Black Gold Beach: How Oil Transformed Long Beach and Built the Southern California Economy

Signal Hill oil development (Photo: The Huntington Library, Art Museum, and Botanical Gardens)

Southern California, a region synonymous with sandy beaches and Hollywood glitz, harbors a lesser-known but equally dramatic history – its rise and reign as an oil kingdom. This is not the story many people know, even Californians, but the rise and fall of the Southern California oil industry story is a fascinating tale of gushers, fortunes made and squandered, and numerous characters right out of a movie script. If not for oil, Los Angeles — and Southern California as a whole — would be different places today.

The story of oil in Southern California is inextricably linked to the Long Beach fields, an area that once seemed more like a scene from Texas or There Will Be Blood than the Golden State. The discovery of oil in this region wasn’t just a footnote in economic journals; it was a seismic event that transformed the landscape, both literally and metaphorically. And it provided an industrial center of gravity to a region of the state that was just beginning to emerge as one of the world’s great gateways of commerce.

The early 20th century was the beginning of the era of oil in California. On June 23, 1921 at 9:30 a.m., the Alamitos No. 1 oil well on Signal Hill in Long Beach was drilling 2,765 feet beneath the surface when the drill struck an underground oil deposit. This oil was under high pressure due to natural gas, blowing a gusher of oil over 100 feet high, and heralding the start of the Long Beach oil boom.

This event marked the discovery of one of the most prolific oil fields in the Los Angeles basin. Throughout the 1920s, Signal Hill, along with the nearby Santa Fe Springs field, experienced numerous blowouts, which erupted into dramatic pillars of flame that could be seen for miles. These incidents eventually prompted calls for stricter safety regulations. Consequently, in 1929, the state mandated the use of blow-out prevention equipment on all oil wells drilled in California.

Signal Hill quickly mushroomed into a forest of oil derricks, with fortunes being made overnight. As one of the most productive oil fields in the world, the Long Beach field was at one point yielding a staggering one-third of California’s total oil production. By the mid-1920s, California was producing nearly a quarter of the world’s entire petroleum supply, much of it from the Long Beach area.

Signal Hill, Long Beach oil development. (Public domain)

That so much oil is present beneath the surface of this stretch of Southern California is a gift of geology. Millions of years ago, the area that is now Long Beach was covered by the ocean. This marine environment was ideal for the accumulation of organic material, such as the remains of tiny plants and animals, on the ocean floor.

Over time, layers of sediment buried this organic matter. The high pressure and temperatures associated with deep burial initiated the transformation of this organic material into hydrocarbons – essentially, the formation of oil. Southern California is, of course, known for its active tectonics, influenced by the Pacific and North American Plate boundary. This tectonic activity has created a complex network of faults and folds in the earth’s crust in the Long Beach area.

The folding of the earth’s layers into anticlines (a type of fold that is convex up and has its oldest beds at its core) and the formation of fault traps (where displaced rocks create a seal that traps oil) are particularly important. These structures create reservoirs where oil can accumulate and be preserved over geological time scales.

As the oil flowed, so did the stories of those who sought their fortune in black gold. Perhaps the most famous of these was Edward L. Doheny, a name synonymous with California oil. Doheny, an ambitious prospector, was one of the first to recognize the potential of the Los Angeles Basin’s oil fields. His success in the oil industry was meteoric, but it was not without controversy, as he was later embroiled in the infamous Teapot Dome scandal.

Portrait of oil magnate Edward L. Doheny (Wikipedia)

The impact of oil production in Southern California extended beyond economics. It reshaped the region’s landscape, both physically and culturally. Towns sprung up around oil fields, and workers flocked to the area, drawn by the promise of jobs and prosperity. Long Beach, once a sleepy coastal town, burgeoned into a bustling city.

During the 1920s, regulations on well spacing were minimal, allowing Signal Hill to market narrow town lots. These lots were swiftly purchased by aspiring oil tycoons who installed wells so close to each other that they almost touched. Despite the dense placement, the wells generally remained profitable, though they rapidly depleted the oil field. The hill earned the nickname “Porcupine Hill” due to its appearance from afar, bristling with numerous wooden oil derricks since the more compact “nodding-donkey” pumpjack had not yet been developed.

