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California's longest-tenured wildlife department chief steps down after 15 years

News Feed
Tuesday, December 30, 2025

Charlton “Chuck” Bonham will be stepping down as director of the California Department of Fish and Wildlife at the end of the month, after contending with a slew of contentious issues during his long tenure, including the resurgence of wolves and plummeting salmon populations.Starting Jan. 26, Bonham will become the California executive director of the Nature Conservancy, one of the country’s major environmental nonprofits.“After 15 years, I just felt like I gave all I could to public service, and it was just the time for change,” Bonham said at a California Fish and Game Commission meeting this month.Initially appointed by former Gov. Jerry Brown in 2011, Bonham is the longest-serving director of the agency, which has an annual budget of roughly $1 billion and more than 3,000 employees. It’s wasn’t an easy job, Bonham said. Being the state’s top wildlife manager entails balancing the conservation of animals with the needs of people, including public safety and economic pursuits. A decision that delights animal welfare advocates can anger industry stakeholders (and vice versa).Take wolves. The same year Bonham took the reins of the agency, the first gray wolf the state had hosted in nearly a century wandered in from Oregon. Wolves have since recolonized the state — a development hailed by conservationists as an ecological win but derided by many ranchers whose cattle are slaughtered by the skilled pack hunters.Recently, the California Department of Fish and Wildlife made what Bonham described as a “gut-wrenching decision” to euthanize several members of a wolf pack in the Sierra Valley that was responsible for an unprecedented number of livestock attacks.“I feel like it’s affected my health. It’s been miserable, but it is the balance of the two things that are happening,” Bonham said at the recent commission meeting. There’s the “beautiful recovery” and “what our rural communities are going through.”Then there’s salmon. Bonham’s colleagues have publicly praised him for overseeing the removal of four dams along the Klamath River, leading to a salmon renaissance in their historic habitat. While many see that as a major win, it doesn’t represent the bigger, bleaker picture for salmon in the state. The native fish have suffered steep declines amid drought and human development. With the population so low, commercial salmon fishing has been closed for the last three years — earning Bonham scathing criticism. In an interview, Bonham acknowledged the challenges — particularly those that affect people’s livelihoods — have worn him down. The department is involved with water management, housing development and the energy transition. Compounding the difficulty in addressing such complex matters is what Bonham described as waning civility in public discourse. “I don’t think any individual moment or issue or day for me ever became a tipping point, but I will say cumulative impacts, or effects, is real.”At the recent Fish and Game Commission meeting, Samantha Murray, commission vice president, described him as having a “steady, calm, like, sedate presence,” and hailed his long institutional knowledge. “All we see is the even-keeled leadership in the face of an ever-growing suite of novel challenges related to climate, drought, wildfires, human-wildlife conflicts,” she said.Gov. Gavin Newsom praised Bonham in a statement, saying he led the department with “heart and conviction” and calling him “a champion for California’s natural heritage.” But to others, Bonham represents an ill-advised turn for the department that critics say has been hijacked by left-leaning values and has become out-of-touch with the state’s hunters and fishers. Some suggest the way the agency presents itself is evidence of this shift: In 2013, the department assumed its current name. Prior to that, it was called the California Department of Fish and Game. “During his time as the director Californians have lost the ability to fish and hunt for countless species of fish and game due to mismanagement,” Mike Rasmussen, a Northern California fishing guide, wrote in an Instagram post about his departure. “Bye Felicia!” he added.Bonham described his transition to a nonprofit as “coming back home.”The outgoing director grew up in Atlanta and attended the University of Georgia as an undergrad.After graduation, he volunteered with the Peace Corps, landing in West Africa’s Senegal.After that, “I wanted to go back to a space that really mattered to me as a person, which is the outdoors,” he said.For several years, he worked as an outdoor guide, primarily leading whitewater rafting trips at the Nantahala Outdoor Center in North Carolina.But he believed there was more he could do to take care of the wild places he cherished. So he enrolled at Louis & Clark Law School in Portland, Ore., where he studied public interest law with a focus on the environment.He also interned for Trout Unlimited, a nonprofit that aims to protect rivers and streams, which turned out to be his conduit to California.The nonprofit asked him to handle their legal work in California, which he calls “the greatest place.”It was in that position, in the early aughts, that Bonham first became immersed in the fierce disagreement over what to do with scarce water in the Klamath Basin — irrigate farms or protect salmon. Native Americans clashed with farmers. It was “described as a choice between people and the environment. Fish or farms,” he said. “And it was dramatic.”That experience was tapped for the next stage in his career, when Bonham became director of the state wildlife department. He transitioned into a key negotiator with stakeholders including tribes and the federal government, leading to the takedown of four hydroelectric dams. Once Bonham departs, Valerie Termini, the department’s chief deputy director, will take the reins on an interim basis. It will be up to Newsom — or whoever succeeds him once his term ends next year — to appoint a permanent replacement. Brendan Cummings, conservation director for the Center for Biological Diversity, said that while he often disagreed with Bonham’s decisions, he ultimately thinks the state’s wildlife is in a better place than had someone else been at the helm. With threats like climate change looming, “whoever succeeds Chuck will play an essential role in whether California is able to protect our natural heritage in the very, very difficult decades ahead,” he said. The Nature Conservancy, a more than 70-year-old nonprofit, focuses on ocean and land stewardship, as well as shaping state and federal policy — and coming up with “creative solutions,” Bonham said.It’s similar to what he’s been doing, but he believes that in the private sphere, “I can do it often a little bit more nimbly and entrepreneurially, and I’m looking forward to that.”

