Listing Through Life

I had a late afternoon flight home on Thursday. (It turned out to be much later than I’d expected — I arrived home at 6:00 a.m. on Friday.) I had to find something to do in the morning, and I was pretty excited about my five lifers so far. I decided to do more birding. I contemplated driving back down to Santa Rosa Plateau, but that didn’t seem very exciting. I even considered driving two hours up into the mountains for a shot at a White-headed Woodpecker, but that seemed extreme. I decided on the coast, an hour and a half away (thanks to morning traffic) but only an hour back. I picked Crystal Cove State Park for two reasons — Wandering Tattler and California Quail. I didn’t see the first (it was peak high tide) and never got to a part of the park where I could expect to see the second.

I parked across the highway from Crystal Cove and walked through the small community of seaside cabins.

I wandered south along the beach for about a mile. In places, there was barely room to walk between the surf and the bluff.

There were birds about, and some good ones too. Here’s a Black Phoebe that was hawking insects on the side of the bluff.

A Western Gull. It’s hard to find a place on the coast where you can’t see these.

Heermann’s Gull, a Southern California specialty.

Left to right: Black Turnstone, Sanderling, Willet and Black-bellied Plover

A closer look at the Sanderling and Black Turnstone.

Black-bellied Plover in winter plumage.

A Whimbrel.

And a Willet. I’m always amazed at how much tamer birds are on the coast than inland.

Royal Terns.

I walked a trail to the top of the bluff and briefly considered heading off to the inland part of the park. But distance and time convinced me that the wise course would be to head back. I saw a trail above the bluff and, luckily as it turned out, decided not to go back along the beach. The tide had gone out some, but not enough to expose the tide pools.

Anna’s Hummingbird. Sometimes you just get lucky and click the shutter at the right moment.

A mile, and two unexpected lifers, later I was back at Crystal Cove.

There’s a diner there called Rudy’s Shake Shack. It has an outdoor patio overlooking the ocean.

I got a cheeseburger and a dark chocolate shake which were awesome. But I probably wouldn’t have noticed even if they were awful. This was my view.

Like Santa Rosa Plateau, North Etiwanda Preserve had the advantage of being close enough to get to easily while offering the possibility of lifers. I saw one, and for much of the time I was there, had a good time. The last mile or so was a bit bleak and hot.

I was the first visitor of the morning and had the place to myself for a while. The preserve is a wedge of rising field sandwiched between the city of Rancho Cucamonga and the mountains.

The trail was rocky and shade was non-existent, but it was only about 60° when I arrived. Looking west across the sprawl of Los Angeles suburbs.

In attempt to make items of historical interest out of junk, there were several signboards giving details on past efforts to get water from the mountains. Remains of pipes and pumps and whatnot were scattered about here and there.

This chimney is all that remains from a house that was here at some point.

Another view of the house from a point further up the slope, with Rancho Cucamonga peaking through the smog.

A side trail — that turned out to be quite a bit longer than I’d expected — promised a view of a waterfall.

And indeed, there was a waterfall, which I expect is quite nice by California desert standards. Ninety percent of the people I saw on the preserve were on the trail to the falls. I only stayed long enough to take this photo because I was still hoping to see another lifer.

When I got back to the main trail, it was warming up. I soon entered an area where a fire had consumed all the sage and other scrub not long before and the landscape was unattractive and the birds scarce.

On a knoll, I found a photo labeling the various geographical features that would be visible if not for the ever-present smog. When it was clear enough to take the photos on the sign, I have no idea.

The white ridge of rocks cutting across the center of this photo marks an earthquake fault.

One thing I took away from here — I would not want to be out on those shadeless flats when it was any hotter than it was on this day.

Once I’d made the decision to drive to Randy’s Donuts, stopping at the McDonald’s in Downey was easy — it was pretty much right on the way from Ingleside to Ontario.

This was the third McDonald’s restaurant, opening August 18, 1953. It was franchised by the McDonald brothers before Ray Kroc got involved. It still has its original arches on the side of the building and a Speedee sign from 1959.

There’s a small museum on site in a separate dining area. I was wandering about looking at the displays when a young Hispanic woman came out of the bathroom. She said “Are you totally being a tourist?” I replied that I totally was. She said, “I’ll use their bathrooms, but I won’t eat here. This place is the evil empire.” (She didn’t say it quite that nicely.)

I ordered a quarter pounder with cheese, fries and a drink and put them in the car. I then grabbed the red chair and took a couple pictures. It must have been 10 minutes after our first encounter when the same young lady pulled up next to me in her car and said, “Seriously, you need to do some research and see how bad this food is for you. You’re wasting your life, man.”

She could have made a pretty good case that I was my wasting my evening, but my entire life? I thought that was a bit harsh. But perhaps she knew of what she spoke. The food was awful, even by McDonald’s standards.

I left Santa Rosa Plateau around 5:00. My hotel was just under an hour away, but I didn’t care to spend the evening sitting in my room. I decided to do something silly. I battled the traffic — and yes, there is traffic on L.A. freeways even on Sunday night — to Ingleside, near LAX, to see the famous Randy’s Donuts.

I soon discovered two things about driving in Southern California. First, everybody tailgates and rides their brakes, and, two, motorcycles are allowed to ride between lanes and cut between cars. This seems ridiculous and dangerous, and I’m not sure I understand the logic. Apart from the fact that they squeeze through some narrow spaces, they also are traveling at 60 mph when everyone else is doing 20 mph, so they’re flying past you before you even know they’re there.

I parked and walked about and took some photos before making my purchase. I found a spot to place the red chair on a newspaper box. I also bought three donuts — two that I ate immediately and one I ate the next morning. They were very good — probably not worth a 100-mile drive, but still.