For years, I had dreamt of visiting the Farallon Islands, a series of sharp rocky spires only 25 miles off the San Francisco coast. Mysterious and fascinating, they are often hidden by a dense curtain of fog.
But our arrival, organized by research biologists, was met with fierce hostility.
The first assault was olfactory, produced by the pungent poop of thousands of nesting Western gulls that waft through the air, before we had climbed off the boat onto the island’s rocky cliffs.
Next came the sound. Protective parents, the gulls screamed in shrill fury, as we threaded through a route past their nests. Then they dive bombed, forcing us to duck and shield our heads with our hands.
This experience – smelly, loud and exuberant – is what environmental success looks like. Once imperiled, the Farallon Islands are now a raucous wildlife haven and a natural laboratory.
A century ago, bird populations had plummeted after egg collecting in the wake of the California Gold Rush, when there weren’t enough chickens to provide eggs for the burgeoning San Francisco populace.
Over the years, the birds, as well as sea lions, elephant seals and other marine mammals, were also threatened by oil spills, the depletion of Pacific sardine stocks and other stressors.
Keepers of the islands’ U.S. Coast Guard lighthouse kept domestic animals – dogs, cats, donkeys and rabbits – that destroyed habitat and preyed on wildlife. Passing ships pumped their bilges of dirty water before entering San Francisco Bay. Nuclear wastes that were dumped at sea near the islands repose there even now in drums on the ocean floor.
A major step in the reversal of this trend was taken in 1969, when the islands were made a national wildlife refuge. In 1974, its lighthouse was automated, and the Coast Guard staff departed. For the first time in 400 years, the islands were free from human exploitation.
Under protection, wildlife populations are rebounding. The Farallon Islands are now home to the largest U.S. colony of nesting seabirds outside Alaska. Five species of marine mammals breed or haul out here, and great white sharks visit regularly to feed on many of them.
To maintain this success, visitation is strictly limited. The islands are uninhabited, with the exception of Southeast Farallon Island, where a handful of researchers with Point Blue Conservation Science have a field station. Permits to go ashore are rarely granted.
The best way to view the islands is by boat, joining a whale-watching company on eight-hour expeditions that leave East Bay and San Francisco harbors.
We were invited to come ashore by Point Blue Conservation Science, the nonprofit organization that in partnership with the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service has been monitoring and conducting research on the islands’ seabirds. For 56 years, Point Blue scientists have braved wind, fog and isolation to build a rich wildlife database.
But due to federal budget cutbacks, Point Blue biologists will no longer be monitoring the islands all year. As soon as September, they’ll be leaving their posts for the first time in nearly six decades. They wanted journalists to see the value of their work.
The journey out felt stomach-churning. Our day was beautiful and brightly scrubbed by the wind. But the going felt agonizingly slow, as the boat lurched into the wind and fierce swells pounded into every wave head on and sent bone-chilling spray gusting over the cabin.
Spring weather near the Farallones is deceptive. While the mainland begins to wake up from the dormant stage of winter, the temperature on the islands becomes cooler, according to the islands’ scientists. That’s because the trademark northwesterly winds of spring create rich upwelling zones within the California Current that rips through the lonesome rocks, sometimes reaching gusts up to 40 knots.
Finally, on the horizon, the Farallones emerged. Named for the Spanish farallón, meaning a rocky pillar jutting from the sea, the islands were called ”the devil’s teeth” by sailors in the 1850s for their ragged profile and treacherous shores, the cause of many a shipwreck. The four small islands rise starkly from the sea: South Farallones, two islands divided by a narrow channel; Middle Farallon, a solitary rock three miles south; and North Farallones, four miles north. Southeast Farallon is the only island in the group inhabited by humans.
There’s no dock, because conditions on Southeast Farallon’s rocky shore are too hazardous. So access is challenging. We boarded an inflatable Zodiac boat, which was hoisted into the air by a crane and placed on the island.
