Flight of the Condors
By Taylor Crisologo
The air was cool and crisp. It was just before sunrise, so you could begin to see swatches of color painting the sky. On the horizon, the twisting curves of the mountains were beginning to be illuminated. We were the only ones awake at this hour in the small motel. Our bags packed, we walked outside into the dawn.
I’ve been a birder since my first months in college. There, I discovered a community of people that were just as in love with nature as I was. I reveled in studying new field guides and visiting new places with unfamiliar habitats to discover and explore. Thus, my journey as a birder and conservation devotee led me to Pinnacles National Park this February morning to look for California condors.
With wingspans over 9 feet, the California condor is North America’s largest bird. As scavengers, they rely on animals that are already dead for food. But the food that they scavenge is not always safe: hunters often use lead ammunition, resulting in carrion that is lead-tainted. Condors that eat carrion such as this are subject to the effects of lead poisoning, which ultimately leads to death.
Photo by Richard Neidhardt
Lead poisoning and other threats (such as habitat loss and hunting) resulted in only 22 wild birds remaining in 1982. As lead poisoning threatened to kill the few wild condors left, efforts were mobilized to capture the last individuals in the wild for captive breeding programs. Since the last wild condor was captured in 1987, the species has been slowly increasing in numbers. Today, there are over 440 individuals total, both in captivity and released into the wild.
We drove slowly through the entrance of the park, arriving just as they opened the gates. Pulling into a spot in a nearly-empty lot, we grabbed our packs and set off on the trail. I clutched my binoculars nervously, fidgeting with the focus. We headed slowly down the path, our necks craned up to scan the skies. Turkey vulture. Red-tailed hawk. Two turkey vultures.
We had only been on the trail for 15 minutes when Dan grabbed my arm. “Large white wing patches”, he breathed with one hand still firmly on his binoculars. My hands shot to my own binoculars, bringing them quickly up to the sky to look up at the same area. There they were. Two individuals soared gracefully, illuminated by the morning light.…