Here in Malibu

Near dusk last night, the last of the birds, the first of the bats, and a coyote starts her bark. It's sharp, it carries, and a second coyote appears. He stands a few feet away, ears up, snout up, reads the canyon breeze. She keeps barking.

A minute in and you catch her rhythm, a triplet, loud soft soft, high low low, over and over and another coyote comes. He's a stranger, or maybe new because neither the barking coyote nor her watchful companion acknowledge him.

Darker and still she's calling. The stranger gets too close, gets reprimanded. Stars now, and all three are looking, scenting and listening when suddenly, seven coyotes. They're swarming, weaving and tumbling, circling, an ornate greeting of yips and snarls, bits of play and bursts of violence.

They're the color of the hills and if you move your gaze for an instant in this last light, you lose them. The barking ends, the greeting ends and they're on the move, up the hill, across the ridge by ones and twos, silhouetted, then gone.

Posted by Veronique de Turenne at 7:57 PM | Permalink

My coyote education continues here at the cottage, perched at the edge of a wide swath of conservancy land. It's Friday night right at sunset and coyotes from three separate clans head down the hill. They're seemingly ignoring each other but the precise and unvarying distance they maintain says otherwise. And then, just moments after they're gone, a trio of coyote pups pops out from behind a clump of flowers and they literally tumble down the hill.

Too dark to shoot without a tripod so the photos are even fuzzier than the pups. The little guys are skinny and pointy, long legs, big ears, big snouts. They're still working on that whole coordination thing.

Yesterday, the coyote who I think is their mother came home at dawn from hunting and she was wounded. Moving well but her right flank was torn and scraped. Quiet last night, quiet this morning.

Google says coyotes often attack each other, clan-on-clan warfare, particularly when food and water get scarce. It also talks about how, as predators, they are pitiless, though anyone living among them needs no reminder. A hard life to live, a hard life to watch.

Posted by Veronique de Turenne at 10:01 AM | Permalink

With their numbers decimated over the decades by hunting, habitat loss and pesticides (DDE in particular) it's heartening to see one of these fierce birds do well in Malibu.

This one has been visiting a snag in Bluffs Park the last few days, close enough to PCH that people are pulling over to stop and take a look. Last year volunteers from the Student Conservation Association built an osprey perch in the Malibu lagoon, and visitors to the Adamson House often get photos of the raptor hunting. (Well, fishing.)

He's so handsome.

Posted by Veronique de Turenne at 11:01 AM | Permalink

I was just thinking the other day that it had been weeks since we've seen a coyote. We hear them from the barn during the day, howling in the hills, and from the house late at night, a raucous, ranging chorus. And then suddenly there was this guy, who loped across the street as casually as a neighborhood dog.

He ignored me while I grabbed my camera.

Couldn't care less when the car window came down.

Here's his reaction to Maisie and Walt moaning in the back seat:

There's a network of tunnels all up and down that hill, gophers and ground squirrels, and this coyote, he was grocery shopping.

Sniffing and digging and listening -- look at those ears -- and pointing like a Labrador. And I swear it's not (entirely) because of this, but I was rooting for him.

Good luck, little guy!

Posted by Veronique de Turenne at 11:11 AM | Permalink

It's about a million 85 degrees up here at the barn, bright sun, no breeze, just the fan shoving muggy air back and forth. The dogs have been crashed under the desk from the instant we arrived, pressed flat against the concrete. Even the hummingbirds seek relief, fly in from the feeder, hover here beside me, maybe thinking dim equals cool.




And then there's the coyote. It's a small one, kind of scraggly, a little snarly, quiet and quick. He glided by this morning and as I looked up and my brain clicked through Movement! Animal? Grey. Dog. Grey dog? No! Coyote! he was gone. Too fast for the camera and too fast, thank goodness, for Walt and Maisie to catch the scent.

It's a few hours later and he just came by again, and again all I can do was watch, afraid motion might spook him, wanting more to witness than to capture. He has a snaggle tooth. His feet are small and neat. His fur does that coyote thing, stands up thick, ripples as he walks.

I think he's here for water, for Maisie's bowl and Walt's pool, both filled fresh each day then left alone all night, an urban splurge here in these dry, dry hills.

