Photo Essay: Sea Otter Spotting in Morro Bay

I went up to the Central Coast this weekend for the Morro Bay Winter Bird Festival, but that was just an excuse.



Sure, I saw a few Great Blue herons and even a couple peregrine falcons, but those weren't the really big draw for me.



Out of all the wildlife viewing in the Central Coast, Morro Bay is probably most famous for its birds. And maybe its harbor seals and sea lions.



But I had another marine mammal on my mind: the Southern sea otter.



I hadn't realized there were any in Morro Bay when I last visited back in 2011, though I'd been bewitched by otters (at least, river otters) since I was a little kid.



During this first return trip, I looked forward to seeing them. On Day One of the festival, I looked for the sea otters around the Harbor Hut on the Embarcardero—but I didn't know exactly where to go, so I never found them.



On Day Two of the festival, I'd spotted a sea otter during my morning kayak trip—just a lone otter, floating on its back, clapping its hind flippers. Noting my interest, my fellow kayakers (who were more local) sent me to the "T" pier by Harbor Hut to find more.



And lo, there they were: seven or eight adults, possibly as many as four little fluffball babies. It was hard to tear myself away.



So, on Day Three of the festival—an ominously gray day under heavy fog—I went back to the T pier.



While the "raft" of otters I found there consisted of fewer individuals than the day before...



...and just one juvenile, no tiny babies...



...I noticed something else different from the day before.



These otters were a lot more active.



They were somersaulting, log-rolling, wrestling, and swimming—not just floating. And the frisky kid was climbing all over the other two (primarily one of them, who I can assume was the mother).



Their fur, both light and dark, alternately glistens with dewdrops and mats down, slicked back...



...and fluffed out in a giant puffball.



When they're not sleeping 14 hours a day, they're either hunting or grooming.



They were hunted heavily from the 18th to early 20th centuries for their pelts, which are so warm that, unlike pinnipeds, these animals can survive full-time in the ocean without a layer of blubber. Populations dramatically declined, and now they're federally protected—though still endangered. That means no touching!


They're really smart, too—like humans, they use tools to access their food supply (for example, banging a rock to open a shell and get the seafood inside).

They were such a sight on Sunday that I sent a message to a friend I was supposed to meet elsewhere: "Meet me at the otters."

But by the time I could answer her question of where the otters were, they were gone, off to their midday naps.

Related Posts:
Swimming With Otters
Photo Essay: Rescue, Rehab and Release at the Marine Mammal Care Center

Photo Essay: An Outdoor Museum of Citrus Trees and the Birds Who Live Among Them

Citrus first arrived in California in the late 18th century (thanks to Spanish missionaries), but it took another 100 years for us to truly strike citrus gold — with a type of seedless orange tree from Brazil (by way of Washington DC).

And so was born the “Washington navel,” and legend has it that nearly all of the orange trees of this type that you’ll find in California are descendants of two “parent” trees.

Right up until the late 1930s, citrus was the second largest industry in California—just behind oil.

But by World War II, what was once the “citrus belt” of Southern California was plowed and paved, leaving only a few scattered exceptions.

circa 2017

When the rest of the country (and even higher elevations in SoCal) are under frost and frigid conditions, our last remaining citrus groves—like the one at California Citrus State Historic Park in Riverside, California—are peaking.

I'd been to the park in the middle of summer and in the fall, but I returned this winter to actually see some fruit on the trees and spot some migrating birds. With the help of a ranger and a naturalist, we saw a few Northern flickers (though they could've been gilded flickers), a type of woodpecker—but nothing spectacular.



Birding, however, is like fishing. You have to be patient and wait, and you have to be quiet. It turns out that I needed to ditch my group if I was going to make any interesting bird observations (more on that in a second).



The park is a historic orange grove, though the trees are irrigated and fertilized to nudge them along.

circa 2017

And no public picking is allowed.

circa 2017

But in many ways, it is a working citrus grove...

circa 2017

...with smudge pots that protect the crops from frost...



...and a bounty of fruits (at least, in the winter).



Among the types of oranges that are picked by park staff and sold and served in the visitors center are fisher navels (an early-season crop)...

circa 2017

...as well as other citrus, like star ruby grapefruit, chandler pummelos...

circa 2017

...and an oddity known as Buddha's finger...

circa 2017

...which they'll even let you taste...

circa 2017

...along with pink lemons, fingerlimes, and more.



During this last visit to the citrus park, I'd heard lots of birds but saw very few of them, even with a guide to help point them out. So, instead of going straight back to my car when we were done, I stood in the parking lot and looked up to see acorn woodpeckers foraging in several of the ornamental palms at the park entrance.



