Vulture or Condor

Went on a Northern California Science Writers group walk at Pinnacles National Monument, about 120 miles south of the Bay Area, whose hallmark feature, at least for the National Park Service, is the resident California Condor. At one point early on the 8-hour hike we made we saw 14 or 15 condors swirling above the pinnacles in the far distance; 14 of the 400 that remain worldwide, 200 of those are captive. So, we saw 7 percent of the world's wild population riding that warm updraft over the park. On the long ride home in the carpool of four, the question bubbled up almost unconsciously, maybe predictably, from me: "What's the value of the condor outside of its rarity?" It was almost rhetorical, but it spurred a discussion for at least an hour. Is every species worth saving no matter the cost? What is the cost-benefit analysis?

To a new Californian the condor has the tinge of myth; I thought it was a bird of prey, but being accompanied by several condor specialists on the hike, it's very much a variety of vulture. (That sentence has a tone that implies that vultures are less valuable than birds of prey. That's the impression. I wonder, ecologically, if that's true. Or, if it's just that birds of prey seem so much more dynamic because of what they do). So, the question becomes pretty prominent, why spend so much money saving a condor? B, who works for Cal, responded that some say it's better to save overall diversity than some specific species, however "majestic." The condors are no doubt majestic; I kept waiting for one of the 9.5 feet wingspans to soar over my head on the hike, but none did. One of the condor specialists, pointed out that birds' wings are complements of our hands. So, fold your wrists to your shoulders and spread your hands and imagine flying. It's not quite the same as spreading your arms and hovering with your humeri aloft. But, also, you get the sense of how refined flight can be with the minute use of each feathered digit. In the case of a condor they're 3.5 feet long. Amazing.


Pinnacles National Monument lies on the edge of the Pacific Plate side of the San Andreas Fault. Pinnacles is two-thirds of the exposed remnant of a 23-million-year-old volcano. The other third is 195 miles southeast, a testament to the reality of faults and possibly tectonic plates. The Pacific Plate moves north, the North American Plate, to which the Pacific Plate is abutted, moves west. New to the Bay Area, it's scary to realize that earthquakes are a reality. We're on the Ring of Fire! The carpool down, the long-time Berkeley residents described in detail their earthquake readiness plans. Apparently, you should be ready to live for three days without conventional access to electricity, water or food. Might not do that, but it inspired me to put some more Clif Bars in my camping backpack and backup flashlight batteries.


At one point along the trail, we came upon some hairy scat. The ranger pointed out that it was a bobcat; you can tell because of the hair. Bobcats only eat meat, and thus have a larger proportion of hair in their scat. If it's a smaller size, it's a bobcat; if it's much larger, it's a mountain lion. A good, simple, valuable insight. One small, much-needed aspect of a successful naturalist's repertoire - scat.

I brought my voice recorder, so I could take notes without writing. So, I did. As we took a lunch break in the craggy high peaks, a falcon ranger was explaining the ins and outs of bird of prey research; he was studying peregrines and marsh hawks. As we sat listening, one of our group was attacking a granny smith apple, alternately, with a chunk of gouda cheese. As poetic as it gets. Here's a transcription of my recording: "Gouda and granny smith apple and bite marks down the middle (where the two sets of teeth meet), rapid attack by the mouth, crazy impressive."

See the grey pine. It stood out on the landscape, lit up across the hills in the great, clear day. It was one of the more stunning pieces of vegetation, at least for a coarse-eyed and -knowledged botanist. Hills looked like an impressionist painting with the silver brush marks scattered over the chapparal dusty green.

Don't you want to be on that rock? Pinnacles is a rock climbing haven. One of our group is a rock climber and was describing some of the different routes and their difficulty numbers. Somebody asked him what the numbers were based on, and he said with good comedic timing/rhythm, "Who knows? These numbers were devised by pot smokers." Ha.

The lichen is amazing, too. Lime green, streaked, electric, bright orange, copper, rust speckled, splotched all over the rocks.