As more and more of us disperse through wild and open spaces to enjoy them in more and more ways, what about the creatures that live there? The many birds and animals along our shores, in our wetlands, and near trails cannot help but be affected. Can we avoid pushing out other species as ever more of us jog, hike, ride bicycles and off-road vehicles, fly kites, kayak, hunt, fish, and stalk birds with binoculars and cameras?

How can we protect endangered birds that know no better than to nest on popular beaches? How can we coexist with giant sea mammals that are reclaiming ancient breeding grounds along the water’s edge? Are there ways to protect intertidal life from being trampled even as we encourage ever larger numbers of school children on field trips to appreciate tide pools?

Virtually no scientific data exist to address these problems in a general way. Indeed, solutions to these questions—where solutions have been found—are overwhelmingly site-specific. This much can be said, however, based on experience thus far along the California coast: three kinds of approaches have proved useful, separately or in combination. These are: person-to-person outreach at the scene of a problem; public access and use restrictions, firmly enforced; and wildlife-friendly public accessway design. That said, it is important to reiterate: there is no one-size-fits-all answer. It all depends. . . .

Consider snowy plovers. You’ve probably heard about these doughty little birds, accorded threatened status in 1993 under the federal Endangered Species Act. For well or ill, snowy plovers are genetically programmed to make their nests high on sandy beaches, where they can spot approaching predators (both bird and mammal) from afar and where they find shelter and foraging habitat in backshore wrack. Of an estimated total population of 4,500 western snowy plovers, some 70 to 80 percent nest along eight stretches of coastal and insular California, including San Francisco’s Ocean Beach, Monterey Bay, Morro Bay, and the Oxnard lowlands—all heavily used by humans.

The mere presence of humans is not necessarily a problem. Say a lone walker ventures to the shore, sticking close to the water, proceeding slowly and calmly, well away from nests (many of which these days are surrounded by protective wire-mesh fencing, or “exclosures”) high up on the sand. Most likely that sole human will have no impact on the nesting plovers.

But add a single off-leash dog to the equation, and you’ve got trouble. Or turn that walker into a jogger looking for a little extra work up on the soft sand; or into a larger group of walkers who, curious about the wire cages, ignore signs requesting that they keep their distance. Or put that person on a horse that approaches the beach from inland dunes—never mind on a roaring dune buggy. Or even have that lone beachgoer innocently fly a kite—a kite that looks all too uncomfortably like a hawk to the tiny bird, causing it to flee its nest.

Then, multiply that lone walker, or the jogger, or the dog, or the kite flyer, by tens, hundreds, even thousands, and you can see why snowy plovers are having a hard time.

So the problem is, in large part, one of human behavior, human demands, human expectations. Many beach users don’t even know the plovers are there. Yet that doesn’t matter. Once we’ve intruded into their territory, since they are an officially threatened species, measures are required to protect them: measures that range from the drastic—outright closure of beaches—to more friendly ones—the posting of informative (or at least politely requesting) signs and the deployment of friendly volunteers who talk to people about plovers and their needs.

No one has found a way to persuade plovers to nest in safer places. But humans, at least, can learn and adapt. At Half Moon Bay, a local action group, Plover Watch, walks the beach beat, on the lookout for people—and canines—straying too close to plover nests. Volunteer Bill Lauenroth notes that when Plover Watch started six years ago, many dog owners became enraged, even abusive, at the idea of leashing their pets. “We had to learn how to interact with them,” he said. “The friendly approach is the best. We carry dog biscuits for the pooches, tell people their dogs are the cutest we’ve ever seen, then slip in the information about the plovers. Most respond pretty positively.” The 10 percent or so who don’t, get to have a little chat with a state park ranger and are issued a $50–75 citation.

“The reason we have to be so rigorous in protecting these remaining [bird] populations is habitat loss,” says Brian Collins, wildlife biologist with the San Diego National Wildlife Refuges. “Often this [an urban beach] is the last bit of land they can make it on.”

