The streets where I live are named for California birds: Heron, Gull, Swan, Osprey, Loon.  When I tell people my address, some ask if  I ever see real pelicans on their namesake loop.  Indeed I do. From early summer into fall,  Brown Pelicans glide over our neighborhood almost every day.

Of the earth’s eight species of pelicans,  two—larger, stockier Whites and smaller, sleeker Browns—reside in North America.  The snowy, orange-beaked, highly social Whites nest mainly in large colonies on inland lakes and rivers, but some visit Bodega Harbor during migration and winter periods. They often hunt cooperatively, encircling their prey and gulping small fish into their mouths.

Brown Pelicans come in larger numbers for longer times. True seabirds, they soar above the Pacific from Mexico to Canada on wings that can extend to seven feet across. Dapper in gray/brown feathers with yellowish heads and white throats, they flash deep red patches in breeding season. Preening on offshore rocks, the formidable birds look vaguely prehistoric—with good reason. Their ancestors may date back 30 to 40 million years.

Often squadrons—also called pods, scoops, and briefs—of Brown Pelicans fly in precise military V-formations, like World War II  bombers on a mission. Then, in a split second, one of them will spin into a breath-taking, razzle-dazzling maneuver that fighter pilots might envy.

From sixty feet on high, a feathered aviator, keen eyes zeroing on fish below the waves, nose-dives  into the sea.   Its mighty U-shaped lower jaw opens to engulf small fish, along with several gallons of water, in a stretchy pouch called a “gular sac.”

To drain the catch, the pelican slowly lifts its head with jaws slightly parted so excess water flows out the sides of its bill. Then, with a quick toss, the bird downs its dinner. This uncanny skill inspired a famous limerick–“A wonderful bird is the Pelican / His bill will hold more than his belican”—and prompted the author to ponder “how the helican.”

After thriving for millions of years,  Brown Pelicans nesting on Southern California islands were pushed to the brink of extinction in the 1950s and 1960s.  DDT, effluents from a DDT manufacturing plant, and other toxins seeped into the sea—and into the fish that pelicans ate.  The chemicals altered the way the birds metabolized calcium. The shells of their eggs, which pelican parents protect under the skin of their webbed feet, became too fragile to withstand the weight.

After DDT was widely banned, Brown Pelicans rebounded and were removed from the endangered species list in 2009. But they’ve since faced new threats. When the warm-water Blob killed millions of ocean fish from 2014 to 2016, Brown Pelicans also declined.  In 2022 and again this Spring, distressed pelicans—dazed, cold, emaciated, essentially starving to death—were stranded on shore in central and Southern California.

International Bird Rescue has reported treating 388 ailing pelicans and returning 141 rehabilitated birds to the ocean. (Click here to learn more or contribute to rescue efforts.) Baffled marine biologists have ruled out avian flu or a shortage of forage fish. Strong storms in early Spring, some speculate, may have impaired the pelicans’ success in detecting and devouring prey.

These days I savor every sighting of my high-flying, speed-diving neighbors as they surf the wind and race toward the sun.  The sky, the sea, and the souls of all who watch and wonder would be far emptier without them.

Photo credits: Juvenile Brown Pelican over Bodega Head, Frank Schulenburg, Wikimedia Commons; diving Brown Pelican, Ingrid Taylor ,Creative Common

Dianne Hales, a New York Times best-selling author, serves as a docent and research volunteer at the University of California, Davis Bodega Marine Laboratory and Reserve; a tide pool guide for the Stewards of the Coast and Redwoods; and a monitor for the Seabird Protection Network.

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