Thursday, August 24, 2017

I Remember: the California Condor

It was the summer of 1972.  I spent most of the summer backpacking in the Cleveland National Forest, near San Diego.

On one particular morning, I was crossing a broad meadow.  The meadow was covered with dried grass, about 2 feet tall, and I was concerned about rattlesnakes.  I was shuffling my feet, making as much noise as possible, to give the snakes warning so they could get out of my path.  My attention was mostly on the ground.

Partway across the meadow I stopped to take a break and have a drink from my canteen.  Looking up, I was amazed to see a California Condor soaring overhead.  At that time, the Condor was on the brink of extinction... there were very few left in the wild, so seeing one was a rare treat.

I watched him for a few minutes.  He was gliding in a wide circle, barely moving his wings, riding the thermals.  It was an awesome sight.

After a while, I decided I'd better get moving again, to get across the meadow before it got too hot.  As I walked, the Condor seemed to keep pace with me...  circling back again and again, never getting too far away. 

In those days, there were no smart phones, and my camera was packed away.  I wish now that I'd taken the time to unpack it and get a photo, but I did not. 

I've often wondered what he was doing.  Was he searching for prey?  Was he curious about me?  Maybe he was waiting for me to die!

It probably took me 45 minutes to cross the meadow, and he stayed with me the whole time.  When I reached the tree line on the other side of the meadow, I paused for another drink, and took one last look at the magnificent bird before continuing on my way.