Posted by Veronique de Turenne at 1:03 PM | Permalink

* When I first wrote this post, I thought the photo was shot in a more populated area of Mulholland Highway, which would have meant the mountain lion had been forced from the deep wilderness that her species seeks. With drought and wildfires and ceaseless development, all of which displace wild animals, both predators and prey are being stripped of adequate territory to hunt and breed and hide.

A little while after the post went live, I heard from a ranger at the NPS that the cougar is P-23, a young female who just separated from her mother. From the Santa Monica Mountains National Recreation Area page on Facebook:

"Of the 400+ kills our biologists have hiked in on, this is the only one they've seen right on a road, so it's quite a rare sight! She dragged the deer into the dense brush shortly after this photo was taken for a little more privacy."

The ranger says the kill took place on an isolated part of Mulholland, not near any homes. This post has been revised to reflect that fact.

See the rest of the Facebook update here.

PHOTO: Irv Nilsen

(Mulholland Highway -- 8/25/2013 at 6:50 a.m.)

Posted by Veronique de Turenne at 9:07 AM | Permalink

It rained! A little bit! Which apparently loosened up the exclamation point key on this laptop!

So what did we see? So glad you asked.

Blue, lots of blue, with a side of white and some vibrant green.

The white tailed kite was there:

Adjusting his feathers:

A flight of pelicans sailed by:

As did a big BIG big ship:

The little dog did some exploring:

And some smiling:

Amid the raindrops and the widflowers:

And did I mention there was blue?

Posted by Veronique de Turenne at 10:02 AM | Permalink

It was standing room only at the observation platform at Point Dume over the weekend, and no wonder -- a cluster of sea lions had abandoned the rocks in favor of the shallows, where the adults lazed on their backs and the youngsters frolicked.

My favorite part were the guesses by each new group of hikers about what, exactly, they were seeing in the water.

"Otters?" one man said.

"Beavers!" a little boy yelled.

Nope, sea lions, basking in the sun in the blue, blue, blue Pacific.

Posted by Veronique de Turenne at 12:51 PM | Permalink

So we're on the beach, tide kind of high, when suddenly, in the surf line, black and round and shiny, a seal.

We stop and watch a while, smile and wave and say hello, then move on.

And so does he. (She?) Follows us as we head up the beach on our evening walk.

And I'm thinking, cool, the seal can see me, nature girl, and we're communicating.

Magic, right?.

Until I turn my head a bit, see what, black and round and shiny, the seal was actually looking at, was keeping pace with all along.

Le sigh.

Posted by Veronique de Turenne at 8:49 AM | Permalink

You'll see it out there, a white blob bobbing, and then suddenly, the egret stands up.

It's a fragile-looking bird, long legs, long wings, white as a wedding veil, and the fact it's balanced on that bit of kelp, fishing from the seaweed's float of fronds and bulbs, well, that seems like magic.

Posted by Veronique de Turenne at 7:04 AM | Permalink

It wasn't until downloading the photo that I saw the hawk's ruffled feathers, bird seeking warmth just much as the photog, both of us shivering a bit here in the foothills of the Sandia (yes! New Mexico!) mountains.

Posted by Veronique de Turenne at 5:55 AM | Permalink

This past summer, as three heat waves baked away what was left of the little mountain lake (full disclosure: residents of states with year-round rainfall have been known to laugh and laugh at the thought that this is a lake) the heron abandoned his perch on the dock and instead whiled away the days in the treetops.

Now, after a weekend of rain, with the water level of the lake (hush) rising again, he has resumed his spot.

Unless you get too close with the camera, that is. (Yes, that's his right wingtip. And yes again, not even in focus.)

Posted by Veronique de Turenne at 9:10 AM | Permalink

Out for a drive yesterday morning when, out of the corner of my eye, a dog on the hillside.

And then three dogs, and then five.

Coyotes.

They saw me right away and, rather than spook them by getting out of the car, I instead spooked them by trying to shoot out the window.

I never did get a shot of all five of them, or even a decent shot of any one of them, so here are some iffy shots of some of them, and really, in their somewhat fierce and decidedly elegant wildness, don't the subjects utterly transcent the photographer?