Elephant Seals Claim Beaches

There are times, however, when we humans have little choice but to step aside and give animals their space. Take northern elephant seals, as one rather humongous example. Hunted nearly to extinction in the 1800s, they have made a spectacular recovery and have proceeded to reclaim their territory. In the early 1970s they began breeding on Año Nuevo Island in San Mateo County, and within a few years had spread to the mainland. The Año Nuevo colony has since then grown to over 7,000 individuals, and the site has been designated a State Research Reserve. Each year, tens of thousands of people visit on docent-led tours that keep humans at a safe distance. Reservations are required.

Quite different is the situation with an elephant seal colony farther south. In San Luis Obispo County near San Simeon, where these ocean giants have taken over two sites on Hearst Corporation property, crowd control is far more difficult than at Año Nuevo.

Highway One runs close to the shore here, and seals loll about within plain sight, even on the shoulder of the highway. Not surprisingly, they are an irresistible attraction. Drivers (many en route to Hearst Castle) pull over, and people “wander onto the beach and walk casually between groups of these massive animals,” says Milos Radakovich, director of Bay Net, an organization of volunteer interpreters sponsored by the Centers for Marine Education. “Some even bring a chair, cooler, radio, and a favorite book, setting up a human island in a sea of seals. A few have even been observed placing their toddlers on top of sleeping bulls, for that ‘Kodak moment,’ ” or they’ve “poked and kicked sleeping animals, just to put a little action in their photos, agitating them and, at times, causing moms and pups to become separated.” As Carol Teraoka, an enforcement officer for the Monterey Bay National Marine Sanctuary, comments, “people liken it to what they’ve seen at Sea World and other arenas; they forget that they’re wild animals.”

Solutions to these problems are in a way similar to those implemented for the plover—but different. Since elephant seals are relatively immune to the presence of humans (their future doesn’t depend on being invisible, after all), we can get close to them. But if people come so close as to cause a change in the animals’ behavior, they endanger themselves and may do harm to the seals. An adult seal might respond by lumbering right over a pup, crushing it; a pup could be separated from its mother; a pregnant female or new mother might be frightened and fail to return the next year.

To safeguard against “up-close and personal” contact, docent programs are in place at accessible spots where elephant seals are to be found: Point Reyes National Seashore, Año Nuevo State Research Reserve, and Piedras Blancas. At well-situated viewing spots on bluffs above seal rookeries, volunteers offer views through spotting scopes, provide information about the animals, and dispense tips for safe viewing.

Friends of the Elephant Seal (FES), formed in November 1997 and based in San Simeon, has been at the forefront of volunteerism in this regard. Virtually every day, year-round, 100 docents go out on three-hour shifts from about 10 in the morning until dusk, rain or shine, to talk to visitors from all over the world. “Last year,” says executive director Susan McDonald, “we talked to about 75,000 people just at the Piedras Blancas site.” And people are very responsive, she says. “We’ve had some run-ins with drunks and people with attitudes, but 99 percent of the people, if we ask them not to get so close, say, ‘Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t know.’ And the people then educate other people: we see them on the bluffs explaining to strangers why we need to keep our distance.”

The problem isn’t going to go away, McDonald says; it will only grow. “As rookeries get more crowded, they’re going to be spreading out. The question is: How can we allow the public to enjoy this incredible phenomenon but also respect the animals? Can we coexist?”

Too Many Small Feet?

Even when people have the best intentions, if there are too many of us, not just individual creatures but entire habitats may be harmed.

Every week, busloads of school children arrive at the James V. Fitzgerald Marine Reserve in San Mateo County ready to learn about and appreciate life in the intertidal zone. Yet how many is too many for the delicate ecosystem of the rocky reef? A long-term study of the impact of this wear and tear is under way. In April 1994 three 100-square-meter plots were roped off to allow recovery, and have subsequently been compared with control plots where access is still permitted.

