Author: corvidsketcher

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Extreme Hammocking

Now that I had successfully hammocked over a ragging Gold Country creek I thought it was time to raise the stakes.

From my cabin base camp in the Santa Cruz Mountains, I headed upstream with my hammock, a book (Birds of Tropical America), and an adult beverage. It was time for some serious hammocking and I was planning to hammock over the mighty San Lorenzo River, Santa Cruz County’s largest river!

At just under 30 miles, the San Lorenzo River does not make the top 10 of the longest rivers in California (or the top 25 for that matter), but in December 1955, this river was a force to be reckoned with and with massive rainfall she jumped her banks and flooded downtown Santa Cruz. Now earthen dykes have been built up in order to tame her wintery wanderings.

The winter of 2016-17 have seen record rains and the river has stayed within her water course. But as I hiked upstream I noticed the toll that the high water level had metered out to the trees in the riparian flood zone. So many of the trees were now leaning downstream, almost at a vertical angle and some trees had been completely uprooted. Now this was going to be a challenge because I needed two vertical trees close enough together to pitch my hammock and I wasn’t seeing many.

Once I entered Henry Cowell State Park, I spotted a large, fallen redwood. This looked promising, now all I needed was a parallel fallen tree to attach the other end of the hammock. About 12 feet away was a smaller bay laurel that would do the job. And within 5 minutes, I was hammocking!

The Doublenest pitched between two vertical trees, with the mighty San Lorenzo River flowing below. The smaller bay laurel provided some bounce.

A sketcher in repose, Henry Cowell State Park.

 

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Summertime and the Living is Easy

For a teacher, the summer is a time to find the angle of repose. To lay back, gaze at the summer blue and perhaps reflect on the past school year, or not. To travel, or not. But to recharge our batteries and be refreshed for the new year when 29 new faces that will be looking my way in August.

But right now I am content to lay back, the creek flowing underneath, and try to find coolness in the 103 degree afternoons of the foothills. I open my sketchbook and start sketching my feet, the two twin foundations that keeps me upright, even when I’m downright.

This creek runs parallel to my mother’s house in California’s Gold Country, along side the stone wall that was built by Chinese immigrants in the 1850s. And there is no better way to find the angle of repose than some extreme hammocking.

Hammocking, now who knew that laying down on a piece of stretched fabric was now a verb? When I bought my ENO Doublenest Hammock at REI the cashier asked, “Hammocking huh?” Now was this a trick question ? In the age of youtube stars and fail videos, almost anything can become an extreme sport, even the relaxing and passive inaction of resting in a hammock.

A wild turkey contemplating the pros and cons of extreme hammocking.

I suppose I could hang my hammock twenty feet up. But I wanted to keep out of the running for the Darwin Awards (think natural selection) and use it for its less extreme advantages: relaxing.

Finding repose on a beach on the Middle Fork of the American River near French Meadows Reservoir.

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Bend But Don’t Break

The South Fork of the American River was alive and kicking during our late May visit to the Coloma Outdoor Discovery School (CODS). The roar of the record Sierra snowmelt as it passed over Troublemaker rapids, just upstream from the CODS campus, drown out the raucous calls of the carpentaros, working on their granary tree.

As was my usual habit, I rose with the quail and headed out to sketch, before all 85 fourth graders were up and about. I wanted to sketch the old iron Coloma Bridge (1917). This was the bridge that brought us from the small town of Coloma, across the American ( just upstream from the gold “discovery ” site) to the CODS campus.

I found a picnic bench and started sketching. Some sketches turn into a labryinth of lines that test my powers of perspective so I took another sip of coffee, turned the page, and turned 90 degrees to the left.

A quick riverside sketch of the bank at CODS that is now under water as a Canada goose looks on.

