• Lights out for Larry: The Burden of Brightness on Birds

    Two weeks ago, a common blue bird disappeared from the city of San Francisco.

    You know the bird.

    Credit: Rulenumberone CC License

    The one soaring with its upturned belly, migrating through the digital space. I guess its name was Larry.

    Back in 2012, when Martin Grasser, Todd Waterbury and Angy Che began designing the twitter logo, Larry, they wanted the bird to feel less like an individual artist’s interpretation, and more like a system of “overlapping circles and connections”.

    This blog is about the overlapping circles, where social media meets ego, where visibility and convenience meets moderation and safety, where artificial light meets the dark star-studded sky and migrating birds meet our urban cities. This blog piece is about Larry, the thing that replaced Larry, and a reminder for all of us to encourage building owners and managers to turn off their lights at night.

    You see, on Monday, July 24, twitter owner Elon Musk announced a new rebrand for the social media platform. That very same Monday (at least based on SF Department of Building Inspection complaint reports), workers began tearing down Larry from the side of the building headquarters of what is now known as X, without the proper permits from the city of San Francisco.

    Apparently, the workers were asked to stop Larry’s removal because; 1. They didn’t have the proper permits to start the process to begin with and… 2. They hadn’t closed off the sidewalk where the unofficial worksite was, thereby putting people in danger… yikes.

    Let’s just say, before you go removing birds from their nests, always check with a professional before proceeding with business as usual. (Need a nest survey? Contact your local wildlife biologist here). But I digress.

    Credit: Fact Intensity

    By Friday, July 28, complaints started flooding the SF Department of Building Inspection tracking system, with residents of San Francisco pointing out a giant flashing sign in the shape of an X at the top of X’s headquarters secured to a temporary ballast, or as one complaint noted “a couple of sandbags”.

    But, what does this have to do with real birds? Don’t worry I’m getting there…

    Twenty four complaints were filed in all. With most noting how structurally unsound the sign seemed, how the light was too bright at night, how people living in the general vicinity couldn’t sleep, how the flashing strobe-like effect could cause epileptic seizures, that it could potentially distract drivers and cyclists and that it was generally disorienting and nausea inducing.…

  • Dotson Family Marsh− How We Got This Great Gift

    By Maureen Lahiff

    Dotson Marsh – Maureen Lahiff

    Dotson Family Marsh along San Pablo Bay in Richmond is a fantastic place to go birding in fall and winter. Now the southernmost unit of East Bay Regional Park’s Point Pinole Regional Shoreline, restored wetlands and coastal prairie provide abundant food and roosting places for shorebirds and ducks, while the uplands host a number of grassland birds and sparrows. Utility poles and power lines provide perches for raptors, who find good hunting here.

    Since Dotson Family Marsh bears witness to an important part of Bay Area history, I’ve written this blog piece as a companion to the Birding Hotspot article I wrote for Golden Gate Bird Alliance’s quarterly print publication The Gull, Summer 2023.

    My goal is to deepen visitor’s connection with this land, to increase awareness and appreciation of the remarkable people who worked to keep this area open space, and to provide a bit of background about the Dotson family and why it is truly fitting that this place carries their name. As the East Bay Regional Parks’ 75th anniversary tagline says, Dotson Family Marsh is “ours to keep”.

    Ohlone and Miwok peoples used these lands, tending the wild to insure that the plants and animals flourished. Cattle grazed here, tended by native people who were subjugated by Mission San Francisco de Asís, founded in 1776 and commonly known as Mission Dolores because of its location along Dolores Creek in San Francisco. When New Spain became Mexico, this land became part of Rancho San Pablo, granted to Francisco Maria Castro. The 28 square mile land grant (rancho)extended along the coast from Point Pinole south to Kensington. The US honored the Mexican land grants after the Mexican-American War, so the Castro family remained in control of the land.

    In 1899, the Santa Fe Railroad established its western terminus in Point Richmond. Standard Oil, the predecessor of Chevron, built a refinery along the coast in 1901. The City of Richmond was incorporated in 1905.

    The Kaiser Richmond Shipyards were established in 1941. An influx of black migrants and white migrants from the South, were drawn to the shipyards and neighboring war industries. Temporary housing was provided during World War II. Most of this was torn down after the war ended.

    After World War II, Black military veterans could not take advantage of the GI Bill’s educational benefits and were not eligible for mortgage programs that enabled them to purchase homes.…

  • How to Thrive as an SOB (Spouse of Birder)

    By Kim Marvel

    Birding at a natural area near our home in Fort Collins, Colorado

    My wife is a birder. The early signs were subtle. Years ago, she requested my assistance placing feeders and nesting boxes in our backyard. On occasion she signed up for local birding walks. She populated our landscaping with bird-friendly shrubs and trees. Her growing interest became more evident when she placed a heated bird bath on our back deck in the winter. Now, in her retirement years, she’s completely out of the closet as a fully-fledged birder. The kitchen counter is piled with binoculars, spotting scopes, birding magazines, and Feeder Watch forms. National Audubon and the Cornell Lab are on the top of our charitable contributions list. We are frequent flyers at the local Wild Birds Unlimited store. At home, the top of each hour is cheerfully announced by a bird song emitting from the Audubon wall clock. Merlin is among her phone apps. She routinely opens her laptop to update her e-Bird list. As I write this, the centerpiece of our dining room table is a partially completed bird-themed jigsaw puzzle. Nowadays, our road trips are often organized around birding hotspots. Yes, it’s safe to say birding has become her favorite activity.