Bob Breen, a naturalist at the reserve since its inception in 1969, says that species diversity in the roped-off areas is significantly higher: seaweeds, mosses, and algae are about twice as abundant as in the trampled areas. Not a big surprise. However, recovery has not occurred across the board: “the best recovery has been in sea anemones and black turban snails—species that were numerous anyway.” Some of the more rare forms of animal life, such as kelp crabs, ribbon worms, and sea slugs, are proving slow to regenerate. And both areas continue to change, “negatively in areas affected by humans, positively in the study areas. There’s a significant difference in the number of species present, of both plants and animals. We thought it would take six to 12 months for these things to grow back,” Breen says, but the first real differences weren’t seen until a good two years into the study.

Now, after almost seven years, the slow recovery has led reserve naturalists to conclude that closure of larger areas will be the best solution. Breen would like to see half of the reef closed off for a minimum of ten years, with subsequent rotating closures. Because this is a state reserve, however, such a step would require legislation that may run into public opposition. “We’ve had complaints just about the three small areas that have been closed off,” says Breen. “At present, all we can do is tell people they can’t remove anything.”

Even the taking of souvenirs can be difficult to monitor. In December 2000, a first-of-its-kind enforcement program to protect tide pools from poachers and casual visitors went into effect at Dana Point Marine Life Refuge in Orange County. Taking marine life now incurs fines of up to $1,000 and up to a year in jail—be it abalone, mussels, or just a shell that is taken.

The Ocean Institute, a local marine research facility, is in charge of training the county sheriff’s deputies who enforce this program. “We have to start looking at the bigger picture,” says Jon Lewengrub, marine life manager at the Institute. “If people take the shells and animals out of the tide pools, we not only lose the tidewater organisms, we lose the bigger life forms that feed on them. What’s at stake here is the future of the coast.”

A partial remedy does exist, however—one we’ve seen applied in the case of the snowy plover and the elephant seal: on-the-spot education. In Monterey, Bay Net is working to inform school groups, folks on bus tours, and casual visitors about appropriate behavior.

“Part of our training is how to approach people who are doing something inappropriate but not necessarily malicious,” says Milos Radakovich. “The key is to approach them with a smile and a ‘hi’ and say, ‘You probably don’t know, but . . .’ It’s human interaction at a time and place where people are primed to absorb the information, when they’re out there in the habitat itself. We call that ‘actual reality.’” Bay Net volunteers hand out cards that inform visitors about intertidal life and list five reasons not to feed wildlife. Several signs have been placed in the area as well, in English, Spanish, and Vietnamese, suggesting proper rocky shore etiquette.

Many Simply Don’t Know

Mike Wolder of the Sacramento National Wildlife Refuge Complex drives home the point that each recreational activity is an additive phenomenon: wildlife viewing, hunting, a walking trail—each on its own may have a minimal impact, but when you put those activities together in a small area, problems are compounded.

At the same time, says Brady Phillips of the Monterey Bay National Marine Sanctuary, “it’s important for people to have opportunities to view wildlife in their habitats.” Wildlife biologist Bob Garrison, who recently left the California Department of Fish and Game (DFG) to become an independent consultant in biological assessment and program and site development, agrees: “If you try to shut the lands down, in the long run you won’t get the constituency that wants to protect the wildlife. It’s important to nurture a respect and care for the wilderness, and an understanding of why we as a species need to protect other species.”

“Most of the public,” says Brian Collins, “once they understand what the game is, are either completely on our side or at least compliant.”

For example, it’s not intuitively obvious that it might be bad for birds to fly. They have wings, after all! At certain times of the year, however, especially during winter migration, they need to rest, first and foremost, and feed; after a several-thousand-mile journey, any unnecessary flight can be their undoing. Flushing birds to make them fly for a photographic opportunity or simply for the pleasure of seeing hundreds, even thousands, of birds in flight can cause birds to become separated from their family groups, send them into hunting areas, or put them at risk of predation.

