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uiet descends on the El Cerrito Hillside Natural Area after sunset. The 102-acre plot of protected land overlooking the city of El Cerrito is heavily trafficked by hikers, runners, and dog walkers during the day. Under the cover of darkness, though, humans are a rare sight, and nocturnal creatures are free to rule the hill.

But tonight, the El Cerrito Hillside is uncommonly full of human bodies. Just above the Schmidt Lane entrance is an anomalous crowd: more than 40 people, gathered around the exposed bulb of a white light illuminating the hanging white sheet behind it. The people are all staring, transfixed.

On the sheet crawls a large, furry white-lined sphinx moth. Its body is thumb-length, slim and streaked with white. For a moment, it lifts from the sheet, its two-toned wings a swift-beating blur. The crowd gasps. It lands again, and walks in slow circles around the light, furry antennae probing its path. “I can’t see!” shouts a child, and her father hoists her onto his shoulders.

The crowd and the moth have gathered for Moth Night, a citizen science event organized by Friends of Five Creeks to observe the diverse populations of this often-overlooked insect.

“Moths are definitely under-appreciated,” said Eddie Dunbar, the executive director of the California Insect Sciences Museum and the evening’s attending moth specialist. “People are scared of them. You don’t really get to see them, except when they’re knocking on your window or crowding your porch lights.”

Dunbar recalled his own early impression of moths: the 1961 film Mothra that depicts a monster moth attacking Japan. “I remember, even as a kid, I knew there must be more to the story of moths,” he said.

“Moths are definitely under-appreciated. People are scared of them. You don’t really get to see them, except when they’re knocking on your window or crowding your porch lights.”

In fact, moths are crucial to this hillside ecosystem. “When people think of pollinators, they think of butterflies and bees,” Dunbar said. “But moths outnumber butterflies ten-to-one.”

Because of its diverse plant populations, the Hillside is an attractive spot for these nocturnal insects. Dunbar estimated that it is home to about 30 different species of moths. But events like this Moth Night help him collect more exact data, and increase citizen awareness in the process.

For Susan Schwartz, president of Friends of Five Creeks, the event was not just about the moths. “We’ll take any opportunity we can get to learn about the hillside and all of the species that live here,” she said. “One hundred acres of protected land in a city is highly unusual. We need to work to understand it.”

Before sunset, Schwartz invited the citizen scientists for a short hike to learn more about the moths’ home. As she led the group up the steep service road that slices the grassy, tree-spotted hillside, she pointed out various native and non-native plants. Hiking boots crunched over a carpet of fisted oak leaves. The licorice-odor of fennel carried on the air, mingling with the dusty scent of eucalyptus.

The hikers crested the hill to an astounding view. From the Richmond Bridge to the Golden Gate, a great expanse of flushed sky touched the dark surface of the San Francisco Bay with rosy light. A glinting BART train, elevated on its track above boxy rooftops, streamed through the city with its high-pitched whine. Across the bay, the sun was just beginning to slip behind Mount Tam, rimming the darkened ridgeline with an orange glow. “This cliff is what we call alien terrain,” Schwartz said. “We’re standing on rock from who-knows-where, that got stuck onto North America when the Farallon plate was subducted millions of years ago.”

On the way back down the hill, hikers spotted a great horned owl and a red-tailed hawk, perched on adjacent branches of two eucalyptus trees.

“This is the beauty of the East Bay,” said a hiker from the group El Cerrito Trail Trekkers, which helps maintain the open space. He followed the hawk with his binoculars as it lit from its branch and slipped through the dusky cover of oaks. “Down there is the city, and up here you can see something like this.”

Dunbar’s white lamp guided the way back to the base of the newly darkened hill. The hikers settled around the lamp, awaiting the arrival of the mysterious nocturnal dwellers of their familiar hillside. Illuminated against the white sheet, even mosquitos became an object of wonder to photograph and record. It wasn’t long before the moths came out.

“A moth just hit me in the face!” said a young boy.

“That’s because you’re a shining light,” replied a Trail Trekker.

Many of the moths were tiny and almost invisible against the sheet, fluttering around the light like flecks of torn paper. The white-lined sphinx was a crowd pleaser, a reminder of the alien majesty of these night-roaming creatures.

After analyzing his photographs and results, Dunbar said the event found only four moth species: the sphinx moth, the emerald moth, the pug moth –and one moth he’d never seen before. But for Schwartz, the real achievement was a raised awareness of a remarkable organism in a remarkable zone of protected land.

“I think this land is like the moths that live here: maybe it’s unusual, maybe it’s under-recognized,” Schwartz said. “But it sure is special.”

he 25 people standing on the rocky hillside of Millerton Creek Ranch have arguably some of the best views in Marin County. It’s 9:30 a.m. and the low-hanging fog has just lifted, uncovering a dramatic vista of rolling yellow hills dusted with wildflowers. Turkey vultures lazily ride a thermal air current in upward spirals, and a northern harrier takes off rapidly over the hill, toward the distant glint of Tomales Bay. It is a quiet morning, save for the whistle of the relentless wind, which carries the scent of saltwater and bay laurel trees over the slopes. The scene of this 864-acre ranch is staggeringly beautiful, and none of these people have ever been here before.