The booming oil industry in the region attracted a massive influx of workers and investments. As oil fields expanded, Long Beach rapidly transformed from a seaside resort into an industrial powerhouse. The surge in economic activity and the availability of abundant oil fueled the growth of industries in and around Long Beach, including the burgeoning shipping and maritime sectors.

Container ships outside the Port of Los Angeles during the Covid lockdown in 2020. (Photo: Erik Olsen)

The construction of the Port of Los Angeles, which began in earnest in the early 1900s, was driven by the need to support the growing economic activities in Southern California, including agriculture, manufacturing, and oil. The proximity of Long Beach to the port, only about 20 miles south, meant that it was strategically positioned to benefit from and contribute to the port’s activities. The port served as a critical node for shipping oil, among other goods, which further integrated Long Beach, and Southern California as a whole, into the global trade system.

Signal Hill in Long Beach today. (Erik Olsen)

Moreover, the infrastructure developments necessary to support the oil industry, such as roads, railroads, and later pipelines, also facilitated the growth of the port. These developments enhanced the logistical capabilities of the region, making it more attractive for commercial and industrial activities. The oil boom thus not only transformed Long Beach but also had a cascading effect on the development of the Port of Los Angeles, cementing the region’s role as a vital hub in international trade and commerce.

As big and diverse in industry Los Angeles has become, it mostly started with oil. The fact that Los Angeles is now hardly known for oil, but better known for its massive entertainment and tourism economies is an astonishing transformation.

Of course, the influx of wealth and people also brought challenges, including environmental concerns and the need for regulatory oversight. It is well known that several major oil spills have taken place off the coast, ruining beaches and killing animals by the millions. In 1969, the Santa Barbara oil spill released vast quantities of oil into the ocean, creating an environmental disaster along the California coastline. This catastrophic event galvanized public awareness and activism, leading to the creation of the first Earth Day, as well as significant environmental legislation, including the establishment of the U.S. Environmental Protection Agency.

The oil slick visible around Platform A in the Santa Barbara Channel emanated from fissures in the seabed. (Photo: USGS)

Oil spills continue to take place in Southern California and the existence of 26 rigs off the coast are a reminder of that oil boom era. Those rigs are coming to the end of their productive life, however, and an on-gong controversy is what to do with them. Remove them or leave them — or part of them — as artificial reefs?

Over time, oil production in Southern California has waxed and waned. The easily accessible oil has largely been extracted, and production has declined from its mid-20th-century peak. Yet, the legacy of this era persists. It’s etched into the region’s physical and cultural landscape, from the bobbing oil derricks still dotting Signal Hill to the fortunes and institutions built on oil money.

The story of oil in Southern California, particularly the Long Beach fields, is a saga of geologic luck, ambition, ingenuity, and, at times, dangerous greed. It’s a chapter in the state’s history that’s as rich and complex as the oil that still lies beneath its surface, and yet it remains largely unknown to many people who think of Southern California as a paradise of sand and rolling waves.

Giants Fallen: The Destruction of Converse Basin Grove and its Giant Sequoias

The true tragic story of one of the worst environmental crimes in California history.

The stump of a Giant Sequoia at Converse Grove in California. (Photo: National Park Service)

California has faced its share of environmental calamities. We’ve experienced wildfires that have denuded the landscape, destroying valuable forests and homes, and taking human lives. Oil spills have soiled coastlines and killed wildlife. But of all the great environmental crimes the state has faced, perhaps few rank as high as the destruction of Converse Basin Grove in the late 1800s. And yet very few people have ever heard of it.

Located in the southern part of the Sierra Nevada Mountains east of Fresno, just outside Kings Canyon National Park, Converse Basin Grove spans over 6,000 acres and 700 feet of elevation. The basin was once home to the densest and most majestic expanse of Giant Sequoia (Sequoiadendron giganteum) on the planet.

