A Stink Sun

One girl's quest to save an ancient species

CHAPTER ONE

Online Blog: California Condor Reintroduction to the Wild

By Kayah

Day 1

OK, so everybody has one, right? A memory of the weirdest day of your life? Yeah, I know, it keeps changing as you get older, doesn't it? One day you wake up with one thing in your head as the most bizarre thing you've ever experienced, and that night you're laying in bed debating in your head if that old whacky memory is anywhere close to what happened to you today.

Then, just maybe, you have one of those days when you think to yourself, "Oh, man, that's it. I can't imagine ever topping this one. No way! No how!"

If you haven't had that kind of day yet, well, I suppose that can be good and bad. On the good side, you have a lot of interesting days to look forward to. On the bad side, you still have the strangest day of your life out there sometime in your future, just waiting of you.

I blame my weirdest day to lack of sleep because I was only half awake when it started. At least I think I was half awake. I might have been 100 percent asleep, I guess, because after what I experienced, I'm not really sure I know the line between dreams and real life.

What I do remember quite clearly is this:

When I opened my eyes, I thought I was hiding under my covers. You know, it was kind of light out, but not really light out. At least not light enough for me to focus on anything. I'm still not sure there was anything to focus on at that point. If there was, I couldn't. Couldn't focus on it.

But I wanted to be able to see what was out there more than I've wanted anything in my life. I mean, it was like this was the first time I really, really wanted anything, period. At least that's how badly I wanted it.

So I started thinking what you're probably thinking, right? Just pull down the covers and take a peek. How hard can that be? I've done it a zillion times after a thunderstorm in the middle of the night. Finally peeked when the rumbling stopped and I haven't seen any flashes in a while.

But here's the thing that made my previous weirdest-day-of-my-life memory have to take a step to the side. I couldn't pull down the covers because when I looked down, I didn't have any hands.

No hands!

I know what you're thinking, 'cause that's what I was thinking. No HANDS! I must be dreaming. Then I looked down at my arms and, well, they weren't exactly arms, they were wings! That's when I said to myself, "Well, that's the first thing here that makes any sense. If I have wings, then I wouldn't have any hands, right? Least not at the end of my arms ..."

At which point, yeah, I kinda freaked because, that means, you know, what's probably at the bottom of my legs? When I started to wiggle my toes, it felt pretty strange. I also heard this really loud scratching noise. That's when it hit me that I was curled up in this little ball, and while it felt really, really comfortable in one sense, in another way, it felt like a cage or something, and I had to get out. NOW!

So I kept wiggling my toes, but realized I couldn't really do too much with them, since they were kinda squished into me. Same with my arms, er, my wings, that were now screaming to be stretched out straight and flapped around, because, I guess, if you have wings, that's what you want to do, flap 'em, right? That's when I started whipping my head around, trying to squirm my way out from under those covers when the strangest thing of all happened.

I poked a hole in my sheet. Or what I thought was my sheet. And get this, I poked that hole with my beak! Yes, I said my BEAK! I let out the biggest, loudest, baddest scream I could muster. I could feel it start way, way down in my, whatever's down at the bottom of my legs, OK, yes, my claws, and I could feel it increase in intensity as it raced up through my body up to my head — this blood-curdling wail to wake up the world — and I opened my mou ..., my beak, and out popped this tiny, eensy-weensy peep. Nothing more than a squeak.

I just closed my eyes and thought, well, that isn't going to be much help now, is it? That's when I remembered where I was, and pretty much knew why I was having this strange experience. I was so sure of it all, I didn't have to open up my eyes. Come to think of it, I really never even considered opening my eyes.

Anyways, it became pretty obvious what triggered all this nonsense in my head. I've been sitting here every waking moment staring at this incubator for almost a week now, waiting and waiting and waiting for the miracle of birth.

We have two California Condor eggs in the incubator, and we're trying to become the first science team in history to hatch an egg in captivity. I know that sounds kinda bad, right off the bat. We have these poor little eggs that we took from their nest, from their Mom and Dad, and are trying to hatch them ourselves — something no one has ever EVER done. But we're doing it because not very many California Condor chicks are being hatched in the wild, either, for a number of reasons, and right now, well, I mean, right then, before I poked that hole in the shell, there were only 22 California Condors alive in the whole world and that number has been going down, not up, for a long, long, long time.

Hold your hands out in front of your face, with your fingers spread. Now cross your eyes. Wiggle them a bit. That's about it. That's about 22 fingers you see. That's how many California Condors were alive.

That's what ran through my mind when I closed my eyes, and that's when I realized that I wasn't sitting in my chair, or, I mean, I was, but I was also sitting in that egg, seeing the world through the eyes of one of those California Condor chicks.

I don't know anything about being a Mother because I'm only 16 years old, but on some level, I no doubt feel like a Mother to these two eggs because no one in the world cares more about them than I do. Right now with my heart doing back round-offs inside my body, I have to believe that's probably the simplest definition of Motherhood there is and that feeling is the rawest emotion of Motherhood. For a moment there, that weirdest day of my life sorta made some sense to me and kinda felt somewhat natural, at least enough so that I decided to relax for a moment and open my eyes again.

Which I did, that is, open my eyes, to see one big eye peeking in the little hole at me, at which point everything spun around like a tornado or something, and I found myself leaning over the incubator looking inside a tiny hole in egg number 22 at an eye looking right back at me.

I told you. Weirdest day of my life. I thought for sure, it would survive as the weirdest day of my life. But really, that was months ago, and frankly, every day has been so weird that it's pretty much impossible to rank them on their level of weirdness.

Tomorrow will be the start of a new adventure for all of us.

**********

Online Blog: California Condor Reintroduction to the Wild

By Kayah

Day 2

Just before the sun peeks over the rocky ridge in the San Pascal Valley, it floods the sky with a soft orange glow. Cirrus clouds paint the edges of the horizon in stunning streaks of purple. A pack of House Finches sings playfully, blending perfectly with the bittersweet scent of Eucalyptus trees to transform sunrise into a symphony for the senses.

If I close my eyes and imagine the perfect sky, this would be it, with the finishing touch of a cyclone swirling into view. The thought of a flight of huge, black California Condors soaring on the morning breezes, circling down to form a funnel of life connecting the Earth and Sky brings tears to my eyes. That is my vision quest.

Since my early childhood days on the Reservation splashing alone through the River catching Frogs, Turtles, Snakes and an occasional timid Chickadee, I’ve always sensed deep inside that there is a reason for my powerful attraction to nature. My mission is more than just the love of life that everyone experiences from time to time on a nature hike or canoe trip, or my desire to follow in Father’s footsteps. It’s a feeling that I have an important task ahead — a challenge that is just for me, and no one else.

When I joined the Prey-go-neesh Team to help bring the California Condors back from the brink of extinction, I felt at peace, knowing I finally had found my home, my calling. It’s strange, this feeling of ease. It’s something I’m not completely comfortable with, at least not yet.

You can’t take a lifetime of feeling like an outcast — endless searching for answers about yourself — and rinse it from your essence overnight. Such is life as a child prodigy, not to mention a Native American one at that. Don't get me wrong. There is no place I would rather be than here, now. I'm treated like an adult because my knowledge of Condors is as vast and deep as any adult. I'm on a level playing field.

It's not like school, where I was always the youngest in an older world. While I could hold my own intellectually, everyone seemed to enjoy putting me in my place emotionally. It's so draining when you spend so much energy trying to fit in. Since graduating college my challenge has been facing the overwhelming possibilities. I know Father means well when he says that I can do anything in the world. I just don’t think he understands how much work it is to sift through everything in the world to find the one thing that’s perfect for me. Life seems just a little bit easier knowing where to focus my energy and attention.

In any event, today is a very important day, and the majestic sunrise scintillates me. I feel the energy of Mother Earth, of everything that is good in life. I sense nothing but hope. As I watch CC1’s family (CC1 is our code name for California Condor Number 1, the final free-flying member of the species who was captured for breeding two years ago) perched on the limb of the scraggly pine jutting out from a cliff in our Reproduction Site, I know they don’t share my unbridled optimism.

They don’t understand what miracles they already represent. CC25 (who we’ve nicknamed Malibu) and CC22 (Monterey) are five-month-old twins, a very rare occurrence for Condors. To have them in our initial breeding effort is a sign of great things to come. If nothing else, they display the sheer will of CC1’s lineage to survive.

From the moment Monterey and Malibu broke out of their shells I’ve experienced the most bizarre yet enriching journey anyone could imagine. It all began as Monterey chiseled a hole in her shell with her beak and looked me straight in the eye. As I mentioned in my previous entry, I wasn’t sure if that was Monterey fighting to get out or me. That’s what makes this all so surreal. It didn’t end there! If I sit still and quiet, and calm my mind, I can see the world through their eyes. Honest!

Let me explain how it works: Close your eyes. Be still. Be quiet. Be calm. Imagine doing yoga, or just meditating. Concentrate on your breath moving in and out of your diaphragm, the cosmic matter that makes air, life and the stars passing in and out in a rhythmic pattern.

Like a fuzzy image coming into clear view with your iPhone in Cinematic mode, I can see it. This morning, I see that Malibu views the Southern California dawn with the unabashed wonder of my eyes for only a brief moment. Today the invigorating experience of welcoming a new day quickly surrenders to the chalky, dry taste in his throat, and the dull ache of emptiness deep in his stomach that dominates his thoughts this morning.

Hunger is a huge distraction. It saps your energy and confuses your intentions. His sensation of hunger transforms to sadness as he watches Mama nudge her beak into the wing of his sister, waking Monterey for another day. Monterey moves slowly, rocking from side-to-side on the tree branch as she shakes herself awake. She wants to smile and offer a perky “good morning” that showcases her usually vibrant personality, but not today. Only one thing weighs heavy on her mind.

“I’m hungry, Mama,” Monterey says, her weak voice cracking. “Really hungry.”

“I know, sweetheart,” Mama says, leaning forward to rub her neck softly on the top of Monterey’s head before she preens her daughter’s wingtips. “I know.”

“Will we eat today?” Monterey asks.

Malibu snaps his head around to look at the Finches that have left the Eucalyptus trees to peck around in the grass, filling their tiny tummies like guests at a royal feast. His sadness bursts into anger that he cannot put into words. It just doesn’t seem fair that life is so hard for some, and easy for others. Who has the right to make those decisions?

It pains me that I haven’t been able to keep their stomachs full this week. Indeed, what gives me the right? But we have a plan, and a reason for everything. It’s all for their good, in the end. That’s what I tell myself.

“We’ll see,” Mama says quietly. “Maybe there will be food today. Maybe not. We eat when there is food. That’s just what we are. We are Condors. California Condors.”

Suddenly a loud whoosh startles the family for a moment. A few cracks of large wingtips snapping back and forth echo in the canyon like a cowboy’s whip as Papa lands on the branch with a hollow thud. The limb bounces slowly to a standstill. Papa cranes his long neck to get a good look at his pride and joy, his twins. I can’t suppress the huge smile that rips across my face, and mirrors the expressions of the twins. It’s the look of eternal love and respect. It’s the look of life.

“Good morning,” Papa says in his deep, comforting voice. “Time to rise and shine.”

“Morning, Papa,” the twins say in unison, not injecting much enthusiasm into their greeting. Even love comes hard when hunger drains your essence and dominates your attention.

Papa crinkles his face for a moment and raises an eyebrow with sly smile. “What kind of morning?”

“Good morning,” the twins reply as they giggle and feel the reassuring peace Papa’s presence brings.

“Indeed,” Papa booms, as he unfolds his massive 10-foot wings out for a wide stretch flashing the bright white lining and belching a funny sounding grunt. “A good morning, indeed.”

Papa makes me laugh at the doubt we had a year ago. If anything, we should have known that the last surviving California Condor in the wild would be a rare bird. He has done nothing to disappoint us.

I remember that long helicopter ride to his new home at the Reproduction Site after his capture, which was no small feat in itself. I remember assuring him that we meant no harm. He must have been gripped with terror, trapped in the dark cage while I told him about his destiny in the long storied existence of California Condors. Strange as it may seem, I sensed he was listening. I felt he understood. We will test that theory severely today.

As usual, Papa commands the spotlight. The twins forget their hunger for a minute or two as they marvel at Papa. They know if they are hungry, Papa must be really, really hungry. Even though it feels as though it has been weeks since their last meal (it actually has been eight days, and Condors have been known to go more than two weeks without eating), they remember chowing down like gluttons as Papa stood guard. Only after their bellies were comfortably full did Papa bound over and gobble up the scant leftovers.

“Every morning is a good morning,” Papa says as he looks out across the valley. “That’s something that you must remember. I won’t always be here to remind you.”

“Right,” Malibu snaps back sarcastically. “You watch us like a Hawk. You won’t leave us alone for more than a minute. Like yesterday, at the watering hole.”

Papa coughs up a hearty laugh, caught like all parents, by the perceptive powers of youth.

“That may be true for now,” Papa says, his voice turning stern. “But it won’t always be like that. Soon you will be on your own. You will learn the ways of the Condor by yourself. Just like I did. Just like all Condors have, for thousands and thousands of years.”

The twins pause and exchange looks of confusion. Papa has never spoken like this before. Maybe their numbing hunger makes him sound different — the same reason this morning’s wonderful sunrise appears so plain. Whatever it is, they sense change in the air, as if it adds to the rumbling in their tummies.

“Papa,” Monterey asks, “if you aren’t here to teach us, how will we learn? How do you learn without having someone tell you things?”

“You learn by experiencing things,” Papa says. “And, by instinct.”

“What’s instinct?” Monterey wonders.

“Instinct is what you already know in here,” Papa says, patting his thick chest with his wing.

“Instinct is how you feel?” Monterey asks.

“Sort of,” Papa says. “Tell me, how do you feel right now?”

“Hungry,” Monterey says.

“Angry,” Malibu quips.

“Ahhh,” Papa says, flashing a clever parental smile. “Hunger is instinctive, it is natural. What can you do so you don’t feel hungry anymore?”

“Eat,” Monterey says.

“Correct,” Papa says. “Now, Malibu, what can you do so you don’t feel angry anymore?”

Malibu turns his head in a huff and crosses his wings.

“You can eat,” Papa says, “but that won’t change how you feel. You must learn the difference between instinct and emotion. Follow your instinct. Control your emotion.”

Today Papa will face the ultimate test of instinct verses emotion. How he reacts will have a major impact on the future of our project and the success of keeping the California Condor from joining the likes of the Dodo bird on the extinction list.

A commotion in the clearing below catches Papa’s attention. The squawks of Ravens pierce the silence of the morning. The hum of large wings slicing through the air has everyone craning their necks. Yuma, another young Condor, startles the royal family by bounding to the base of the cliff.

“Food!” Yuma barks out breathlessly, “Food. Come on.”

The twins quickly look at Papa.

“Go,” Papa says.

The twins drop to the ground and hop out to the clearing, following Yuma’s lead. Papa turns to Mama, and sees her eyes fill with tears.

“It’s time, isn’t it?” Mama asks.

Papa nods gently and moves closer to Mama. They know the next few hours will be the hardest of their lives, if my words are true. They have no reason to doubt me. Everything I’ve told them has come true so far. Surely they know, if California Condors will ever fly freely again over the ranges of the Pacific Coast as Papa once did, these are the sacrifices they must make.

“I hope they are ready,” Mama says.

“We did what we could,” Papa says. “They will be fine. They are California Condors.”

**********

CHAPTER TWO

Online Blog: California Condor Reintroduction to the Wild

By Kayah

Day 2 (continued)

Some say Mother Nature can be cruel, and Malibu and Monterey certainly feel that when others poke fun at them. The first time they looked into a pool of water to see themselves, they could tell they were different from the others.

Most birds have soft, shapely feathers that cover their heads like the comforting hood of a sweatshirt. They sing a sweet song, or trumpet regally. Most have small, efficient beaks. Not so for the Condor.

Sure, the twins now have some feathers on their heads. Those will disappear in time, and they will assume the distinctive bald-headed look of all California Condors. They have no vocal chords, so their communication sounds primitive — nothing more than grunts and hisses, in stark contrast to pretty serenades of other birds. Condor beaks help them carve healthy helpings from carcasses, and the lack of feathers allow them to clean themselves easily and keep them safe from bacterial infection.

Monterey isn’t thinking about being unique or even survival when she begins to gain ground on Yuma as they race toward the carcass of a baby calf baking in the dry, morning heat. She thinks of pigging out and quenching her hunger. Filling a void. Eating is, of course, the foundation for survival. She doesn’t think twice about ducking into the forest canopy, into the shadows. In no time at all, Monterey buries her large beak inside the calf, tearing out hefty chunks of nourishment. Malibu hesitates. Anger, not hunger, still dominates his thoughts.

Malibu stops 20 feet from the carcass and views the scene of seven young, famished Condors eating at a feverish pace — food dripping from their innocent, glowing faces like a human baby devouring its morning oatmeal. He isn’t certain exactly what raises his guard and keeps his emotion boiling beneath the surface. Maybe it’s because no parents stand guard. That is strange, yes. Something else, though, gnaws at his gut more powerfully than his hunger.

“Come on,” Monterey yells eagerly, with her mouth half full. “Dig in!”

As she raises her wing to gesture her brother to the feast, the sunlight catches the bright red “22” tag on her appendage. That triggers Malibu’s memory, and he hunches forward to hiss. He remembers the last time he was this hungry. The euphoria of the rush to food gave way to terror as we captured them for tagging. That’s when we attached the “22” on Monterey and the “25” on Malibu, and the “33” on Yuma.

“Hello?” Monterey yells again. “Time to eat. Better dig in before it’s all gone!”

“Something’s wrong,” Malibu says as he continues to look around suspiciously.

“You’re hungry, that’s all,” Monterey says.

“No,” Malibu says, “Last time …”

“Last time we were back with Mama in no time,” Monterey says. “Papa says you must trust Kayah if you want to survive. She’s our friend.”

“I don’t need any friends,” Malibu says. “I can get along just fine on my own. You have to be strong, Monterey. Like Papa.”

“Can’t be strong if you don’t eat,” Monterey says between bites and swallows. “If you don’t eat, you won’t survive.”

Malibu shrugs again and surveys the situation. There is plenty of food and he feels no reason to hurry to the feast.

“I’m going to check on Papa,” Malibu says.

“Papa said to go eat,” Monterey argues. “Come on.”

Malibu moves close enough to get a sniff of the feast and his stomach rumbles loudly, yet something else urges him elsewhere.

