Counting feathers at Pinnacles
Two of us had occasion
– and an all-too-rare hole in our schedules – to pay a short
visit to Pinnacles National Monument and environs last Saturday.
The occasion was the annual Audubon Christmas Bird Count for that
region.
Counting feathers at Pinnacles
Two of us had occasion – and an all-too-rare hole in our schedules – to pay a short visit to Pinnacles National Monument and environs last Saturday. The occasion was the annual Audubon Christmas Bird Count for that region.
Other counters made a long day of it, beginning at 7 a.m. or sooner and ending with dinner at a local Mexican restaurant. We could only squeeze in a few hours.
But in that time, I was reminded again that winter at Pinnacles may be the historic monument’s best-kept secret.
Spring brings warmer days, a rainbow of wildflowers (when the rains cooperate) and crowds of Bay Area refugees. Summer is often hot – hot enough to kill the unprepared.
But right now, the canyon floors can hold a moist chill. Creeks and streams hold some water, and the greening hills set off the riotous Technicolor hues of lichen on the rocks that give the place its name.
It’s no secret to regular readers that this newspaper has had an enduring relationship with the monument that gave it its name. It’s wrapped around the wilderness park’s marquis attraction – the California condor. The Pinnacle at times has looked more like the Condor Courier.
The reasons for the attraction of the birds are several: they are still very rare, they carved out their evolutionary niche in prehistoric times and they’re just so damn big.
A network of park staff, biologists and conservationists monitor the park’s population of 13 birds, as they transition back into the wild after a long hiatus.
When the species was flirting with extinction, the last condors were removed from the wild, and a captive breeding program began.
A steep learning curve was needed, and at first, the program suffered through as many or more failures than successes. Eventually, things began to look more hopeful, and the first condors were returned to their ancestral ridges and canyons.
The Pinnacles releases are comparatively recent, following re-establishment at several locales.
How did Saturday’s volunteer bird counters fare? At one point, seven of the enormous birds were seen together.
We waited until we were about to leave for our look, when one hung high overhead, surfing a breeze we could not feel on the ground.
Even a golden eagle looks tiny as it approaches a California condor.
They are birds that may soar 100 miles from their roost in search of fresh carrion and a day’s meal. They evoke wide open spaces and the wilderness of The West as perhaps no other creature can.
But that was not the day’s only lasting memory. We watched and smiled as dozens of lesser and Lawrence’s goldfinches fluttered and clung to a leaky water tank along La Gloria Road for a few drops of water. Lawrence’s goldfinches are seldom common enough to be seen in large flocks, but these tiny, colorful seed-eaters were everywhere in that vicinity.
So were varied thrush, a relative of the robin and bluebird that only winters in this area in large numbers in rare years. This year, they were perched over parking lots. They’re showy, with bright golden breasts crossed with a black necklace of feathers. Their call can only be described as haunting.
A not-so-haunting call was also heard, again along La Gloria Road. It was the metronome toot-toot-toot of a northern pygmy owl. These birds, scarcely bigger than the songbirds they prey upon, often call during daylight hours, when their feathered prey is most active.
We didn’t see the puckish raptor, but hearing the call from the woods affirmed that we were in a genuine wilderness, little more than 30 minutes from home.
