It was all I could do to keep from dropping the rope and dashing over, because as soon as I heard the words “giant bird,” I knew: Joan was having a close encounter with a California condor (Gymnogyps californianus). Six young condors had been released at Pinnacles in January, part of the expanding reintroduction program for this highly endangered species; surely, this “giant bird” was one of them. However, I maintained my cool and waited until she anchored herself and set up my belay. Then I dashed.

Sure enough, she was being inspected by not just one but two of the most hideously handsome birds I’d ever seen. They were mere feet away. On their wings were large black patches with prominent white numbers, patagial or wing tags, to which miniature radio transmitters were attached. Our friends were numbers 265 and 266, and they seemed completely unfazed by our presence. Indeed, they—especially 265—seemed fascinated. As were we.

These were adolescents, with naked black heads (adults have orange-pink heads), elegant feathery ruffs around their necks, huge pale blue feet, and watchful brown eyes—not to mention viciously hooked black beaks, perfect for ripping away at carrion. Hunkered there on the rock, they stood almost waist high.

Since they showed no signs of moving, we sidestepped around them. They extended their enormous wings and hopped away a bit, eyeing us watchfully. Whenever we got a ways away, they’d lift into the air and swoop down again onto a nearby rock for another close look.

This went on for a couple of hours as we picked our way through the climb. Eventually a third bird (286) joined the party, though he remained aloof. Once Joan and I settled down for lunch, the three of them picked up and soared into the air. A bunch of crows were circling a little higher up. The contrast in size between crows and condors, with their nine-foot-plus wingspan, was breathtaking.

Pecking Order

A couple of months after this incident, I went for a hike at Pinnacles. Now on the general-information bulletin board is a prominent warning telling climbers to stay at least 100 feet away from any condor that approaches. And this statement was posted on the Friends of Pinnacles web site on March 23: “According to recent information coming from the condor project director, climbers should NOT ‘haze’ (try to scare off) the condors in any way. Climbers are advised: if you are approached, simply ignore the birds until they are done checking you out.”

That got me to wondering about “our birds,” especially 265, who was so boldly curious. Was he in danger of being stripped of his wild status? The National Park Service web site gave me a preliminary answer. In early April, the condor log (www.nps.gov/pinn/condor/release.htm) reported, this bird was recaptured because of his close approaches to climbers on at least five occasions, a behavior he had “shown no tendency towards ceasing. . . . The hope is that by holding him for a while, he will be taken out of the social interactions of the other free-ranging birds and lose his high-ranking status in the overall condor pecking order. When released, he will have to spend more time and work harder to maintain his place in the dominance hierarchy and have less time and/or inclination to approach humans.”

The recapture itself should have helped, too. Sheila Foster, outreach coordinator of the Ventana Wilderness Society (VWS), told me: “Hey, it was a human who caught him and stuck him in this big cage.” That sort of manhandling might go a long way toward teaching him to avoid people. The nonprofit VWS is coordinating the Pinnacles condor program.

A second condor, 278, was recaptured at the same time, I learned, but for very different reasons. That bird, one of the first to be released, was not competing well with the others for food and was taking unacceptable chances with predators. He started off by roosting not in a tree but on the ground. In coyote country, that’s not a good idea, so he was removed to the nearby flight pen. On this second go-round in captivity, he had regained weight and appeared to be thriving.

It turned out that 278 had three damaged shafts in his tail, limiting his ability to maneuver, according to Kelly Sorenson, executive director of the VWS. A little time will help him recover. The fact that he is consorting now with five young females and a young male, all recently arrived at Pinnacles from San Diego Wild Animal Park and Los Angeles Zoo and scheduled for release in October, may also improve his status in the flock, placing him higher on the pecking order, a potential boon at mealtime. Although no plans are yet in place for re-releasing 265 and 278, Sorensen stressed that “They’re intended to be in the wild,” and every effort will be made to see that they fly free again.

The other four free-flying birds, happily, are feeding well, roaming widely, and not approaching people or buildings. One bird, 287—identified from the start as the strongest flyer of the six—is outfitted with a lightweight GPS (global positioning system) transmitter, which allows biologists to track his movements. (The radio transmitters on the other birds are not very reliable in the rugged terrain of the Gabilans.) Since his first short free flight on December 20, 2003, he has expanded his range to encompass almost 300 square miles in and adjacent to Pinnacles.

Condor Socialization

The story of these six birds began in the spring of 2002, when they hatched at San Diego Wild Animal Park’s condor breeding facility. (Other such facilities exist at the Los Angeles Zoo and the World Center for Birds of Prey in Boise, Idaho; a fourth facility will soon open at the Oregon Zoo.) As soon as they emerged from their eggs, after 56 days of incubation, the hatchlings were taken under the wing of an adult mentor condor to learn natural behaviors—eating, cleaning, roosting—in a social context. Some interaction with humans was necessary in the feeding process, though an effort was made to minimize positive human associations through the use of “condor puppets.”

A year later, the juveniles were transferred north to the VWS’s Big Sur Condor Reintroduction Project site. There our birds were introduced to their 12-year-old mentor Hoinewut (a Chumash word; he’s called Hoi—pronounced as two syllables, ho-ee—for short), who would accompany them to Pinnacles. The VWS field notes for that April report: “Condor mentor R63, as always, received the new batch of condors with the ease and discipline of an adult. He quickly established the dominant presence over the flock and has set the pace for the new group.”

“Hoi is the leader, the chief,” explained Sorenson. “He’s a really experienced, wise, and strong bird. If any of the birds get out of line and disrespect his authority, he’ll put them in their place, gently but firmly.” Hoi’s duties go beyond discipline, however. “If anything happens around him—for example if a coyote or a golden eagle comes around the pen—he’s not going to like it at all. And the young birds are going to watch him carefully.” It’s a delicate balance, being a good mentor, and I wondered if Hoi’s excellent job performance was not preventing his release into the wild. “The biologists would like to see that,” said Sorenson. “But it won’t happen in the foreseeable future. There are so few good mentors, and right now that’s clearly his job.”

As bonding continued, the birds had opportunities to observe and interact with seasoned, free-flying condors—former residents of the Big Sur condor facility who often stop by for a visit when they are in the area. (They are allowed free access into and out of the flight cage.)

Transfer to the Pinnacles release facility occurred in early September 2003. The biologists, said former VWS field coordinator Joe Burnett, were “in complete awe” as they released the birds into their new enclosure one by one.

ANNE CANRIGHT often goes rock climbing in Pinnacles.

The full text of this abridged article appears in the print edition of Coast & Ocean.

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