The Butterflies of Mount Sutro

The Butterflies of Mount Sutro

By Liam O’Brien

When I surveyed all the butterflies of San Francisco County in 2007 (and again in 2009) Mount Sutro was not one of my ten transect sites. I dismissed it as a horrifying example of “Sutro’s Gift” of eucalyptus from the early 1900s – a monocultural wasteland.  I knew of Craig Dawson’s work and all that the Sutro Stewards had done. How an amazing oasis had been created at the summit. But part of this dismissal was the knowledge that few butterflies would probably make this journey through the trees; so few are reported to penetrate a forest (at least a eucalyptus forest).  I didn’t even think it was worth the arduous trek to look for anything.

Lucky for me an offer came around last January from Noreen Weeden, GGBA’s former Volunteer Services Manager. Would I be interested in a year-long, thorough inventory of the butterflies of Mount Sutro?  I’d worked for Noreen and GGBA in a similar gig out at Pier 94 a few years back. The thought intrigued me. I flipped my dismissive hypothesis on its head and asked, “Just what butterflies do use Mount Sutro?” I said yes and had my first visit in late January.

Well, it doesn’t get any better than starting off a project like this with a Mourning Cloak.

Mourning Cloak by Liam O’Brien

One of our most unique and beautiful (personally subjective call) butterflies, Nymphalis antiopa was basking in the morning light on a post. A true “harbinger of Spring,” over-wintering adults (the flying phase) emerge in late January from cracks and crevices they’d been sleeping in since the prior fall. Named by Linneaus after a small town in England, this butterfly throughout Europe is called the “Camberwell Beauty.” Mourning Cloaks were thought to have multiple generations (a couple of flights per season) but it turns out that there is only one generation with individuals living up to nine months! This makes it the longest-living species in North America each year. The primary thrill for me was I don’t get to see this creature very often in San Francisco. The chocolate brown field (the overall background color of the wings) with white bordered fringe is usually seen along riparian corridors and streams where its primary host plant (the plant or family of plants she lays her eggs on) willow (Salix sp.) is found in great abundance. Another cool factoid on the Cloak: if one sees the white border on this creature full and complete it’s a guarantee that it is a freshly enclosed (or just emerged from chrysalis or pupa) individual.…

Auk the Vote! Together, We Can Get Out The Environmental Vote

Auk the Vote! Together, We Can Get Out The Environmental Vote

By Laura Cremin and David Robinson

 

America’s birding community has always advocated for conservation policies. Low voter turnout, however, is a huge roadblock to success. Although Americans prioritize environmental policies and climate action more than ever before, many simply do not vote. For instance, over 15 million identifiable environmentalists did not vote in the 2018 midterms. This failure to make our voices heard at the ballot box has tremendous implications for the future survival of birds, their habitat, and the communities — natural and human — we love.

That’s why we formed Auk the Vote!, an entirely grassroots campaign to educate and mobilize birders to join volunteer Get Out The Vote efforts. The birders come from all over the U.S. (and beyond!), united in our love for birds and our understanding that we’re rapidly approaching a point of no return for fighting climate change, protecting endangered species, and conserving rapidly vanishing wildlife habitat.

As widely reported last year, the Western Hemisphere has lost almost a quarter of its avian population over the past 50 years — a loss of 3 billion birds! And now, with climate change accelerating at an alarming pace, two-thirds of North American birds will be driven much closer to extinction — and many pushed over the edge, lost forever — if we don’t do all we can to keep our planet from heating up more than a couple of degrees.

Birders, bird and wildlife organizations, conservation organizations, and environmental-justice organizations are working on numerous fronts to confront the challenges we’re facing. We need leaders who will support and strengthen such work. Unfortunately, as we document in our Bird’s Eye View of the 2020 Elections, foundational environmental policies, critical for long-term planning, are at risk — and in some cases (such as the Migratory Bird Treaty Act) under outright attack.

Great Auk painting from Birds of America by John James Audubon

But all hope is not lost — far from it! A unique confluence of events has pushed birdwatching to the forefront of our national consciousness. With the COVID-19 pandemic forcing millions of Americans to stay home or close to home for weeks and months, birdwatching has spread far beyond the self-identified birding community. People who never paid much attention to birds are now discovering their beauty and fascination, which can connect us to nature almost anywhere — in the countryside, of course, but also in the parks and on the streets of every town and city in our country.…

Photographing on the Median

Photographing on the Median

By Gerry Traucht

 

Editor’s Note: Gerry offers us glimpses of what he sees at and near his home. This unique collection embodies the qualities of the Japanese poetic form, Zuihitsu. Zuihitsu is genre of Japanese literature (since adapted by many Western writers) consisting of loosely connected personal essays or fragmented ideas that typically respond to the author’s surroundings. Photos taken by Gerry. 

 

 

There was a Great Blue Heron on the University Avenue median near Cesar Chavez Park in Berkeley.

 

This Great Blue Heron was patient and focused.

West of the freeway, University Avenue changes into a rough wavy road, not easy to ignore. It has a median. The median and roadsides are good places to see and photograph large birds before ever arriving at Berkeley’s Cesar Chavez Park.