“I’ll be right back,” Malibu says, turning and hopping back to the woods.

“Whatever,” Monterey says, rolling her eyes at Yuma. “More for us.”

When Malibu turns away from the feast, I’m on high alert. He should be too young to sense alarm, much less our plan. Any delays could mean trouble. Even worse, if Malibu heads back to find Papa, we’ll face serious complications.

Today is separation day. It’s the toughest day of all. The young Condors have been lured away from their parents by food. Our hope is to catch the young Condors and move them quickly to the Reintroduction Site, their new home.

Our Reproduction Site, where they have spent their first five months, is just a half-acre enclosure. The Reintroduction Site is not enclosed. It’s a 150,000-acre habitat area that has been set aside for the Prey-go-neesh Team program to help the California Condors survive, and thrive. It is typical Condor habitat, where they will be able to live freely and, with any luck, begin to reproduce in the wild some day.

The Reintroduction Site will allow us to monitor the Condors. Our goal is not to intervene, unless it is necessary. Determining what circumstances may be “absolutely necessary” already has caused friction on our team. It will be tough for the youngsters, without adult supervision. We know that. But we need to keep the adults captive to reproduce and increase numbers since so few Condors are alive. Once we have a stable population in the wild, we hope CC1 will fly free again.

I believe that it’s my responsibility to do whatever I must to keep the Condors alive. However, the Prey-go-neesh Team leader doesn’t share that sentiment. He believes in natural selection and the survival of the fittest — a decree he relentlessly preaches to me. I know each of his lectures by heart.

My determination to follow my own path — listening to my instincts — creates a constant tension between us. It has been that way since early childhood, when he took me on my first nature hike, and will probably remain that way forever. My stubbornness comes directly from him. Like Father, like Daughter, they say.

Today’s mission to move the chicks, however, is mine. I’m in charge, and I’ll decide the course of action. Father takes over once we reach the Reintroduction Site and release the chicks. I like to think I work for him because of my resourcefulness, creativity and passion, not because we are related. For now, we have a plan. My plan.

Malibu, however, is playing havoc with the plan. Half of my team will quickly shelter the adults while we capture the youngsters. If Malibu returns to find his parents being sheltered, there’s no telling what he’ll do! More than anything, he’ll resent us. We can’t lose what little trust we have gained. I radio to that team he may be on his way back to them.

It’s obvious to me this isn’t following the plan. Not with Malibu acting like a maverick. We need to move quickly if we want to keep on schedule. If we spend too much time chasing down Malibu, we may lose some of the others. In all, we have eight Condor chicks. If we capture them too quickly and can’t get Malibu, they will be held too long in their cages. That could make an impact. We need to limit the amount of stress they experience.

I can’t believe I just wrote that. Imagine, limiting the stress of having your family torn in two and never seeing your parents again. It makes hunger pains seem like child’s play.

I take a deep breath. I make the call. It’s time for backup plan C. The capture team moves in quickly on the youngsters, focusing its attention on Monterey. Our only hope is that Malibu hears his sister in distress and comes to her aid. Better that than the other option — him coming to the aid of his parents. We must keep the youngsters together at all costs.

Malibu continues heading back toward Papa when he hears a distinctive hiss.

“Monterey!” he screams as he turns and darts back to the feast.

Tuck and Billy cage Monterey. They have four others also penned in when Malibu breaks into the clearing. He pauses for a moment to assess the situation.

“Monterey, where are you?” Malibu yells.

“I’m here,” Monterey shouts back. “Caged.”

“I’m coming!” Malibu screams.

Malibu arches his shoulders and spreads his wings as he grows into a large force of fierce feathers belying his youth. He darts toward Tuck and Billy. They move like matadors, dancing away from his first assault. Then they hold their ground for a moment, and slowly move back into position.

“Let her go!” Malibu screams, preparing for another attack.

“No,” Monterey shouts. “Malibu, stop. Trust them.”

Malibu pauses for a moment, huffing and puffing with anger.

“Please,” Monterey says, quieting down. “Please. Stay with me.”

Malibu stands stationary, like a statue.

“What about Papa?” he asks.

“Papa said we’d be on our own,” Monterey said. “Don’t leave me all alone.”

Malibu hisses again, then bows his head and drops his shoulders. Tuck and Billy move in quickly. In a few moments, it is over. The youngsters are secure in individual cages. The helicopter is on its way.

-END Online Blog ENTRY-

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CHAPTER THREE

[We now interrupt regular programming for a video report on Outdoor Network Sunrise Morning Show]

Outdoor Network reporter Thor Wild shouts into his microphone over the roar of whirling helicopter blades. His cameraman frames the chopper landing in the background, over his right shoulder as the team begins to carry eight cages to the belly of the military troop carrier.

“With the sun just clearing the horizon, the Prey-go-neesh Team moves swiftly to get the young Condors to the Reintroduction Site,” Wild says as his live broadcast airs on the Outdoor Network Sunrise Morning Show. “It will take the Boeing Chinook on loan from the U.S. Marines about 45 minutes to transport the Condors and the team to the Reintroduction Site along the rocky shores of the California Coast, where they will be released into a flight pen. Once they are in the flight pen, the eight young California Condors will be free to begin their new lives in their 150,000-acre habitat. With me is Kayah, the project leader. Good morning Kayah.”

“Good morning Thor,” I say. “I’m very excited. This is a historic day.”

“Thanks for allowing us to be here,” Wild says, “How have things gone so far?”

“Right now we are on schedule,” I say. “We had some minor incidents in capturing the youngsters this morning and separating them from their parents, but right now everything is fine.”

“Explain to us what will happen when these five-month-old Condors are released,” Wild says.

“The youngsters have transmitters attached to their wings, and each has its own individual signal. Our Prey-go-neesh Team will monitor the movements of each of the chicks. The first few days will be critical to the success of the program, since they won’t have any adults around to teach them the ropes. It’s like dropping a couple of grade schoolers in downtown Los Angeles and expecting them to fend for themselves.”

“What are the biggest dangers the young Condors will face?” Wild asks.

“The same dangers that every Condor has faced, and overcome, for the past 12,000 years. Initially our most important task will be to educate the youngsters on where to roost at night. It is vital that the Condors find a safe place to roost. It must be a remote place, say, on a cliff, where a predator — like a coyote for example — cannot attack them. They’ve been protected from the wild since birth.”

“Mother Nature will be their biggest enemy?” Wild asks.

“There are man-made dangers, too. For instance, it will be very important that the youngsters only feed on carcasses that we put out for them. It is quite possible that they might run across a carcass of a deer or pronghorn or big horn sheep out there that was shot by man. In that case, it could be harmful for them to eat the meat that is contaminated with lead from shotgun pellets. Other dangers, if they stray too far from the site, would be high-voltage electrical wires and, of course, poachers. These are the things that we’ll have to keep an eye on constantly.”

“When you say constantly, you mean how long?” Wild asks.

“Literally years. At this point only 30 California Condors exist. At one point, we had just 22. We need to reintroduce the species to the wild, and begin the process of reproduction in the wild. We have very little margin for error. Each one of these birds is more valuable than the rarest diamond.”

“Thank you Kayah, I know you have a lot to do,” Wild says. “There you have it. It appears that man is best friend of the California Condors. We’ll be back later on today with another report when the Condors reach their new home. Thor Wild, reporting from Southern California.”

The report ends on a big screen TV as an interested party watches the team load the final cage onto the helicopter. The camera films as it lifts off and disappears over the ridge. The television screen blinks to darkness as Descartes hits his remote control. He spins his office chair and plants his cell phone to his ear.

“What a magnificent bird, don’t you agree Mr. Dupree?” Descartes asks. “Imagine, surviving 12,000 years! What strength. What resourcefulness.”

“Yes sir,” Dupree says. “Remarkable.”

“Do you understand your assignment?” Descartes asks.

“Yes sir,” Dupree says. “Bring you two California Condor chicks. One male, one female.”

A sinister smile creeps across Descartes’s face as he rises from his chair and moves to the window. He pulls back the curtain and gazes out at a fantastic scene that looks like the world’s most wonderful zoo. He gently lifts open the window to listen to the concert of sounds from his private collection of the rarest animals on earth.

Hybrid Spider Monkeys scream as they swing on vines hanging from Rubber trees in the jungle enclosure, while a family of Lowland Gorillas sits in a clearing of high grass rolling around and meticulously cleaning themselves as they carry on a grunting conversation. In the dry savannah enclosure in the distance, African and Asian Elephants trumpet, scattering a small herd of Cuvier’s Gazelles from a watering hole. An occasional roar from a Florida Cougar or Texas Ocelot prompt the Hawaiian Crows and Blue-bellied Parrots in the aviary to began squawking.

“That, Mr. Dupree, will be the perfect addition to my collection,” Descartes says. “Don’t let me down.”

“We are already in position,” Dupree says. “Everything is set.”

“Wonderful,” Descartes says as he clicks off his phone. “Simply wonderful.”

After a 45-minute break, Descartes turns on his TV.

[We now interrupt regular programming for a video Special Report on Outdoor Network Sunrise Morning Show]

“This is Thor Wild reporting from the California Condor Reintroduction Site just a few miles inland from the shores of the Pacific Ocean,” Wild says, standing in front of the team assembling the cages at the edge of the flight pen. “At one time the great California Condor soared over the entire North American continent. For some reason about 10,000 years ago, the species disappeared from the rest of North America, but continued to flourish along the Pacific Coast, from Mexico’s Baja California to Canada’s British Columbia.

“The Prey-go-neesh Team is about to release eight five-month-old California Condor chicks into the flight pen. These chicks were born in captivity at the team’s Reproduction Site. Two are offspring of the last free-flying California Condor, CC1, who was captured two years ago to help keep the species from extinction. Once these chicks are released in the flight pen, they are just a couple of steps from complete freedom for the first time in their lives. They will be the first Condors in the wild since CC1. It is a very anxious moment for the team.”

Kayah steps up to Wild as the rest of the group continues to prepare the Condors for their release in the background.

“Kayah is the Prey-go-neesh Team project leader, and she has been planning for this day for a year,” Wild says. “Kayah, what’s next for the chicks?”

“Right now we are doing a final communication check,” I say. “Our team is activating the transmitters on each of the chicks by remote control, and checking the signal. When we are certain that each chick can be recognized, we’ll open the cages and let them venture into the flight pen.”

“What exactly is the flight pen?” Wild asks.

“The Condor chicks have known nothing but enclosure in their short lives. They’ve been able to attempt short flights, just 100 or 200 feet, in their reproduction area. Of course, there is netting above them. Here in the flight pen, there is netting above them for about 300 feet. Then the pen opens up to freedom. It will be their first opportunity to see what majestic fliers they are.”

“So they’ll just take off and get on with life?” Wild asks, “They’ll just begin their adventure?”

“That’s what we hope. We’re not sure how they will react to the freedom. Condors are very patient birds. Their patience borders on stubbornness. When they are roosting, they might roost for days without moving. What is important to remember is that they haven’t experienced full flight. It’s like a baby taking her first steps, and then running the Boston Marathon.”

“They know how to fly by instinct?” Wild asks.

“Yes. However, unlike other birds, the Condor can’t just jump up and take to flight. The Condor is such a large bird — adults will weigh more than 20 pounds — that they need to get a running start, much like a jet does, charging down the runway to get up enough speed to take to the air. Without an adult here to show the chicks by example, they’ll just have to figure it out themselves. Basically, they face a lot of uncertainty right now.”

“One can only imagine what is going through their minds,” Wild says. “Is …”

A call on my radio interrupts Wild.

“Excuse me,” I say, “That’s the signal. We are ready for release.”

A moment like this is what I live for. I hope it’s what everyone lives for. It’s a moment so full of life that it almost feels intoxicating. Athletes call these moments “the zone.” You become so fully engrossed and aware of the moment, that time seems to slow down. Everything moves in slow motion, allowing you to savor and catalogue every sensory experience. I realize I’m in the zone when I look down at my hand holding the microphone, and see it trembling with excitement.

I’m overcome with emotion as I pause to think about it. I have the honor of giving the final order to reintroduce the first generation of California Condors back into the wild. It may seem so simple, just a few words of a command: Release the chicks. The responsibility that comes with it is overwhelming. I sense a slight taste of what it means to be a parent, and I quickly understand the essence of so many arguments and battles with Father while growing up.

Memories fill my head. I remember vividly the day Father took the training wheels off my first bicycle. I was furious with him. I was perfectly content to ride with training wheels. I loved my bicycle the way it was. I could venture up and down the roadway, to the corner market and back.

Each afternoon I would ride to the crossroads and wait for Mother to return from work, and race her back home. Or, I could simply ride slow and enjoy sounds of the Robins and Sparrows in the trees. Taking those training wheels off meant I would have to focus my attention on riding the bike, not enjoying the scenery. I was angry that Father would do that to me.

That wasn’t really what made me angry, though. What torched me was fear — plain and simple fear. I didn’t want to fall off my bike and hurt myself. I enjoyed the safety of the training wheels. Clear as day, I can see Father looking deep into my teary eyes.

“Kayah,” he said to me, “Trying something new can be a little scary. It’s all right to be afraid and cautious. That is the price of adventure. If you pay that price and overcome that fear, you will be rewarded with experiences beyond your wildest dreams. They may not all be pleasant experiences. But they will let you know you are alive.”

My greatest fear is that I might let these chicks down. I know how people view me: Book smart, street dumb. Pit me against the world in a spelling bee and I thrive. Toss me against the neighborhood kids in kick-the-can and I dive. That’s the way it always has been. In the classroom I’m star. On the playground I’m sub-par. This challenge demands street smarts, thinking on my feet, adjusting and adapting. I have the background information to rely on. I just need to make decisions on the fly. That’s what troubles me.

I’ve done my research as thoroughly as anyone. But in the heat of the moment, will I come up with the right answers? This isn’t a playground game. This is life and death. I can’t let them down. I have to do everything in my power to see that they survive and succeed in bringing the species back to full life. CC1 and the others trust me. I have to overcome my fear and let the adventure begin.

“Release the chicks,” I say into my microphone as chills run up my spine.

Wild is tongue-tied and simply watches as the team opens the cages with a rope attached to the spring latches. The doors of the cages flip open, and startle the chicks. The crates shake a bit. What follows is complete silence.

I can’t help looking down every few minutes to see that my hand continues to shake like a little kid with purple lips refusing to get out of the lake on a cool summer night. The vibration lets me know I’m alive and reminds me to breathe. That sounds crazy, doesn’t it? Remind myself to breathe?

I find myself holding my breath as I wait for the chicks to step from their cages. I think it was Einstein who said that a few minutes with a beautiful woman can seem like seconds while touching your hand on a hot stove for a second can seem like minutes. Whatever. This seems very long. This stove is hot.

I stare intently at the cages attempting to send telepathic messages to the chicks that it is safe, that they shouldn’t be afraid. I think of the first morning I rode my bicycle to school. Just weeks after those training wheels were stripped my bicycle became my personal rocket ship, taking me to places I never imagined. I can remember the smile bursting across my face as I turned the corner and waved goodbye to Father. Looking at the grin on his face felt like looking in the mirror. Love and respect.

Wild sees a smile cracking on my face and motions for his cameraman to film it.

“What’s happening?” Wild whispers to me.

“Life,” I say.

The beauty of the zone is the suspension of time. Eventually I look at my watch, and see that we’ve been sitting silently and waiting for 22 minutes. There are moments it feels like it has been 22 hours, and other moments when it feels like 22 seconds. Suddenly a loud hiss breaks the silence. What I hear next is a bit eerie.

“Twenty-two is restless,” Tuck whispers on the radio.

“It appears we have some movement,” Wild says, breaking the longest period of silence in television history.

“It’s chick number 22,” I say quietly. “One of the twins.”

“Twins?”

“Usually Condors lay one egg every other year because it is such a arduous task for them. Breeding in captivity means that we must take the egg from the parents as soon as possible to ensure that we have a birth. We can’t leave much up to nature at this point. When number 22 was laid, we took it from the nest and planted a fake egg. Normally the parents wouldn’t know the difference and continue caring for it, but we are dealing with CC1 here. And he is an extraordinary bird.”

“CC1 is the last free-flying Condor who was captured two years ago to spearhead the breeding program,” Wild says.

“Yes. When the parents realized they had lost the first egg, they laid a replacement clutch. That is very, very rare. But it does happen. So, essentially, CC1 had twins this year. That is chick 22, a female, and 25, a male. They have already shown signs of their royal lineage.”

Monterey lets out another loud hiss and tries to stretch her wings. The crate feels confining and she wants out. Now. Suddenly my mind spins.

“Monterey?” Malibu calls from a crate a few feet away.

“Malibu?” Monterey calls, “Where are you?”

“Some sort of cave,” Malibu says.

“Me, too,” Monterey says. “I’m out of here.”

“No!” Malibu says. “It’s safe in here. Wait for Papa.”

Monterey peers out of her cage and sees the familiar netting stretch out above her. Out ahead, though, she sees clear blue sky on the horizon. At first she doesn’t understand. Then she remembers.

“Papa’s not coming,” Monterey says.

“What?” Malibu asks, getting angry again. “Where’s Papa?”

“Look ahead. The horizon,” Monterey says. “It’s our homeland. Just like Papa told us. The land with no checkered sky. We’re free. Free to roam. Free to fly.”

“I don’t like this,” Malibu says. “Where’s Papa? What have they done to him?”

“Papa said,” Monterey says, “it’s time for us to go out on our own.”

“I don’t trust these people,” Malibu says. “I told you not to eat this morning. It was a trap. Stay put. Stay safe.”

“He’s right,” Yuma says, interrupting in a shaky tone. “We should wait for an adult. We don’t know what’s out there.”

Monterey listens. She shakes her head in disagreement, and pokes her beak out of the cage. She turns her head a bit, and stops for a minute before making another rotation. Eventually she surveys the layout of the land. She sees the other cages lined up next to hers. She sees netting behind and above. She sees clear sailing out front. She takes a deep breath and thinks about Papa’s advice.

“Instincts,” she whispers to herself, “My instincts say it’s time to go.”

As her eyes widen with a sense of adventure Monterey takes two quick hops out of her cage and pauses.

“Are you nuts?” Malibu cries out in fear. “Stop. Don’t …”

“Don’t be such a Chickadee,” Monterey says.

“I’m not a Chickadee,” Malibu barks. With four big jumps he bounds out of his cage farther than Monterey, hunching his shoulders forward and craning his head looking for danger.