Charlton "Chuck" Bonham is leaving the top post at the California Department of Fish and Wildlife at the end of the month to join the Nature Conservancy. He departs as the state contends with mounting human-wildlife conflict and disputes over water policy.

Charlton “Chuck” Bonham will be stepping down as director of the California Department of Fish and Wildlife at the end of the month, after contending with a slew of contentious issues during his long tenure, including the resurgence of wolves and plummeting salmon populations.

Starting Jan. 26, Bonham will become the California executive director of the Nature Conservancy, one of the country’s major environmental nonprofits.

“After 15 years, I just felt like I gave all I could to public service, and it was just the time for change,” Bonham said at a California Fish and Game Commission meeting this month.

Initially appointed by former Gov. Jerry Brown in 2011, Bonham is the longest-serving director of the agency, which has an annual budget of roughly $1 billion and more than 3,000 employees.

It’s wasn’t an easy job, Bonham said. Being the state’s top wildlife manager entails balancing the conservation of animals with the needs of people, including public safety and economic pursuits. A decision that delights animal welfare advocates can anger industry stakeholders (and vice versa).

Take wolves. The same year Bonham took the reins of the agency, the first gray wolf the state had hosted in nearly a century wandered in from Oregon. Wolves have since recolonized the state — a development hailed by conservationists as an ecological win but derided by many ranchers whose cattle are slaughtered by the skilled pack hunters.

Recently, the California Department of Fish and Wildlife made what Bonham described as a “gut-wrenching decision” to euthanize several members of a wolf pack in the Sierra Valley that was responsible for an unprecedented number of livestock attacks.

“I feel like it’s affected my health. It’s been miserable, but it is the balance of the two things that are happening,” Bonham said at the recent commission meeting. There’s the “beautiful recovery” and “what our rural communities are going through.”

Then there’s salmon. Bonham’s colleagues have publicly praised him for overseeing the removal of four dams along the Klamath River, leading to a salmon renaissance in their historic habitat. While many see that as a major win, it doesn’t represent the bigger, bleaker picture for salmon in the state. The native fish have suffered steep declines amid drought and human development. With the population so low, commercial salmon fishing has been closed for the last three years — earning Bonham scathing criticism.

In an interview, Bonham acknowledged the challenges — particularly those that affect people’s livelihoods — have worn him down. The department is involved with water management, housing development and the energy transition. Compounding the difficulty in addressing such complex matters is what Bonham described as waning civility in public discourse.

“I don’t think any individual moment or issue or day for me ever became a tipping point, but I will say cumulative impacts, or effects, is real.”

At the recent Fish and Game Commission meeting, Samantha Murray, commission vice president, described him as having a “steady, calm, like, sedate presence,” and hailed his long institutional knowledge.

“All we see is the even-keeled leadership in the face of an ever-growing suite of novel challenges related to climate, drought, wildfires, human-wildlife conflicts,” she said.

Gov. Gavin Newsom praised Bonham in a statement, saying he led the department with “heart and conviction” and calling him “a champion for California’s natural heritage.”