Oh, yes.

Posted by Veronique de Turenne at 8:43 AM | Permalink

White-tailed kite. Wet.

And not happy.

Ducks. Wet.

And all's right with their world.

Posted by Veronique de Turenne at 9:34 AM | Permalink

Have you read Ellen Alperstein's wonderful piece on LA Observed about October and spiders in LA? It's right here, and it explains why, when I went to cut some rosemary last week, this is who I found in the garden:

Let's start with a long shot for the faint-of-heart:

Now that you're acclimated, how about a close-up?

She's as big as a quail egg and very polite. Waves one or two of those striped legs at me when the camera comes too close. Other than that, it's the bees collecting rosemary pollen who need to watch out.

Posted by Veronique de Turenne at 10:13 AM | Permalink

I think it's those big black eyes that get me, give his face such specificity that every time he's in that tree, in that snag, I can't help it, the camera comes out.

Handsome, isn't he?

Posted by Veronique de Turenne at 9:20 AM | Permalink

If you squint real hard you can see that the heron, while facing forward, is actually focused 100 percent on the annoying human with the camera.

The Little Dog, he ignores completely. If I breach the safety zone, though, which is precisely calibrated in his avian brain, whoosh, he's gone, and I have a lovely shot of muddy footprints.

Posted by Veronique de Turenne at 10:19 AM | Permalink

It's a miracle the pelicans are still here, let alone how they earn their living, diving for fish from heights of up to 60 feet, their bodies buffered only by small air sacs under their skin. Hard work.

And then they surf, angled above the water, tilted to catch the breeze, riding the airfoil made by a breaking wave.

I'd go on again about miracles if it wasn't kind of obvious already.

Posted by Veronique de Turenne at 10:16 AM | Permalink

Another day, another Disney fantasy come to life.

Posted by Veronique de Turenne at 12:27 PM | Permalink

Photo © Monterey Bay Aquarium/Ken Peterson

Though four young great white sharks were tagged and released by scientists from the Monterey Bay Aquarium in August, this year's shark season in the Santa Monica Bay closed without a viable candidate for the aquarium's exhibit, according to Ken Peterson, communications director for the aquarium.

We've concluded our 2012 white shark field season in southern California. This year, we've tagged and released four animals. None proved to be a candidate for exhibit in Monterey.

Colleagues with CSU-Long Beach and the Southern California Marine Institute - our Rapid Response Team - will still respond if a commercial fisherman accidentally nets a juvenile great white shark. Otherwise, we'll resume our field program next summer. If they haven't left already, the pen and purse seiner should depart Paradise Cove shortly.

This was the aquarium's 9th annual shark season, a project that has resulted in six 'young of the year' taking up residence in the great white exhibit. Of those six, all of whom were released, four survived and were tracked, one died when it was caught in a gill net, and one died soon after leaving the aquarium. Detailed info about those sharks is here.

The aquarium's great white shark exhibit is a huge draw, both for visitors eager to see the predators in person, and for criticism by animal activists, who say penning the sharks, even in the name of research, is inhumane. Here's the aquarium's main great white shark page, with links to its research, preservation and rescue efforts.

Meanwhile, on the left is John O'Sullivan, curator of field operations for the aquarium, and on the right is Chris Lowe, of the shark lab at CalState Long Beach, releasing a tagged juvenile great white in Santa Monica Bay on August 16.

Posted by Veronique de Turenne at 7:09 AM | Permalink

The clouds rolled in:

The rain came down:

And the ducks were all, whatever, dude.

Posted by Veronique de Turenne at 2:58 PM | Permalink

It's the third year of low rainfall and the little lake here in the hills is shrinking. This bit of metal (it has something to do with water measurement) is usually submerged. Now, it's an egret's rest, the perfect perch for sunning, and for scanning the horizon.

Posted by Veronique de Turenne at 9:32 AM | Permalink

For a few days last week the Barbara H., the Monterey Bay Aquarium's boat, sat moored right next to the floating four-million-gallon fish pen. This usually means there's a shark in the tank and scientists are seeing whether it's stressed, whether it will feed, whether it's a candidate for the trip up north.

