The LA River is teeming with birds–yeah, the LA River

PHOTO by JOSHUA PERALTA

It’s 2 o’clock in the afternoon and I’m standing by the sandy banks of the Los Angeles River at the Willow Street Estuary. Although I can still hear traffic sighing over the bridge in the distance, it’s faint and soon forgotten. The sounds of water and the twittering of birds prevail, muffling the city’s echo.

I’m here because during a District news meeting, someone—I can’t remember who—said the recent rains had washed enough nutrients into the estuary to attract a slew of birds not normally seen there. Since I have a beard it seemed natural to have me check it out. So, I came down here searching for birds and found heaps.

At the moment, I’m observing the pea-brained skirmishes of a flotilla of American coots. The way these duck-like creatures flutter and lunge for each other’s throats fascinates me; their feistiness is at once charming and aggravatingly idiotic. Lounging on a nearby sandbar, a family of rust-hued cinnamon teals calmly eyes its belligerent neighbors.

Now, for those aware it even exists, mention of the LA River evokes images of foul water before it does waterfowl. No big surprise, considering that for the past 50 years the river has served mainly as a storm drain/dumpster, a site to film outrageous car chases and an irresistible canvas for every Tom, Dick and Hector with a spray can.

Compared to other urban rivers in the US—which, to their credit, typically resemble rivers—the LA River shamelessly flaunts its un-riverine freakishness. In its entire course only three areas have been allowed to retain their natural, earthen bottom.

The last of these “soft-bottom” areas happens to be Long Beach’s own Willow Street Estuary (an estuary is the tidal mouth of a river where the ocean’s salt water mingles with the river’s fresh, creating a nutrient-rich ecosystem that supports incredible biodiversity). Of course, if it weren’t for the ocean’s perpetual ebb and flow, it’s likely this spot would’ve been paved over decades ago.

Watching the activities of both coot and teal, I try to imagine what the LA River looked like in its unbridled, devil-may-care days of youth, you know, before the invention of the rogue shopping cart. In his book The Los Angeles River: Its Life, Death, and Possible Rebirth, author/geographer Blake Gumprecht writes that in pre-colonial Southern California the LA River “meandered this way and that through a dense forest of willow and sycamore, elderberry and wild grape. Its overflow filled vast marshlands that were home to myriad waterfowl and small animals. Steelhead trout spawned in the river, and grizzly bear roamed its shores.”

But despite the few shaggy willows and cattails, it’s impossible to reconcile the sad river before me with Gumprecht’s mythic landscape. I mean, come on: Grizzly bears and steelhead trout? Elderberry and wild grape? These days, 94 percent of the LA River is walled in concrete. Three quarters of its fixed 51 miles has a cement bed.

I grew up in Downey with one of the river’s concrete tributaries trickling behind the wall of my back yard. I spent the ’80s tromping through the riverbed and wide fields that lined its steep banks. My friend Dustin had a keen eye for red-tail hawk feathers and he arranged them small to large on his bedroom wall. It wasn’t till years later that I realized the word “riverbed” actually held a river in it.

And though all the deer, antelope, bears, and mountain lions of yore succumbed ages ago to habitat loss, a good many of the bird species continue to linger.

According to Eric Zahn, of Cal State Long Beach’s Biological and Environmental Science departments, during the era of the Wilmington Lagoon the local wetlands attracted droves of both local and migratory birds. Then the Wilmington Lagoon was dredged to make room for the twin ports of Long Beach and Los Angeles. Today less than 10 percent of the original 3,450 acres of wetlands remains. However, because birds are so adaptable, regardless of the wetland’s diminution these acres remain vital habitat for the avian diversity that continues to visit. Recent surveys have tallied between 60 and 100 species in this tiny stretch alone. (Zahn predicts that migratory bird populations should increase through January, perhaps aided in part by the forecasted rains.)

Just for the hell of it, I decide to conduct a brief survey of my own. I begin by startling several red-winged blackbirds. I watch as they dart from willow to willow, revealing cherry tufts with each wingbeat. Loose pairs of killdeer bob and peck the ground for bits of food. A yellow-rumped warbler almost escapes my eye, but I catch it swaying, perched on a flimsy piece of tall grass. The great egret measures its movement with legs like yardstick stilts. In all I count 22 different species of bird, the majority of which I’ve never seen before.

The results of a second (and longer) survey include: one cordless telephone, three bike tires, innumerable plastic bags, plenty of bottles, cans and Styrofoam cups, a few rotting sheets of plywood, and a set of hubcaps. I also tally one softball, one whiffleball, two handballs, two racquetballs, two basketballs, three footballs, six golf balls, four beach balls, a dozen or so tennis balls, and a soggy pair of Chuck Taylors.

After witnessing such horrific abuses of sports equipment, I find it heartening to know there’s at least one group out there dedicated to helping protect, restore and improve the health and perception of the LA River. Among other events, the Friends of the Los Angeles River organizes the annual Gran Limpieza (or Great Clean-Up), an all-volunteer effort to scour the length of the river. In May of last year, 2000 volunteers cleared a whopping 18 tons of trash from the river in two days—hauling over 1,000 pounds of crap out of the Willow portion alone. This year’s Gran Limpieza is planned for May 18 (for more info go to folar.org).

As I get up to leave, I spy a great blue heron swooping low and lazy over the water. The thing has a wingspan as wide as I am tall (I’m 6 feet). As I follow its flight I’m reminded of the stoic pterodactyls from my kindergarten dinosaur books: wings outstretched, the fierce outline of its head, and its cold, indifferent gaze. But my reverie evaporates as the heron, with a guttural yawk, lands atop an overturned Wal-Mart cart rising out of the middle of the river.

Tags: clean-up, estuaries, friends of the la river, la river, Long Beach, trash