Loggers and a team of horses pose on a fallen sequoia 26 feet in diameter. (Wikipedia)

Between 1892–1918, the Sanger Lumber Company logged the grove using ruinous clearcutting practices, and cut down 8,000 giant sequoias, some of them over 2000 years old, in a decade-long event that has been described as “the greatest orgy of destructive lumbering in the history of the world.” Only 60-100 large specimens survived. Currently, The most expansive remaining sequoia domain is the Giant Forest in Sequoia National Park, which has an estimated 8,400 giant sequoia trees that are more than one foot in diameter at their bases. The park is home to the world’s biggest tree, the General Sherman.

(See our feature on the biology behind the immense size of redwoods and sequoias here.)

General Sherman Tree (Photo: Erik Olsen)

The grove’s discovery in the late 19th century coincided with a burgeoning demand for lumber in the wake of California’s Gold Rush and subsequent population boom, particularly in San Francisco. This demand drew the attention of loggers to the massive potential of sequoias. In particular, the Kings River Lumber Company, which secured this coveted area through both lawful and dubious means shortly after its incorporation in 1888. This marked the first instance of industrial-scale logging targeting the Sierra redwoods, a venture that required substantial initial investment due to the challenges of building a mill in the mountains and the engineering marvel needed to transport the colossal timber to lower elevations.

The 54-mile-long flume, or log conveyor, from Converse Basic Grove to the town of Sanger, about 20 miles from Fresno.
(Photo: National Park Service)

To get the logs to mills from the High Sierra Mountains the company, based in San Francisco, constructed a 54-mile-long flume, or log conveyor, from Converse Basic Grove to the town of Sanger, about 20 miles from Fresno. This giant wooden waterslide, balanced on trestles along steep canyon sides, allowed lumber to be swiftly transported to the nearest train station, some 60 miles away, in just half a day. Upon reaching the station in Sanger, a town that proudly proclaimed itself the “Flumeopolis of the West” at the flume’s inauguration in 1890, the lumber’s journey to the market began the following year. It should be noted that the massive flume also became an inspiration to modern amusement park log rides such as the Timber Mountain Log Ride at Knotts Berry Farm in Southern California.

High trestle under construction on the Sanger Flume. (Public Domain)

Rugged terrain and unnavigable streams had protected these big trees for decades. That it became possible to log so many magnificent trees in such a hard-to-reach place was due to the passage of one of the most unintentionally destructive environmental laws ever passed in the United States.

In 1878, the United States Congress enacted the Timber and Stone Act to promote the private ownership of timberland and support the logging industry. This legislation permitted individuals to claim federal lands in the Sierra Nevada mountains, acquiring individual parcels of 160 acres for a nominal fee upon filing a claim.

Stacks of lumber with workers at Converse Basin (Public Domain)

Prior to this legislation, there was no legal framework allowing individuals to purchase timberland directly from the government specifically for logging purposes, as opposed to agricultural use. However, following the enactment of the law in 1878, it became possible to acquire nonarable, nonmineral public lands at a minimal cost of $2.50 per acre. To claim these 160-acre parcels, the claimant only needed to attest that their intention was to utilize the land for practical, non-speculative purposes, excluding any plans for resale or contractual transfer to another entity.

This enabled the easy transfer of vast expanses of land from the government to lumber companies, which commonly enlisted and compensated individuals to file claims on their behalf. Among these companies was the Kings River Lumber Company, which acquired some of the lands legally, but also got its hands on vast acreages using dubious and illegal tactics that took place right under the noses of government regulators.

Converse Basin Panorama from 1900. (Photo: National Park Service)

The Timber and Stone Act required buyers to use the land for personal, non-speculative purposes, but the company circumvented these restrictions by using a practice known as “dummying.” In this scheme, the lumber company recruited individuals to act as stand-ins or “dummies” to file claims on parcels of the Converse Basin under the pretense that these claims were for personal use. After securing the claims, these individuals would then transfer the parcels to the Kings River Lumber Company, often for a profit. This allowed the company to amass large areas of prime sequoia forest, much of which was still old-growth timber, under dubious legal pretenses.

