Carmel Magazine

A t first, I thought it was a fluke, that I was "seeing things" while on the golf course. It was sim- ply too darn big to be floating through the skies of my hometown. After the giant bird landed on the fairway, it allowed my husband and me to approach and take a quick gander, then it glided away, wings flapping slowly, creating a majestic, almost prehistoric looking sight. Spindly legs and smallish feet were tucked behind it in a perfectly straight line. A great blue heron. A manta ray in the air. I'd seen these majes- tic birds many times in photos, and even saw one once on a pond in Arizona. But not here. Not in Monterey County's Pebble Beach. I've lived in Carmel and Pebble Beach since 1992. I've seen a mountain lion in my yard and foxes on my roof (two of them standing together, staring down at me as if to ask, 'What are you doing here?') I've seen too many deer and coyotes to count, bobcats, and all other sorts of residential wildlife: raccoons, skunks, rodents. I've videotaped a turkey as it flew into a tree, and slo-mo'ed birds of prey frolicking, arguing, dodging each other's gravity defying flight. Great white egrets started to appear in numbers a few years back. But I've not seen a great blue heron until this year. What's changed? What's drawn them here? These stunning blue-grey birds stand four-feet off the ground. Their wingspan is six feet—three inches wider than the average American man is tall. When herons take flight, their long necks remain in the shape of an "S." The ones that live on local golf courses are calm and calming; there is nothing frenetic about their pace. If I walk slowly, they allow me to get close enough to look into their stunning orange eyes. Tiny feathers the color of neon-sun streak past their nostrils, and swipe across the lower part of their beak. They are unlike any other bird I've seen. We are quite sure three herons live on the golf courses we play — perhaps there are more — but the few we know of make-up what's called a heronry or a rookery. No flocks for these flyers. At least one other loves to hang out at Point Lobos State Natural Reserve. I've seen him standing on a kelp bed, like a beacon in the ocean. According to Wikipedia, the great blue heron: "…can adapt to almost any wetland habitat in its range. It may be found in numbers in fresh and saltwater marshes…lake edges, or shore- lines. It is quite adaptable and may be seen in heavily developed areas." Seeing herons on the Pebble Beach shoreline should make perfect sense. But it doesn't. They're new here. My hus- band and I look forward to our heron encounters as much as we do our golf game, but we still ask why? From where have they been driven? Have their native habitats disappeared? Or did they just become bored? Are the fish they crave no longer swimming in abundance? Or did they just adjust their palate to think food with four legs and long tails is tastier? My favorite heron frequents the Dunes Course at Monterey Peninsula Country Club. I call him Henry. He allows me to creep up to him, within mere feet. Some days, I stand behind him as he stares deeply into a rodent's hole, eyeing his prey, not caring about the human being lurking behind him. "You should see how they grab the gophers, voles, whatever, right outta there," says Bob, the golf course marshal and de facto historian. "It's exactly like watching a cat. It's really some- thing." I keep thinking of what I've read, how heron's love fish- bearing water. Not mouse-bearing grass. "Bob, you and I have been around here a long time. Have you ever seen herons here?" He shakes his head. "Not until the last year or two. Can't explain why now." The USDA's Forest Service website shows what it calls a "climate change atlas" for birds. Herons and their habitats are featured, with the estimates placing them in more numbers and in wider swaths of the country in the future. It's the why that's left out. Not even a local government biologist I contact- ed could explain it. I guess we're all stumped. But at least we can enjoy getting to witness these magnificent beauties as part of the great unknown. Dina Eastwood is a former news anchor at KSBW TV, past host of "Candid Camera" and has starred on a reality show on the E! Network. She is a writer, editor and yogini. She resides on the Monterey Peninsula with her daughter, Morgan. BEHIND THE SPOTLIGHT D I N A E A S T W O O D My favorite heron frequents the Dunes Course at Monterey Peninsula Country Club. I call him Henry. Well, Hello Big Guy! 44 C A R M E L M A G A Z I N E • W I N T E R 2 0 2 0

• Cover