But to others, Bonham represents an ill-advised turn for the department that critics say has been hijacked by left-leaning values and has become out-of-touch with the state’s hunters and fishers. Some suggest the way the agency presents itself is evidence of this shift: In 2013, the department assumed its current name. Prior to that, it was called the California Department of Fish and Game.

“During his time as the director Californians have lost the ability to fish and hunt for countless species of fish and game due to mismanagement,” Mike Rasmussen, a Northern California fishing guide, wrote in an Instagram post about his departure. “Bye Felicia!” he added.

Bonham described his transition to a nonprofit as “coming back home.”

The outgoing director grew up in Atlanta and attended the University of Georgia as an undergrad.

After graduation, he volunteered with the Peace Corps, landing in West Africa’s Senegal.

After that, “I wanted to go back to a space that really mattered to me as a person, which is the outdoors,” he said.

For several years, he worked as an outdoor guide, primarily leading whitewater rafting trips at the Nantahala Outdoor Center in North Carolina.

But he believed there was more he could do to take care of the wild places he cherished. So he enrolled at Louis & Clark Law School in Portland, Ore., where he studied public interest law with a focus on the environment.

He also interned for Trout Unlimited, a nonprofit that aims to protect rivers and streams, which turned out to be his conduit to California.

The nonprofit asked him to handle their legal work in California, which he calls “the greatest place.”

It was in that position, in the early aughts, that Bonham first became immersed in the fierce disagreement over what to do with scarce water in the Klamath Basin — irrigate farms or protect salmon. Native Americans clashed with farmers. It was “described as a choice between people and the environment. Fish or farms,” he said. “And it was dramatic.”

That experience was tapped for the next stage in his career, when Bonham became director of the state wildlife department. He transitioned into a key negotiator with stakeholders including tribes and the federal government, leading to the takedown of four hydroelectric dams.

Once Bonham departs, Valerie Termini, the department’s chief deputy director, will take the reins on an interim basis. It will be up to Newsom — or whoever succeeds him once his term ends next year — to appoint a permanent replacement.

Brendan Cummings, conservation director for the Center for Biological Diversity, said that while he often disagreed with Bonham’s decisions, he ultimately thinks the state’s wildlife is in a better place than had someone else been at the helm.

With threats like climate change looming, “whoever succeeds Chuck will play an essential role in whether California is able to protect our natural heritage in the very, very difficult decades ahead,” he said.

The Nature Conservancy, a more than 70-year-old nonprofit, focuses on ocean and land stewardship, as well as shaping state and federal policy — and coming up with “creative solutions,” Bonham said.

It’s similar to what he’s been doing, but he believes that in the private sphere, “I can do it often a little bit more nimbly and entrepreneurially, and I’m looking forward to that.”

Read the full story here.
Photos courtesy of

‘Ghost resorts’: as hundreds of ski slopes lie abandoned, will nature reclaim the Alps?

With the snow line edging higher, 186 French ski resorts have shut, while global heating threatens dozens moreWhen Céüze 2000 ski resort closed at the end of the season in 2018, the workers assumed they would be back the following winter. Maps of the pistes were left stacked beside a stapler; the staff rota pinned to the wall.Six years on, a yellowing newspaper dated 8 March 2018 sits folded on its side, as if someone has just flicked through it during a quiet spell. A half-drunk bottle of water remains on the table. Continue reading...