I though I’d sketch something more organic: the river itself. The South Fork of the American seemed to be barely contained within its banks. Now here was a metaphor (a comparison I frequently point out to fourth graders). Trees, young saplings, where bent, their green leaves almost touching the rushing waters. These young ones had survived one of the river’s bigger deluges. Just as my fourth graders had stood tall this year, especially at Coloma. They’ve had to battle late spring high temps, mosquitos, the intricacies of the Virginia Reel, the fear of the unknown, not finding enough gold in the diggins, not getting the top bunk, and homesickness.  Bend but don’t break,  and like these saplings, they stood tall.

These trees and my students inspired a poem which I added to my river sketch (painted of course with the waters of the American).

 

In the year of the deluge

Tree bend but don’t break.

Roots covered in swollen waters

Reminds me of my charges

Struggling to stand tall

Against forces bent to topple.

Bend but don’t break,

Is all I can offer,

Bend but don’t break

As green, new growth

Implores the early morning sun

To shine and I say “shine”.

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Torn Asunder

The S S Palo Alto, also known as the “Cement Ship” is a Monterey Bay oddity from my childhood, up there with Santa’s Village, Lost World, and the Mystery Spot.

The S S Palo Alto was a concrete ship built in Oakland at the end of World War I and launched in 1919, too late to take part in the war.

The ship was mothballed until it was purchased by the Seacliff Amusement Company and towed to Monterey Bay in 1930. It was sunk in shallow water, at Seacliff Beach, her bow pointing West towards the Pacific.

It was opened as an amusement ship with dining, a dance hall, and swimming pool and a pier was built out to the ship. The timing could not have been worse because it’s opening coincided with the start of the Great Depression. The ship cracked in half during a storm in 1932 and the ship was closed to access. It was eventually sold to the state for one dollar.

Over the years the ship has been torn apart. Recently, powerful winter storms including one in February 2016 pushed the ship onto it’s starboard side and then on January 21, 2017 the stern was torn off and now rests leaning on it’s port side.

A September 14, 2012 sketch of the S S Palo Alto in slightly better times. This sketch is of the ship’s starboard side and the gash from the 1932 storm is clearly visible. The bow has fallen away but the stern in intact.

Thousands of sooty shearwaters (Ardenna grisea) pass south off the bow of the wrecked Palo Alto.

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April 15, 1974

The health clinic at 1450 Noriega Street is a few blocks from where I live in San Francisco’s Sunset District. It’s an unassuming building at the corner of Noriega and 22nd Avenue with a Bank of America ATM on the corner and a bucolic mural painted on one side. When you pass by the building, you would never know it was the location of one of the most notorious crimes of the 1970’s. 

In 1974, 1450 Noriega was the Sunset Branch of the Hibernia Bank. And it was here, at 9:40 AM, that this branch was robbed. Now a bank robbery is not a notorious crime in itself but one of the gun-wielding robbers made this such a notable crime. The story really started  across the Bay on February 4, 1974 on Benvenue Avenue in Berkeley.

An Apartment on Benzene Avenue was the setting of the kidnapping of Patricia Hearst, granddaughter of newspaper publisher William Randolph Hearst. She was then a 19 year old student at the University of California when she was kidnapped by The United Federated Forces of the Symbionese Liberation Army (SLA). What happened from the moment she was kidnapped and the time she walked into the Hibernia Bank, 71 days later,  with a sawed-off M1 carbine rifle, remains shrouded in speculation and mystery. Was Patty Hearst brainwashed or did she willingly because a member of the SLA?

Before her star turn on the security cameras of the Hibernia Bank, she said in a communique that was sent to local radio stations :

I have been given the choice of, one, being released in a safe area, or, two, joining the forces of the Symbionese Liberation Army and fighting for my freedom and the freedom of all oppressed people. I have chosen to stay and fight. 

We do know that she changed her name to “Tania” and when she was eventually arrested, over a year later, she listed her occupation as “urban guerrilla”.

A painting from one of the most iconic images of the 1970’s: Patty Hearst, Tania, wielding a gun at the Hibernia Bank. Painted from a still from the security camera footage from April 15, 1974.

About the Hibernia Bank robbery Hearst said in a communiqué sent to a local radio stations:

Greetings to the people. This is Tania. Our action of April 15  forced the corporate state to help finance the revolution. As for been brainwashed, the idea is ridiculous to the point of being beyond belief. I am a soldier in the People’s Army.