“Hey,” Monterey giggles. “I’m the leader.”

With that, Monterey takes five hops toward the horizon beyond the ridge. Malibu forgets about his worries and laughs at the bravado of his sister.

“No way,” Malibu says. “I’m the leader.”

Malibu blasts out a honking laugh as he takes a few more hops just past Monterey. Her giggles turn to a belly-rumbling roar of laughter as they playfully hop toward the edge of the flight pen. Yuma and the others watch in stunned amazement at first. Once they see the twins’ lead, they slowly emerge from their pens. Meanwhile, the twins continue their sibling rivalry game of one-upmanship until they get close enough to the cliff to see the lush valley come into view and spread out below them. They both freeze in their tracks.

“Whoa,” Malibu gasps as he stretches out and flaps his wings with unbridled excitement. “Check it out.”

“You know it,” Monterey squeaks as her wings rip wildly like they have a mind of their own. “Let’s do it.”

“Go for it!” Malibu screams.

With a mad dash the twins bound toward the edge of the cliff. Their wings flap wildly. Their hops stretch into long running strides. The ledge comes closer and closer as they both holler like kids on their first roller-coaster ride.

“Here … We … Goooooo!” Monterey shouts.

“YoouuuuZZAAA!” Malibu howls.

They both dive off the edge of the cliff and plummet 20 feet toward the canyon floor before the thermals break up the sheer wall of stone to lift their wings and spread their feathers out completely. They explode upward like 747s, lean to the right and make a sweeping circle back over the flight pen. The others watch in utter amazement.

“Yessss!” Malibu hollers.

Malibu turns his head back and looks at Monterey gliding just behind him. He smiles, drops his head, and begins circling down toward the cliff where the Yuma and the others have slowly ventured out to the clearing. The twins make a dive and buzz close over their heads. The twins laugh and Monterey tilts her head toward the vast horizon that stretches on, seemingly, forever.

“Let’s roll,” she says.

With a few powerful flaps of their wings, the twins soar in the warmth of the morning sun.

-END VIDEO REPORT-

**********

CHAPTER FOUR

Online Blog: California Condor Reintroduction to the Wild

By Kayah

Day 7

My heart races as I check the evening log when I report for duty this morning. It appears the twins may be coming home. Tuck reports in his log that the transmitters relay movement in a northern direction after four days of complete rest.

Having to keep track of eight young chicks is no simple task. It has been a blessing of sorts that the twins left immediately and began exploring. I never expected them to travel 100 miles on their first flight, but then California Condors can become fixated. I can imagine the sibling rivalry driving them on, and on. They flew for two days to reach wherever they are, so it should take at least that long for them to find their way home.

I look forward to their return and seeing if they are hungry or not. If not, they were able to fend for themselves. That is good and bad. Good that they are independent. Bad that we can’t be certain of what they digested. We may be forced to take a blood sample to check for lead poisoning.

Since my attention the last six days has been on the other chicks, I haven’t had the opportunity to “peek in” on the twins. I feel as though there is a hole inside of me because of that, but the others have kept us very busy.

As we count down to the end of our first week, we have managed to teach almost all of the chicks the proper techniques for roosting.

C23, whom we now call Eureka, finally figured it out last night. After six successive nights of attempting to roost in a low-hanging branch of a Juniper where she would be easy prey for a coyote, she decided to make her first roost in the cliffs where she can be safe from harm (as in Eureka! She figured it out).

Yuma (C33) is the most timid of the group. He has stayed very close to the release site with only two quasi-adventurous flights. Obispo (C31) appears to have the biggest appetite of all the youngsters. He manages to be the first to arrive and the last to leave at any feeding.

I need to take a moment to thank Silver City Dairy. They have supplied us with stillborn calves, which have been the staple for the youngsters. We’ve managed to keep them well fed, and can see signs of growth in just these few days. Maybe that’s just my imagination.

I suppose I shall give you the lowdown on the rest of this group.

Fresno (C24) has been the most curious of the remaining bunch. Although he was the last to take flight, he has been the most active, taking numerous short flights each day to nearly more positions than we can track. By the time we dispatch a team to check on his whereabouts, he is off on another journey. He is either very curious or has a very short attention span.

Borrego (C30) is a desert rat. While most of the chicks prefer to roost in trees and ledges during the day, he likes to land in the dry, sandy clearings. He spends as much time hopping around on foot as he does exploring by air.

Clemente (C27) has a true love of flight, but is not very adventurous. She will take to the skies for hours on end, but never stray more than 10 miles from the release site. She is a very strong flier and has survived some very strong Santa Ana winds while the others have remained grounded in the stiff breezes.

Although the weather has been wonderful since the release, change is imminent. A line of El Niño storms have been assembling offshore, and we expect them to reach us in two days. I’m doing my best not to think of it as a race between the storms and the twins. I’m confident that they can find shelter if they are not back when the weather hits.

-END Online Blog ENTRY-

**********

Online Blog: California Condor Reintroduction to the Wild

By Kayah

Day 9

It’s dark and dreary this morning. The wind howls and most of the chicks have taken safe roosts to weather the storm. The early indications show the twins are still making progress in their return. They must not have hit bad weather yet. The tracking shows they are within 20 miles, so it won’t be long before the storm hits them, too.

We had a storm preparation meeting last night. Father issued everyone’s working orders. I noted that there was no one allocated to tracking the twins. Father stood firm on his survival of the fittest mandate. As day captain, I’ll decide if we will honor that or intervene if we have to. I hope it doesn’t come to that. Let’s hope for a quiet storm.

-END Online Blog ENTRY-

**********

CHAPTER FIVE

Malibu catches a turbulent draft, and it’s a clear sign that the weather is arriving. Monterey sticks confidently close — just off his right wing — as they follow a canyon ridge back toward the release point. Malibu loses his focus as his stomach rumbles. They have not eaten since they left the release point, and hunger prompts their return.

“It’s too windy,” Monterey says. “We should land.”

“No,” Malibu says, “we can’t stop now. We’re close. It’s not much farther … I think.”

Monterey offers a deep sigh as a sign of her displeasure with Malibu’s plan.

“We need to eat,” Malibu says. “We need to get back.”

They fly on as the weather continues to decline. A few flashes of lightning and rumbling of thunder signals danger in the air. Malibu descends a bit to get a better look at the ground.

“That’s it, come to Daddy,” Dupree says as he watches two blips on his tiny handheld radar screen. “It’s time for lunch.”

“The Ravens,” Dupree announces. “Now.”

A band of Ravens roar out of the cages in the back of a black Expedition. They take to the air for a few minutes, and zoom down to a mule deer carcass. Monterey is the first to see them.

“Is that what I think it is?” she asks.

“Yes,” Malibu says, “yes it is. Dinner is served.”

Not a moment too soon. Heavy rain begins to pelt the twins as they circle down to the feast. One thing Papa taught them: Where there are Ravens, there is food. Their gentle glide picks up speed. Their rain-soaked wings lose their responsiveness as they become heavy. The final 10 feet are nearly an uncontrolled crash. Both land hard, scattering some of the Ravens. With a loud hiss and lunge toward the deer, Malibu chases the final early diners to the Eucalyptus trees forcing them to wait for leftovers.

“Dig in,” Dupree says, watching from binoculars in the surrounding brush. “Fill those tummies, kids. We’ve got a long journey ahead.”

A flash of lightning and nearly immediate clap of thunder announces the arrival of El Niño. The rain pours down in buckets. The wind rifles leaves and twigs through the air. The twins don’t notice. They have tunnel vision. They see food. Nothing else.

In addition to the severe weather, they fail to notice Dupree’s men moving about in the bushes. They barely acknowledge the loud cracks of thunder. They don’t flinch at the boom of Dupree’s net gun. Suddenly, they sense something is wrong. They can’t lift their wings. Are they water logged?

“Men!” Monterey screams as Dupree’s gang charges from the bushes to anchor the edges of the net.

Complete chaos ensues. The brunt of the storm hits as Dupree’s men struggle to gain control of the twins. Malibu and Monterey leap, and twist, and hiss, and wiggle, attempting to free themselves from the smothering net.

“Bring the crates!” Dupree yells over the deafening wind before quieting his voice to talk to the twins. “Settle down, kids. We’re not going to hurt you.”

Malibu lunges at Dupree through the net, and gets his beak caught. He hisses and startles the gang. They yank the net down harder.

“Easy, boys,” Dupree shouts, again calming his voice. “Take it easy. Don’t hurt them.”

Six men carry a large wooden crate on long handles out of the bushes. They pry open the doorway. Dupree pulls his radio from inside his poncho.

“Bring the trucks,” Dupree shouts.

Malibu shrieks in anger. The more he howls, the tighter the men clamp down on the edges of the net. With an abrupt move, the nylon net cuts into the side of his face. He yelps.

“Stop,” Monterey yells. “They’re taking us home. We’ll be fine.”

Malibu fiercely shakes his head. “No. Something’s wrong. Where’s the woman?”

Monterey squints in the haze of rain and slowly takes inventory of Dupree and his gang. Malibu is right. Kayah isn’t in the group. None of them look even vaguely familiar.

“The transmitters!” Dupree shouts.

Two of the men take their hands off the net and begin to reach for the twins’ tags. Monterey remembers the battle of being tagged. It was too intense for it not to be important. The tags must mean something.

“Your Tag!” Monterey screams. “Don’t let them get your tag.”

Just as one of the men reaches for Malibu’s tag, he snaps his wing across his chest and covers it with his other. At the same time, he sends a nasty blast of projectile vomit over the men. The gang recoils long enough to allow Monterey and Malibu to wriggle and get their tags safely wedged between them, deep inside the net.

They hear a crunch of rocks and tree branches as two Expeditions and an F-150 extended cab bounce down a short, steep embankment and skid to a stop at the side, launching a wall of water over the battlefield. Dupree fires a glare at the drivers and quickly returns his attention to the twins as he wipes mud from his face.

While half of his men wrestle with the twins and the nets, the others struggle in the mud with the crate. They look down, and see muddy water running over their boots, quickly covering them.

“Flash flood!” one man yells. They look around and quickly realize they set a trap in a dry riverbed that isn’t dry any more.

Dupree remains riveted on the battle for the transmitters. His other men vie for his attention. Monk leaps forward.

“Dupree!” he shouts as he grabs Dupree’s shoulder. “Flash flood. We have to move. Now!”

“Stand down!” Dupree barks. “First, the transmitters.”

The twins continue to wriggle and wiggle, their claws sinking into the mud as they fight to keep the tags from Dupree’s men. The water is now ankle deep on the men.

“It’s now or never!” Monk shouts. He kicks the water and soaks Dupree. The water begins to move the crate.

“Get them in the crate,” Dupree screams. “Now!”

With a collective nod, the men yank the net and flip the twins on their side. As the twins struggle to regain their balance, the men drag them to the crate, which already has four inches of water raging through it. The men throw the net, twins and all, into the crate and slam the door closed. They hammer the door shut as the water splashes against their shins.

“Load the crate!” Dupree yells.

The men lift the crate and slide it into the bed of the F-150. They begin to strap it down with ropes, but the water now covers three quarters of the wheels and is up to their kneecaps.

“We have to move!” Monk shouts.

“Let’s rock!” Dupree yells.

The men just toss the ropes aside and pack into the trucks. The lead Expedition splashes toward the embankment and begins to rumble up the side. The loose mud and rocks crumble beneath its weight and it slides back into the riverbed. Dupree points down stream, and the three trucks rush down the middle of raging water, fighting to keep their wheels grounded.

Terror smothers the twins as they bounce around the crate in complete darkness. Eventually, the net peels off them. Their eyes adjust to the slices of light sneaking through between the sideboards. Gripped with fear, they only glance at each other for a moment, and continue to rattle around the crate as the trucks race for safety. The relentless banging and bouncing knocks both their tags off, but in the chaos they don’t even notice the tags getting caught in the net.

As the trucks speed downstream, the water level continues to rise. Smaller streams empty into the riverbed on all sides from tiny waterfalls. The embankment remains steep and appears to get steeper. Dupree’s radio squawks.

“What’s the plan?” Monk asks from the second Expedition.

“Keep heading downstream,” Dupree announces. “We have to find an exit. Sampson, do you copy?”

“10-4,” shouts Sampson, last in line at the wheel of the F-150. “Just remember, the crate isn’t anchored.”

The wipers smear chocolate brown mud across the windshield, unable to keep up with the deluge of water falling from the dark heavens and washing over the hood from the river. Everyone strains to look for an exit from the rampant waters. The steady drumming of rain on the roof amplifies the metallic bangs of rocks and tree stumps slamming the trucks from below. The lightning increases in frequency and the thunder is deafening.

The men sit in utter silence, searching frantically for an escape route. Then it happens. The calm before the storm. The abrupt frame-rattling bumps cease. For a moment, the smooth ride feels comforting. Easy. Then reality hits. The trucks are no longer grounded. They are afloat!

The quiet from the lack of banging the ground is filled with a hum that turns from a whoosh to a freight train roar. The trucks sweep out of control to the right. What next? The answer churns into view. This river isn’t a river. It is a tributary. A baby. And it’s about to merge with its mother. And this is a real mother, twice as wide, twice as deep and twice as fierce.

As the men scream and argue about a course of action over their radios, the water fills the bed of the F-150. The crate becomes its own sailing vessel. As the trucks enter the main channel, they ram, one at a time, into a downed tree. As the pickup spins, the crate launches itself free while the trucks wedge themselves against the natural dam. The trucks begin to fill with water quickly, and the men scramble from the windows to the safety of the roofs and then the tree. Dupree can only watch as the crate floats away.

The end of the incessant banging and bouncing has an uplifting impact on the twins. The steady rush of water calms them. Suddenly their world gets rocked again. The crate slams into a scraggly Juniper limb hanging over the river. The mighty tree rips a gaping hole into the roof of the crate, scoops up the net and sends the crate into a wild, dizzy spin.

**********

CHAPTER SIX

Online Blog: California Condor Reintroduction to the Wild

By Kayah

Day 9 (continued)

We bounce through a soaking desert into the teeth of a terrible storm. The rain hammers the roof of our Jeep Cherokee sounding like pebbles instead of raindrops. We close in on the two homing signals of the twins. Their progress in returning to the flight pen stopped an hour ago. They moved a little, and stopped again. My internal alarms rang, so we will investigate. The other Condors are roosting safely. Thank goodness Father is off today.

There aren’t many safe havens in this area for the twins to roost. Flash-flood rivers rage around us. We’re crossing our fifth stream right now and should be closing in on the twins. All I see is an empty Juniper precariously hanging over a huge rushing river. It is difficult to see through the wipers, but as we pull to the banks I realize my greatest fears. I see no Condors. I’m afraid we will retrieve corpses, not the twins.

I can’t help but stare at the creamy brown rapids. I’m frozen. The churning waters partially swallow the lower part of the Juniper and its roots. It is half in the water, half out. The half that is out is empty. Tuck seems to be surveying the landscape; at least his head is moving back and forth. I’m simply paralyzed. The tracking signals aren’t moving. Their bodies must be trapped in the roots of the tree.

“Are you okay?” Tuck asks.

“Yeah,” I say, his voice snapping me awake. Something deep inside me stirs. It wells up and gushes to my head like a geyser. “Yeah, I am. I’m fine. So are the twins! They’re not dead.”

“What?” Tuck asks.

“They aren’t dead,” I say, speaking as confidently as if I were looking them square in the eyes. It startles me a bit. I’m not sure where these words come from. They aren’t from any book. They just come. “Their tags. The tags are here. The twins aren’t. They’re safe. Somewhere.”

I can feel Tuck’s concern as he locks in on me. I’m sure he thinks I’m crazy. If not nuts, at least in complete denial.

“As soon as it lets up a bit let’s get the transmitters,” I say.

Tuck turns and looks out the window, shaking his head in disbelief. I suppose I could really blow him away and tell him I can sometimes see through the twins’ eyes. No sense in complicating matters. He is speechless. Until he sees something.

“Footprints,” Tuck says, pointing along the bank. “A lot of footprints.”

Like a blast from a cannon I’m out the door. He’s right. Footprints unveil the scene we missed by less than an hour. A large group of men hike along the banks looking for the twins. Yes, men. The shoes are too big to be anyone else.

They stop here, at the tree. I run to the bank. Caught in the web of roots I can see the top of a net. A bright red “22” dances atop the water, like a youngster sticking out her tongue singing “Nah, nah, NAH, nah, nah ...” By the time Tuck gets out of the Jeep, I’m laughing hysterically in the deluge. There are no loose feathers, no digging in of the shoes. There was no struggle here, no battle. The men came up empty. We quickly retrieve the transmitters and follow the footprints to their source, not their destination.

We strike gold. We see three trucks, bobbing in the water like soda cans. It serves them right. Mother Nature washing away poaching scum.

-END Online Blog ENTRY-

**********

CHAPTER SEVEN

The long escapade continues, it feels like for hours, with nonstop spinning. Once the crate rights itself and the twins catch their breath, Monterey scrambles to her feet and pokes her head through the hole in the roof. Malibu joins her, and they simply stare in horror as the wild water ride rolls on and on. They experience some of the feeling of flying — the smooth sensation of gliding — without the confidence of being in control. They squint to see into their future, downstream, through the blurry raindrops pelting their eyes. What they see doesn’t make sense.

There appears to be a border in the water, where the chocolate flow of the river collides with lines of dark blue and white in a sensational display of liquid fireworks splashing into the air. The scene mesmerizes them — unaware that they will soon become part of the exhibition. They instinctively dig their claws into the floorboards and begin to bounce their heads to the steady rhythm of the eruptions. In an instant, it’s their turn.

A high blue wall of water with a white crest smashes into the crate, blasting the sides off exposing the twins to the raw ravages of El Niño and the mighty Pacific Ocean. They cling to the floorboard, which gets swept into a rip current that propels it out to sea like a torpedo. As the board spins, they see the edges of the river and the land disappear behind other walls of water. There is a bit of calm once they clear the whitecaps, and churn up and down in the towering waves.

Again, they maintain complete silence, only making contact through eyes wrenched open with fear. The easy ride on the waves soothes their nerves a bit. Their instincts bellow inside prompting an insatiable desire for flight. It is, however, out of the question.

