Our refuse takes a grim toll
Strolling along Santa Ana Valley Road with the dog the other
day, movement caught my eye.
Dangling from a barbed wire fence was a European Starling, dead.
Only the most ardent wildlife lover would shed a tear over a
starling. But this bird’s passing still struck me.
Our refuse takes a grim toll
Strolling along Santa Ana Valley Road with the dog the other day, movement caught my eye.
Dangling from a barbed wire fence was a European Starling, dead. Only the most ardent wildlife lover would shed a tear over a starling. But this bird’s passing still struck me.
It was sad, and unnecessary. Without a word or an epitaph, this bird’s last hours were spelled out for the most casual observer to see.
A length of cotton twine was twisted tightly around one leg. The rest of its length was tangled around that strand of barbed wire. Perhaps the bird picked up the string for some purpose, or perhaps it was just snared as it went about its business. But the string surely snagged on the fence, and as the bird repeatedly tried to fly off, it grew more and more tangled.
Finally, the bird perished, exhausted and terrified.
Not more than a quarter mile off, I turned my binoculars on an oak that stands back from the road. Atop the oak was a beautiful Golden Eagle, its feathered nape glistening gold in the dim light.
A few feet away, I found what I was afraid would still be there. The corpse of another Golden Eagle dangled from the perch where it has hung for the last year. This beautiful bird, too, became tangled in a length of twine and eventually died. It continues to hang as a mute reminder of the ramifications of thoughtlessness.
Red-tailed Hawks, in particular, seem to be fond of baling twine that collects around farms and ranches. I often see a few strands woven into their nests, bright yellow or orange giving away the origin of the embellishment. Usually, the twine causes no problems. But our trash almost always outlives us, occasionally with catastrophic reslts.
Nearly all of us have read about necropsies on sea turtles that turn up stomachs stuffed to bursting with plastic that the turtles mistook for jellyfish.
An animal as magnificent as that eagle, or even one as ubiquitous as that starling, deserves a better end than death by accidental hanging.
I spend a fair number of hours walking or pedaling along local byways, and I am consistently struck by the amount of junk people casually toss off. Empty cans and bottles that once held cheap beer are near the top of the list, along with used disposable diapers (“disposable” doesn’t mean, “dispose of immediately”) running a close second. There’s an ocean of fast food wrappers out there as well. It’s common to find whole garbage bags brimming with refuse dumped along the sides of our roads.
The birds I encountered on our walk are a reminder that there are sometimes consequences associated with our sloppiness that go far beyond besmirching a view.
We live in such a beautiful place that I would hope more of us might think twice about casting off a bottle or even a length of string, knowing we may do more than just damage the landscape.
In other news
The recent storms have moved wildlife around considerably. The event that created the most buzz among birders was the arrival all over the Bay Area of robin-sized seabirds called Red Phalaropes. This time of year, the tiny birds are usually found far offshore, west of Southern California and Mexico. Other phalarope species appear in our area during migration. They’re easy to identify, because they tend to spin around like bathtub toys as they’re perched on the water.
Phalaropes are intriguing for a lot of reasons. It seems so improbable that such a small, delicate bird spends most of its life on the high seas, migrating to the arctic to breed. The males care for the young while females leave to find a new mate. Thus, the females are the more brightly colored during breeding season.
A quick look at likely spots this week failed to turn up any in San Benito County, but it’s worth it to keep looking.