Lumber production began in Converse Basin in 1891, launching with 20 million board feet of timber flowing down the flume. But the company had been created through the issuance of massive debt, and the company was under pressure to increase output to become profitable. However, the flume frequently required costly repairs. In 1895, following an unsuccessful reorganization attempt, the firm was taken over by creditors and renamed Sanger Lumber. The new management pushed for maximum production, extending the narrow-gauge railroad deeper into the basin and constructing a new sawmill in 1897.

Cut end of tree showing welded crosscut saws. (Photo: National Park Service)

During its operation, Sanger Lumber was responsible for the felling of approximately eight thousand mature sequoias within the 5,000-acre Converse Basin, leaving only one giant standing. At the northern edge of the grove, overlooking Kings Canyon, loggers spared a single large tree, now among the world’s ten largest, and named it after their foreman, Frank Boole. The Boole Tree still stands today. It is the eighth tallest sequoia in the world and ranks No. 1 in base circumference, at 112 feet. Estimated to be more than 2,000 years old, the behemoth is the largest tree in America’s national forests, but it stands less as a monument to the grandeur of the trees themselves than as a testament to human avarice and recklessness.

The operation peaked in 1903 with a production of 191 million board feet, employing up to seven hundred men. However, the process was notoriously unsafe and wasteful. Decades later, the superintendent of Sequoia National Park noted the profound damage and inefficiency of the logging, with many fallen trunks left unprocessed, free to decompose over time.

Logging, Converse Basin, near Boole Tree. (Photo: National Park Service)

The entire operation ended without profit, leading to the sale of the company in 1905 and the eventual destruction of the Converse Basin mill. What followed was a period of secondary logging, akin to scavenging, that persisted into the 1910s. In a Harpers’ essay titled The Last Stand of the Redwoods, the Yale English professor Henry Seidel Canby wrote that a visit to the basin evoked a deep sense of melancholy, describing what he saw as “a vast and lonely cemetery”.

By 1905, after depleting the majestic stand of trees without turning a profit, a Michigan lumberman acquired the operation and shifted focus to a lower-elevation, mixed-species forest. The remaining structures at Converse Basin were deliberately burned, and logging continued on a smaller scale, resembling scavenging more than harvesting.

In 1935, the U.S. government repurchased the ravaged land for fifteen dollars per acre, incorporating it into what is now the Giant Sequoia National Monument. This area, marked by fields of blackened stumps and surrounded by new growth, stands as a public testament to the historic exploitation and a somber reminder of the past.

The devastation of Converse Basin helped to catalyze the conservation movement in the early 20th century. Galvanized by the widespread destruction of such majestic trees, naturalists and conservationists, led by figures like John Muir, began to advocate more vehemently for the protection of natural landscapes. Their efforts were instrumental in the establishment of national parks and protected areas, ensuring that other groves and natural habitats were spared from the fate of Converse Basin.

Today, most remaining sequoia groves are publicly owned and managed for conservation purposes. Giant sequoia forests have faced extensive fire exclusion over the past century and suffer from the lack of frequent low-intensity fires that are necessary for giant sequoia reproduction. The long-term trend of Sierra snowpack reduction, in combination with warmer temperatures and widespread fir, pine, and cedar tree mortality from drought and pests, is greatly increasing the risk of severe fire and threatening the giant sequoia ecosystem.

U.S. Forest Service wildland firefighters protect Giant Sequoia tree during the Castle Fire in August 2020.
(Photo: US Forest Service)

The 2020 Castle Fire, part of the larger SQF Complex Fire in California, was particularly devastating for the giant sequoia population. Estimates suggest that approximately 7,500 to 10,600 mature giant sequoias were killed by this fire, which represents 10-14% of the total population. These numbers underscore the severe impact of intense wildfires on these ancient trees, which are typically resilient to fire but have been increasingly vulnerable due to factors like drought and climate change. This event has highlighted the need for new strategies in forest management and fire prevention to protect these iconic trees.

Today, the area, with its fields of blackened stumps encircled by new growth, stands as a testament to both the destructive power of industrial logging and the fragility and resilience of nature.