Their eyes scan the shoreline for any signs of hope. Their only previous encounter with water has been in the placid, shallow inland watering holes. In their wildest imagination, they never fathomed seeing this much water in any one place. Monterey senses optimism, though, and turns to see if Malibu feels the same. His stone cold face shows nothing but fear. Then something catches Monterey’s attention in the distance behind Malibu. She can’t decipher what it is. Malibu sees her attention diverted, and turns, too.

“Wahoo!” Pepe howls as he dives and zips along the face of a wave, sending a spray of salt water drenching his band of Pelican dudes following his lead as he drags his wingtip in the water. “Shoot the curl!”

As Taco shakes off the water, he can’t believe his eyes as he spots the twins.

“Yo, dude,” Taco shouts, “Check it out!”

Pepe looks up for a second and is flabbergasted.

“Whoa, is that …” Pepe blurts out just before the wave crashes over him and sends him tumbling into the whitewater, feathers flying in the roaring sea spray.

Taco grimaces as he and the rest of the band pull up and zoom over the waves, above the mist for a better aerial look.

“Bite the big one, dude!” Taco raps out in laughter. “Oh, that’s gotta hurt.”

Pepe catches himself and with a few powerful flaps is airborne again. He shakes a bucketful of seawater out of his immense beak. He glides back to his spot at the front of the line, which swings into a V as the flock of Pelicans closes in on the twins.

“Dude, what is that?” Pepe says as they buzz the twins. Malibu and Monterey duck, then hiss. “Yeeeoww! Turkey Vultures on ‘riods!”

Monterey turns to Malibu.

“Yuk,” Monterey says. “What are those?”

“Got me,” Malibu says. “Did you see those bucket beaks?”

They get a brief chuckle at the Pelicans’ expense.

The Pelicans sweep around and slowly circle the twins, checking them out. The process is mutual. After two or three revolutions, Pepe drops down a little closer.

“Yo,” Pepe says, “Wazzzup?”

The strange jargon confuses Monterey and Malibu.

“Like, what’s happening, dude?” Pepe says, trying again.

“What’s happening?” Monterey says, losing her temper. “What’s happening? I’ll tell you what’s happening. What’s happening is that we were just attacked by a bunch of men who tried to kidnap us in a huge crate that got ripped open by a tree and smashed to pieces by a mountain of water that pushed us out here in the middle of nowhere. That’s, like, what’s happening, dude.”

Pepe slides back a bit and rejoins the flock.

“Uh, sure, yeah, that’s cool,” Pepe says. He turns and under his breath he adds, “newbies.”

The flock laughs and the uncomfortable standoff continues.

“What did you call us?” Malibu snaps.

Pepe drops again closer.

“Newbies,” Pepe says. “You know, like, you’re new here. We ain’t seen you out here before.”

“Really?” Monterey says sarcastically, “are you sure? Because, like, we really, like, do this a lot.”

Pepe looks skeptical.

“Sweet,” Pepe says, “where’s your break?”

“Speak English, will you?” Monterey snips.

“True,” Pepe says, “I mean, yeah, sure, that’s what I’m doing, isn’t it? Like, dudes, the real question is what are you doing?”

Malibu explodes with another loud hiss, snapping Pepe to complete attention.

“We … have … noooo … CLUE!” Malibu shouts.

Pepe wrinkles his brow and lets it all soak in. Then it hits him.

“Oh, right,” Pepe says, “like I said, newbies.”

“Wannabes,” Taco says.

“Dreamabes,” Pepe retorts.

“What-EVER!” Monterey shouts, getting the Pelicans back to the task at hand. “Could you just help us out a bit here? Help get us, like, BACK ON LAND!”

“Oh, yeah, cool, I can dig it,” Pepe says. “Jus’ hang six sweetie. Sit tight. Let King Triton carry you home.”

Pepe slips up a little higher and views the series of waves rolling in.

“Here’s the deal,” he says, dropping back down. “First you paddle a little. Get your legs set. Catch a wave. And hang on.”

“Paddle?” Malibu asks.

“Yeah, uh, it’s like flying on the water,” Pepe says. “Plant that humongous Orca wing of yours in the water, and start flapping.”

Malibu follows the directions, and the board begins to move toward the shore. He smiles and nods, and Monterey joins in.

“I get it,” Malibu says, “Cool.”

“Hang tight, dude,” Pepe says, “There’s …”

“Way cool!” Monterey says, joining in the fun of saving herself.

Pepe looks over the twins’ shoulder at the 20-foot swell beginning to crest.

“One more thing, dudes,” Pepe says.

“Yee-haw!” Malibu shouts as he picks up the pace. “Stroke! Stroke! Stroke!”

“Listen, dudes,” Pepe says, “Next …”

“Weeeheee! Going up!” Monterey says.

Pepe looks again, and sees the next wave about to pummel them.

“Please, dudes, one last thing,” Pepe says.

“What?” Monterey snaps, fed up with his annoying banter.

“Hang on!” Pepe screams.

The twins look over their shoulders and see a wall of water about to crash over them. As they grab the board with their powerful claws, the wave lifts it up and shoots it out into the curl. Their eyes pop open and both wail in terror as they zip toward the shore with the salty mist stinging their eyes.

In a flash, they are in the curl — inside a tunnel of water spraying around them. The tunnel quiets the roar, and they quickly realize they’ve been through this before. They white-knuckle their grip. As they lean forward, they blast out into the open air, bouncing down the face of the wave like a runaway toboggan. In a matter of moments, the wild ride is over. They bounce and roll in the tremendous whitewater. The wave recedes. Finally, the twins lay on the beach, spitting up water and sand. As they shake water from their heads, they pause.

“You hear something?” Monterey says.

“Yeah,” Malibu says, “what’s that?”

They look up the shore, where Pepe, Taco and the gang jump around like wired Squirrels, high-wingin’ each other as they hoot and holler.

“Rich!”

“Supreme!”

“A perfect six!”

**********

CHAPTER EIGHT

Online Blog: California Condor Reintroduction to the Wild

Online Blog

By Kayah

Day 9 (continued)

I now sit shivering in the Jeep with the heater cranked, attempting to defrost the thick condensation that clouds the windows. Sometimes things just happen in a blur. There are two “zones” as far as I’m concerned. There is that zone where everything slows and you savor each moment. Then there is a zone where life zooms past you like a three-trailer semi truck on the Interstate.

I spent a lot of time in that other zone as a kid. I remember sitting somewhere (usually on my bed) listening to Father rehash a play-by-play of something I’d just done. I’d just sit and listen, amazed at how he could be talking about the same experience I just had. He would put it into his perspective that benefited from 20/20 hindsight — a perspective totally lost on me in the frenzy of the moment.

When I rely on my research, facts appear to sort themselves into a logical order. The right fact is right there the moment I need it. But get me into the real world where logic gives way to chaos — instinct, really — and more often than not the wrong ideas pop up. I don’t seem to realize that until it’s too late.

I’m reminded of that weakness as Tuck unleashes his anger on me. Yes, it’s pouring rain and the desert floods have created a maze of danger. Yes, it was crazy just to get out of the Jeep, much less wade into the powerful current to get the net and transmitters. Compared to tightrope walking on the downed tree to explore each of the three trucks — actually going inside a truck three-quarters full of water — going after the transmitters seems almost safe.

Just like those days in my bedroom, I must agree. What I did was foolish. Dumb. Dangerous. But if I didn’t do that, I wouldn’t be sitting here with the rental truck agreement that has a name, address, phone number and credit card number. There is no need to follow those footprints now. We’ll find out soon enough where they are headed. I know when I find Mr. Rene Dupree, I’ll also find the twins. That calms me. Now, I need to calm Tuck.

“Let’s get back,” I say.

Tuck pauses and takes a deep breath. It will be no picnic getting out of here.

-END Online Blog ENTRY-

**********

CHAPTER NINE

Pepe and his cohorts sit mesmerized as Monterey rehashes the twins’ ordeal, culminating with their wild surf ride to shore. The group sits quietly in a circle beneath a small grove of palms near the beach. Just a few days ago the twins were safe, albeit hungry, with Papa. They were learning the ways of the Condor at the feet of a master. In the blink of an eye, their world turned upside down.

Monterey and Malibu endure so much, yet know so little. They know they are California Condors. They are scavengers who can fly in search of food. Aside from those truths, the world is a mystery to them. They don’t really know where they are supposed to live, or how they are supposed to survive. They just know they must survive.

Until today they believed in the kindness of Kayah and all humans. That foundation of trust has been shattered. They see snippets of life they can learn from their new friends, Pepe’s Pelicans, but they also see, more often than not, the differences.

The roar of crashing surf masks the clearing of the storm. A few slivers of early evening sunlight slice through the palm branches.

“Yo, clear skies,” Taco shouts. “Let’s eat!”

The Pelicans flap their wings wildly awaiting Pepe’s call to dinner.

“Hang on,” Pepe says, “You kids hungry?”

“You know it!” Malibu barks, excitedly extending his broad wings to join the party. He clumsily knocks Taco over with a thud. “Uh, sorry about that.”

“We haven’t eaten in a long time,” Monterey says.

“I can relate,” Taco says, brushing himself off as he gets up. “Like, once we went most of the day without eating. Almost to sunset. The worst. When was the last time you had some grub? This morning?”

Monterey crinkles her eyebrows.

“More like a week or so,” Malibu says.

Taco’s eyes pop open in horror. He faints.

“A week!” Pepe screams, “As in seven days?”

“More like eight or nine days,” Monterey says.

“Yeah,” Malibu adds, “I’m starvin’.”

“Sit tight,” Pepe commands. He snaps his wing feathers and his posse pounces to his side. “Dudes, get these kids something to eat. Now!”

In a wild frenzy, the Pelicans burst from beneath the trees and head out over the water. Monterey and Malibu watch in amazement.

“They can find food,” Malibu asks, “out there?”

“Yeah, sure,” Pepe says, sticking out his chest with pride. “They’ll be back before you know it.”

“And they bring it here?” Monterey asks. “You mean, we don’t have to go to the food?”

Pepe laughs quietly.

“Kids, come on, this is California. Land of plenty. The sea is stocked to the gills. Your feast will be here shortly.”

The twins watch as the Pelicans dive into the waters with tremendous splashes. They disappear for a moment or two, bob to the surface, and eventually take back to the sky.

“Whoa,” Malibu says, “did you see that?”

“A water takeoff?” Monterey says. “Outrageous!”

“Yeah, whatever,” Pepe says, “it’s just instinct. Here comes chow.”

One by one the Pelicans land and waddle in front of the twins. They each empty a full beak of small and medium sized fish that flip about in the sand like popcorn from an uncovered pot. It startles the twins, who turn and make a gangly sprint to hide behind the palm trunks. This confuses the Pelicans. Pepe slowly strolls over to the twins, who nervously peek out.

“Excuse me,” Pepe says, “thought you said you were starving.”

“We are!” Malibu yells. “But ...”

“But what?” Pepe asks.

“But those things are ...” Monterey says, peeking out again from behind the tree, “They’re still alive!”

“Yeah, so?” Pepe says.

“So, that’s just not what we do,” Monterey says.

“What don’t you do?” Pepe asks as Taco and the others slowly gather around.

“Eat things that are still alive — oooh, gross,” Monterey says. “We’re scavengers.”

“Scavengers?” Pepe says.

“We eat dead things,” Malibu says. “And dead things don’t move.”

“Besides,” Monterey says, pinching her nose, “Those things smell terrible.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Let me get this straight,” Pepe says, chuckling. “You EAT dead things, and you think FISH smell bad?”

Monterey and Malibu look at each other and turn to Pepe.

“Well, yeah!” they say in unison.

Pepe bursts out a hardy laugh, and his gang follows his lead. He turns to his gang and scratches his head. “Any ideas?”

“Hey!” Tico jumps in, after a long pause. “I caught a whiff of a beached sea lion up the coast a ways yesterday.”

“Oh, yeah,” Taco says, “Whew-eee. Stink-eee.”

“Sea lion?” Malibu says.

“Yeah, it’s kinda like a fish, but kinda like an animal,” Pepe says. “Whatever. It’s big enough for you two, I think. I don’t know. I’m not sure how much someone eats when they haven’t eaten anything in a week.”

“Eight or nine days,” Monterey corrects.

“Yeah, okay, whatever,” Pepe says.”

“It’s just up the coast, maybe five minutes or so,” Tico says.

“Road trip!” Pepe screams.

“Yummy,” Malibu says, “Let’s get us some sea lion!”

The Pelicans take to the air. Malibu and Monterey strut gingerly onto the beach. They try to take a run for a leap to flight, but the sand slows them down. They slog forward, flapping their wings frantically, with nothing more than a step or two aloft. After a few more tries, they stand, panting out of control. The Pelicans return and land by their side.

“Are you sure you are birds?” Taco asks.

“Yeah, I’m sure,” Monterey snaps. “And once I get in the air, I’m sure I can go 10 times farther than you any day of the week.”

“Yeah, and higher, too,” Malibu fires back, before backing off to a modest tone, “once we get in the air, that is. I mean, we really have only flown twice.”

“And both times we jumped off a cliff,” Monterey adds, “to get going.”

Pepe shakes his head.

“Kids,” Pepe announces grandly, “you’re lucky you ran into me today. Follow me.”

A few minutes later, Malibu’s head hangs low at the end of his lanky neck, sweeping high sea grass to the side as his claws dig deep into the sandstone. The climb up the hill is exhausting. The stiff ocean breeze cools them, but now that the sun has cleared away the storm clouds, the stifling heat settles in. With a final hop, the twins pop to the top of the cliff. They see a carnival of activity.

“Wannabes,” Pepe says.

“Dreamabes,” Taco adds.

“This place is a zoo after a storm,” Pepe says. “Humans. They crack me up.”

A colorful palette fills the sky. One by one, the humans strap themselves to hang gliders and parachutes. After a couple of deep breaths, they sprint full speed toward the end of the cliff and leap to the air. Just like the twins.

“Cool,” Malibu says.

“Let’s take to the skies,” Pepe says.

The twins exchange a competitive glance, and charge toward the edge of the cliff. The humans stop and watch the grand display as Malibu and Monterey leap to the air. The thermals lift them gently. Majestically, they soar into the air, quickly catching up to Pepe’s gang.

“Smooth,” Pepe says, placing his stamp of approval on his new friends.

Finally the twins feel safe again. Confident. In a word: normal. They watch the gang glide into a V-formation. They try to join in, but the unique air draft that the formation creates sends them both tumbling for a moment before they right themselves.

Pepe laughs a bit, and Malibu rips a few powerful strokes of his wings and bolts a hundred feet higher into the sky. Monterey follows, and the twins begin a sweeping circle around the flock as it continues to head up the coast. Pepe just smiles and nods. In a flash, Tico sees his find. Everyone dives and lands safely. The Pelicans keep their distance.

“Whew,” Pepe says, “that’s ripe.”

The twins cringe, too.

“That reeks!” Malibu shouts. “Yuk.”

Monterey’s stomach rumbles, shaking her back to her primal senses.

“It’s food,” Monterey says.

“Seafood,” Pepe says. “Give it a try.”

Monterey bounces forward into a cloud of black flies. Pepe and Taco can’t watch. The buzz of flies, however, sparks something inside Malibu, and he quickly follows his sister’s lead. She knifes her beak into the bloated belly of the sea lion. There’s a tiny explosion of gases that startles Monterey for a second. The Pelicans gag. Monterey digs in, ripping out a huge hunk of flesh, and Pepe and his gang begin to lose their breakfast.

“Give us a ring when you’re done,” Pepe says, turning his head away and taking to the air. “We’ll be, ah, around.”

“De-lish,” Monterey says between swallows. “Try it.”

Malibu attacks the corpse and his eyes light up with delight.

“Yummmm,” Malibu says. “Seafood, huh? I like it!”

The twins gorge themselves at their sea feast while the Pelicans patrol the skies like proud babysitters.

“Truly newbies,” Pepe says, as the Pelicans watch the twins and realize Malibu and Monterey aren’t ready to face the world alone. At least not yet. “I think we better stick with them for a day or two. Let them get their bearings.”

“Yeah, sure,” Taco says, “A day, or two … or ten.”

When they finish their meal, Pepe leads the gang back down to the beach. Malibu and Monterey perch themselves on a large limb of driftwood, fat and satisfied.

“Thanks,” Malibu says as the Pelicans crowd around. “We needed that.”

“Right on,” Pepe says. “So, now what?”

“Hmmm,” Malibu says as he leans back and burps. “I don’t know.”

Monterey smiles contently.

“We’ll just sit here and digest for a while,” Monterey says.

**********

CHAPTER TEN

The light of a bonfire flickers across the faces of the birds as they roost in a tree on the edge of the beach. A bunch of local surfers stoke the fire, celebrating a great day of high surf thanks to the storm. Monterey and Malibu aren’t very active. Their stomachs bulge plump, full from their gorging on the sea lion. They enjoy watching the humans attempt to be water creatures, just as they tried to be aerial creatures on the cliff.

“So, where’s home?” Taco asks.

The twins shrug their shoulders.

“We don’t know,” Monterey says. “They just took us to a new home before those men tried to take us.”

“They?” Pepe asks.

“Well, Kayah,” Monterey says. “She’s the woman who is trying to help us.”

“Save us, you mean,” Malibu injects.

“Save you? From who? Those men?” Pepe drills.

“No,” Malibu says with a long, suspenseful pause. “From a Stink Sun.”

The Pelicans squeak a collective gasp. They shake their heads and fight back their emotions, talking under their breaths. Never mind the fact that they have no clue whatsoever what Malibu is talking about. It sounds bad, this Stink Sun. Bad for anyone to have to deal with, much less two young, inexperienced nearly helpless chicks. Pepe feels more paternal instincts kicking in.

“Listen,” Pepe barks, snapping everyone back to attention. “As long as you’re with us, no Stink Sun is going to get close enough for a whiff, you understand? You’re welcome to hang with us as long as you want. No sweat. Am I right?”

“Yeah, oh yeah,” rings through the gang. “Of course.”

Monterey belts out a laugh.

“No, no, no,” Monterey says, “EX-tinction, not a Stink Sun.”

“Extinction?” Pepe says, “Hmmm. Never heard of it. Still, it sounds nasty.”

“I’m not really sure what it is, either,” Monterey says, her frustration and confusion tempers her words, “but Kayah and her friends have gone through a lot of trouble to help us stay away from it, that’s for sure.”