 

The Great Blue Heron shows the dynamics of this strip of land. Cars pass near him, but he is focused on something else. He’s patient. As he waits, cars disappear, leaving a large iconic bird in nature.

The Turkey Vulture is perched high on a street lamp on the median. Sometimes there is a Red-tailed Hawk in his place.

A few days before these photographs, I saw a Great Egret on the median. I could barely find a place fast enough to pull over on this busy, bumpy road with few good places to park.

 

Turkeys are also many places in Berkeley, slowing us all down, making us pause, making us look and make contact.

On the median, Turkeys go a step further.

 

They chide. The females gobble at vehicles traveling too fast and too loud. They do more of the same with construction workers and their machinery.

 

 

Here is the male Turkey as he crosses the road to the median. He goes into full display. He deliberately drags his skirt feathers on the pavement, the unnerving sound announcing his presence.

And here is a video of Turkeys on the roadside near the median.

https://goldengatebirdalliance.org/wp-content/uploads/7_video-Turkeys_Median.m4v

 

 

About Gerry: Gerry Traucht is a Berkeley photographer. More of his work can be seen here and in his blogs.

If you have a blog or story you’d like to share with us, please email our Communications Manager, Melissa, at mr****@********************ce.org.…

Journeying Homeward From Home

Journeying Homeward From Home

By Gerry Traucht
His name is Hello.
When I say, Hello, to an empty sky, a crow appears.
It takes a minute or two if he’s far away. He stops by solo several times a day, flapping by a window or a door. Once in a while he brings his mate.
Here he is outside the kitchen door.

When no one is near the doorway, he invites himself in. Now he’s inside by the window.
This is his second time inside. He knows the layout.
He comes through the upstairs back doorway, through the house, down the interior stairs and waits for me to go around and open the front door for him to exit.
Free, he sits on the sign near the front porch.
Perched at the window.
Here he is on the street sign after I let him out. He’s in no hurry leave.

Our future meetings need to be planned for outdoors, exclusively. He’s messy.
I enjoy his visits.
With a flapping of wings, he announces his presence. He shuffles along the edge of a roof gutter with a semi-pleasant sound, letting me know where he is. He disappears. I spot him after a minute.
He takes pleasure in vanishing while remaining near.
He’ll sit the fence with his back toward me, or fly to a tree, roof, gutter, deck, sometimes the ground, tilt his head, watching, waiting for me to say Hello.
Today, with my dog resting nearby, he stays near while I pull weeds. He finds a container of sealed dog treats on a backyard table. It’s not for him. But he demonstrates he can open it. Nature in action.
His visits seem to invite me stay outside.
He comes by daily now, staging a black blur flitting by a window where I’m sure to glimpse him. A bit dramatic. He adds a cawing, when it’s only a flyby, See you in a few. He returns in a few, in blurs.
Crashing empty hemp bottles and a storm of wooden duck souvenirs from Bali fly from a windowsill in series of waves of crescendoing noise into a metal sink. My crow neighbor transforms our kitchen into a thriller with surreal characters and action, all without breaking anything.
Twice we were treated to a murder of crows, shaking up two slow nights while sheltering in place at home. Both shows happened at the tip the tall tree behind our house accented by the pink hues of the clouds following the sundown.
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How I Came to Love Owls Even More

How I Came to Love Owls Even More

By Alan Krakauer

I wish this was a normal spring and summer. However, if I had to pick one up-side to being forced to bird so close to home this year, it would be getting to know my local Great Horned Owls a little better. Of all the feathered denizens of Wildcat Canyon Regional Park, the owls are one of my favorites to run into.

The story of the nest itself comes with a bit of mystery. Through the beginning of March, I watched a pair of Common Ravens attending a large sloppy pile of sticks high in a Monterey pine tree next to the parking lot. I might see the tail of one raven jutting over the edge of the nest, while its mate would perch watchfully in a nearby eucalyptus or oak.  Then the virus hit. We adjusted to the new Covid-19 restrictions, and for a few weeks my visits grew infrequent.

In mid-April I looked again and the nest now appeared to be owned by a Great Horned Owl! Did the ravens abandon first and then the owls move in? Was this more of an eviction situation? Not to worry– the ravens nested somewhere else. By June, the raven parents were shepherding at least one noisy baby raven around the park entrance.

Without a way to peer into the owl nest, I couldn’t see any eggs or small chicks. Was this even a nesting attempt, or just a convenient spot for an adult owl to sleep? I knew Great Horned Owls tended to be one of the first birds to start breeding in our area, plus online birding groups were already saturated with photos of fluffy owlets on branches. Shouldn’t I be seeing something? The wait for cute baby owls was excruciating, and I was starting to get worried there was something wrong with the nest. What was going on up there?

It took almost a month, but I finally saw one pale, unsteady, poorly feathered wing flapping above the lip of the nest. A little later than I expected, but we were still on track. Yes, we were in business! We’ve got an owlet! On my next visit I could see a pair of white round heads in the nest. Subsequent visits seemed to confirm two owlets.

Unbelievably, my bounty of owlets continued! On a hike deeper into the park I heard a screech from high in a dense row of Cypress that I recognized as a young, hungry Great Horned Owl fledgling.

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