Julia Platt: The Unwavering Force Behind Monterey’s Ecological Conservation

In the 18th century, when Spanish and French explorers ventured along the northern California coast they encountered Monterey Bay and marveled at the astonishing ecological abundance of this 25-mile wide bite mark in the land. The shores buzzed with the lively interactions of sea birds, sea otters played amidst the luxuriant kelp beds, and the waters teemed with many species of whale.

Yet, by the late 19th and early 20th centuries, this rich tapestry of marine life and biodiversity had largely been erased, replaced by the destructive industrial operations of sardine canneries. These factories, though they brought economic activity and prosperity to a few, also introduced a plague of environmental problems that began a period of staggering ecological decline.

California Coast out of Big Sur (photo: Erik Olsen)

But the tide turned in the early 20th century, in large part due to the efforts of a determined, pioneering woman who took a stand against the sardine industry and began an effort of restoration that helped make Monterey Bay one of the most celebrated shorelines in the world..

This transformational figure was Julia Platt, whose contributions were instrumental in the conservation efforts that led to the revival of Monterey’s natural and economic landscape. As mayor of Monterey and a pioneer in marine conservation, Platt used her authority and vision to establish protected marine areas and implement regulations that curbed overfishing and habitat destruction. Her efforts laid the groundwork for a broader environmental awareness and action within the community.

Julia Platt began her career not in politics, but in science. She was born on September 14, 1857, in San Francisco, California, and later moved to Burlington, Vermont. She studied at the University of Vermont and then at Harvard University for her graduate studies.

During her academic journey, Julia faced the limitations imposed on women in academia at the time. In the late 1800s in the United States, it was nearly impossible for a woman to pursue a Ph.D. in zoology due to prevailing gender biases. However, the University of Freiburg in Baden, Germany, presented her with an opportunity to break through these barriers. She seized this chance and became one of the first women to earn a zoological Ph.D. there, challenging the norms and paving the way for future generations.

Her academic achievements were significant, and she had already made significant contributions to science, including pioneering research on chick embryo development and identifying a new head segment in shark embryos.

But upon returning to the US, she once again ran up against the glass ceiling of academia. While she worked with some of the top zoologists of the time, she could not find steady work in science. Admitting defeat, but determined to make her mark, she decided on politics, writing to a friend, “Without work, life isn’t worth living. If I cannot obtain the work I wish, then I must take up with the next best.”

Cannery Row in Monterey 2023 – (Photo by Erik Olsen)

Monterey Bay’s legendary biodiversity was under serious threat. In 1854, a whale was as valuable as several pounds of pure gold, and J.P. Davenport harvested them using exploding lances, processing the carcasses in shore-based vats of boiling oil. By the late 19th century, the lucrative abalone industry had attracted Chinese fishermen village to the shores of Pacific Grove over-burdening the population. During the Gold Rush, prospectors consumed fourteen million seabird eggs from the Farallon islands, a practice that decimated seabird populations. From the 1910s to the 1940s, Monterey Bay’s sardine population fueled a burgeoning canning industry, reaching unprecedented scales that caused horrific smells in town and rendered the beach useless for recreation.

Each of these industries ultimately collapsed under the weight of its own exploitation; otters, whales, seabirds, abalone, and sardines were all harvested to the brink of extinction.

In 1899, as the age of 42, she moved to Pacific Grove, the photogenic seaside hamlet next to Monterey where industrial canning and the environmental destruction wrought by it was at its peak. The pollution from canning operations (romanticized in John Steinbeck’s Cannery Row) made the beaches unusable and the smell wafting from Monterey made conditions almost unlivable. Platt decided to redirect her passion for understanding the intricacies of life into preserving it.

Photo by Eadweard Muybridge of egg collectors on South Farallon Island
Courtesy of New York Public Library via Wikicommons

Taking matters into her own hands, she ran for public office. In 1931, at the age of 70, she became the mayor of Pacific Grove. Despite facing challenges as one of the few female mayors of her time, she wielded her position with an iron will and a clear vision for the future. She was an ardent advocate for beach access for all people, and wielded crowbars, hammers and her own strong will against the rich beachfront land owners who sought to fence off their properties. In this regard, she was a pioneer, foreshadowing the California Coastal Act of 1976—one of the most treasured aspects of California’s landmark coastal protection system—which protects the state’s iconic coastlines from unchecked development and preserves their natural beauty and accessibility for future generations.

