California Clear Lake

June 6, 1998

Pat at Clear Lake

Traveling north from the Bay Area near San Francisco, we viewed the grapes and vineyards of the Napa Valley.  Then on the northern end of the Valley through Calistoga, we began the long climb up to the pass in the Palisade Mountains.  It is not a long climb -- only a couple thousand feet -- but the road is narrow with many hairpin turns and with large trucks passing inches away from the left mirror on the motorhome.  I had been told that the road was passable in a motorhome, but that nerves of steel would be required when driving.  As we neared the pass, my “nerves of steel” were turning into jelly.  We stopped to rest at Robert Louis Stevenson State Park before descending down through the Collayomi Valley into the Clear Lake country.

Seven fledgling bushtits lined up side by side on a willow branch -- so closely that they first appeared to be a sort of feathery, grey squirrel on a branch.  They did not yet have the long tail and brown cap of the adult.  Suddenly, a Cooper’s hawk flew through the canopy, hoping for a meal of tender, young, bushtit.  But the bushtits saw it coming and dispersed frantically -- giving me the impression that the “squirrel” had disintegrated into seven parts as the birds flew off in different directions.  Apparently confused, the hawk could not decide which bushtit to chase and they all escaped.  A few minutes later the fledglings regrouped on another branch.  First one, then another and another landed, then sidled up close to each other.  After several weeks in a small nest, maybe they were accustomed to being close to their siblings.  Or they sought body warmth in the 50 F cool of the evening.  Although the late-afternoon sun still shone, a cool breeze blew from Clear Lake.  This breeze came from the direction of Snow Mountain Wilderness north of Clear Lake and still retained some of the chill as it bounced across the lake to our birding spot at the base of Mt. Konocti volcano.  The parents were expending considerable energy searching for worms in the willow blossoms to feed the hungry clan.  A bolder bushtit fledgling left the group and searched unsuccessfully for worms, then returned to the comfort of the group. 

The next morning, while jogging in the same area, I observed a Cooper’s hawk fly from a willow with a small, grey bit of feathery fluff in its talons.  Maybe the bushtit siblings now numbered only six.  Redwing blackbirds appeared to be attempting to ride the larger hawk and peck it behind the head.  They were apparently defending their own nest against this deadly bird eater.  They become so defensive that they sometimes fail to distinguish bird-eating predators from fish-eating predators.  I watched one pair fly high over the lake to pester a great blue heron that happened to be flying by.  They apparently wasted a great amount of energy while attacking this heron.  Evolutionary experience seems not to have taught these birds to chase only bird predators and leave fish predators alone.

Clear Lake is the largest natural lake in California.  Several million years ago a massive landslide filled Cold Creek Canyon with debris that formed this natural lake north of Napa Valley.  We had decided to visit the area because our son, Brian, had shown us a newspaper article about a California Back Country Discovery Trail (BCDT) that starts at Clear Lake.  This trail is the first of an off-highway motorized route that is planned to ultimately run from the Mexican border to the Oregon Border.  The first section runs through the Mendocino National Forest and covers 86 miles.  Since much of the trail is steep, dirt, and rough, a four-wheel vehicle is recommended.  

From our camping spot at the town of Nice, CA, we could observe western grebes performing their mating dance on the glassy surface of Clear Lake in the early morning.  Their long necks extended as they seemed to mimic each other’s behaviors and attempts to walk on water.  A mallard hen swam by, followed by a half dozen babies.  A black-crowned night heron landed the tule reeds.  It quickly assumed the posture of a feathered statue for a few minutes.  Apparently not finding a fish, frog or whatever it was seeking, it flew away to be replaced by a pair of great blue herons.  When I opened the door to the motorhome, they yelled their displeasure at my intrusion into their territory and flew way.