California, the misunderstood state

In the woods on the coast on the border of Sonoma and Mendocino counties, either a Northern Leopard Frog (Lithobates pipiens) or a Northern Pacific Tree Frog (Pseudacirs regilla--aka the Pacific Chorus Frog),

more likely the latter than the former.

On the drive over the hills (or are they mountains?) a day earlier, east to west from somewhere near Santa Rosa to Jenner, the sudden sight of a golden eagle, with prey in its clutches, lifting off from beside the road just outside the town of Occidental.

Wild turkeys strutted around Sea Ranch. The deer were small, many fawns, but were deer nonetheless.

Walking after rain on the headlands near the lighthouse at Point Arena, watched an otter play on the beach and then squirm out of sight into the water that is half-salt and half-fresh where the Garcia River ends at the sea.

Two days later, driving home up Annapolis Road from Highway 1, east, two packs of wild boars with babies scurry into the brush.

Down below, not far from Dry Creek and all the good sauvignon blanc the wineries are making there, the steelhead are spawning. A ranger from the Dry Creek fish hatchery escorted a busload of schoolkids through the works.

California is a much misunderstood state. There's as much wildlife here as in a place like Wyoming. And the Russians once found it quite hospitable, a place to grow vegetables to feed those countrymen hunting and trapping way up north in Alaska.