When Céüze 2000 ski resort closed at the end of the season in 2018, the workers assumed they would be back the following winter. Maps of the pistes were left stacked beside a stapler; the staff rota pinned to the wall.Six years on, a yellowing newspaper dated 8 March 2018 sits folded on its side, as if someone has just flicked through it during a quiet spell. A half-drunk bottle of water remains on the table.The Céüze 2000 resort when snow was plentiful.The Céüze resort in the southern French Alps had been open for 85 years and was one of the oldest in the country. Today, it is one of scores of ski resorts abandoned across France – part of a new landscape of “ghost stations”.More than 186 have been permanently closed already, raising questions about how we leave mountains – among the last wild spaces in Europe – once the lifts stop running.It was costing more to keep it open than closed … We looked into using artificial snow but realised that would delay the inevitableAs global heating pushes the snow line higher across the Alps, thousands of structures are being left to rot – some of them breaking down and contaminating the surrounding earth, driving debate about what should happen to the remnants of old ways of life – and whether to let nature reclaim the mountains.Snowfall at Céüze started becoming unreliable in the 1990s. To be financially viable, the resort needed to be open for at least three months. In that last winter, it only managed a month and a half. For the two years before that it had not been able to operate at all.Opening the resort each season cost the local authority as much as €450,000 (£390,000). As the season got shorter, the numbers no longer added up. To avoid a spiral of debt, the decision was made to close.The resort closed permanently during the 2020 winter due to a lack of snow. Photograph: Thomas Valentin/The Guardian“It was costing us more to keep it open than to keep it closed for the season,” says Michel Ricou-Charles, president of the local Buëch‑Dévoluy community council, which oversees the site. Even under the most optimistic projections, the future looked bleak. “We looked into using artificial snow, but realised that would delay the inevitable,” he says.It was seven years before the trucks and helicopters came in to begin removing the pylons. Still, the local community grieved for the small, family-oriented resort, which was host to generations of memories. As demolitions began, they came to take nuts, bolts and washers as mementoes of what they had lost.Degrading wild terrainIn France, there are today 113 ski lifts totalling nearly 40 miles (63km) in length that have been abandoned, nearly three-quarters of them in protected areas. It is not just ski infrastructure. The Mountain Wilderness association estimates that there are more than 3,000 abandoned structures dotted around French mountains, slowly degrading Europe’s richest wild terrain. This includes military, industrial and forestry waste, such as old cables, bits of barbed wire, fencing and old machinery.There are 113 abandoned ski lifts in France, nearly three-quarters of which are in protected areas. Photograph: Thomas Valentin/The GuardianCéüze ski resort is fast becoming one of these pollutants. The little wooden cabin at the bottom of the first button lift is shedding insulation. Ropes once used to mark out the piste hang in tatters and bits of plastic are falling off a pylon. The old sheds at each end of the ski lifts often still contain transformers, asbestos, motor oils and greases. Over time, these substances seep into the soil and water.Corrosion and rust from metal structures left over from the second world war, such as anti-tank rails and metal spikes, have led to changes in plant species in the surrounding area, potentially offering a vision of what could happen if pylons are left to rust over the coming decades.Don’t think that you are making eternal things; they will end up becoming obsolete … ask yourself: what will remain?Nicolas Masson, Mountain Wilderness“In Latin, we say memento mori – remember that you are mortal. Don’t think that you are making eternal things; they will end up becoming obsolete,” says Nicolas Masson, from Mountain Wilderness, which is campaigning for old ski infrastructure to be dismantled to make space for nature. “When you make them, ask yourself the question: what will remain?”Some believe the resorts should remain memorialised landscapes, honouring generations of people who lived and skied here; others believe they should be returned to wild landscapes with their disintegrating machinery removed.Ecologist Nicolas Masson is part of a campaign to dismantle old ski infrastructure. Photograph: Thomas Valentin/The GuardianNature’s recoveryCéüze’s deconstruction started on 4 November 2025, a month before the ski season would once have kicked off. The resort’s ski lifts were airlifted out using a helicopter to minimise environmental disturbance and compression of the earth.French law requires ski lifts to be removed and dismantled if they are no longer in use. The law only applies to ski lifts built after 2017, however. Most last for 30 years, so no lifts would be considered obsolete until at least 2047. The process is also expensive: dismantling Céüze will