This time the answer was no, and the shark (it's always a 'young of the year', which means it's under a year old and feeds only on fish and hasn't begun yet to hunt larger prey, like sea lions or seals) was tagged released. It joins two other young sharks that were tagged and released this month, one in the Santa Monica Bay, and one near Oxnard that a fisherman accidentally caught.

So that's the news. But what I like about this moment is the boat and the kayaker and the flight of gliding pelicans all in the same frame, and the way the sun was rising and the air was warming and how the beeze laid down a skim of salt on bare skin, and how the scent of it said it's still summer.

Posted by Veronique de Turenne at 9:29 AM | Permalink

It seemed like every long-necked bird who had ever visited the little lake here in the mountains arrived for breakfast this morning.

The humans oohed and aahed. The Muffinhead? Less than impressed.

Posted by Veronique de Turenne at 10:02 AM | Permalink

It's been weeks since I've happened upon a hawk and honestly, I was getting worried. They're a part of the landscape here, a touchstone, and if too much time goes by without a close encounter, you start to wonder.

This guy was wondering, too, whether the person under the tree was ever going to press the shutter release and get the shot and move along already, wondering how many photos do you need, silly human, when there are rodents to hunt and thermals to ride and a hawk's wild life to be lived?

Posted by Veronique de Turenne at 9:15 AM | Permalink

He never lets you get too close, which is a shame because he can eat a frog in a single swallow and believe me, the sight of that is unforgettable.

Posted by Veronique de Turenne at 6:59 AM | Permalink

There's been this swallowtail butterfly up at the barn for a few weeks now, shy and flighty. And though I've been trying to get a shot of it aloft -- it's unbelievably large and almost unbearably perfect -- it's onto me.

It lets me get close, then closer, then it takes off. So instead close enough, I've settled for (almost) good enough.

Posted by Veronique de Turenne at 8:44 AM | Permalink

This tiny bunny is pretending that if it acts like it doesn't see me, I won't see it.

This somewhat larger bunny sat stock-still, just like this, for a few long minutes as he stared and stared into the underbrush,. His ears made micro-adjustments, rotating a bit as he assessed the threat.

Can't quite see? Let's move a little closer.

We were somewhat deep into the coyote trail, Jake and Maisie and I, and as I saw the rabbit, the dogs suddenly stopped, turned to focus on that same bit of underbrush with equal (and, I'll admit it, somewhat disturbing) intensity.

Posted by Veronique de Turenne at 9:12 AM | Permalink

There's a vintage Jeep behind the barn which, when he has time, a friend is repairing. It's also where a Meyer lemon and a Mexican lime, still in their pots, wait to be transplanted.

That's where I was standing last week, happily watering the trees and admiring the view when I realized something on the Jeep was moving. Toward me.

There's a middle part of this story, and maybe there's some shrieking and possibly some running and at least one panicked phone call, but in the end the killer anaconda I was certain I saw turned out to be this little garter snake.

I'm told he was more scared than I was. Ummmm, OK. Sure.

Posted by Veronique de Turenne at 7:12 AM | Permalink

In a town where SUVs squeeze into any space they can, it's refreshing to see someone abide by parking guidelines.

Of course, there's a joker in every crowd:

Posted by Veronique de Turenne at 10:11 AM | Permalink

It's just a two lane road up to the barn, narrow and edged with trees. Every few hundred feet, the canopies touch overhead, form a tunnel of shifting green.

It was in the oak tree tunnel yesterday that this hawk appeared, swooped right over the hood of the car and landed on the limb above. You can't quite tell from this photo but he's looking right at me with his fierce raptor eyes, staring over his shoulder as I snap a shot or two.

We drive off but the hawk stays put, back to serious business now that the pesky human is safely on her way.

Posted by Veronique de Turenne at 6:19 AM | Permalink

If we're using housing starts as a yardstick for the economy, then the tree in the parking lot at Cross Creek, where no fewer than five egrets families have set up housekeeping, leads the way.

Posted by Veronique de Turenne at 6:32 AM | Permalink

Seriously?

Yep, it's a camel, a goat and a zebra on Mulholland Highway in Malibu, just waiting for someone to whip up a joke.

Posted by Veronique de Turenne at 7:36 AM | Permalink