Platt’s most significant and lasting contribution as mayor was the establishment of one of the first marine protected areas in California. She passionately argued for the designation of a marine refuge along the coastline, driven by her belief in the innate value of conserving marine habitats and their inhabitants. With her guidance, what became the Lovers Point-Julia Platt State Marine Reserve (SMR) and Edward F. Ricketts State Marine Conservation Area (SMCA), became two of four marine protected areas (MPAs) located on the Monterey Peninsula between Monterey and Pacific Grove.

Bixby Bridge near Monterey (Photo: Erik Olsen)

Thanks to Platt’s efforts, the region saw a revival in its marine biodiversity. Her initiatives ensured that the delicate balance of the marine ecosystem was maintained and allowed for species that were on the brink of being decimated due to human activities to thrive once more.

Julia Platt was more than just Monterey’s mayor; she was its guardian. Through her vision and determination, she transformed Monterey into a beacon of marine conservation. Even after her tenure as mayor, Platt’s legacy lived on. Her initiatives paved the way for future conservation efforts, including the establishment of the iconic Monterey Bay Aquarium.

Feathers on the Flyway: Unraveling Avian Mysteries at Bear Divide with the Moore Lab

Within a 45 minute drive from the urban chaos of downtown Los Angeles, lies a natural, ornithological marvel: Bear Divide, a vital corridor for the annual migration of numerous bird species. The divide is a small dip in the otherwise impregnable San Gabriel mountains, allowing birds in the midst of their migration to pass through safely at relatively low altitudes. This area is not just a haven for bird enthusiasts but also a critical research site, especially for the team from the Moore Lab of Zoology at Occidental College, who have been delving into the intricacies of these migratory patterns.

The Moore Lab of Zoology is renowned for its extensive bird specimen collection, one of the largest of its kind in the world for Mexican birds.

Part of the large bird collection at the Moore Lab (Erik Olsen)

Bear Divide is strategically positioned along the Pacific Flyway, a significant north-south migratory route used by birds traveling between Alaska and Patagonia. The geographical features of the San Gabriels provide an ideal resting and feeding ground for these birds, making Bear Divide a crucial stopover during their long journeys. It’s this unique combination of location and topography that makes Bear Divide an essential component of avian migration.

The discovery of Bear Divide was a lucky happenstance. A bird researcher was conducting overnight monitoring in the spring of 2016, and when morning came, he noticed legions of small songbirds whizzing past his monitoring spot. His report caught the attention of postdoc bird scientist Ryan Terrill at Moore Lab at the time, and he began an effort to monitor the birds. Terrill and his team would ultimately record as many as 20,000 birds in a single morning. The effort has continued to this day with startling results. Terrill has since left and is now the science director at the Klamath Bird Observatory.

“Last year 2023 we counted 53,511 birds of 140 species from February to May,” said John McCormack, a professor of biology and the Director and Curator of the Moore Laboratory of Zoology. “And of course, we missed many thousands more because most travel at night. It’s easy to say that there are hundreds of thousands of birds passing through Bear Divide.”

As many as 13,000 western tanagers, lazuli buntings, chipping sparrows, hermit warblers, orioles, grosbeaks and warblers pass through Bear Divide on a single day. Why they do so, is not entirely understood. The unusual topography of Bear Divide essentially serves as a funnel for the migrating birds, with many of them shooting through the gap just a meter or two above ground.

“Personally, I really think it’s one of the best birding spots in the world,” Terrill told the LA Times.

McCormack says that the “ultimate goal is to better understand the Pacific Flyway and how it’s used, especially by small terrestrial birds. Little is known about their movements because they are hard to see and usually travel at night.”

Because many of the species sighted at Bear Divide are in steep decline. The lab says that year-to-year counts will help set a baseline for future trends that can be associated with weather, climate, and urbanization. “Tracking individual birds will give granular knowledge on how migratory birds use the landscape, which helps individuals and homeowners create corridors for them to travel,” says McCormack.

