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Laidlaw Williams live between Fern and Wildcat canyons overlooking 
Point Lobos; their hillside is covered with Monterey pines, live oaks, 
toyon, blue ceanothus and manzanita. To the feeding shelf came a hand- 
seme pair of banded Oregon juncos and their fledgling, a pair of spotted 
towhees, and two splendid Steller’s jays that had built in one of the pines 
over-shadowing the house. Chestnut-backed chickadees had seven egg’s in 
a bird box; band-tailed pigeons and Allen’s and rufous hummingbirds 
visited the fine madrone at the edge of the patio. Here at sea-level and 
at the same latitude as the northern boundary of North Carolina and 
Arkansas it is Transition Zone, thanks to the summer fogs that give the 
coast a cool climate the year around. 
Point Lobos is a wonderful place of rocks and ocean and the only re- 
maining native grove of Monterey cypress; its 336 acres have been made 
into a state park which the authorities are valiantly trying to keep un- 
disturbed despite ever-increasing hordes of visitors. In the Mon'terey pines 
we saw western fly-catchers, California purple finches, Audubon’s warblers 
and pygmy nuthatches; in a clump of hanging “moss” (really the lichen 
Ramalina) was a sleepy hoary bat. On the coast were the ancient, 
twisted cypresses, bright wild flowers, great waves and strange beasts on 
the outlying rocks — California sea lions that barked and Steller’s sea 
lions that growled — and in the tide pools purple sea urchins, busy hermit 
crabs, sea anemones, star fish and abalones. 
At Pacific Grove were many sea birds, most of them new to me. Mr. 
Williams took cut his telescope and we watched eared grebes, black oyster- 
catchers, black turnstones and surf birds, and I was shown the differences 
between the three cormorants — Brandt’s, Baird’s and Farallon. One day 
we drove south along the coast, seeing’ Pacific loons, pigeon guillemots, and 
most exciting of all, several of the exceedingly rare sea otters — great 
creatures contentedly floating on their backs among the kelp. 
Of all the sights on the Seventeen-Mile drive that at Bird Rock was the 
climax. On the mainland was a dazzling carpet of wild flowers, on the 
ocean were fat harbor seals, Steller’s sea lions and surf scoters, while on 
the Rock were placid brown pelicans and the busiest population of Brandt’s 
cormorants; they brought up gobs of sea weed from the ocean, they puffed 
out their blue gular pouches, they vibrated their wings and tails in the 
astonishing display by which the males advertised the possession of a 
nest site. 
At the mouth of the Carmel river we visited Mr. Williams’ colony of 
Brewer’s blackbirds which he has trapped and color-banded for six years. 
They nest in the end tufts of the Monterey pines and show marked faithful- 
ness to mates and precise locality. The naturalists are trying to get this 
marshland as a nature reservation, partly ‘to relieve visitor pressure on 
Point Lobos, partly because most marshlands in the region have been or 
are being destroyed. As elsewhere in California, the Monterey peninsula 
is being “developed.” The unique pines are cut down, the exquisite man- 
zanita and other undergrowth rooted out, the ground bulldozed flat, then 
alluvial soil brought in and exotics planted. Two of these — genista and 