The Pelicans nod in ignorant agreement. There is a long, uncomfortable silence as they realize the mountain of challenges that stand before the young chicks, least of which is learning about extinction and how to avoid it at all costs. Since they have no idea about the life of a California Condor, the prospects are frightening. A plump Pelican near the back clears his throat, breaking the silence, and all eyes move to Jared as he waddles to the front. The orange glow of the fire lights up his face in a spooky way.

“I’ve heard of it,” Jared says, dramatically, taking center stage like one of the surfers telling a chilling ghost story. “Back home, in Seattle, when I was little. I remember my parents helping out some friends who were threatened by it. Yep, extinction.”

Jared commands complete attention as he tells his story.

“Northern Spotted Owls,” Jared says. “They live in old growth forests, you know, where the big trees grow. The forests that are so dense and dark you can’t tell day from night, sometimes. Owls like that, the darkness, being nocturnal and all.”

“Of course,” Pepe concurs, “being nocturnal.”

“There were these men who kept coming and cutting down all the trees with these horrifying machines,” Jared continues. “Big, loud, ferocious machines that chew the bark of a tree to shreds. And just as the men get ready for the final kill, they scream at the top of their lungs, “TIMMMMMBEEEEERRRR!”

Jared’s bellowing holler startles everyone. The twins quiver in terror.

“Humans,” Pepe says, shaking his head, “always loud. Always dangerous.”

“No!” Jared interjects, shocking everyone, “not all humans. There were others. Others who helped.”

“They helped?” Pepe asks.

“I saw it with my own eyes,” Jared says, “Humans chanting to save the Owls from extinction. They tied themselves to trees so other humans couldn’t cut them down. Those humans did everything they could to save the Owls.”

“Just like Kayah,” Monterey says proudly.

“And,” Taco asks, “did they? Did they save the Owls?”

Jared smiles.

“Yes. And I know where to find the Owls. They can tell you all you need to know about extinction.”

Pepe glances as the twins. They nod.

“We fly in the morning,” Pepe says.

**********

CHAPTER 11

Online Blog: California Condor Reintroduction to the Wild

By Kayah

Day 10

How do I get myself into predicaments like this? Tuck and I just sit in silence as Father’s tongue-lashing moves into its second hour. It’s not the first time I’ve sat and listened to him reading me the riot act. It is the first time, however, that someone else got hit with the impact of my actions.

Tuck says he’s a big boy, and coming with me was his decision. Still, I knew it was a violation of Father’s “survival of the fittest” decree. I should have gone alone. Going alone, solo, or not? That’s the debate raging through my head drowning out Father’s blabbering.

“What I don’t get is why you insist on treating the twins as if they are some sort of celebrities,” Father wails, setting both palms to his desk as he leans forward. “We have eight Condors in this program, and there is no pecking order here. Do you understand? If some crisis had presented itself for the other six, who would have been there for them? As it was, the twins were in grave danger. We could have lost the entire group. Do you know what that would have meant?”

My internal debate suspends for a moment as Father’s logic challenges me. Am I giving the twins preferential treatment? Am I risking the entire program? Am I flirting with extinction? Whoa, hang on. Yes, I am partial to the twins. He has that right. Am I supposed to just ignore this bizarre connection I have with them? My instincts tell me there is something significant going on here. I’m not so sure if it is my future that’s significant or the future of the twins. Maybe both. Still, I would never put the others in harm’s way. I was not negligent toward the other chicks. They are safe and sound.

“Let me reiterate, again, the purpose of survival of the fittest,” Father says. “We have finite resources to allocate to an amazingly arduous task. So to utilize those scant resources on individual chicks whose odds of survival are small is not a logical allocation. Even if those resources create a successful survival, we have extended the lineage to an inferior line. That does the species no good.”

I wonder just how life would be if the same philosophy had been extended to humans who think like Father. We might all be better off, although, being his offspring, well, Mother Nature works in curious ways, I guess. Two things become obvious to me. First, there is no winning over Father. Second, the twins need me. That’s what makes my next decision so much easier.

I must resign. Father has given the twins up for dead. I also know he’s wrong. I know the resistance will be fierce. Father put himself on the line to hire me. It’s tough enough to defend hiring your Daughter; it’s quite another thing when she hasn’t yet reached her 17th birthday. Sometimes I think being a prodigy is a super pain. Attending classes with kids three, four, five years older than you isn’t exactly a party. Especially when you have all the answers they don’t.

So kids take out their frustrations on you later, on the playground. I always retreat there and let them have their victories. The time has come for me to face my fears. I need to go out on that playground and not run. I have to come up with the right answers. I have to survive.

Childish. I’m sure that’s what Father will say. He’ll say it’s just what everyone warned him about before he put his reputation on the line. But that will just be a bunch of idle gossip for the day. There is much more at work here. More than I can explain.

As I lay in bed last night, tossing and turning, a clear vision came to me. Clear as the evening sky. The twins soar along the coast with an escort of some sort. In the darkness I couldn’t see exactly who offered the comforting protection. But it was there. A small army of birds gliding on the evening sea breezes with a no-nonsense approach. They head somewhere. I’m not sure where, but at least I know they are safe.

That’s not all my insomnia helps reveal. I couldn’t keep myself away from my computer. I used Dupree’s information from the glove box, and have a clear rundown of his agenda. I’m sure the twins are still part of his big plan, if not his immediate plans. I’m sure anything he has on his mind is not good for anyone. I have a feeling for his type. He won’t rest until he succeeds where he failed with the twins. For some reason he wants California Condors, and I can’t help but believe all the chicks are at risk now.

Oh, sure, I thought about discussing it with Father. But only for a moment or two, before I came to my senses. First, he simply wouldn’t believe me. Second, he wouldn’t let me do anything about it even if he did. People like Dupree must be stopped. For some reason, my instincts tell me that’s my job. That’s my mission. Why else would I have all this information?

Tuck and the others will guard the rest of the chicks. It’s time for me to hit the road. I have a poacher to catch.

-END Online Blog ENTRY-

**********

CHAPTER 12

It’s just a little past midnight when Jared breaks the methodical silence of the long, long flight up the coast. With a nudge and nod, he points out the huge, towering Douglas Firs sparkling in the light of the full moon. Pepe makes a sweeping, diving turn as the aerial caravan comes down to rest, the twins bringing up the rear.

Pepe stands at the edge of the forest and lets out a deep sigh as he catches his breath.

“Well,” Pepe says, pausing as he looks into the deep, dark forest where the moonlight disappears after a few feet.

A thick wicket mixture of Douglas Firs, Hemlock, Western Cedar and Pines make the old growth forest a world onto itself.

“Well, what?” Taco asks. “I’m wasted. Let’s catch some Z’s and track down this dude in the morning.”

“Great idea, except for one thing,” Pepe answers, raising his voice to a scream. “In the morning, said dude will be sacked out somewhere. Night time is Owl time! Being nocturnal, and all.”

Jared quietly nods his head.

“Any clue where to start?” Pepe asks.

Jared shakes his head.

“Like a minnow in the ocean,” Taco says, shaking his head in disbelief. “We could get lost in there forever.”

“Maybe this isn’t such a good idea,” Monterey says, strutting to the front of the group and peering into the black of the forest. “This isn’t the kind of place we fit in. I know you want to help us, but we’re all pretty big birds to be hopping around in there. It’s soo, ah ...”

“Spooky,” Malibu says, “Woooooooooo….”

Everyone has a little laugh at Monterey’s expense.

“No,” Monterey says sternly, “It’s not that. It’s just ...”

“Don’t be a Chickadee,” Malibu says.

“I am NOT a Chickadee!” Monterey answers.

“Are too.”

“Am not!

“Are too!!”

“Am not!!!”

“Are ...”

“Shhhhhhh!” Pepe shouts in a whisper as he snaps his head around, “did you hear that?”

“Nice try,” Monterey says, refusing to be the straight man again. “Very funny ...”

A crisp snap of a branch cuts off Monterey and pierces the silence that follows. Everyone freezes. Not one feather moves as the rustling in the bushes continues to get louder. And closer. In unison, almost as one single life force, they slowly turn toward the dark hole leading into the forest. Two bright eyes slowly appear out of pitch black as they hit the moonlight.

“Whoooa!!!” a soupy voice croons as everyone flaps their wings in horror, “Where’s the party!”

With another step the bandit eyes give way to the soft, cuddly face of a Raccoon.

“Yo, like, an instant party,” he says as he steps out to get a better look. “Cool. Name’s Garth. Crank the tunes. Let’s busta move.”

Jared leans forward.

“Garth!?”

“Big Jay?” Garth says as a big smile spins his head as his eyes roll back. “Ah, Jay, my MAN! Long time. Whatup?”

“Garth,” Jared says, “We didn’t expect to find you here.”

“Oh, ah, well, you know, ah,” Garth fumbles. “What’s that supposed to mean anyways?”

Jared laughs. “We’re looking for Starlight.”

“Oh, yeah, isn’t everyone?” Garth says. “Starlight, star bright, you know she and me are tight. Things are getting sticky with her, you know.”

“It’s not getting any better?” Jared asks.

“Yeah, right,” Garth says. “If it weren’t for a couple of hu-dudes strapped to her tree trunk, she’d be history.”

“History?” Malibu gulps.

“Yep,” Garth says, “History, as in gone. Wasted. Hasta la vista. Extinct-o.”

The gang chokes on a collective gasp.

“Hooray for the hu-dudes, ‘cause Starlight just hatched some chicks,” Garth says, “and she’s pulling all-nighters keeping those little tummies full.”

“Maybe we can help,” Pepe says.

“Yeah, you and what army?” Garth says, pausing, and noting the numbers in the gang. “Well, yeah, hey, maybe you can, you and your, ah, army. Is that what brought ya back?”

“Not exactly,” Jared says, getting serious. “Our friends here need to talk to Starlight.”

“Looking for some wisdom from the wise ones?” Garth says. As he turns to get a closer look at the twins as the gang moves to the side giving him a picture perfect view, “Whooaaa! Humongous birds! What are you?”

“Condors. California Condors. They’re kinda living their own nightmare,” Jared says. “They need to know about ...”

Jared pauses, and swallows hard, “Extinction.”

Garth’s face turns to stone and the giddy sparkle disappears from his eyes.

“I hear ya,” Garth says, matter-of-factly, “this way.”

Garth turns and heads into the forest. Pepe nods, and everyone follows, slowly engulfed by the darkness of the old growth forest.

**********

CHAPTER 13

Online Blog: California Condor Rescue

By Kayah

Day 11

It didn’t take me long to figure out what this Dupree had on his mind. I checked in with the local environmental group and they say vigilantes will attempt once again to remove the tree-huggers to allow the development company’s bulldozers to roll into the forest and begin downing trees in the protected habitat of Northern Spotted Owls before a Federal Court hands down its decision on the future of the development.

Rare, nearly extinct, Northern Spotted Owls. This Dupree knows his endangered species, or so it seems. That means he needs to move in by cover of darkness, and work fast. They aren’t the quietest gang of thugs, so it wasn’t hard to track them down.

I’m writing this report from my hammock in my quarters in the belly of a cargo ship about 30 miles off the coast of Washington state. I lock the door for fear that someone might burst in and catch me chronicling my mission. I’ll have to watch my step if I am to pull this off. At this moment, for all they know, I’m the newest member of Dupree’s gang. I’ll attempt to fill in all the details. It went down like this:

Just before 3 a.m. I reach the Northern Spotted Owl’s nest and, of course, the tree huggers. While a part of me admires the raw passion that drives people to chain themselves to a tree to protect nature, I’ve always ultimately come to the conclusion that there must be a better way. Humans are reasonable, aren’t we? Can’t we always come to a compromise of sorts?

This time, however, as I ponder the myriad of options other than chains while watching Dupree’s men sneak into place, reality overwhelms me. It starts with the hair on the back of my neck standing up and then the Mother Spotted Owl glides over my head — the tail of a dead timber snake brushing along the tops of the blackberry bushes.

With the thrust of a rocket launch, she zooms up the side of the tree paying homage to her protectors like Air Force jets saluting the President during a flyover on Memorial Day. The squawking of her chicks shriek into the night, and the young men and women strapped to the front of her tree smile without opening their eyes, comforted by their contribution to the circle of life.

I remember the roar of jets landing as Mother would return from a business trip, with my face pressed against the glass at the airport anxiously waiting for that first glimpse of her smiling face. I guess I sometimes forget the impact of a parent. Sometimes it’s obvious, with a lecture or comforting hug. Sometimes it’s intangible. Just being there. That’s what the twins must miss the most, I think. I know it’s what I miss right now. The crackle of static on a radio transmitter shatters my dream.

“Mama’s home,” the voice says.

“Proceed,” Dupree answers.

The tree-huggers’ smiles evaporate in an instant, and terror grips the veins bulging from their necks. The very chains that held the safe future of the Owl family so valiantly for the past months now become bonds of despair, keeping them from being able to lift a hand in support as Dupree and his men emerge from the forest floor wearing camouflage suits.

“Just sit tight and no one will be hurt,” Dupree says. “It will all be over quickly.”

The boom of his net gun echoes through the night. The net anchors unravel toward the ground and then lift for a moment as Starlight fights ferociously. Other men grab the anchors and quiet the battle. They manage to get a man stationed above the nest with the gun, undetected by Starlight. The net covers the entire nest, and three men quickly scurry up the side of the tree while the huggers watch in utter horror.

I feel a wrenching in my gut. I want to burst out of the darkness and save the day, like Wonder Woman or Captain Marvel. But the terrifying screams of the Owl chicks remind me this is no comic book. I’m alone, and I must use my brain, not brawn — that is, what brawn a 16-year-old can offer. My mind races through possible options. Then opportunity presents itself.

Dupree leaps back and falls to his butt as a snarling Raccoon explodes from the undergrowth and challenges his leadership. The Raccoon’s courage inspires other woodland creatures. The forest comes to life with a flurry of activity. I can barely believe my eyes when a miracle occurs.

Out of the black of the night a huge body bounds into the clearing and launches itself onto Dupree’s chest, pinning him to the ground. A haunting hiss silences the flurry of activity. I have no doubt. It is Malibu.

Dupree’s men move in, surrounding the mighty Condor as he perches atop his trophy catch. Suddenly another shadow snaps across the clearing, sending his men diving for cover. Monterey circles the war ring triumphantly. My heart erupts with emotion. Papa would be so proud.

As Malibu keeps his focus on Dupree, another man manages to sneak up from behind. The others make a run at Monterey, and in the confusion, she is forced to run. She zips into the bush just to my side, and as she pauses for a moment to catch her bearings, I tackle her with all my might. We meet eye-to-eye, and I can see there is no panic. She recognizes me. I have but a moment to return a reassuring glance. In an instant, Dupree’s men surround me.

“Sorry, boys,” I say in the most confident tone I can muster. “This one’s all mine.”

I hear Malibu call for Monterey. She quickly responds. “Go! I’m safe. It’s Kayah.”

The clearing suddenly transforms into a cloud of beaks and wings and feathers. Don’t quote me on this, but I swear in the dense center of old growth forest, a band of Pelicans come to the rescue. I could see Malibu dart under the thicket. After a minute of chaos, the scene clears. All that remains is me holding Monterey, and one ticked off Dupree and his gang.

“What have we here?” Dupree says as he dusts himself off and attempts to regain control of the situation with his men surrounding me.

“What we have here, it appears, is a female California Condor chick about five months old suffering from a bout of snogorious reguritation,” I say, somehow conjuring up a pretend disease that afflicted all my stuffed animals when I was five. “But I’m sure you already knew that.”

As if on cue, Monterey turns her head and projectile vomits on Dupree.

“That’s our Condor, sweetie,” Dupree says as he wipes himself off.

“I don’t think so,” I say. “Finder’s keepers. Besides, unless you are a trained wildlife veterinarian such as myself, you wouldn’t have the vaguest clue how to keep this chick alive for the next 36 hours.”

“Trained wildlife veterinarian?” Dupree laughs, “you don’t even have a driver’s license.”

“You don’t need a driver’s license to get a college degree,” I say, “or else I wouldn’t have gotten into Stanford at 13, and graduated at 15. Anyways, about this sick Gymnogyps californianus ...”

Dupree assesses the situation. My terror ratchets up 10 notches as the roar of a chainsaw rips through the night. His men cut out Starlight’s nest, tree and all. The rest of his gang descends from the tree, Starlight and chicks now captive.

“Well, now,” Dupree says, “I suppose the Condor would just be a little icing on the cake.”

“That’s my icing, though,” I say.

Another strange sound makes the hair on my neck stand again after the chainsaw goes quiet. It’s a helicopter.

“You have a choice of your own, little missy,” Dupree says. “That’s our ride out of here. This place will be swarming with Feds in a matter of minutes. So I suggest you make a decision. I represent someone who will, I’m very confident, exceed any previous offer you may have for that bird. And I’m willing to bring you along to discuss it with him. Or, you can stay and discuss it with a Federal Marshal. It’s your call. Now or never.”

I can sense fear in Monterey’s eyes. She thinks I’m about to cross her. Her foundation of trust crumbles as I nod reluctantly. I feel her strong legs go weak with defeat.

“Where we headed?” I ask.

“You’ll see soon enough,” Dupree says as he hurries to the rendezvous with the chopper.

The rest seems to happen in a whirlwind. The chopper heads straight out to sea, where we land on the deck of a well-worn cargo ship flying a flag with a blue triangle and white star aside red and white stripes — Puerto Rico. We take Monterey deep into the dark cargo bay that is a symphony of exotic animal sounds. The dim light in the main hallway fails to illuminate the prisoners that line both sides of the ship, but many of the cries are distinctive. We eventually place Monterey in a 10x10 cage. Her eyes tear with sadness as she watches me lock the door and leave her behind. It breaks my heart.

The sun begins to rise and I can tell that we are steaming southward, to points unknown. The land slowly disappears through my tiny portal and all I see against the red sunrise are the silhouettes of sea birds, mainly Pelicans, who almost appear to be escorting us out to sea.

-END Online Blog ENTRY-

**********

CHAPTER 14

Malibu paces back and forth across a thick redwood limb while the words of Grandfather Owl captivate Pepe and Taco.

“Starlight knew the dangers of nesting there, with all the human troubles,” Grandfather Owl says, “but for her, the natural dangers of the small woods were greater. Last year she lost five chicks to Opossums who could navigate easy in the lesser brush. She took a chance, and, it appears, she lost.”

Pepe and Taco study Malibu for a moment.

“Extinction is a very frightening possibility for those who face it,” Grandfather Owl says, following the Pelicans’ lead to move his attention to Malibu. “To think future generations may never see as grand a Condor as your friend here makes me very sad. Sometimes humans are friends, sometimes foes. You just never know.”