I usually see the health clinic as the number 7-Haight/Noriega inbound bus makes a left turn onto 22nd Avenue. I imagine most passengers never realize what happened here, over 40 years ago. Indeed the events surrounding the Hearst kidnapping and her participation with the SLA proves the point that reality really is stranger than fiction.

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Another Pier, More Storm-Petrels

“I’m surrounded by storm-petrels!” I said as I watched another fork-tailed  wave swallow pass underneath me.

“I’m heading down”, Dickcissel said, “don’t go anywhere!”

I had been reading about the continuing fork-tailed storm-petrels that were being seen at the Pacifica Municipal Pier and figured I’d make a jaunt out to the coast after work to see these pelagic delights from another pier in another country: San Mateo.

So while I waited for Dickcissel to head south from Marinland, I pulled out my camp chair, my sketch book, and my pen case and sat on the beach and sketched the pier.

It could be a scene from a Film Noir but no, it’s just Pacifica Pier.

From my vantage point, the “L” shaped concrete pier is not much to look at. The “Rev. Herschell Harkins Memorial Pacifica Pier”, as it is officially known,  was built in 1973 as part of the city’s sewage system where a pipe pumped sewage (treated I hope) out into the Pacific Ocean. It now primarily is used as a fishing pier but today it was used by birders as a quasi-pelagic platform that juts out a a quarter mile into the Pacific. This pier is much shorter and certainly less interesting than the Santa Cruz but it provided outstanding looks at the storm-petrels.

A storm-petrel flying below me on the Pacifica Municipal Pier.

Instead of seeing three FTSPs from a great distance, I was now surrounded by about 20. They were on all sides of the pier and frequently flew underneath the pier giving unique views that would be impossible on a pelagic boat trip. I figured that this experience may come once in a lifetime and felt lucky to be in the right place at the right time.

Sketching the low flight path of fork-tailed storm-petels.

Field sketch from the Pacifica Pier. Just sketching these storm-petrels helps me understand and see them more fully.

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Put a Fork-tailed in It

This lifer was a parking lot bird in a manner of speaking. I looked at the text from Dickcissel: “fork tailed storm petrel san lorenzo river mouth. you going?”.

I really needed a pair of black pants but they could wait for a possible lifer so I left the Capitola Mall parking lot and headed to the San Lorenzo River overlook, which was about 15 minutes away. 

At 9:52 AM a fork-tailed storm-petrel was seen again, two were first first reported from the rivermouth at 8:23 AM, one was being stooped on by the local peregrine. It was now 10:15 AM and I hoped the pelagic petrels would stay close enough to shore to be seen.

I parked, grabbed my car binos and headed out to the overlook. The first thing I saw was two birders, which was a very good sign. I walked out to the point and scanned the waters between the buoy and the Municipal Wharf, looking for a grayish low-flying petrel. One birder had it and I soon had the sea-swallow in my binos, tracking it as it flew to the right. The bird passed in front of the wharf and one birder suggested heading off to the wharf to get closer looks.

I was off to lunch to watch a Real Madrid “B” team slaughter already relegated Granada 0-4. It reminded me of the time I was in Bilbao last Spring, on a Sunday afternoon after the home team, Athletic Bilbao had drawn 1-1 with Granada. I was walking up to the Federico Moyúa Plaza, the town’s center, as the Granada team bus circled the plaza, quietly making it’s way out of town and now the Spanish minnows were quietly making it’s way out of the Spanish Primera Division.

A shop front in Bilbao sporting the crest of the local all Basque team. Futbol is a religion in this northern part of Spain. But I digress. . .

In the afternoon I decided to head out to the wharf, which was a popular destination in my childhood. I have many memories of eating burgers and fries with my dad and brother and then heading to the end of the wharf to watch the snoozing California sea lions. This area and the Santa Cruz Beach and Boardwalk is the tourist side of Santa Cruz and I now rarely visit this part of town, but close looks at a rare Monterey Bay petrel drew me to the very end of the west coast’s longest pier at 2, 745 feet. That’s 2,745 feet jutting out into the Monterey Bay was almost like being on a pelagic boat trip but without the rocking and rolling. Dramamine not needed.

