosaurs are. (They eat the large dead aquatic animals that wash up on shore.) And it also made me aware that (now, finally) there are places in California where we can spot them—more and more, actually, as their numbers continue to recover.

So there I was, driving along, joyfully singing some tune a cappella, when I looked up at just the right moment in just the right spot to see two young but fully feathered California Condors riding the thermals above me. Booyah! Then I wasn’t singing anymore, I was shouting. I’ve been birdwatching since I was in elementary school. To have seen two of these gigantic creatures in the wild on such a day just tipped my joy over into the jubilee zone. Oh my goodness!! I felt incredibly blessed. In fact, I felt as if my ancestors had sent them as a sign: ‘Here ya go, girl. Be safe on your travels, and know that even though mistakes have been made, and the environment has not been cared for as it should have been, and you have often grieved that, we are here behind the scenes, trying to help make things right. Keep believing. Keep spreading the word.’

And so I will.

As you go about your busy day, please be mindful that there are creatures—big and small—that have been placed in our care. It is inherent in our own gift of life that we continue to be good stewards over them. Amen and amen.

Click on the title of John Moir's book in the first paragraph if you're interested in reading it. You can pick up a used paperback copy for about five bucks.

Or, if you just want to see more pictures of California Condors and learn more about them, click here.