A quiet moment is broken up by the noisy arrival of Tico, out of breath.

“We have her,” Tico chokes out, “Well, I mean, we know where she is. We found her. She’s safe, but not free. Not yet.”

“Where?” Pepe asks.

“Off shore,” Tico barks. “A ship. Heading south. Has a flag.”

Tico draws the flag in the air.

“Ahhhh,” Grandfather Owl says, “South. Then it will head East. I know where they are going. And, I know who can help you.”

**********

CHAPTER 15

Flies swarm around the carcass of a dead pig in the center of Monterey’s cage, unnerved by the bright light of the open doorway. A worker tosses a few stunned, but not dead mice into the cage next door, and Starlight quickly snatches up dinner and begins to serve it to her hungry chicks.

The worker shines a flashlight into Monterey’s eyes, still swollen and red with anguish.

“Come on, girl, you haven’t eaten in three days,” he says, “that oinker’s getting mighty ripe.”

He flicks off his light and disappears back through the door. As they finish their dinner, the chicks scurry about the cage. One ducks back and forth behind the metal pole attempting hide ‘n’ seek with Monterey, but she doesn’t flinch. Starlight moves over to console her chick.

“Miss Condor doesn’t want to play any games,” Starlight says. “Not today.”

Starlight pauses for a moment and her maternal instincts take over.

“Honey, the man is right,” Starlight says, moving to the common wall between the cages. “You must eat.”

Monterey lets out a long sigh.

“And, well, I never did say thank you for trying to save us out there,” Starlight says. “You were very brave.”

After a long silent pause, Starlight turns to return to her chicks.

“You’re welcome,” Monterey whispers. “But, what good did it do us?”

Starlight spins and catches eye contact with Monterey.

“Oh, Sugar, what good?” Starlight says, “We’re still alive, aren’t we?”

“Barely,” Monterey says, “if you can call this living.”

Starlight takes a deep breath.

“Now listen to me,” she says quietly, but confidently, as to not alarm her chicks, “I don’t think you really understand why you’re here, do you? I mean, why we’re all here.”

Monterey offers a quizzical glance and sees a number of eyes glowing in the dim light listening to Starlight.

“You’re a rare bird, indeed,” Starlight says, chuckling under her breath. “Not just because of your courage. I mean rare as in, there are very few of you. Aren’t there? I mean, you’re battling it, too, aren’t you?”

“Battling what? Humans who betray you?” Monterey says.

“Sugar,” Starlight says, “Humans will come and go in your life. Some are good and some are not. Your greatest enemy is my greatest enemy. It’s the enemy of all of us here. It’s extinction, hon.”

Monterey snaps her head.

“Extinction,” she says, sorting it out in her mind. “That’s right, extinction. I know that. I’m a California Condor. I mean, I know that’s bad, extinction, but I don’t really know what it is.”

“Extinction is the end,” Starlight says. “Not just the end of your life. The end of your kind. Oh, Sugar, everyone dies. That’s true. It’s part of life. But if you and I die before we can keep our families alive — before we can hatch the next generation — that could mean extinction. There will be no more Northern Spotted Owls or California Condors. That’s what we’re really fighting for, Hon. It’s more than just your life.”

“That’s why some humans help us, isn’t it?” Monterey asks.

“Indeed,” Starlight says, “some humans think of us first. And, some think of themselves first. They’re a different breed than you and I.”

“What do you mean?” Monterey asks.

“For some humans, it seems that collecting things are more important than collecting memories,” Starlight says.

“Things?” Monterey asks.

“Things other than necessities,” Starlight says. “That pig, your dinner, there, that’s a thing. But you need to have that, to eat that, to live. Our tree back home. We need that for shelter, for a home. But some humans will use that tree for something else. For something other than a necessity of life.”

“I don’t understand,” Monterey says.

“It’s very complicated,” Starlight says. “Some may use the tree to build a house. Instead of living in the tree, they cut it down and kill it. Make it into something else. A thing. Some may use it for something else that they really don’t need. Like, well, like a statue. Sometimes they carve a tree to look like something else. Like a bear, or person. And just set it out in front of their house.”

“Why don’t they just leave the tree for a bear to climb, then look at a real bear?” Monterey asks.

Starlight chuckles.

“That’s a very good question, dear,” she responds. “Others may trade the tree for something else they want.”

“Like what?” Monterey asks.

“Oh, it could be anything, really,” Starlight says. “Humans can be fascinated by a number of things. Some like shiny things, some like small things. Some like large things, some like musical things. And some just like to keep creatures like us caged, so they can look at us whenever they want.”

Monterey stares off into the darkness.

“That must be it,” she says, sadly.

“What, child?” Starlight asks.

“That’s why Kayah took me,” Monterey says. “That’s why she didn’t help me escape. She wants to keep me for herself.”

“Maybe,” Starlight says. “You never can tell with humans.”

**********

CHAPTER 16

Online Blog: California Condor Rescue

By Kayah

Day 16

What a mess. I fly into Seattle like some sort of superhero thinking I can save day. Here I sit, five days later, steaming along in a cargo ship heading for who knows where with no plan — no idea whatsoever on how to get Monterey and me out of this predicament.

I should have seen this coming, really, but at times I’m blinded by the fantasy that I want my life to be rather than the reality. Face it. I’m just a wildlife biologist. Book smart, street dumb. My lot in life is taking care of wildlife — California Condors, to be exact. Sit on the sidelines, watch them, and follow the book.

I should be sharing a blind with Tuck, watching Yuma gobble up a morning feast or Clemente soaring on the evening breezes. I should be caring for the species, taking satisfaction in the little things that will make a difference in seeing that the California Condors survive.

Instead, I’m here, as if I have some supernatural powers and I’m starring in a summer blockbuster movie. Like I’m going to bust out of here with Monterey in a blaze of glory as I reunite her with Malibu. Alas, I have no clue where her brother is. I have no clue where we are. I have no plan. I have nothing, but hope that an opportunity will present itself. I must be at wit’s end. Who else uses the word, alas?

Even if one does come along, an opportunity that is, and I’m able to work a miracle, what’s the point? Will I ever have a chance to work into the good graces of Father again? Will the Prey-go-neesh Team ever consider me for even an entry-level position? My only hope now is to save Monterey, because her future is much brighter than mine. Besides, that’s the only reason I’m here. I have to focus on that. Not my future cleaning cages at some zoo.

In the midst of wallowing in my self-pity, it’s as if my prayers find an answer. A sharp knock on the door sends my heart rate out of control. They call upon me to check on Monterey. They say she hasn’t eaten in three days, since I finished my so-called “treatment” of her mysterious ailment.

A couple of Dupree’s thugs escort me to the cargo bay, as if one wouldn’t be able to control me if I made a break for it. It takes my eyes a few moments to adjust to the darkness of the bay and the eerie silence that envelopes it when the men open the door. Slowly there is movement here and there, and a little noise. The creatures appear to be a little more at ease with me in here. All, except Monterey.

She can’t even look at me, and I know it’s nothing more than utter disappointment that I’ve let her down. All my talks with Papa about trust are for nothing. All she sees in me is an opportunistic human. Like everyone else.

I try to calm her fears as I keep my voice low so my guards won’t hear. I explain that I came to Seattle to save Starlight, and it’s as if Starlight understands. She spreads her wings and flaps in a royal show of respect. Monterey will have none of it. All she knows is what she experienced — me, taking her hostage, and bringing her to this dark prison cell.

Soon the entire cargo bay is alive again with the sounds of so many creatures. I recognize some sounds but in the darkness I can’t confirm my greatest fear. I believe this ship is full of entries on the endangered species list. It only makes sense with Starlight and Monterey in side-by-side cells.

Then I hear the men at the door. They ask how I’m doing. Fine, I say, I need another 10 minutes or so. They say I have five. How gracious. I continue to plead my case quietly with Monterey, and another two men come to the door. They strike up a loud conversation with the others. They are making plans. And giving me what I need most: information.

From what I can tell, we will be entering the Panama Canal late tonight. The men will go ashore for a few hours of fun before they rendezvous with Dupree and head out on a mission to obtain some more creatures. It seems that they will pay off crooked officials to get the ship through the canal. That’s why they must do it at night. Tonight.

With the men off the ship, that should be my chance to make a run for it. To grab Monterey and get out. I laugh for a moment to myself thinking of a line from an Indiana Jones movie. In the heat of a wild scene he’s asked what he plans to do. He says he doesn’t know. He’s making it up as he goes along. I guess that’s my plan, too. Wish me luck.

-END Online Blog ENTRY-

**********

CHAPTER 17

[Video report on Outdoor Network Investigates]

The natural sounds of the rain forest echo as the camera catches the final blaze of orange sun setting beyond the horizon with silhouettes of flocks of birds racing through the golden peach sky. The camera pans right to a large ocean tanker as it exits an opening in the jungle that appears to be a tunnel to nowhere, and continues the pan until it uncovers a chain of islands dotting the sparkling waters.

“I’m Thor Wild, and welcome to Outdoor Network Investigates,” Wild says, as he steps in front of the camera and attempts to speak over the deafening screams of jungle primates. “Nearly 500 years ago, in the early 16th century, explorer Vasco Nuñez de Balboa crossed the Central America Isthmus and discovered that only a narrow strip of land separated the Atlantic and Pacific Oceans. From that point on, a fascination with connecting two worlds drove a number of projects to strike it rich.”

The video cuts to early photos of the dense jungle and workers.

“When the California Gold Rush erupted in 1848, the United States got seriously involved in the process. On January 7, 1914, a rickety old crane boat flying a French flag, the Alexandre La Valley, sailed through the Pacific locks competing the first voyage between the great oceans.

“Today we stand on the Eastern coast of Panama where the Canal opens to Lake Gutan, an artificial lake built to access the canal. It is also home to 42 islands in the Tiger and Bruja groups. These previously uninhabited islands now form one of the largest primate sanctuaries in the world.

“It’s ironic that this lake, which is now safe haven for so many of the world’s endangered species, also opened the path for a different type of gold rush. The rush of poachers. The Panama Canal is infamous as a route for illegal cargo that includes many of the world’s most precious animals.

“In conjunction with the Prey-go-neesh Team, Outdoor Network Investigates has been working undercover to expose some of the traffickers in this illegal, and growing, business. We set up a sting operation where Prey-go-neesh Team member Turk Manely posed as a rich collector of exotic animals armed with a hidden camera. Here is our exclusive coverage of Turk’s findings in the first of a two-part show.”

Night vision video shows a Land Rover bouncing up to a guard shack in the middle of the jungle. A guard searches the truck and waves it on. It pulls up to a trailer office where five men in uniforms stand around a wooden picnic table out front.

“We arrive a few minutes early,” Turk says in the voiceover. “Our middle men speak broken English and act like nervous deer in an open meadow during hunting season. It doesn’t take long for our contact to arrive, and the local officials introduce me to Rene Dupree. Before he can conduct any business with me, Dupree hands the men a briefcase.”

The hand-held camera pans to the top of the table, where the officials open the case. In the dim jungle light the checked pattern of stacked $100 bills is evident. Dupree hands the men his shipping papers. The head official stamps them and jokes.

“’Do you have anything to declare?” the official says, “to Customs?”

Dupree laughs.

“Have a safe voyage, then,” the official says.

He dismisses the rest of his men, who disappear into the jungle growth just as a foghorn sounds less than a half-mile away. Dupree turns his attention to Turk.

“I understand you are an interested buyer,” Dupree says, “of exotic animals.”

“The more exotic, the better,” Turk says. “I have a few holes in my primate collection that I hope to fill. I need to replace a female Mantled Howler Monkey, and would like a pair of Black-handed Spider Monkeys.”

“It’s helpful to have a list when one goes shopping,” Dupree says. “I’m certain I can accommodate your primate needs.”

“I’m curious,” Turk continues, “I would like desperately to begin an aviary. I saw a recent report that California Condors are making a return to the wild.”

Dupree nods his head softly.

“That’s very true,” Dupree says, “however, supply just can’t keep up with demand at this time.”

“I’m assuming that can be over come by simple economics,” Turk says. “I’m prepared to win any bidding war. I’m committed.”

“Then you just may be in luck,” Dupree says, “because my supply is not exhausted. We have a blue light special tonight.”

“May I see?” Turk asks.

“I’ll have to ask for proof of your intent,” Dupree says.

The camera jerks as Turk presents a backpack. He unzips the flap and reveals a pile of cash. The camera lifts to catch Dupree’s devious smile.

“Let’s take a little trip,” Dupree says. “To my ship.”

The shot cuts to a night vision shot of Dupree’s ship slowly sauntering through the locks.

“As we board Dupree’s vessel it’s like entering a ghost ship,” Turk says. “Aside from two silhouettes in the captain’s perch, there is no sign of men aboard, except for the two bodyguards Dupree has at his side. As we descend into the bowels of the ship, sounds of the jungle become clear from within instead of faint from outside. We open a heavy metal door, and a blast of audio delight sings in my ears. It takes our eyes a moment or two to adjust to the darkness. We walk about 15 feet, and Dupree stops abruptly.”

Dupree snaps his finger and points to an empty cage. One bodyguard jumps through the opening and searches frantically.

“Empty!” he shouts.

Dupree tosses his head backward.

“The girl,” he bellows as the animals fall silent. “Find the girl. NOW!”

-END VIDEO REPORT-

**********

CHAPTER 18

Online Blog: California Condor Rescue

By Kayah

Day 16 (continued)

I’m winging it, and it feels exciting. I gently caress the canvas sack I hold softly in my arms as I peek out from the brush. I see men run across the bow of the ship. Busted.

“We’ll be fine, Monterey,” I whisper. “It won’t be long now, and we’ll be safe.”

I duck into the brush and find a trail. I jog quietly, trying not to stress Monterey any more than she already has been pushed. My heart races, nearly pounding out of my chest. Yet, there is a strange comfort to it all. I feel an end near. As I scramble up a hill, it comes into a view. A guard shack. I hurry to the guard.

“Do you speak English?” I say, out of breath.

“Si,” the guard replies.

“Are you police?” I ask.

“Policia, si,” the guard says.

“I must report smugglers,” I say, “A ship, filled with illegal cargo, is now moving through the locks. We must stop it.”

“Smugglers?” the guard replies.

“Yes, endangered species,” I say, carefully pulling down the canvas sack and showing Monterey’s bright eyes.

“Ah,” the guard says, “Come!”

I begin to follow the guard, and notice that another follows close behind. I should feel safe and protected, but somehow, I feel at risk. Vulnerable. We come up to another shack. The guard opens the door, and I see a holding cell inside with steel bars.

“What are we doing?” I ask.

“You, we arrest,” the guard says, “for smuggling.”

“No!” I scream, “No, not me, the others. I’m trying to save this bird. This is a California Condor.”

The men exchange glances. Inside the shack a radio crackles.

“We are looking for a girl who has escaped from my ship with stolen property,” Dupree announces on the official channel. “She probably has a large bird with her. We must get both of them.”

Before the men can react, I bolt around the shack. I rip the canvas bag open. Monterey looks at me with terror in her eyes.

“Go, now,” I whisper with my voice cracking. “Save yourself. Find Malibu.”

The two guards burst around the corner. As they lunge for me, Monterey lurches forward to fight.

“No!” I scream. “Go! Now!”

Monterey bounces twice, three times, and on the fourth her wings snap in the quiet of the night. Soon she disappears into the darkness, above the trees. She looks back as the men pin my arms behind my back, and lead me away.

-END Online Blog ENTRY-

**********

CHAPTER 19

The tidal wave of sound that rings in sunrise each morning in the rain forest can be as soothing as a classical sonata or as disrupting as a punk rocker. For a young California Condor a thousand miles from home with no family to lean on, each squawk and scream becomes a terrifying jolt.

Monterey sits high on a towering Date Palm and weeps as the jungle explodes with life. Every creature seems to be revving on all cylinders this morning. Eventually a trio of Green Parakeets scoots in for a landing next to Monterey.

“Is this the best, or what?” Chili squeaks. “This is going to be sooo out of control.”

“I didn’t sleep a wink last night,” squawks Salsa, “not a wink.”

“You coming, too?” Pepper quips to Monterey.

The rapid-fire beat stalls with silence. The Parakeets twitch their heads back and forth between each other and the solitary statue that is Monterey.

“Are you?” Salsa pries.

“Joining the party?” Chili snips.

“Hello?” Pepper chirps, cocking her head well past two o’clock. “Anyone home?”

Monterey sniffs and breaks out of her trance of fear, wiping away a tear with her wing.

“What?” she asks.

“Can you believe it?” Salsa asks, “Can you?”

“A day to remember!” Chili declares.

“Are you in?” Pepper asks again. “Are you coming?

“In? In what? Going where?” Monterey says, again after a long pause. “I don’t even know where we are.”

“Where are we?” Chili laughs, “you kidding me?”

“Are you serious?” Salsa chuckles.

“You’re not in Kansas anymore,” Pepper blurts out, sending the trio into stitches.

Monterey fights back her tears.

“Whoa, hang on,” Chili says, slowing down to offer an understanding tone. “We didn’t mean to upset you.”

“You are serious,” Salsa says, inching closer to look up at Monterey, who bows her head in shame.

“Sorry, so so sorry,” Pepper adds softly. “Truly.”

“You don’t know what I’ve been through,” Monterey says. “First I got separated from my parents, then lost my brother, and now I’m here, wherever this is, all alone. I don’t know where I belong or who I am or what I’m supposed to do. I’m, I’m scared.”

“Be cool, Sister,” Chili says, “trust me, it’s all good.”

“Fer sure,” Salsa says, “You’re here, you’re alive — you’ve found paradise!”

“CEN-tral A-MER-ica,” Pepper boasts. “We have everything. You need family, we’ll be family.”

“In heartbeat,” Chili snips.

“What you need?” Salsa asks. “Food? Seeds? Fruit? You name it.”

“We got it,” Pepper finishes.

A smile breaks across Monterey’s face, and suddenly she sees the bright, colorful world surrounding her. The rush of life through her body excites her like a Latin Mambo.

“I’m not hungry, really,” Monterey says, flashing her grin to each of her new friends, “and thanks for asking. It’s not things that I need right now. This paradise looks wonderful, but it’s not like my home was. Although I’m not really sure what my home is supposed to be, anyway. I’m just winging this all on my own, and, it’s, well, it’s ...”