cost €123,000. This means most abandoned ski infrastructure is left to disintegrate in situ. What is happening in Céüze is rare. With pylons cleared and the resort already closed for seven years, early signs of ecological recovery are already visible. A red haze floats over the white snow: winter berries of the dog rose are sprouting where the piste is no longer mown.Berries can be see on dog rose shrubs which are starting to flourish now the piste is no longer cleared for skiers. Photograph: Thomas Valentin/The GuardianThe berries are important winter food for birds such as the rare red-billed chough, and their thorny stems are used for nest-building come spring. In the summer, orchids and yellow gentians bloom over these hillsides. The hills surrounding the site are classed as Natura 2000, meaning they are home to Europe’s rarest and most protected wildlife.The trees are coming back too. “I don’t know if it would take 10, 20 or 50 years, but this is becoming a forest,” says Masson.A fraction of a degree changes everything in the mountain environment. It’s the difference between snow and no snowWild boar and roe deer living in these forests will benefit from quieter winters. Birds such as grouse shelter from severe cold in winter by digging into the snow, and prefer deep powdery snow – just like skiers. The species is endangered in all the mountain ranges of France.The dismantling of Céüze comes at a time when many spaces for nature are shrinking. Pierre-Alexandre Métral, a geographer at the University of Grenoble Alpes, who studies abandoned ski resorts, says: “There is a lot of debate about the nature of this dismantling – is it just removing mechanical stuff, or are we attempting to put mountains back into a kind of original state?”Ecological recovery can be filled with surprises, he says, noting that the maintenance of pistes can be beneficial to some alpine flowers. “If we let nature come back spontaneously – in a wild, uncontrolled way – there are also risks that some invasive species that tend to be stronger could colonise faster,” says Métral.The hills around the former resort are home to some of Europe’s rarest and most protected wildlife. Photograph: Thomas Valentin/The GuardianThere is scant research in this area, but studies from the Valcotos ski resort closure in Madrid’s Sierra de Guadarrama in 1999 show it led to significant recovery of native vegetation and cleaner waterways, while reducing soil erosion.“These are laboratories of what the mountain could be like in the future with new closures,” says Métral.On the brinkThe question of what to do with these places will play out across Europe’s mountains, and around the world. Skiing is disappearing from many alpine landscapes. “Many lower ones are already closed,” says Masson. “A fraction of a degree changes everything in the mountain environment. It’s the difference between having snow and no snow.”Richard Klein believes the resort should have been saved. Photograph: Thomas Valentin/The GuardianResearch suggests that with 2C (3.6F) of global heating, more than half of existing resorts risk having too little snow. Higher altitude resorts are vulnerable to the loss of permafrost, threatening pylons that have been drilled into it. Some resorts, such as St-Honoré 1500, were abandoned before construction was even completed. Even bigger resorts, which typically have funds to invest in new pistes and artificial snow, are struggling to survive.For some, the loss of Céüze feels premature. Richard Klein,who lives in Roche des Arnauds, near Céüze, feels the ski resort could – and should – have been saved. “It’s a wonderful place to learn to ski – it’s the best. I think it’s really stupid they closed it,” he says. “There were always loads of people.” Klein believes the local authority should have begun using artificial snow, adding: “Now it’s too late.”Yet life has not disappeared from Céüze. In October 2025, the resort’s Hotel Galliard is being sold to a developer looking to open it for events, according to Ricou-Charles. A property developer has bought the children’s holiday residence, and a carpenter has moved into the building where the old ticket office was. The rooms used as a holiday camp for children have cracks appearing down the side, but might open again in the future.“Céüze will continue to live, despite the loss of the resort,” says Ricou-Charles. “We are not mourning Céüze because it is not dead.”On winter weekends dozens of cars still gather in the car park, with people enjoying quieter activities on the hillside, such as walking, snow-shoeing, cross-country skiing and sledging.A poster from the resort’s 80th anniversary celebrations. Photograph: Thomas Valentin/The GuardianMasson does not like the term “ghost resort” because it suggests total abandonment when what is happening in his area is more complicated. “People continue to come,” he says. “We don’t need large machines to make mountains attractive.”What happens at Céüze is a glimpse into a future that faces dozens of other small resorts, and mountain landscapes, across Europe. “What is our heritage that we will want to keep,” asks Masson. “And what is just a ruin we want to dismantle? That is a question we have to ask every time, and it requires some reflection.”