The best time to catch the show at Bear Divide is late winter early Spring. McCormack says Cliff Swallows and Lawrence’s Goldfinch are some of the early movers in March, and that by May, streaking by are Yellow Warblers, sunset-faced Western Tanagers, and bright blue Lazuli Buntings.

“There is so much we still don’t know about these birds and their world,” Lauren Hill, the site’s lead bird bander, told the Los Angeles Times. “For example, no one knows where they were before showing up here after sunrise.”

Lazuli Bunting zips past the camera at Bear Divide (Ryan Terrill)

The team is counting birds in order to establish a baseline of the populations coming through Bear Divide so they can understand how much we are changing the environment and what effect that may have on bird populations, many of which are in severe decline.

Their research spans a variety of topics, including how climate change is impacting migration routes and the effects of urbanization on bird populations. The lab has recently begun a program to put satellite trackers on birds at Bear Divide to follow individual birds, providing deep insight into their migration and resting patterns. This research is not only pivotal in understanding avian behavior but also crucial in shaping conservation policies.

One of the most fascinating aspects of Bear Divide is the sheer variety of bird species it attracts. From the diminutive hummingbirds to the impressive birds of prey, each species adds a unique dimension to the study of migration. The Moore lab’s findings have shed light on the varied responses of different species to environmental changes, offering a glimpse into the broader ecological shifts occurring across the globe.

One compelling result of the Moore Lab’s study at Bear Divide suggests that the peak of a particular species’ migration is correlated with the latitude of its breeding site. Species that breed at higher latitudes migrated through Bear Divide at later dates. It’s also unusual in the West for species to migrate during the day. Most species of birds using the Pacific Flyway are known to migrate at night.

In addition to its scientific contributions, the Moore lab is also known for its involvement in citizen science. Collaborating with local birdwatchers and volunteers, the lab extends its research capabilities and cultivates a community actively engaged in bird conservation. This collaborative approach not only enhances the breadth of their research but also underscores the importance of community involvement in conservation efforts.

Bear Divide is that it’s public land, so anyone with a legitimate research project can get permission to work there. UCLA graduate student Kelsey Reckling, who has worked as a counter at Bear Divide since the beginning, is leading the counting efforts this Spring to understand changes in numbers of birds and species across years. Cal State L.A. graduate student Lauren Hill leads the group of bird banders, who catch some of the birds and record data, attaching a lightweight metal band around one leg and releasing them. Her lab mate Tania Romero is putting small, lightweight tracking devices on Yellow Warblers, which send signals to a network of tracking (MOTUS) towers across the continent.

Many bird species are under serious threat around the globe from a number of different impacts, including climate change, pesticides and habitat loss. Birds play a critical role in the health of our planet. They regulate ecosystems by preying on insects, pollinating plants, and spreading seeds. Healthy ecosystems are important for breathable air, food, and a regulated climate.

According to a 2019 study, nearly 3 billion breeding birds have been lost in North America and the European Union since 1970. That’s about 30% of the bird population in North America. The 2022 State of the Birds Report for the United States found that bird declines are continuing in almost every habitat, except wetlands. Protecting birds’ habitats, and migration routes and reducing mortality through conservation efforts are crucial to ensuring the survival of these magnificent creatures.

The research conducted at Bear Divide by the Moore lab transcends academic interests, emphasizing the interconnectivity of ecosystems and underscoring the need to preserve natural migration corridors amid urban expansion. The insights gained here are invaluable to both the scientific community and conservation efforts, highlighting the need for a balanced approach to wildlife preservation and ecological sustainability.

“What’s magical about Bear Divide is that it’s the first real place to see small, migrating birds at eye level in daylight hours,” says McCormack. “I don’t want to oversell it: it’s still a lot of small birds zinging by in a wide open place and it takes a while to get good at identifying them. But by seeing them out there, struggling against the wind and the cold, but still making progress, it gives you a real sense of how amazing their journeys are–and how we shouldn’t make them harder if there’s anything we can do about it.”