“Overwhelming,” honks Queen Rosita, a Toucan who has been bounding from tree to tree listening. She sneaks up from behind while Monterey absorbs everyone with her plea. “Don’t think I don’t know what you’re sayin’, amiguita, you know it, I know it, you live it, I live it. True, oh, yeah, You Go Girl! You find yourself!”

Monterey turns and gasps. She has never seen so many brilliant colors of life.

“Don’t get me started,” Queen Rosita says as she plants her wing on her hip and throttles her head to and fro. “For I can RE-late. Three years in a cage, amiguita, in a house in the CIT-Y. Pena de muerte. One night I go to bed in my nest, the next morning I wake up in a dark prison. Do I need to elaborate? Cachai?”

Monterey senses a connection of a kindred spirit.

“Huuuumans!” Queen Rosita screams out above the wall of jungle sound. “Uh-huh, that’s what I’m saying.”

“Humans!” Monterey barks out. “Yeah, right, HUMANS. How did you know?”

“Girl, most of us know,” Queen Rosita says. “Most of us have been. And that’s why we be. There. Now, here. Aqui.”

Monterey turns to the others.

“Two years in a zoo,” Chili says, as if it’s a badge of honor.

“Five in the suburbs,” Salsa says.

“Six months,” Pepper says, pausing for dramatic impact, “in a PRE-school.”

Chili slaps his wings to the side of his face, Salsa stumbles backward as if to faint and Queen Rosita gently consoles Pepper with a pat on the back.

“Pobrecito!” Queen Rosita shouts. “Can I have a Hallelujah!”

“HALLELUJAH!” everyone screams, including Monterey, before breaking into laughter. The group settles down.

“So,” Queen Rosita says as she figures out the scenario in her head, “you just got here. That means you don’t know wazzup. What we’re in for. What’s on tap. Qué pasa?”

Monterey shakes her head slowly.

“Oh, no wonder,” Chili says.

“Should have known,” Salsa chimes in.

“Hello?” Pepper says, “what were we thinking?”

“First be first,” Queen Rosita says, getting serious as she focuses on Monterey. “You don’t know who you are? What you are?”

“Well,” Monterey says slowly, “I’m a ...”

“Condor, amiguita,” Queen Rosita says, laughing and shaking her head, “as if I’ve never seen a Condor in my lifetime.”

“Yeah,” Chili says.

“You know it,” Salsa says.

“But, really, we’ve never ...” Pepper starts.

“Shhhh!” Chili and Salsa snip, not wanting to be exposed.

“Yeah,” Monterey says, “A Condor. You’ve seen Condors?”

“Have I seen Condors?” Queen Rosita exclaims. “Claro que sí! Once you’ve seen your kind, well, it’s not like one forgets, that nasty bald head and industrial-strength beak and all. No offense.”

“But we’re facing extinction,” Monterey says.

All four gasp.

“There are only a few of us left,” Monterey says. “That’s why I have to figure everything out on my own. I have no one to show me the way.”

“Ver y creer!” Queen Rosita shouts to the heavens, “Let me show you the way, amiguita, your way home.”

“Are you serious?” Monterey asks.

“Do I look serious to you?” Queen Rosita says, cocking her long rainbow colored beak parallel to the ground. The trio squirts out some snickers. “Ah, don’t answer that. Enough talkin’ the talk, it’s time we walk!”

The trio looks puzzled.

“You know, I mean, we FLY!” Queen Rosita exclaims.

“WE FLY!” the trio sings.

“You in?” Queen Rosita says to Monterey.

“I’m in,” Monterey bubbles, “Let’s FLY!”

The gang bursts from the trees high into the air, and dives like a rocket into a small opening in the jungle and disappears from sight. The Parakeets dart in and out of limbs and branches and vines while Queen Rosita leap frogs from tree to tree, looking for openings just wide enough to accommodate Monterey’s massive wingspan. The canopy closes in above and the bright morning gives way to a dim, cool environment, as if they flew into a cave — or back into Starlight’s old growth.

Soon light at the end of this tunnel beckons, and Queen Rosita looks over her shoulder. With a nod she gives Monterey the green light to lead the charge into the great, wide open. Monterey soars from jungle to a spectacular sight, a placid lake with towering, flowering trees surrounding it and waterfalls streaming from the low-lying clouds into its belly. Queen Rosita turns left and heads for the biggest waterfall that tumbles down a rocky escarpment.

They do a few circles over the crashing roar of water, and the cool spray exhilarates Monterey. The blast of refreshment cleanses her, and she suddenly realizes her mistake of the past 12 hours. Listen to your instincts, she hears Papa say, and control your emotions. She can feel strength welling up inside her, like molten lava about to bring a dormant volcano to life. Her instincts prepare to smother her emotions.

Queen Rosita gives a twitch of her head asking if Monterey is ready. Monterey nods triumphantly. The group swings wide and makes a powerful beeline straight for the waterfall. At the last moment, they zoom upward on a thermal, parallel to the cascading wall of water, and vanish into the clouds.

Although she cannot see more than a few feet in front of her, just enough to catch glimpses of multicolor tail feathers, Monterey blasts confidently through the haze. Anticipation begins to swell inside, and just as it becomes nearly unbearable, the haze begins to brighten. They explode into the clear, blue sky, and the only shield from the tremendous blinding light above is the shadow of the majestic mountain peak.

Queen Rosita struggles to keep up, and levels off the squadron to another circle pattern. Monterey looks below, into the swirling mist.

“Oh. My. GOSH!” Monterey says, “It’s like being reborn! Thank you, thank you, all. You’re right.”

Queen Rosita blasts out a honk of laughter, and the others just giggle.

“What?” Monterey asks.

“Things are looking up?” Queen Rosita asks.

Again, the Parakeets roar with cackles.

“Yeah,” Monterey says, “oh yeah!”

“Well, then,” Queen Rosita says, cracking a mischievous smile. “Do it.”

“Do it?” Monterey asks.

“Mira,” Queen Rosita says. “Look up!”

A sense of wonderment rains down on Monterey’s face as she feels her instincts guide her attention upward, not down, and as her eyes get acquainted with the bright blue heaven her beak drops wide open and she forgets to flap her wings for a moment or two, before she snaps back to life.

“Whoa,” she says in amazement.

The breathtaking view of dozens of Andean Condors swirling about in the mountain air overcomes Monterey. Tears of joy well up in her eyes. The trio exchange glances with their bottom beaks trembling.

“Awwwwwww.”

“Go,” Queen Rosita says in a whisper, “find yourself.”

With a flurry of powerful thrusts, Monterey launches into the trade winds and joins her own. Her cousins welcome her into their formation with open wings, understanding she isn’t Andean. That she’s special. One of a kind. A rare bird.

**********

CHAPTER 20

[Video report on Outdoor Network Investigates]

Dupree sits across the table from Turk’s hidden camera in the captain’s quarters of his ship, his eyes pulsating with rage.

“Sometimes,” Dupree says in a voice boiling with anger, “in this business, we face unique challenges.”

“Do you have a Condor, or not?” Turk asks pointedly.

“Patience,” Dupree says, “is key.”

The door opens and two men shove me into the room. I stumble and regain my balance just in time to meet Turk’s eyes. For a brief moment I feel relief, but I quickly understand the stakes are high. Dupree and the men have a few exchanges in Spanish before he erupts and slams his fists to the table.

“Que!” Dupree screams. “You what? You released the Condor?”

I push aside my fears and stand tall.

“Yes,” I say, “I did.”

Dupree slams the table again, and stalks around the table. “Why? What were you thinking?”

“What was I thinking?” I snap, defiantly, suddenly remembering some gangster movie I saw years ago. “I was thinking you were about to cheat me. You were about to sell me out. Hang me out to dry. Weren’t you?”

Dupree stops to laugh at his evil ways.

“Of course you were,” I say, “so that’s what I was thinking. You cheat me; I’ll cheat you.”

“Hang on,” Turk interrupts, firing a horrifying glance at me. “You had a California Condor and let it go? Are you insane or just a complete idiot? Girl, have you any idea whatsoever how precious that bird is? Do you know how much it’s worth?”

I growl like a caged Tiger.

“More than you’ll ever know.”

“So you have nothing!” Turk blasts, taking the spotlight off me and focusing it on Dupree. “Zilch. Squat.”

Dupree sucks in a deep breath to control his emotion.

“As I said, patience, sir, patience,” Dupree says as he slowly circles behind me and moves close to my ear. “We may not have your bird right now. But what we do have is someone who is an expert on California Condors. Someone who will help us find that bird and get it for you. Correct?”

Dupree whispers into my ear, “Don’t blow this, sweetie.”

“Yeah, sure,” I say, glibly, “I can get the bird back. But I want to make certain that I get my fair share. Understood?”

“Of course,” Dupree says, “Of course. No problem. None, whatsoever.”

“I don’t care about any deals between you two,” Turk says, “I just want to close this deal. Tonight.”

Dupree snaps his fingers, and one of his guards hands him a piece of paper.

“Be here, tonight, at midnight,” Dupree says. “You will be escorted to the ship and your goods will be delivered.”

“All of them?” Turk asks.

“All of them,” Dupree says.

As the camera leaves the room, Turk continues his voiceover.

“Now all I can do,” he says, “is wait ‘til midnight.”

-END OF VIDEO REPORT-

**********

CHAPTER 21

Caught up in the ecstasy of the moment, Monterey gently closes her eyes and glides along the thermals with her long lost cousins. Not just one, not a few, but dozens of Andean Condors surround her like a soft blanket. Aside from some slight differences, they look like her, smell like her and act like her.

Her heart slows to a steady, calming beat as she circles freely through the brilliant blue sky. It’s exactly how she had imagined in her dreams, when she would close her eyes and listen to Papa talk about his last flight of freedom. A flight he guaranteed the twins to experience someday. At his side, if not in body, in spirit.

Life suspends time as she soars, instinctively feeling the currents stretch out her feathers, which explore her environment like a baby’s hands crawling in sand. As she draws in a deep breath, she turns her head and opens her eyes to the embracing smile of K’awil, the elder of the Andean Condors, who escorts her to the top of the cyclone.

“Welcome, child,” K’awil says. “We’ve been waiting for you.”

Monterey giggles like bubbles of life foaming to the surface of a cola on a hot summer’s day.

“And I’ve been waiting for this,” Monterey says, “Finally, I’m home. I’ve found you. Condors. My search is over!”

She tightens her wings and blasts higher into the sky, before slowly descending back to K’awil’s side. K’awil coughs up a hearty laugh.

“Oh, hardly, child,” K’awil says with a deep, soulful belly laugh, “Your journey has just begun.”

“Huh?” Monterey barks.

“The way of the Condor is not an end to the means,” K’awil says, “but a means to the end.”

“I don’t understand,” Monterey says, her disappointment sapping her unbridled energy.

“Don’t be sad,” K’awil says. “This is a wondrous day that we fly together. You have so much to learn, and I can help you with some, but not all, that you need to know. The way of the Condor isn’t a book of rules to follow, but rather an understanding of how to explore.”

“Explore?” Monterey says. “Explore what?”

“Life,” K’awil says. “Come.”

K’awil begins a regal descent through the funnel of life, each of the Andean Condors following in a choreographed dance of flight. They land on a cliff that overlooks the fog and mist that Monterey broke through with her allies Queen Rosita, Chili, Salsa and Pepper.

The wind kicks up and the haze clears to uncover a magnificent city of ruins on the mountaintop. The buildings have long since lost their reason for being, and now simply stand as monuments — reminders of a time long past. They stand silent, in stark contrast to the noisy buzz of humans scurrying about the remains, children running up stone staircases, the elderly sitting in quiet mediation on short walls and young lovers sneaking an embrace hidden by jungle growth.

“Who are they?” Monterey asks.

“Visitors,” K’awil says.

“They don’t belong here, do they?” Monterey says, listening to her instincts. “This isn’t their home, is it?”

“No,” K’awil says.

“Whose home is this?” Monterey asks.

“This was once home to an ancient civilization,” K’awil says, “A vibrant society, full of life. Blessed with knowledge forged through thousands of years of living hand-in-hand, breath-to-breath, one with nature. Side-by-side, with the Condor.”

“Where are they?” Monterey asks. “What happened to them?”

“They are gone,” K’awil says. “These humans, they have no idea what happened to the ancient ones. It is a supreme mystery for them. The ancient ones simply vanished. These humans just have reminders that the ancient ones were here. But, the ancient ones are gone. Forever.”

“Forever?” Monterey asks.

“Extinct,” K’awil says, his intense eyes sending a bolt of fire with his message.

Monterey’s legs nearly collapse as she sways out on the precipice, kicking pebbles down the edge of the cliff that disappear on their way down. She flutters her wings to regain her balance, and digs her powerful claws into the rock — into worn indentations carved by others, through thousands of years. Tears flood her eyes.

“We understand your pain,” K’awil says. “We faced the dangers, too, of extinction, and have survived. And thrived. By listening to our hearts. Conquering our fears. By being Condors.”

“But so much has happened,” Monterey says, “that I can’t even imagine what’s next. What’s around the corner? Who’s in the darkness?”

“Never fear your future,” K’awil says, “Embrace its uncertainty and face its challenges. Fear and doubt are the price of admission to adventure. To life.”

“But why me?” Monterey says, “Why should I be here, and not Starlight? Why California Condors, and not Northern Spotted Owls?”

“It is good to question, yes,” K’awil says. “And your answers will come, in time. But don’t limit yourself. Dare to question. Dare to live.”

“I still don’t understand,” Monterey says.

“There is one other question you’ve failed to consider,” K’awil says.

“What?” Monterey asks.

“Why not both? Condors and Owls?” K’awil says.

Monterey blushes. With the flush of life through her body she senses more answers emerging within.

“I have to go, now,” Monterey says, “don’t I?”

K’awil smiles.

“The way of the Condor,” Monterey says, “is simplicity. Life from death. Instinct, not emotion. Isn’t it?”

There is a long pause.

“But we have no voice, no song,” Monterey says, “No scream of the Eagle or call of the Loon or whistle of the Sparrow. How then, how do we send our message?”

“Your friends will guide you to opportunity,” K’awil says, “but only you know how to react to it.”

“I will be back,” Monterey says, her tears quickly a distant memory, “won’t I?”

“We will fly together again,” K’awil says, “I’m certain of that.”

K’awil nods to the others. Queen Rosita and the trio bow their heads. Queen Rosita wails like a trumpet across the mountaintop, with the Parakeets following her lead. Hundreds of birds join the chorus, and rise from the forest. Monterey leaps from the ledge, falls for a moment, and explodes into the early evening sun with hundreds of winged soldiers following.

“Is this the best, or what?” Chili squeaks. “This is going to be sooo out of control.”

“I can’t wait,” squawks Salsa, “I can’t wait.”

“I guess you are coming, too?” Pepper quips to Monterey. “Oh, yeah, you’re coming, too.”

Queen Rosita flashes a Cheshire cat smile as she moves to the front.

“We’ve got a long journey ahead,” she says, “it’s time to fly!”

**********

CHAPTER 22

The rosy tint of sunset gives way to a whitewash of the full moon as a cool, moist quilt falls over the jungle. The last of evening calls of wildlife quiet to the squeaky sounds of insects and croaks of tree frogs. Dupree’s men sit quietly, in place, awaiting his final command. A last Kookaburra cry echoes into the night.

“Move in,” Dupree announces on the radio.

Across the islands, his men begin to capture monkeys of all sorts. The ease of the mission unnerves the men. Instead of the usual war screams and fierce battles, the monkeys appear docile. The radio buzzes with reports unlike any previous mission.

“It’s as though they are surrendering,” Monk reports.

“Like shooting fish in a barrel,” Sampson adds.

“Primates have great instincts,” Dupree beams, “they know when to fight, and when fight is futile. They know they are beaten. Remember, many of these have been in captivity before. They understand servitude.”

The men work steady, not quickly, yet finish in the blink of an eye.

“Quota filled,” Monk reports.

“Ditto,” Sampson adds.

“More,” Dupree says, “Don’t stop now.”

Silence reigns on the radio.

“The full moon,” Dupree says, “it has mysterious influences on animals. Tonight, men, we’ve hit the lottery.”

“We don’t need to be so greedy,” Monk says, “We have plenty.”

“Nonsense,” Dupree announces. “Opportunities like this don’t come along often. Pick up the pace.”

After a few minutes Monk announces the crates and boats are full.

“Continue,” Dupree says. “Call Jones. Have him bring the customer here. And Sully. Forget the Condor. Bring the girl. We need those skiffs.”

“10-4,” Sampson says.

**********

CHAPTER 23

Sully grins as he watches the flock of Ravens digging into the carcass of a Warthog.

“Just a matter of time before she shows,” Sully says.

“Oh, really?” I say.

“Yep,” Sully says, “Ravens are like a dinner bell for Condors. It worked before, it will work now. We know a little about these birds, too.”

“I see,” I say, ignoring the feast and focusing my attention on Dupree’s henchmen. “Then you know the legend of the Thunderbird.”

Sully and his men laugh at me, as though I’m on the playground asking for the rules to play tag.

“You mean the terrifying giant predators that would attack tribes and carry warriors off to their demise?” Sully jokes, prompting a roar from his audience. “Come on, kid, everyone knows experts have dismissed the Condors as Thunderbirds. Condors are scavengers. Garbage collectors, not predators — certainly not warriors.”

I shrug and let the men have their laugh at my expense. Soon the men quiet down again.

“There are other theories,” I say softly. “Condors have been around for 12,000 years. Longer than any other bird alive today. Some think they evolved, they adapted. There are tales that the Condor, the Thunderbird, changed its way of life to live in harmony with man, rather than live in conflict. The ultimate warrior embracing concepts of peace rather than war. Leading by example.”

The men draw quiet and attempt to keep their attention on the Raven feast.

“It just makes you wonder,” I say, pausing.

“Wonder about what?” Sully asks.

“Well, what will the Condor do when it faces the ultimate test of extinction,” I say. “Will it maintain its current attitude to the grave? Or, will it fight to the death?”

“Oooooh,” Sully says, breaking my grip on his men by playfully mocking me. “Nothing but a ghost story. And the perfect night, too. A full moon. Boo!”

“You know what they say about full moons,” I say.

“Oh, yeah,” one of the men pipes up, “My brother works in an Emergency Room. He says when there’s a full moon they double their staff. It’s like the circus coming to town. All sorts of weird things happen.”

