by Lisa Eller, director of communications
As we turned
another corner along the old coast Highway 1 between our campsite at Pfeiffer
Big Sur State Park and Sand Dollar Beach, I looked out admiringly at the
majestic scene, the Pacific Ocean crashing against the rugged coastline, framed
by the Los Padres National Forest. I could look at this view all day. This
stretch of road is one of my favorite drives and one of the most beautiful in
the West.
The rugged California Pacific coastline in the area near and north of Monterey, Carmel and Big Sur. Photo ©Lynn Mc Bride |
Looking
out at the fog rolling slowly by, my eyes began focusing on something unusual
coming out of the whiteness. Enormous black wings gliding above us, casting a
huge shadow below. I had never seen anything so big (and not manmade) in the
sky before, so it took me several seconds to realize that I was probably seeing
a California condor.
Growing
up in Southern California in the early 80s, I never thought I would see the
condor outside of captivity. The bird was a recurring topic of our natural
history lessons in school. By 1987 the California condor had become extinct in
the wild because of poaching, lead poisoning and habitat destruction. The 22
remaining wild and captive individuals were put into a captive breeding program
by the U.S. government in an effort to save the species.
Beginning
in 1991, condors were released back into the wild. But it wasn't until 2006
that a pair of released birds attempted to nest in a hollow tree near Big Sur.
According to Sky News, that was the first time in 100 years that a pair of condors
was seen nesting in Northern California. Click here for more information on the California condor.
My heart
began racing immediately after I spotted the rare bird — although I didn't
realize just how rare it was until doing some research later in our trip.
Portrait of a California condor (Gymnogyps californianus), the largest flying bird in North America and one of the most endangered birds in the world, shown here in flight, CA. © CA Fish and Game |
"That
was a California condor," I told my husband, who was driving the car. Ever
the skeptic, he insisted that what I had seen was probably a turkey vulture.
"No, I don't think it was. Pull up over here," I said, pointing ahead.
I wondered if we could catch another glimpse of the bird.
After he
turned into a scenic point and stopped the car, a condor (probably the same one
I had seen above) landed on the edge of the cliff in front of us. After getting
an impossibly close look at the bird's impressive size, characteristic bald, gray/nude-colored
head and the tag on its wing, we agreed that it was a condor. "Quick, take
a photo!" I told my shocked husband. But it was too late. The bird took
one look at us, stretched out its enormous, beautiful black wings and flew off
into the fog.
Something
about seeing the bird made me sad and hopeful all at once. It was sad to think
how close we came to losing the species altogether, how small the population
remains and how seeing condors in captivity pales in comparison to seeing them
in the wild. Yet I couldn't shake the hopeful feeling that even when all seems
lost, swift conservation actions can be taken to reverse the course and move us
in the right direction. And to be clear, the condor is still critically
endangered and we still have a lot of work to do.
This
unforgettable experience made me think about birds that are meaningful to
Idahoans and integral to its landscapes, birds like the long-billed curlew and
Greater sage grouse. At varying levels, each of these species faces the same or
similar threats that the condor does. Habitat loss through various human uses
is a common thread. As an organization we could not possibly tackle all of
these threats at once. But I am thankful that we are focused on that key piece
of conserving, protecting and restoring habitat. And I'm thankful that we are
part of a community of organizations focused on doing its part to ensure we all
get a chance to see these majestic birds in the wild.
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