Ministers ‘break word’ on protecting nature after weakening biodiversity planning rule

Housing minister announces exemption to 10% net gain rule in England for smaller developmentsThe government has broken its promise to protect nature by weakening planning rules for housing developers, groups have said.While developers once had to create “biodiversity net gain” (BNG), meaning creating 10% more space for nature on site than there was before the building took place, housing minister Matthew Pennycook announced exemptions to this rule on Tuesday. Continue reading...

The government has broken its promise to protect nature by weakening planning rules for housing developers, groups have said.While developers once had to create “biodiversity net gain” (BNG), meaning creating 10% more space for nature on site than there was before the building took place, housing minister Matthew Pennycook announced exemptions to this rule on Tuesday.Under the new rules developments under 0.2 hectares are exempted from the policy. Analysis from the Wildlife Trusts has found that this means a combined area across England the size of Windsor forest will now not be restored for nature.The move is part of a bigger package to help the government meet its target to build 1.5m homes by the end of this parliament. This includes a default “yes” to suitable homes being built around rail stations, and a possible exemption from the building safety levy for small and medium sized housebuilders.Wildlife Trusts CEO, Craig Bennett, accused the housing secretary, Steve Reed, of breaking a promise to him. He said: “In January of this year when he was environment secretary, Steve Reed made a solemn promise that the government was ‘committed to biodiversity net gain’. Now, as housing secretary, he has broken his word.”Nature groups have also complained the rule change puts private investment in nature at risk. Private firms have already generated £320m into habitat restoration since the BNG rules were put into place in February 2024.Beccy Speight, the chief executive of the RSPB, said: “The decision to exempt sites under 0.2 hectares from BNG flies in the face of the UK government’s promise to be ‘the most nature-positive government this nation has ever had’. It’s a blow for nature, for local communities and for business confidence in the future of BNG.”Wildlife and Countryside Link has warned that exempting so many small sites could still “wreck the policy altogether”, particularly when small developments dominate England’s planning system. About 95% of planning applications are for sites under 1 hectare, 88% under 0.5 hectares, and 77% under 0.2 hectares.Reed said: “Right now we see a planning system that still isn’t working well enough. A system saying ‘no’ more often than it says ‘yes’ and that favours obstructing instead of building.“It has real-world consequences for those aspiring to own a home of their own and those hoping to escape so-called temporary accommodation – we owe it to the people of this country to do everything within our power to build the homes they deserve.”The plans could reduce the need for brownfield sites to deliver BNG. Pennycook announced the government would consult on how to ensure the system supports brownfield-first development, while making it easier and cheaper to deliver biodiverse habitats offsite through simplified rules.The government is currently consulting on whether, and how, nationally significant infrastructure projects such as airports, roads and waste incineration plants, should achieve biodiversity net gain.Nature campaigners have said ministers should hold these projects to a high standard in order to prevent mass habitat destruction.Richard Benwell, the CEO of Wildlife and Countryside Link, said: “To meet its electoral promise of halting wildlife decline, government should strengthen green economy rules, not shrink them. Rapidly applying net gain to all major infrastructure and stopping developers dodging their environmental responsibilities should be clear priorities, not more carveouts.“So far, this has been a parliament of delay and relentless deregulatory threats to nature. The public outcry in support of net gain must be a last-chance wake-up call that environmental promises weren’t a ballot box bonus. Restoring nature and stopping pollution are a key test of the government’s credibility and it’s time for action.”

Why Is That Woodpecker White?

For years, the author has gathered photographs of local leucistic birds: white (or whitish) woodpeckers, hummingbirds, sparrows, turkeys, bald eagles, and more.  The post Why Is That Woodpecker White? appeared first on Bay Nature.

