Illustrations by Jane Kim; text by Bay Nature staff.
Gull goss
Grass Pulling = “I threaten you!” Silent Squat = “I am actively ignoring you.” Choking = “We want this place.” Head Toss = “Regurgitate food for me.”
Welcome to western gull (Larus occidentalis) speak, a mix of at least 11 postures and 12 calls, whose meanings vary with the time of year, situation, caller, and called-at. For example, when a female tosses her head at a male, she wants him to regurgitate food for her. Female and male simultaneous head-tosses mean chick-making is nigh. Juveniles head-tossing to their parents are demanding snacks.
In winter, when western gulls all up and down our coast begin to stake out and defend territories for nesting, you may see the Upright Posture, a Charge, Grass Pulling, and prolonged tugs-of-war, all indications of a gull debate over who goes where. Watch out for the combined Alarm Call—“Eh-Eh,” “HaHaHa,” or “Kek-Kek”—and Alert Posture, indicating to all there’s a predator nearby, because it may be you.
Leg work
Look for the thread-thin legs. That’s the tell. No legs, and it’s an earthworm that’s wriggling beneath a damp stone or decaying branch in your backyard. But if you see the tiniest legs you can imagine, capped with four filamentous toes, you’ve met a California slender salamander (Batrachoseps attenuatus). It’s under there because the moisture helps its membrane-like skin absorb oxygen; the species is part of a whole family of lungless salamanders. Eggs, laid on land in group nests, begin to hatch in late winter. From them crawl fully formed baby salamanders, each about the size of a pea.
Slumber party
So much depends on a lady beetle’s footprint. It holds a hydrocarbon compound that convergent lady beetles (Hippodamia convergens) seem compelled to congregate around. Somehow it conveys the message “stay here.” So every fall when lady beetles in the Bay Area determine it’s time to gather for a semi-slumber through the chill and rain glaze of winter, they find the old footprints. Year on year, hundreds of thousands of lady beetles gather in the same areas, blanketing the ground and bushes with red, responding to the complicated call of compounds and pheromones.
Thar be whales
In the deep ocean off our coast lurk behemoth-size literary legends that we rarely see but can hear. Sperm whales (Physeter macrocephalus), a federally endangered species, echolocate and communicate through exquisitely complex combos of clicks and pauses, detectable from 100 miles away. Listening in, the Monterey Bay Aquarium Research Institute determined that sperm whale vocalizations in the region peak in winter. This adds to the mounting evidence that these whales migrate, following a food-rich zone that forms where warm and cold water meet.
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No strings attached
A white-tailed kite (Elanus leucurus) is a thing to behold, especially when it’s hovering in place, suspended like a marionette over a grassy expanse, scanning for prey. You get why they’re called kites. So imagine the wonder of encountering 10, 20, maybe 100 kites roosting in a tree from late fall into early winter. These raptors gather as the sun sets for a night of rest, but once paired off and building nests, couples will defend their territory from any erstwhile bunkmates.
P is for parasite
The flashy fountain of magenta that is the warrior’s plume (Pedicularis densiflora) belies a darker truth. In the Bay Area, these louseworts seek out black oak and madrone in particular, tapping them for water, siphoning it from the roots. In winter or early spring, you can find clues of their underground sneakery—tracing the roots of an oak, blooms fan out from the trunk, like a billowing red skirt. While a warrior’s plume can survive independently, if there’s a tree or shrub to parasitize, it will.