On Alcatraz Island in San Francisco Bay, for example, numerous seabirds nest along the Agave Trail—western gulls predominantly, but also brants, pelagic cormorants, black-crowned night herons, black oystercatchers, and pigeon guillemots. Alan Hopkins, president of the Golden Gate Audubon Society, points out that “if people disturb the western gulls, they all go up at once and disturb all the other birds, and when the birds leave their nests, that opens the nests up to predation—by the gulls.”

It’s similar for our friends the snowy plovers: if flushed from their nests, they may abandon their eggs, judging the riskiness of the site as too high, or the short-term absence from the nest may render the young vulnerable to cold air or predation by crows. When wildlife viewers are confronted with such facts, they often find ways to tread more lightly on the land, a bit farther from the objects of their affection.

Design Solutions

Along with public education and enforcement, thoughtful design can mitigate, if not resolve, access-wildlife conflicts. At the Sacramento Wildlife Refuge, a new system was instituted last year for public viewing of the vast numbers of wintering waterfowl. Denise Dachner, outdoor recreation planner at the refuge, says that in the 13 years she has been there, visitation has doubled, “and that means more pressure, more disturbance on wildlife. In the past, we allowed people to get out of their cars wherever they wanted, but more and more people were getting out and walking, exercising dogs, even throwing rocks in the water and at the birds.”

In response, refuge managers improved the auto tour: they regraded the dirt roadway, created 24 turnouts, and established two “park and stretch” stops with viewing platforms and restrooms. Cartoonlike signs have been erected all along the road asking people to stay in their cars except at the park-and-stretch areas, and an FM-radio audio tour created by a local Eagle Scout presents facts about the refuge. Viewing lanes have been mowed along the road, and bird islands have been built far enough away from the road for the birds to feel safe.

Public response has been mixed, says Dachner. About half the visitors, especially new ones, have been respecting the signs. “But change is tough. It’s hard to explain when people who have been coming for years ask, ‘How can you do that when half a mile away you have hunting?’ And some people feel very put upon if you even say anything about getting back in their vehicles. We’re trying to do it softly; when the opportunity is there for education, we do that.”

Ultimately, Dachner says, “I’d like this place to be a Galápagos II. The Galápagos is the only place in the world where you’re part of the ecosystem. You stay on the trails, in designated areas, and the wildlife stays in its designated areas. As a result, you can walk down a path that’s 10 feet away from a nest—because they’ve learned. They know you’re not going to be walking off the trail, and that they’re safe.”

Many people who come to parks and beaches, however, have little interest in wildlife. They’re there to have fun. But mountain bikers, equestrians, and large groups of lug-soled hikers need not be disruptive of wildlife. The key is good trail location and design—and human adaptation, where necessary. Bicyclists, for instance, “are going from point A to point B on formalized trails,” explains Steve Fiala, trails specialist for the East Bay Regional Park District. “That makes them pretty undisruptive, assuming the trails are well situated.”

Also, Fiala says, “many of the species we see are adaptive and can become comfortable with public presence. Clapper rail populations in some of our shoreline areas have increased even in the presence of trails.” Garrison makes a similar point about the Upper Newport Bay Ecological Reserve in Newport Beach, which is “totally surrounded by people. There’s a driving loop and walking trails, and you can get very, very close. There’s such limited habitat that the animals and birds have managed to adapt.”

More and more, resource managers will have to perform a balancing act, compromising here, drawing the line there. For years to come, many decisions will necessarily be seat-of-the-pants, based on experience and best guesses, as well as on agency mandates. Can we coexist? Well . . . it depends. Though I will say, the signs are encouraging.

Anne Canright is a contributing editor of California Coast & Ocean.

The full text of this article is in the Winter issue of Coast & Ocean magazine. To subscribe to Coast & Ocean, click here. Subscribe

Click here for an example of access to wildlife at La Jolla’s Children’s Cove beach.