For several years in my garden, one of the harbingers of spring would be the arrival of the white-headed girl. This bird was a female house sparrow, normal except for her bright white cap. She stood out: field guides describe these birds’ caps as “drab,” meaning grayish-brown. Not white. So the first time I saw her, I wasn’t quite sure what was going on.  That became clear about a month later on a trip to the Sierras. As the sun was setting, the trip leader spotted two red-tailed hawks perched on top of a distant barn. At first glance, they didn’t look like a pair—one’s head seemed encircled by a saintly halo. A look through a spotting scope and a word from the trip leader clarified that the bird was leucistic. Now that I knew what I was seeing, I started noticing leucistic birds elsewhere, and I began collecting photographs of them from local Bay Area bird photographers. Photographer Alan Krakauer captured this partially leucistic white-crowned sparrow at his home in Richmond. Like my white-headed girl, he says that this bird returned annually for several years: “This bird was the VIB [very important bird] of our backyard and we always particularly loved finding it in with the other white-crowned and golden-crowned sparrows.”Photographer Marty Lycan took this photo in January 2023 at Shadow Cliffs Regional Park in Pleasanton. This particular bald eagle had been reported at several other hot spots continuing in 2024, and then into the new year.Mark Rauzon describes these photographs: “Bishop Ranch, San Ramon is a steep hill of super sticky mud, pockmarked by cattle hooves, that make for a challenge as you listen for the ‘haha’ laughing acorn woodpecker, hoping to see a white blur fly by. With patience, especially sitting quietly by the acorn granary, soon a normal and a white bird with a vermilion cap will drop by. Pretty much every bird photographer has made the pilgrimage to see them and take their best shot.” These birds were first reported in the summer of 2023. As of October 1, 2026, Mark thinks there might be as many as five. I love this particular photograph for showing both a typical acorn woodpecker and a leucistic one.Leucism is a rare condition in which a bird’s plumage has white feathers that aren’t normally white. Data from the Cornell Lab of Ornithology’s Feederwatch Program estimates that one in 30,000 birds has leucistic or albinistic plumage. Among those, most are leucistic, as opposed to albino. The difference is often—but not always—clear-cut: albino birds have no melanin, the pigment responsible for color, turning their plumage pure white, their eyes pink or red, and their legs and bills pale. Leucistic birds, instead, have normal eyes, bills, and legs for their species. And their whiteness comes in varying degrees.  Some leucistic birds—like my white-headed girl—have white patches where they shouldn’t have them. Others will have plumage that looks faded—half way between its normal color and white. And in the most extreme cases, the bird’s feathers are completely white.  This Anna’s hummingbird appeared in photographer Alan Bade’s garden for a few weeks in the springtime, but avoided his hummingbird feeders, perhaps avoiding competition with other birds, Alan speculates. He added that it seemed “a little timid and more delicate than our normal hummers. It goes away for a few days and then shows up again, like a ghost.” When Alan sent a picture of the bird—which he thought was leucistic—to expert Sherri Williamson, she replied that its “‘washed-out’ appearance” is “suggestive of one of the less extreme forms of albinism.” Her prognosis for the bird, however, was hopeful: “Though severe pigment abnormalities can make a bird more vulnerable to excessive plumage wear, sunburn, disease, and predation, there are some cases of ‘pigment-challenged’ Anna’s hummingbirds living to adulthood and breeding successfully. Here’s hoping that this will be one of those success stories.”Photographer Keith Malley is part of a regular crew at the Presidio’s Battery Godfrey who watch for seabirds and birds on migration. They observed this turkey vulture recently as it rose up behind their position at the ocean’s edge, then coursed along the bluff for about an hour before crossing north into Marin.Photographer Marty Lycan captured this almost completely leucistic white-crowned sparrow in winter several years ago while walking his dogs near a baseball field adjacent to Sycamore Valley Park. Was the location coincidental? The bird is about the size and color of a baseball showing a few scuff marks. It had been reported there the previous year, too, and then reappeared the following two winters. Sparrows seem to do this.Photographer Mark Rauzon found these finches in Panoche Valley, San Benito Co. where large flocks of house finches and various kinds of sparrows congregate in winter. Mark notes, “Obviously one stood out as it perched on the farming equipment.” Most often, a genetic defect causes leucism, by preventing pigment from moving into the feathers during development. Genetic leucism can result in birds that have patches of white (sometimes called piebald) or that are completely white. But various environmental factors can also contribute to leucism. Poor diet can lead to a loss of pigments, producing gray, pale, or white feathers. So can exposure to pollutants or radiation. Birds that lose feathers through injury sometimes replace the lost ones with new ones that lack pigment, regaining normal color only after the next molt’s feathers come in. And, like humans, birds can experience “progressive graying,”  in which cells lose pigment as they age. Mark Rauzon seems to attract leucistic birds. He described this yellow-rumped warbler, at the Las Gallinas Sanitation Ponds in San Rafael, as “a butterbutt with mayo” or, alternately, “an Audubon warbler piebald with splotches of white and yellow, gray and gray.” (Audubon is a subspecies of yellow-rumped warbler). Photographer Becky Matsubara took this picture of this bird at Marta’s Marsh in Corte Madera a couple of summers ago; it was among 12 other northern mockingbirds. It had first been reported in April and stayed around until at least August. It reminds me of the mockingbird fledglings that descend on my backyard each summer, eating all of my blueberries. While leucistic birds can be a source of wonder for us humans, the abnormal coloration can cause problems for the birds themselves. A bird’s appearance is often critical in its ability to find a mate, and a bird that looks like a snowball instead of a rainbow might have problems getting a date. A bird’s color can camouflage it from predators, but, again, all of that white can be like a painted target. Melanin not only provides color in feathers but it also provides structural integrity, making feathers more durable. And finally, a lack of melanin can affect a bird’s ability to thermoregulate—lighter feathers may absorb less light and heat, so birds might struggle to stay warm in cold temperatures. I heard about this turkey from some friends who had said it had been hanging out with three “normal” turkeys (is there such a thing?) in the grassy center divider of Sacramento Avenue in Berkeley for a few days. When I went to find it, the three turkeys were about four blocks away from the leucistic bird. The leucistic turkey disappeared a few days after I photographed it. The others, six months later, are still hanging around (I had to chase them out of my driveway last month!) (Eric Schroeder)At the Merced National Wildlife Refuge, photographer Rick Lewis remembers: “It was early morning, the sun was rising, no other vehicles in sight; I was driving solo and immediately recognized the silhouette as a black phoebe. Very exciting as I focused my binoculars and realized that it was leucistic.”Although there have been no large studies that show leucism is on the rise, human activity leads me to believe there are more odd-colored birds around.Some of that increase is intentional: Hummingbird expert Sherri Williamson points out that humans sometimes selectively breed for rare qualities like albinism, meaning we’ve created “hundreds of fancy varieties of poultry, pigeons, and cage birds.” But other increases in leucistic birds are accidental: One study done in the wake of the Chernobyl disaster revealed that there was a tenfold increase in the number of leucistic barn swallows locally. With habitat loss (and degraded avian diets resulting from this), human influences, and other environmental factors, the numbers of leucistic birds are bound to increase. That might not always be a good thing, as we’ve seen.  A bird hotline—in the pre-listserv and eBird days—alerted photographer Bob Lewis to this American robin about a decade ago, on a garage roof in a Berkeley neighborhood.  It hung around the neighborhood for several days before disappearing. When I asked him what he thought happened to it, he said he suspected “something ate it.”Photographer Torgil Zethson found this western sandpiper on the Newark Slough Trail at the Don Edwards National Wildlife Refuge in the South Bay. Because this almost pure-white bird was so striking, he suspected that it might be the same one photographed a week earlier in Monterey County or even a bird seen in Coos Bay, Oregon ten days before that. (Torgil Zethson)But of course, the other explanation is that perhaps what’s increasing isn’t leucistic bird numbers, but rather the number of people watching and photographing birds. And I’m encouraged—as are the other Bay Area birders who’ve watched them—by those individual birds that keep showing up year after year, like my white-headed girl once did. After four years of backyard visits, she disappeared. Still, eight years later, when spring rolls around, I keep an eye open for her—or perhaps her offspring. Leucistic acorn woodpeckers. (Mark Rauzon)