Not a single one of the 25 people is looking at the view. Instead, heads down, phones out, they scour the hillside for life as part of an organized effort to understand the biodiversity of this ranch, which the Marin Agricultural Land Trust (MALT) has just acquired.

A bioblitz of agricultural land is unusual. MALT Conservation Director Jeff Stump sees it, though, as redemptive: a chance to document the life of a piece of land he almost lost to development.

“This time, we’re going to give this land what it deserves,” Stump said.

ntil former owner Bob Borello’s death in 1992, this land operated as a sheep farm and rock quarry. Since 1992, MALT has fought to protect the ranch. Its abundant water sources—Millerton Gulch Creek, several natural springs, and two large reservoirs—contribute to a fascinating, diverse natural ecology. And, for MALT, the ranch is the connecting piece to make 8,454 continuous acres of protected land, between Millerton Point (part of Tomales Bay State Park) and the MALT-protected Giacomini Dairy and Panfiglio Ranch. But its size, stunning landscape, and ample water—the very reasons to protect it—also make for prime real estate. Developers’ plans for upscale homes threatened MALT’s hopes for conservation. Now, after 23 years of uncertain ownership, trash and scrap metal litter the property.

In 2009, MALT had a conservation easement in the works with local producers Mike Giammona, who raises cattle for grass-fed beef, and Andrew Zlot, whose water buffalo provide milk for Double 8 Dairy—but a private developer bought the ranch before terms could be finalized. Earlier this year, the developer’s plans for the land fell through, and MALT leaped at the opportunity. With a loan from the Packard Foundation, MALT purchased the property, and leased it to Giammona and Zlot. Now, they hope to learn as much as they can about the land before selling it to Giammona and Zlot in four years. With a conservation easement, MALT will set the terms for the use of this land—indefinitely.

Standing in front of the group of 70-plus volunteers before the day’s activities began, Stump rubbed his hands together in excitement. “Information leads to conservation,” he said. “This land has suffered years of abuse, and if we’re going to restore it, we need to know what’s out there.”

The California Academy of Sciences, which partnered with MALT for the event, has a broader goal: to gather as much data as possible and contribute to a worldwide knowledge bank. “Why do we bioblitz an agricultural land?” Academy Citizen Science Coordinator Rebecca Johnson asked the group before they set off. “The fact is, there are too many organisms on this planet and not enough naturalists.”

MALT had specific goals as well: to get a better sense of the distribution of invasive woolly distaff thistle — as part of the conservation easement, MALT will advise Giammona and Zlot on long-term thistle control — and to learn more about the different plant species around the creek, to aid Giammona’s plans for creek restoration.

But Stump encouraged volunteers not to become too single-minded in their data collection.

“Take some time to get to know the land,” he said. “Explore it and enjoy it. For decades, not many people have.”

he group of citizen scientists surveying the hillside under the guidance of coastal wetlands botanist Michelle Cooper was anything but single-minded. Cooper, with her iPhone and California native plant guide in hand, listed off plant species with encyclopedic knowledge and affectionate familiarity. “Remember, everyone,” she said, holding up a hollow-centered yellow grass with a mischievous smile, “Reeds are round, sedges have edges, and grasses, like you-know-what, have holes in them.”

A few minutes later, a citizen naturalist asked Cooper about a long stalk tipped with a whirled cluster of purple flowers. She explained to the group that this was Prunella vulgaris, a native species “with just about the ugliest name you’ll ever find on such a lovely plant.” She passed a yellow tarplant flower around the group, encouraging the volunteers to smell the pungent scent that earned the plant its title. She stopped at one point and crouched low to the ground, eyes wide, to point out the spiky growth of a soap plant. “They’re full of mystery,” she said. “They only flower in the evening, coming out like stars at night. Look for them on these roadsides when you drive, white blossoms lighting your way home.”

t noon, as the heat of the day began to set in, the group left the ranch and reconvened at the Point Reyes Station community center, The Dance Palace, to review the results. In three hours, 50 observers had uploaded more than 1,360 individual data points to iNaturalist, including more than 170 different species.

“I’ve said this time and again, but this land is a diamond in the rough,” Stump said. “We’re lucky to have you guys help us learn more about it.”

But Suzanne Marr, who made the drive in the early morning from her home in Berkeley, felt like the lucky one. At 10:30, halfway through her documenting efforts, she squatted among the grasses on the hillside and swigged from her water bottle. “Because it’s a private agricultural property, I’d never get to see this land if it wasn’t for the bioblitz,” she said. “But I got to spend my morning here. Just look at this place.”

She gestured out to the acres of wind-rippled hills below her, and to the blue smear of mountains beyond.

“It only makes sense that I should give something back.”