When my wife and I bought our first house during COVID, we grabbed some food at a local restaurant and walked to the Wisconsin River to eat. Overhead, a white pelican flew by, a fish wiggling around in its enormous beak. We were astounded—we didn’t know they existed in Wisconsin. As we later learned from someone at the Wisconsin Department of Natural Resources, they hadn't—until habitat loss drove them to Green Bay and the Horicon Marsh to nest, and to the Alliant Energy Dam in our small Wisconsin town to feed.
Less than a year before that moment, we’d seen them yawning on some rocks in the wild in Cairns, Australia, before we dove in and around the Great Barrier Reef.
And during a boat trip out to the Channel Islands in California, we’d noticed pelicans. Slightly darker and doing something strange: They’d fly up high, pause in the air for a moment, turn to one side, and do a nosedive into the water at incredible speeds. Elation, confusion, excitement. These California Brown Pelicans are different. They dive from 60 feet in the air, and are the only pelican “plunge diver,” according to the National Park Service. Air sacs in the bird provide cushioning. The slight rotation we viewed helps protect the bird’s esophagus and trachea on the right side of the bird’s body.
I loved nature before I loved craft beer, writing, or soccer. Seeing this new type of pelican filled my heart and soul. It capped off a west-coast adventure of seven national parks from Seattle to Los Angeles, many breweries, and much wildlife (even having to be aware of a roaming mountain lion in one campsite).
Words + Photoby Louis Livingston-Garcia