The sealions of my youth. Under the wharf of the West Coast’s longest pier. 

When I walked to the end of the pier, there were two good omens.the first was that there with about eight birders peering off to the waters (always a good sign). And the second was a honey bee that alighted on my right hand (can’t ask for a better blessing). And I just kept birding with my pollinator guest.

Show no fear, don’t get stung. It’s a lesson I  teach all my students: don’t be afraid of nature, nature has more reasons to fear us.

It didn’t take too long, with so many scopes and binos  trained on the waters to find a fork-tailed storm-petrel. One was sighted as I walked up, in fact there were three of them foraging off the pier. One came so close that I lowered my glasses and watched it with the naked eye. Amazing for a pelagic species and not being on an ocean going vessel!

We were frequently asked by the tourists if we where looking for whales. The standard response was, “No, just a small ocean bird. ” That answer usually struck them dumb and they hurriedly walk off as if we had the Pneumontic Plague.

As a nice bonus I spotted a humpback’s blow on the horizon, followed by its flukes as it dove. So I  now could say we where looking at whales. But they didn’t ask and I didn’t answer.

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Backyard Owling

There’s nothing like discovering amazing birds in your own backyard and my “backyard” is Golden Gate Park. And seeing four owls, in the daylight, is even better.

Traditionally great horned owls have nested in the crook of a pine across the street from the Bison Paddock. This nesting tree, and the owlets in, it have featured in a few sketches in the past.

A sketch  of the same nest but with different owlets on January 19, 2015.

So on a very warm May afternoon, I headed out to the park with my scope, paints, and sketch book. I focused my scope on two owlets in the crook of the pine. Another owlet was branching out and perched on a limb above the nest.

The owls seemed to be nesting a little late in this year, perhaps because of our record Northern Californian rainfall had something to do with the timing. Great horned owls don’t build their own nests, instead they might reuse hawk or crow nests or use caves or crooks in trees as was the case with the paddock owls.

 

A pre-painting sketch of the great horned owlets.

Which sketching, I was entertained by a black phoebe that would fly in to a puddle on the jogging path, collect some mud in it’s beak and fly off towards the paddock to continue work on it’s mud-cupped nest.

A Golden Gate Park owlet thinking about branching out. Note the whitewash on the rim of the nest. It’s a sure sign of owl activity.

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Mines Road and Del Puerto Canyon

We met in Livermore, under the tall flag pole in the center of town. Dickcissel, Brown Creeper, and I were heading to the southeast on the legendary Bay Area birding route: Mines Road to Del Puerto Canyon.

We had a few target birds for the trip: golden eagle, Lawrence’s goldfinch, and Bell’s sparrow. These would all be lifers for BRCR and the Lawrence’s was a sought after near-endemic species in California and Dickcissel had wanted to tick this bird off for a while now. (I had added this bird to my list on June 6, 2002 but have not seen the finch since then.)

It was a beautiful morning and we pulled over from time to time, willing that far off raptor into a golden eagle but there were all red-tail hawks and turkey vultures. The California endemic yellow-billed magpie was a nice consultation.

Mines Road was relativly busy on this Saturday with a bike race and many weekend warriors taking either their covetable sports cars or motorcycles out for a spring spin. We seemed to be the only birders on this stretch of road.

Mines started to climb up into the green oak-studded hills giving us wonderful views in all directions and a wide panorama of the blue cobalt skies. Any large bird soaring caught our attention. At this point we had seen red-tails and turkey vultures, a few accipiters and a female American kestrel.

Between mile 11 and 12, I pulled over. Something seemed about right on this stretch of road. I scanned the skies and a very stable looking raptor caught my attention as it circled to our north. This bird was uniformly dark with “plank-like” wings with large primaries. We all knew what it was but we didn’t utter it’s name. Incredibly the bird flew south giving us an amazing rapturous flyby. “There’s your golden!”