With Dams Removed, Spawning Salmon Are Heading Up Alameda Creek

These chinooks are likely hatchery strays. But they are still an ecosystem boon—and flaming-bright symbols of restoration at work. The post With Dams Removed, Spawning Salmon Are Heading Up Alameda Creek appeared first on Bay Nature.

Nearly a dozen chinook salmon have swum the 12 miles upstream from the San Francisco Bay through Alameda Creek into Niles Canyon—likely the first salmon to spawn there in 30 years, according to Jeff Miller, founder of the Alameda Creek Alliance.  From its mouth in the East Bay, between the San Mateo and Dumbarton bridges, Alameda Creek leads forty miles east into the Sunol Wilderness through abundant potential spawning grounds. But dams, pipelines, bridges, and other human structures in the creek blocked fish from that potential paradise in 1967. Since 1998, the Alameda Creek Alliance, a grassroots advocacy group, has worked alongside agencies, nonprofits, and community members to take down these barriers one by one. Two multimillion-dollar fish ladders opened the route to Niles Canyon in 2022. This September, the mainstem creek’s last remaining barrier, a concrete mat over a PG&E gas pipeline, was removed. Bay Nature featured the watershed moment—and the decades of advocacy that led up to it—in a May 2025 story, “After 28 Years, Alameda Creek Opens Up to Fish.”  Claire Buchanan, CalTrout’s central California regional director, says that on Wednesday environmental consultants spotted two chinooks that went even farther—they were crossing the former pipeline, some 20 miles upstream from the mouth.  These chinooks are likely hatchery strays, says Miller. But they are still an ecosystem boon, bringing nutrients into the stream. They also serve as flaming-bright symbols of restoration-at-work to the public—proof that salmon can find their way to new spawning grounds. Chinook salmon males redden as they prepare to spawn and develop a characteristic hooked jaw. Volunteers spotted both males and (hopefully egg-laden) females crossing the former barriers on the lower creek last week. Volunteers with the Alameda Creek Alliance as well as agency staff are watching the creek for salmon and trout—and now looking for where they might have spawned. (Left, David Young; right, Dan Sarka) As the fish now swim up through Niles Canyon, the females will search for quiet spots to lay their eggs, which males will then fertilize. This part, Miller doesn’t worry about helping along. “They’re pretty good at what they do,” he says. 

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