The Blythe Intaglios: Unraveling the Secrets of California’s Nazca Lines. Mysteries Etched in Earth

Blythe Intaglio of a human figure in Southern California (Wikipedia)

In the vast expanses of California’s Colorado Desert, less than four hours from Los Angeles, a series of ancient and enigmatic figures etched into the earth—the Blythe Intaglios—have long puzzled anthropologists and captivated the imagination of those who visit them or view them from the sky. They were brought to modern attention somewhat by chance. In 1932, George Palmer, a pilot flying over the Mojave Desert between Las Vegas, Nevada and Blythe, glimpsed these enigmatic formations, sparking curiosity and awe.

Named for the nearby town of Blythe, California, these large geoglyphs (human-made designs created on the ground by arranging or moving objects in a landscape), sprawl across the desert floor, and are an extraordinary example of prehistoric art, yet they remain one of the lesser-known archaeological wonders of North America. The Colorado Desert, just south of the Mojave, contains the only known desert intaglios in North America.

The Blythe Intaglios are best observed from above by drone or by plane, where their full scale and intricacy become apparent. The largest figure – of a human with outstretched arms – spans an immense 171 feet, an impressive endeavor considering the primitive tools likely used in their creation. One has to wonder why they were created at all since the people who made them certainly had no way of viewing them from the air. In addition to humans, the figures depict animals such as a rattlesnake and possibly a horse (yeah, what is that thing?), as well as geometric shapes, each meticulously carved by removing the dark desert varnish to reveal the lighter soil underneath. Intaglios in general are classified by their shapes, such as anthropomorphs (humanlike), zoomorphs (animal-like) and various geometric shapes.

The intaglios are mostly located along the Colorado River, a fact that some scientists consider significant. Rivers often hold a central place in the spiritual and cultural lives of indigenous peoples. For the tribes associated with the Blythe Intaglios, such as the Mojave and Quechan, the Colorado River was likely a vital part of their spiritual and everyday life. The proximity of these geoglyphs to the river suggests that they could have been part of a broader cultural landscape that included the river as a critical element. The river may have been seen as a source of life and a spiritual boundary, making the nearby land a significant place for creating these monumental figures.

While the Nazca Lines in Peru have gained worldwide fame, the Blythe Intaglios, though similar in form and function, have remained relatively obscure. Most Californians probably have no idea that such unique archaeological artifacts can be found in the state, let alone so close to a major urban center. This obscurity, however, adds to their mystique.

The geoglyphs are believed to date back at least a thousand years, but their exact age remains uncertain. If the quadruped figures represent horses (reintroduced in North America by the Spanish) then a historical date of sometime after the 1500s would be supported. Archaeologist Jay von Werlhof obtained radiocarbon dates for the figures, ranging from 900 BCE to 1200 CE. The human figures, particularly the largest, are thought to represent Mastamho, the creator of life in Mojave and Quechan mythology. The animal figures, like the mountain lions, are steeped in symbolic meaning, potentially reflecting the tribes’ cosmology and spiritual beliefs.

Nazca Lines in Peru. (UNESCO World Heritage Site)

The precise purpose of the Blythe Intaglios is a matter of ongoing debate. Some scholars propose that they were part of religious rituals or celestial observances. The alignment and positioning of the figures suggest a possible astronomical function, marking significant events in the lunar or solar calendars. Or perhaps making them was just a fun way to pass the time and express creativity.

Despite their historical and cultural significance, the Blythe Intaglios have not been immune to threats. Off-road vehicle traffic and natural erosion have damaged some of the figures. Conservation efforts are in place, but the remote location and sheer scale of the site present unique challenges. Fences have been erected around some figures to protect them, but much work remains to ensure their preservation.

The Blythe Intaglios are more than just ancient art; they are a profound testament to the rich and diverse cultural heritage of the indigenous peoples of the Southwest. These geoglyphs offer a window into a past that likely predates European influence, a past that is integral to understanding the complex tapestry of American history. In a world where such treasures are increasingly vulnerable to the ravages of time and human interference, the Blythe Intaglios are a fascinating example of the enduring power of human expression over time and the mysteries beneath our feet.

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