We continued down Mines Road going from Alameda County to the the county of my birth: Santa Clara. Along the way we enjoyed views of California scrub-jay, acorn woodpeckers, California quail, ash-throated flycatcher, some randy cows, and western kingbird. At one pull out we had a scope full of a singing male lazuli bunting. Always a beautiful spring treat!

We then headed east at “The Junction” and stopped at Frank Raines Regional Park for lunch. Here is were we found all the other birders in the area with the same intention of having lunch and doing a bit of birding between bites. I talked with another birder and he noted that it was not too birdy. He had golden eagle and roadrunner but no Lawrence’s goldfinch (LAGO).

After lunch we headed to the Deer Creek Campground which was a noted hotspot for LAGO. This campground was very popular with off-roaders and their noise-polluting vehicles. This was not an ideal place to bird because it was noisy and full of families that incredulously looked on as our binocular-sporting trio wandered through their camp, looking up into trees.

In a tree above a campsite we heard a very finch-like song. We tried to locate the singer but with no luck. Two finches flew off towards the creek and we did not get very good looks. Not good enough to call them LAGOs. The finches soon returned and this time the male perched on top of the tree in full view. He sang giving us great looks. We noted his black cap and face, gray back, and his yellow ‘bra”. Lifer for Dickcissel and Creeper!

Dickcissel’s photo of the male Lawrence’s goldfinch, singing at the top of a tree in the Deer Creek Campground.

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Handful of Wonder

“These are the days of miracle and wonder.” -Paul Simon, The Boy in the Bubble.  

Occasionally you have  moments in education filled with “miracle and wonder”. The morning of Friday April 21, 2017 was one such moment.

As I was walking down the hall, a few minutes before the morning bell, our librarian called my name. Something was up. She was standing at the doorway of the room next to the library that was used as our janitor’s office. There was a bird trapped inside.

At my school I am known as the Bird Whisper because if there is a bird, usually a dark eyed junco, trapped in a classroom, I’m the first person they call. I’ve liberated birds from many classrooms and once I freed a junco from our multipurpose room during an assembly. But the bird trapped in the janitor’s office was no junco. This rescue was a first for the Bird Whisperer: a female Anna’s hummingbird!

When I entered the room, the Anna’s was frantically skimming the ceiling, looking for any egress. A hummingbird ‘s tiny heart can beat 1,263 times a minute (compared to about 80 in humans). Who knew how fast this tiny creature’s heart was thumping now. I just knew I had to free her. And free her fast, before she hurt herself.

I first tried the basic trick in avian liberation: getting on one side of the bird, with arms raised, and coaxing it towards it’s path to freedom, in this case, the open doorway. This attempt failed because the extremely agile Anna’s just counted my plan by flying around me, further from freedom.

My next plan was to climb up on the counter and try to steer her toward the door. This failed as she repeated her agile maneuver.

I turned and my next plan was to coax her to the corner and gently capture her by hand. This plan worked as I left the Anna’s with no escape except in my warm embrace. I gently hopped off the counter with my prize safely in my hands.

The morning bell rang and I headed to where my class was lined up. I instructed them to gather round and sit down. What I was about to reveal was a complete surprise to all my students.

I opened my hands and the Anna’s sat, a little dazzed, perched on my left index finger. One of my students moved back in fear but then wonder filled his face. The Anna’s sat very still, prompting one student to ask, “Is that fake?” At that point, to prove she was real, the Anna’s lifted off and headed straight up. 

This moment is one of my greatest teaching moments. Not because it was linked to the Common Core Standards or an increase in standardized test outcomes from the previous trimester. This was a gain that is immeasurable, unquantifiable. This was a wonder. That pure undefinable moment that opens your student’s hearts and minds. The moment where some of the students you have struggled with to conform to what every fourth grader should know now raises their eyes in wonder at the green gem rising from my hand to the heavens!

This a wonder, beyond words. I remain in awe.