    View from Golden Gate Overlook during a recent visit to San Francisco

    I’m not a birder. Don’t get me wrong, I do enjoy watching a colorful hummingbird or spotting a majestic raptor soaring above. On a recent outing, I was enthralled by the unique courting ritual of the Greater Prairie Chicken. Indeed, it is satisfying to recognize a species or common birdsong. It is not that I dislike birding. I just don’t have the innate curiosity and interest that I witness in my wife. I don’t have the “fire in the belly” that I observe in birders, particularly when they gather in groups. Try as I might, I don’t experience the sheer delight in my wife’s eyes upon seeing a new species.

    Being a “birder”, of course, is not an either/or quality. At one extreme of the “bird interest” scale are people oblivious to bird activity. Others, like me, have a modest interest. We can recognize iconic birds such as the bald eagle, robin, cardinal, and great horned owl. While we enjoy spotting a colorful bluebird or hearing the cheerful song of a meadowlark, our interest in ongoing observation or detailed classification of species fades quickly.…

  • The Berkeley-Stanford Birdathon

    By Sierra Glassman

    Competition has been ingrained in birding culture for a long time. Surprisingly, only one birding competition has ever occurred between Stanford and Berkeley, back in 2014. That is until this past spring, when the Bears for Birds and Stanford Birdwatching Club matched up once again. 

    Established two years ago, Bears for Birds is UC Berkeley’s undergraduate club for birdwatchers. This spring, we met twice a week for indoor meetings and birding excursions. Since January, an idea had been brewing to organize a Birdathon with the Stanford Birdwatching Club. After discovering Berkeley lost the last Birdathon in 2014 (covered in this article), we could not let it stand and quickly contacted the Stanford Birdwatching Club. Their leadership team was receptive, and proposed we do an “exchange program” leading up to the big day, where we would visit birding spots together near each other’s campuses. 

    During the first exchange, the Stanford Birdwatching Club came to Berkeley. We took them to Cesar Chavez Park and Vollmer Peak in Tilden Regional Park.The ecosystem was unbalanced, with Bears outnumbering Redwood Trees 14-3. Though we outnumbered Stanford, we couldn’t help but admire their phenomenal birding skills. 

    “I remember (Adam Burnett) pointed at three dots that were barely visible through binos and called out the species (Bald Eagles),” Greg Salazar, a member of Bears for Birds, said.””As they got closer I saw he was right and it was really cool for me to be with someone who was such an expert.” 

    After encountering a flock of White-throated Swifts and a Cooper’s Hawk we reached the peak overlooking the bay, where we took group photos.

    Stanfordians become the avians at Vollmer Peak.

    Next, we birded along the northeast edge of Cesar Chavez Park, looking for Burrowing Owls, without success. I talked with Maya Xu about recording falcons nesting on Stanford’s tower similarly to the Berkeley Campanile falcons (she was interviewed about the Hoover Tower falcons here). Before we knew it, the sun was setting, and we sat cross-legged on the fake grass next to the parking lot, eating pizza and sharing our favorite parts of the day. 

    Black Turnstone at Cesar Chavez Park. Photo Credit: Zihan Wei

    A month later, it was the Bears’ turn to enter enemy territory. We joined Stanford at the Palo Alto Baylands, where we immediately sighted an elusive Ridgeway’s Rail. The marsh was teeming with bird life. Sparrows sang from the bushes and peeps ran across the mud.…

  • The Curious Case of Mama Kite

    (This blog was originally published at Josh Kornbluth’s substack But Not Enough About Me here)

    By Josh Kornbluth

    As usual, Sara noticed it first: the freckle in this White-tailed Kite’s right eye. Photo: Sara Sato As usual, Sara noticed it first: the freckle in this White-tailed Kite’s right eye. Photo: Sara Sato

    My wife has uncanny bird-spotting abilities. We’ll be tooling along on our bikes on the San Francisco Bay Trail and Sara, riding ahead of me, will suddenly signal that she’s about to stop. Then she’ll jump off her bike and look through her binoculars at something in the distance. I’ll do the same — and see … nothing. No birds, I mean. But now she’s pulling out her camera, using its telephoto lens to confirm what she’s somehow picked up on: that way out yonder, what looked to me, even through my “bins,” like a tiny blur is actually, say, an Anna’s Hummingbird. She could tell from the silhouette: when it looks like there’s only one tiny leaf at the top of a snag, it’s likely to be a hummingbird.

    The iridescent patch on the throat of Anna’s hummingbirds is called a gorget, maybe because it’s gorgets — er, gorgeous. (I’ll show myself out now.) Photo: Sara Sato

    As for Kites, they need tall trees for nesting and nearby open grassland for hunting rodents — which they seek out by employing their characteristic hovering maneuver (“kiting”), then quickly swooping down on their prey. I’ll be honest here: at this very early stage of my birding apprenticeship, I didn’t even know that there were birds called Kites. In my defense, I grew up in Manhattan, where as far as I knew birds were either pigeons or — when Dad took me down to the Battery to ride the ferry — seagulls. (“Seagulls”: that’s what I spent 60-plus years of my life thinking they were called. But hanging out with birders has taught me to call them simply “gulls” — of which, it turns out, there are many kinds, some of them living far from the sea.)1

    When Sara first pointed and said something like, “Look — Kites!” I thought she meant those things that you fly from a string — in my mind, an excusable error, especially as we were quite close to César Chávez Park, where people do fly lots of kites.

    We’d been biking past a grove of trees near what we had come to call the Weird Picnic Table.…