You Otter Know

Three feet long. Slick black and wet, and slithering out of a still lagoon. Beady eyes. Long, long tail. What bizarre and unexpected creature burst out of the water on my evening run around the Marin Lagoon this week? An escaped rat snake? A misdirected eel?

Try a river otter.

I've seen golden and bald eagles whirling and screaming overhead, coyotes chasing jackrabbits, male deer going head-to-head (literally) in the autumn rut. Hummingbirds building delicate nests out lichen and spider webs, salmon in final gasp in redwood-shadowed creeks. But I've never EVER seen a river otter here in Marin.

But there it was, appearing out of a flat-surface, trotting onto the dry gravely ground where I stood, taking a quick look at me not 10 feet away, then taking off in a galumphing gate. With its long body and short legs, its arching gait made it look like a furry inchworm with whiskers.

I followed Otter for a while, a few hundred yards along the flat horse corral area near the Showcase Theater, where the otter slipped into the tall grass by the canal that flows of the lagoon towards Santa Venetia. He periscoped once or twice to see where he was going--the grass was significantly taller than him, then slipped away in a rustle of grass blades, heading towards the bay.

But what the heck was he doing here--he's a RIVER otter, not a SEA otter. Turns out these guys aren't uncommon in San Francisco Bay's estuaries and lagoons--in fact they're well documented.


But why Marin Lagoon, filled with monstrous rubbery catfish and overloaded with mallard ducks and Canada geese. What's in it for the otter?

Rubbery catfish, mallards, and geese. And catfish. The otter eats them.

Back in 2006, a rash of Canada geese deaths made the news. Interestingly, it also occured in April. Here's the report:
04/15/2006 04:34:00 AM PDT
"A mysterious midnight predator is preying on a beloved flock of geese at the otherwise tranquil Civic Center lagoon, baffling officials who say it could be a coyote, dog, or, most likely, a river otter." The report continued: "Bob Wyatt, a county landscape services supervisor, said he believed a North American river otter was to blame. He recently spotted two otters in the lagoon. Then this week, Wyatt said a man walking in the park reported an otter feasting on a goose." And here I end with the report's very intriguing final line: "The voluminous rain this season may have helped the otters find their way into the lagoon, Wyatt said."

While I would question the use of the term "beloved" in conjunction with "geese," the report did have a jarringly familiar ring. I dug deeper, and found another startling series of reports in which river otters were drowning and eating brown pelicans in Rodeo Lagoon.

Twenty-five pound otter versus 15-pound pelican flapping its 8-foot wingspan? Guess what: otter wins every time. Apparently, for big birds like pelicans and geese, the otters are stealth hunters, swimming up underneath and grabbing the birds' feet or legs with needle-like teeth, then they pull the bird under to drown. Oh my.

I didn't see that kind of violence on my still spring dusk, just an impossibly cute fellow coming out of the water and going on an evening run with me. I hope I see him again. Hopefully he won't grab my feet.

I Hate Broom--and You Can Too!!

I don't usually go out of my way to destroy my hands, I mean absolutely tear them up. Don't worry, I'm not including a photo of their sad state. But a couple of weeks ago something made me MAD, I mean really MAD, and I did a very good job of wrecking my hands in the midst of that madness, leaving my paws blistered, battered, and aching from overuse. I had taken on a formidable enemy, armed with nothing but brute force, stubborn determination, and a crummy pair of gardening gloves. My enemy: broom.

Anyone living in--or even merely driving through--Marin this time of year can't miss broom. It's that lush shrub smothered in yellow flowers. You might even think it's pretty. But broom has become Public Plant Enemy #1 here, as it chokes out native plants and creates nasty fire hazards all over the county.

Broom most commonly grows in two forms in Marin: Scotch broom (tiny leaves growing on a tough stem, yellow flowers sometimes with tiny red polka dots near the flower's base).

Much more prominent is French broom (shown below, it's leafier, up to 5 or 6 feet tall, loaded with yellow flowers).

The plants are incredibly invasive, moving into cleared areas, burn sites, or really anywhere they see fit and taking over--fast. In a year a hillside can turn from nice leafy meadow dotted with wildflowers into a sloped choked with broom. It's estimated that over 100,000 acres of broom now clog California hills.



These Mediterranean natives have no problem elbowing their way into our ecosystem here. In addition to being remarkable hardy woody perennials and perfectly adapted to our monsoon/drought weather here in Marin, they have insanely effective means of reproducing.

Each flower produces a pod loaded with tiny black seeds. When they ripen in early summer and begin to dry, the pods snap open, flinging the seeds like tiny cannonballs from a catapult, ever increasing the spread of the plants. On any given hot day, if you're in an area with broom, listen for the snap-snap-snap of the pods springing open and flinging their seeds wide.

So back to my hands. I hate broom, and yank it out along trails throughout the county. I'm not alone in my loathing. The county hates it too, and has volunteer broom-cleaning days throughout Marin County Open Space public lands (here's how to help). Volunteer groups like Think Blue Marin pitch in; here Terra Linda Students yank out broom. (Thank you, Think Blue....)

Marin Municipal Water District hates it, and has launched assorted pilot programs to find out how best to kill broom, which has remarkably deep roots and doesn't like to die. MMWD has tried vinegar spritzes--doesn't work. Goats don't eat it. Poison works, but it's not acceptable on watershed lands. The best route appears to be good-ole elbow grease. The county has broom-yanking tools (the lady below looks far too happy using one), but even with these devices, the job is no fun.

Best to do it on damp days like we've had this winter, when the roots come out easiest.


That's what I decided to do on my little patch of hillside--yank yank yank--by hand and aided by loppers,
until I had completely cleared an area under a pretty live oak that I see out my window. I estimate I pulled about 3,000 (yes, a 3 and 3 zeros) plants.

Once choked with broom, the oak now has lots of clear space for natives, and even baby oaks, to move in. Turkeys and quail and other critters already forage there, in space that was once impenetrable and monocultured with broom. I will broadcast native wildflower seeds there come fall, and keep my eye on broom seedlings, which I'll rip out with morbid pleasure.

Die broom die.