On shore, the first step was to clean and sanitize our shoes using buckets, brushes and bleach, so we didn’t accidentally introduce a new invasive species to the islands. A young Nazca booby, a rare vagrant bird found far from its Central and South American habitat, perched on a nearby rock and eyed us suspiciously.
We gathered in an old Victorian house – built in the late 1870s and inhabited solely by biologists, computers, file cabinets and mice – to learn more about how scientists are studying the ecosystems of the Farallones and surrounding areas, developing monitoring programs to track trends and emerging issues and identifying management solutions.
“Farallon Patrol” pennants decorated the walls, as well as a giant mural of the rare Farallon Arboreal Salamander. Its ancestors arrived when the Farallones were connected to Point Reyes thousands of years ago. The creature has a unique ability and propensity among salamanders to climb trees – but on the Farallons, where trees are in short supply, it loves crevices and burrows.
A blackboard featured a dauntingly long “to do” list: “Fix ceiling in laundry room.” “Collect water supplies.” “Switch out fire extinguishers.” “Review Seabird Report draft.” “Fix Leak on stanchion.” “Boat maintenance.”
After lunch, we hiked up rock cliffs, surrounded by a buzz of activity. A coronet of gulls circled overhead. Guillemots dived from the rocks, and cormorants flew in long black lines offshore.
The Pacific Ocean stretched westward 2,000 miles to Hawaii. On Southeast Farallon’s west end – the “weather side” – big swells thundered against the cliffs and rolling, great booming breakers raced up surge channels choked with logs.
In a cove, a cluster of tawny California sea lions glided through aquamarine water that roiled with their antics.
We peered through a hidden bird blind at common murres, striking birds that are the ecological counterparts of Antarctic penguins. Similar to penguins, murres appear to be wearing tuxedos, with a coat of black feathers on their head, back and wings and a pale white belly and underwings. Clustered together, they preened and caressed. On bare rocks, pairs incubated one beautiful egg, shaped to roll in a circle so it won’t fall off a rocky ledge.
As we walked, we took care not to step on the auklet burrows that riddled the ground. A biologist fished an incubating auklet chick from its burrow. As fuzzy as a plush toy, it stared up at us, unflinchingly, with an opalescent eye.
More than 400 species of birds have been recorded there – a stunning number for a refuge that measures only 211 acres in size. That’s largely because the Farallones get so many “vagrant” bird species — more than any other wildlife sanctuary in the U.S. When birds migrating over land encounter bad weather conditions, like headwinds or rain, they can stop traveling and rest. But songbirds flying over open ocean don’t have that option. So a wide variety of species – such as warblers, flycatchers, and buntings – make their way to the Farallones to recuperate, often confused and exhausted.
Soon, reluctantly, it was time to sail home.
As recently as 10,000 years ago, we could have hiked back. At the end of the last ice age, the coastline of the San Francisco Bay region was 35 miles seaward beyond its present position. That’s because great sheets of ice stored water — so sea level was about 300 feet lower than at present. The melting of the ice sheets caused sea level to rise, forming the Gulf of the Farallones and San Francisco Bay. Once-coastal hills are now the Farallon Islands.
The return trip was surprisingly serene, as the boat rolled and yawed pleasantly in quartering seas. We passed under the span of the Golden Gate Bridge and through its steely shadow, then glided into a slip at a Berkeley harbor and fastened the lines.
Giddy from the experience, I climbed off the boat, ears still ringing from the islands’ madhouse cacophony and muscles rocking from the ocean waves. But my heart was filled with gratitude for those who saved this special place, and I prayed for continued support.
The Oceanic Society offers whale-watching expeditions to the Farallon Islands each year from April through mid-December. Led by a wildlife guide, the experience includes sightings of sea lions, sea birds and whales — more than 30 per trip last season — near these islands, which are 27 miles from the Golden Gate. Trips ($299) aboard the 60-foot Salty Lady depart at 8:30 a.m. on weekends from the San Francisco Marina Yacht Harbor, 3950 Scott St. in San Francisco. Find details at www.oceanicsociety.org/.