In what I think was a silk floss (or "floss-silk") tree, amidst the giant hanging seed pods and wilted pink flowers, was a flycatcher, fluffy in gray and yellow, alluding to its taxonomy as a Dusky flycatcher but too shy to give me a closer look.



That same tree helped me bear witness to a number of hummingbirds perched on its bare branches, including one startlingly loud one who, by its call and plumage, I identified as a Black-chinned hummingbird.

Maybe my bird IDs are wrong. They're be more accurate with the expertise of fellow (and better) birders.

But there'd be far fewer birds to identify if I hadn't struck out on my own.

Related Posts:
Photo Essay: Harvesting Oranges in Heritage Park
Photo Essay: The Ranch That Built An Empire of Oranges
Photo Essay: A California Country Home In a Long-Lost Orange Grove
Where to Find the Bygone Citrus Groves of Southern California (via KCET)

Photo Essay: The Wreckage of Paramount Ranch's Western Town, Burnt to a Crisp

I knew Paramount Ranch's Western Town was gone after the Woolsey Fire of late 2018. I'd already seen photos of the wreckage.



But I wasn't prepared for what I would see when I made a site visit myself just after the New Year.



The bridge that leads to the old raceway track, beyond the model airplane field, was burned out, the trail coned off.



The entire line of trees along the creek that separates the parking lot from the Western Town was ravaged.



The paints and inks on the park signage had bubbled up from the heat, just like I'd seen along Angeles Crest Highway after the Station Fire.



Charred remains of wood posts glistened bright and shiny and almost blue.



The information board had partially melted from the heat, if not from direct contact with the flames.



Amidst the blackened landscape, it didn't smell smoky. It was nothing other than... crispy.



It felt raw and wounded, charcoaled and scarred.



And then the Western Town. I gasped.



It's fenced off for safety reasons but also, I assume, to prevent looting of any relics that might be found.



Another park visitor pointed out where his daughter had lived in some park housing, which explained the washer and dryer that seemed anachronistic among the bits and pieces of a saloon and general store.



I'd been to Paramount Ranch before, when it was in one piece, but I couldn't ascertain what used to be where.



All that survived was metal.



Sheets and sheets of corrugated steel covers the site like layers of emergency blankets at a crime scene.



Peeking out from below them are metal folding chairs, frames of folding tables, maybe metal shelves...



...barrels, cans, and jugs that look centuries old...



...and lighting fixture shades and other electrical equipment and vestiges from utilities.



It doesn't matter that the buildings weren't original to the Old West or the Gold Rush. It doesn't matter that they were just film and TV sets and not real ghost town relics. It is a horror show.



It was hard to discern what the path of the fire had been, because it hopped the creek—and even ran alongside of it—but it didn't crawl up the hillside. It spared the train depot, just steps away from the rest of the Western Town.



And the church still stands, without even a smudge of soot—certainly not saved by God, as it too was just a set piece and not a real consecrated house of worship.

Besides the buildings, lots of habitat was destroyed. But the birds were squawking, and the trails are open to pedestrians and equestrians alike.

The grass is growing back greener than ever.

And the stewards of the park vow to rebuild.

I think they should—just as Melody Ranch has been rebuilt after fire, more than once. It breaks my heart to see Corriganville reduced to a number of foundations and interpretive signs to explain what used to be there.

Inject some movie magic into Paramount Ranch. Let us pretend that our dreams and memories weren't destroyed, just this once.

Because Pioneertown may burn. Calico may become engulfed. Even Knott's Berry Farm could succumb.

A big enough earthquake could wipe it all out.

Accepting your own mortality is one thing. But living without the things you love feels like an even greater tragedy.

Related Posts:
Photo Essay: Paramount Ranch & Raceway (Updated for 2018)
Photo Essay: Things We Lost In the Woolsey Fire (Before & After Photos, Updated)
Corral Canyon, Malibu: Where the Fire Reached the Sea
Photo Essay: Melody Ranch Movie Ranch, Closed to Public (Except this Once)
Photo Essay: Corriganville Movie Ranch, Burned to the Ground

Photo Essay: Amboy, A Quintessential Ghost Town Along Route 66 (Updated for 2023)

[Last updated 2/2/23 11:17 PM PT—Amboy owner Albert Okura sadly passed away on 1/27/23.]

[Updated 2/29/20 10:03 PM PT—info about restored neon sign added.]

If your dream is to buy a ghost town, let Amboy give you hope that dreams really do come true.

Photo Essay: The Float-tastic Floral Creations of The Rose Parade, 2019

I'd never gone to see the Rose Parade or the Post-Parade Float Showcase to see one float in particular—until this year.



There's one float that millions of TV viewers—and perhaps hundreds of parade-goers—didn't get to see because it stalled out at the beginning and burst into flames.