Fin whales feeding in summer waters
June 6, 2026
The fog lifts from the Golden Gate just enough to reveal the dark line where San Francisco Bay meets the Pacific. Out there, beyond the shipping lanes and beneath the surface chop, fin whales are feeding. These waters hold them through the long days of summer, when krill and small schooling fish gather in dense clouds along the continental shelf.A fin whale surfaces with barely a splash. Eighty feet long, it moves through the water column like a living current. The whale's throat pleats expand as it lunges forward, mouth open, engulfing thousands of gallons of seawater thick with prey. Then the pleats contract, forcing water through the baleen plates while tiny fish and crustaceans remain trapped inside. This is rorqual feeding, a technique that turns the whale's entire body into a filtering machine. The fin whale can take in more water relative to its body size than any other baleen whale, processing tons of prey-rich seawater in a single gulp.These summer waters off the Bay area support some of the most productive feeding grounds on the Pacific coast. Upwelling brings cold, nutrient-rich water from the deep ocean to the surface, fueling blooms of phytoplankton that feed the zooplankton that feed the fish that feed the whales. Fin whales follow this abundance, timing their presence here with the peak of the upwelling season. They feed primarily on northern anchovy, Pacific sardine, and euphausid shrimp. A single adult fin whale can consume up to four tons of prey each day during intensive feeding periods. The whales often feed cooperatively, working together to concentrate schools of fish or krill before lunging through them in coordinated attacks. Brown pelicans and Heermann's gulls gather above these feeding events, diving for the scattered fish that escape the whales' massive mouths. Brandt's cormorants join the feeding frenzy from below, pursuing fish driven toward the surface by the whales' movements. This creates a temporary community around each feeding event, linking the largest animals in these waters with some of the smallest seabirds.Listen for the sound of their breathing. A fin whale's blow carries across calm water as a sharp exhalation followed by a deep inhalation, audible from more than a mile away. Between breaths, they disappear for five to fifteen minutes, diving to depths where the summer light fades to blue-black and the pressure would crush any air-filled lung. Down there, they hunt by sound and feel, their lower jaws sensitive to the vibrations of schooling fish. When you hear that distant whoosh of breath, you are listening to an animal that has just returned from a world we can barely imagine, carrying the deep ocean back to the surface in its blood and lungs.
Parakeets and the urban seed feast
May 22, 2026
The sound comes first in San Francisco's neighborhoods: sharp calls cutting through the morning air, a conversation in a language that doesn't belong. Red-masked Parakeets (Psittacara erythrogenys) have claimed the city's canopy. Their green bodies flash between the branches of California live oaks (Quercus agrifolia) and black elderberry (Sambucus nigra), beaks working at seeds and flowers with the precision of birds who know exactly what they want.These invasive parrots arrived as escaped pets decades ago and stayed to raise families. Now they move through the urban forest in flocks of twenty or thirty, their red-masked faces bright against the spring foliage. Watch them work the elderberry flowers, their strong beaks dismantling the creamy clusters that native birds approach more delicately. The parakeets hang upside down from branches, twisting their necks to reach seed heads, their feet gripping with the confidence of birds who evolved in similar forests half a world away.The timing matters. Late spring brings the city's trees into full production, and the parakeets have learned the schedule. They strip seeds from the developing elderberry fruits before they ripen, taking resources that California Scrub-Jays (Aphelocoma californica) and House Finches (Haemorhous mexicanus) might otherwise claim. But the relationship isn't simply competitive. The parakeets are messy eaters, dropping partially consumed seeds and fruit pulp that feeds ground-dwelling birds and insects. Their aggressive foraging breaks open tough seed cases that smaller native birds cannot handle, creating access to nutrients that might otherwise remain locked away. They've become both competitors and inadvertent providers in the urban ecosystem.The live oaks present a different challenge. These native trees produce acorns in fall, but their spring flowers offer pollen and nectar that the parakeets harvest with systematic efficiency. They work methodically through the canopy, their calls maintaining contact with the flock as they move. The Acorn Woodpeckers (Melanerpes formicivorus) that depend on these same trees watch from nearby perches, waiting for their turn. The parakeets' presence has forced native species to adjust their foraging patterns, feeding earlier in the morning or later in the evening when the flocks have moved on.Listen for their calls now, wherever you are. The parakeets announce themselves before they appear, their voices carrying across blocks. If you're near trees beginning to fruit or flower, you might catch the flash of green and red as they work the branches above you. Their success in San Francisco's urban forest reminds us that ecosystems are never static. Even invasive species become part of the web, creating new relationships as they settle into a place that was never meant to hold them.