“Urban myth,” Sully snaps, hoping again to regain control of the night.

Another long, silent pause ends with my final jab.

“Today’s urban myth,” I say with a half-hearted laugh. “Is tomorrow’s ancient legend.”

The radio interrupts my final moment. It’s Sampson. Calling in the troops.

**********

CHAPTER 24

[Video report on Outdoor Network Investigates]

The night vision video shows a flurry of activity on the sandy, moonlit beach. A steady line of men exits the jungle with sacks bulging full. They empty the sacks into large, wooden crates with small openings between the slates. A close-up pan as Turk walks alongside three crates lined up in a row shows a startling, eerie chain of eyes. They appear glazed over, almost like zombies, awaiting their fate.

Turk moves to the center of activity, where Dupree acts like a traffic cop, directing his troops to begin filling the boats with full crates.

“Your lucky day,” Dupree says. “You wanted a female Mantled Howler Monkey? How about a harem?”

“This is amazing,” Turk says.

“Like taking candy from a baby,” Dupree says, “or just taking the baby, too.”

“That’s disgusting,” Turk barks.

“Oh, you having second thoughts?” Dupree says, “a little unsure of yourself?”

“I’m a collector, not a kidnapper,” Turk says.

“Ah, yes, indeed,” Dupree booms in a loud roar of laughter. “I forget that the species dictates the magnitude of the crime.”

“I’m not a kidnapper,” Turk says.

“Whatever pleases you,” Dupree says. “Just a fine line, just a fine line. They have a lot in common, though, our chosen professions.”

“Your chosen profession,” Turk corrects.

“As you say,” Dupree says. “But you see this? See how easy this is? And do you know why?”

“Why?” Turk asks, indulging Dupree while fighting his urge to crash Dupree’s world right now, before another painful moment passes.

“Because the higher than mighty individuals who devote themselves to the preservation and protection of these endangered species embrace the same primary defense strategy as most people who wake up one morning and find their valuables missing.”

“You’re disgusting,” Turk says.

“That’s right, exactly correct,” Dupree says. “The good of man, the good of human nature. That’s supposed to be a defense strategy? Ah, it’s not that I’m disgusting or immoral or unethical. I’m human. I take what’s available. Just like every creature has done since the birth of life. It’s called survival of the fittest. Not survival of the honest.”

Sully’s skiff arrives at last as they load the final crates. The boats shove off, and the radio continues to crackle with activity as his men talk to each other while Dupree continues his sermon to Turk. As they reach the bow of his ship two things are certain. Dupree is one sick man. And all his men have heard the legend of the Thunderbird.

The video cuts to cranes lifting the final crates onto the deck of the cargo ship. The huge opening in the deck of the ship casts moonlight throughout the cargo bay, giving the other captives the first glimpse of natural light since their voyage began off the coast of the Puget Sound.

Turk’s voiceover is short, and sweet.

“What follows just as the clock strikes midnight cannot adequately be described in words,” Turk says. “The images speak for themselves.”

Dupree’s men move sluggishly, the increase in the bounty sapping much of their strength. As the last crate settles on the deck, the monkeys burst to life, like a volcanic explosion from a sleeping giant. Crates bounce up and down, rock back and forth, and tiny arms claw and scratch through the open slates at everyone.

As the chaos paralyzes the men, the monkey screams get drowned out by a wall of sound washing down from the sky. The camera turns and catches the attack of a wave of thousands of birds from the North, their faces blazing in the bright moonlight.

It’s Malibu, Pepe, and a cast of thousands. They swoop and buzz the men, sending them scurrying all about the deck seeking safety as Dupree stands defiantly, screaming orders to fight that go unnoticed.

Malibu times a landing perfectly, thrusting his claws into the side of a rocking crate and sending it onto its side, where it splits open, sending monkeys swarming around the deck.

They work together smashing open crates, one-by-one. The larger primates focus on battling the human troops, while smaller, quick primates leap into the belly of the ship and begin to open cages, freeing all. Just as the men finish their analysis of the attack and cultivate a plan, a second wave hits.

From the South another air force approaches, their silhouettes against the moonlight. It is Monterey, Queen Rosita and more troops. Again, they send the men on their heels. Monterey has tunnel vision. She dives deep into the cargo bay. As she lands, she shakes her head in disbelief.

“Monterey!” Malibu screams.

“Malibu!” Monterey screams, bounding to wrap her loving wings around her brother. “I knew you’d come for me.”

“And I decided to bring a few friends, too,” he laughs, pointing to Pepe and the Pelicans rampaging through the cargo bay opening cages.

“Kayah,” Monterey begins.

“I know, I saw her,” Malibu barks. “Traitor!”

“No,” Monterey begins, hoping to set the record straight, “She ...”

“Don’t forget us!” pleads Starlight from the quiet end of the bay.

“Come on,” Monterey yells.

Monterey leads Malibu to the dark end of the cargo bay, where Starlight and her chicks hop anxiously waiting for their door to swing open to freedom. Monterey opens the door, but suddenly the entire ship shakes as a tremendous crash silences the battle for a moment. Dupree slams half of the bay opening shut. The violent quake sends two of the Owl chicks sliding across the floor as the door closes.

“Go,” Malibu shouts. “Get out. Now. I’ll get the chicks.”

Monterey doesn’t hesitate. She grabs Starlight and leads her and the others to safety.

“My owlets!” Starlight shrieks.

“Trust your instincts,” Monterey says, “they are safe with Malibu.”

Confidence washes over Starlight’s face as she turns, and follows Monterey with her other chicks to the deck. There, Dupree rallies a few of his men, and has them working on the other bay door. As they scramble to undo knots in the guidelines, the moonlight fades to complete darkness. They turn, and the camera pans, to see the moon disappear behind a black curtain. Once their eyes adjust, they see hundreds of huge, Andean Condors, descend to the boat.

The silhouettes show the mighty birds picking up screaming, kicking bodies and disappearing into the night.

“Thunderbirds!” a man shouts, and Dupree’s men begin leaping into the water in a last ditch effort to save themselves. As the night vision adjusts to the new light level, it’s apparent what’s happening. The Condors majestically lift the monkeys and return them to the safety of their islands. Other birds escort the captives to the safety of the jungles. Chili, Pepper and Salsa help Monterey and Starlight get the chicks to a passion fruit tree, where they catch their breath.

Slowly, the flurry of chaos dies down. A high-pitch whine of an engine rips the silence of the night. A lone skiff sprays water into the sky as it disappears back up the Canal. Pepe and Taco give a futile chase. They move too late to do anything other than confirm the passengers on the skiff: Dupree, a cage holding Malibu and two Owlets. And, finally, Kayah, in handcuffs.

-END VIDEO REPORT-

**********

CHAPTER 25

Online Blog: California Condor Rescue

By Kayah

Day 25

It feels as though my world is crashing down around me. Nothing goes as planned. Nothing makes sense. Everything I believe in appears to be based on lies.

Once again, I sit alone as a prisoner, with the sounds of the world’s most precious creatures echoing into the night. This time, however, the calls don’t emanate from the dungeon of a cargo ship. The serenade rings across a clear, starry sky on this island that would in all other ways represent paradise except for one monumental exception — all of us are here against our will.

Instead of a metal cubby in the ship, I’m in the posh, comfortable living quarters in a state-of-the-art zoo. This entire island, somewhere in the Caribbean, as best I can tell, is a sanctuary for endangered species. The island has been carved into eco systems that support its inhabitants. The detail is mind-boggling. What’s more mind-blowing is its reason for existence. It serves one man. I met him tonight.

Dupree exiled me to this zoo and immediately put me to work on Malibu, nursing his injuries from his magnificent battle. Seeing that Dupree could only manage a few hostages from the ship it became clear to me what happened. Malibu, no doubt, got trapped while performing a rescue of the Owlets. It’s only natural for him, given his lineage. If only Papa knew of Malibu’s heroism.

After monitoring my final check on Malibu, Dupree leaves the premises for the night, as he has each night. It’s time for me to make my move. On the Jeep drive in from the dock, I caught a brief glimpse of a grand mansion, not to mention a few trails disappearing into the forest. I embark into the darkness of the jungle in search of the mansion, and, I hope, the opportunity to get help.

I find a number of trails, most wildlife paths. Finally, after 45 minutes of searching, I find a man-made trail. It takes less than an hour to find myself at the backdoor. How convenient. At first the lack of security surprises me. Then again, to get to the front door you must first gain access to the island. I doubt any intruder has ever gotten this far.

An operation this intense must have some pretty sophisticated communications. I need to find that room and get a message out. The mansion is huge. The kitchen area alone seems to take 10 minutes to explore. Eventually, however, I find my destination. It’s an office and control room of sorts, with a wall of video monitors and complicated control board.

I completely immerse myself in the brainteaser, attempting to find a line to the outside world. I don’t even hear the door open, or the large man creep up behind me.

“I’ve been waiting for you,” Descartes says, “What’s taken you so long?”

He startles me enough to warrant a short yelp, but I try desperately to regain my composure.

“Three days isn’t that long,” I say, trying to recover.

“Oh, I’ve been waiting for years,” Descartes says. “Literally, years.”

“Who are you?” I roar, as if I already know what he’s about to say.

“My name is Emilio Descartes,” he says, “but I’m sure it means nothing to you.”

“You got that right,” I say. My insides scream bloody murder. I can feel my cheeks get flush. “Listen, I don’t know who you think you are, but ...”

He interrupts me.

“Indeed,” he says, moving his hands to the control board. He systematically turns off all the switches I’ve turned on. “You don’t know me, but I know who you are.”

The bottom falls out of my stomach as he flicks a switch. The wall of video comes alive with a collage of tapes of me giving interviews all across the world.

“Kayah,” he says with a devilish smile, “welcome to your dream come true.”

As I stare, unable to move, nearly unable to breathe, he moves to his desk. He pulls out a scrapbook and opens to an early page. He hands it to me. It’s a yellow newspaper clipping from my hometown. It’s a photo of me, with my high school biology teacher, receiving my scholarship check from the Prey-go-neesh Team when I was 12. My hands tremble as I page through the scrapbook, each page revealing a horror story I cannot begin to believe. My essence won’t allow it.

There are stories of my college days, when I started the first Prey-go-neesh Team Chapter at the university. The story of my graduation, my trips around the world on behalf of the Prey-go-neesh Team, and, ultimately, my assignment to the California Condor Restoration Project.

It’s a terrifying prospect to think that someone has been watching me, stalking me, for years and years, without my knowledge. The evil of the process permeates every thought. This man is an industrial strength sicko. He revolts me. He stands for everything that I don’t. He is what I’m not. Nor will I ever be.

“Your whole life,” he continues, “has prepared you for this moment, to take over the reigns of this magnificent island. To be the mother to our family of endangered species.”

“Whooa, hang on one minute,” I burst, “I won’t have a thing to do with any of your sick ideas. These creatures deserve to be free, not held captive. I won’t, for one moment, help your twisted plans. I’ve devoted my life to saving these creatures.”

He laughs and shakes his head. He mocks me. Impossible as it sounds, I now hate him more than I did a moment ago.

“Kayah,” he says, “you don’t understand. We’ve been partners all these years. My goals are your goals.”

“Impossible,” I bark. I want to growl. I want to attack, like a vicious Pitbull.

He quietly moves back to the desk and pulls out a corporate checkbook. He hands it to me. The checks look familiar. Frightfully familiar.

“The Prey-go-neesh Team?” I say in utter disbelief, “you?”

“Yes,” he laughs, “I AM the Prey-go-neesh Team.”

That was a few hours ago. The sun is about to rise, and I’ve had no sleep. He went on, about the opportunities he wants to offer me. I can’t say that I was listening. I was in shock. I still am. I just know that later today we will fly to Miami, to sell Malibu to a collector to help pay for this madness. My stomach aches. I feel, in my gut, this is my last chance to right these wrongs. Once again, I have no idea how to do that.

-END Online Blog ENTRY-

**********

CHAPTER 26

The human world can still learn a lot from the animal kingdom, if it would only listen. Until the invention of satellite technology, human’s ability to spread news paled in comparison to the wild world. News travels on the wings of Doves, the clicks of Dolphins, and the trumpets of Elephants. In a matter of hours, news of the massive jailbreak rattled across the planet.

Along with the story of triumph, however, word spread of the tragedy. Of the hostages, Malibu and Starlight’s Owlets. A worldwide bird-hunt began.

With no word in three days, Monterey’s heart weighs heavy. She sits on a lone Pine atop a jagged cliff, where she hasn’t budged for more than two days. K’awil arrives to say his goodbyes, for now. He moves to the Pine while his legions swirl in the morning sky.

“Be strong, Princess,” K’awil says. “You will reign as a Queen someday with your brother at your side. I know that in my heart. We must go home, this is not our element. If you should need us, however, we will fly together again.”

A tear trickles down Monterey’s beak.

“Shed no tears for Malibu,” K’awil says, “his warrior spirit grows stronger each day.”

“It’s not for him,” Monterey says, wiping her tear away. “It is for you. I don’t know how to thank you for what you’ve given me.”

“I gave you nothing you didn’t already have,” K’awil says. “Sometimes we are afraid to look deep inside ourselves; we fear the journey of self discovery. Sometimes it is easier to accept our life as it comes. However, when your heart speaks, you must listen. You must always listen. And act.”

“I’ll miss you,” Monterey says.

“We’ll see you soon,” K’awil says.

With a mighty thrust of his wings and grand leap, K’awil soars to the top of the circle and leads his army South. Much as Monterey longs to fly again with K’awil and his huge clan, she yearns more for a whirl with a single partner, Malibu. Starlight moves gingerly to the end of the Pine limb as her owlets huddle near the trunk, fast asleep.

“This is far from over, Sugar,” Starlight says. “Our strength grows each day. I can feel it, Honey, can’t you?”

Monterey inhales deeply.

“Yes, I can,” Monterey begins. She pauses, then starts again. “It’s hard, though. With Malibu and your owlets out there, alone, shouldn’t we feel sad?”

“Emotions always confuse matters,” Starlight says. “And humans have far, far too many emotions, if you ask me. It is both their greatest asset and greatest weakness.”

A flutter of activity interrupts the pair as Chili, Salsa and Pepper skitter into the Pine, darting to and fro unable to calm their excitement.

“Un-beeeeeee-lievable,” Chili croons.

“Ready for this?” Salsa quips. “No. You can’t be. No one’s ready for this.”

“Lucky girl,” Pepper signs, “You lucky girl.”

An enormous squadron sails into sight on the Northern horizon. The first wave of Ospreys begins the magnificent procession with a powerful talon-first dive from the heavens before breaking to the sides to hover in a perfect circle. Next, the up-curved wings of Golden Eagles descend, coursing in a ring over the hovering Osprey.

Beginning as tiny specks in the sky, the Peregrine Falcons execute a precision dive of scintillating speed, their dark crowns giving them the aura of helmeted fighter pilots. They scream below the formation of Osprey before whirling, loop-de-loop above the Golden Eagles. As they take their position in the hovering mass, they all begin a cacophony of screeches and shrieks that echo across the valley below and make feathers stand on end on the nap of a neck.

Finally, soaring above with wings flat as silver serving platters, its brilliant white heads blazing in the sun, a small band of Bald Eagles stoop through the center of the formation. The entourage falls into place surrounding the Pine as if it were a magnificent throne of royalty. As Starlight inches back to her groggy owlets, the royal guard bows as one to Monterey.

A moment of silence follows.

“Whoaa!!!” Monterey wails at the top of her lungs, punctuating her words like the brass in a classic blues break. “That ... was ... sooooo ... coool!!!!”

There is a deafening poignant pause. Monterey gasps. One by one the birds of prey begin to chuckle and bounce playfully from their majestic bows. Soon the sea of raptors roars with laughter like brothers at a Frat Party. Monterey joins the joy. The huge aerialists begin slapping high wings to each other.

“Cool.”

“Way to go.”

“We nailed it.”

They say among each other. Soon they quiet down. Again, silence reigns.

“Well,” Monterey says, bashfully, “It was. Waaaayyyy Cooolll.”

“Why, thank you,” the largest Bald Eagle says, stepping forward. “I’m Dakota.”

“Manhattan,” the Peregrine Falcon leader says, with a bow.

“Idaho,” the Golden Eagle leader says.

“Oregon,” the Osprey leader says.

“We’ve come,” Dakota says, “to help.”

Monterey smiles.

“We know the trials and tribulations you face,” Dakota says. “They are the same battles we all have fought, and have won. You will have victory, too.”

Monterey casts a suspicious eye.

“You all faced ...” Monterey says, unable to finish the sentence.

“Yes,” Dakota says, “Extinction. We’ve all faced it. And we’ve all survived.”

Monterey forces a smile, but can’t maintain it.

“I don’t understand,” she says, “why must so many of us face such a battle?”

“Humans,” Dakota says. “Humans, fighting for their own survival. For the basis of survival. For food.”

“Food?” Monterey asks.

“Yes, food,” Dakota says. “There was a time when humans only looked out for themselves. They didn’t think of us. They didn’t think of the chain that links us all together.”

“Chain?” Monterey asks.

“The chain of life. The food chain,” Dakota continues. “To grow more food for themselves, humans began to spray poison on plants to kill insects. But a chain is only as strong as its links. Eventually smaller animals, and birds, who eat those insects, began to get sick. And die. The poison ran into streams and rivers, where fish were killed. And, birds of prey, all of us, began to eat poisoned animals. Our eggs were weak. Our young would die. Soon, we all faced extinction.”

“How did you survive?” Monterey asks.

“Standin’ tall,” Manhattan says in his thick New York accent. “Humans aren’t all dangerous. Some understand. They stopped poisoning the plants. They did what they could. They let us live in the city. Pretty sweet.”

“They also cleaned up the water,” Oregon says.

“They helped us along, one at a time, just like they’ll help you,” Dakota says. “Just like we’ll help you.”

Suddenly the birds twitch their heads upward. A lone Peregrine Falcon dives at a frightening speed, pulls up, and lands next to Manhattan.

“Excuse me,” Manhattan says. “I have some business to attend to.”

Tension leaps through the crowd like lightening as the messenger whispers into Manhattan’s ear.

“Get outta here,” Manhattan says, “For real?”

The messenger finishes.

“We’ve got a bead on your bro,” Manhattan says. “See, while me and my homies rule the roost in da Big Apple, well, the older folks, you know, they get a little soft. They head sout’. It seems my grandparents spotted the Condor and Owlets.”

“Where?” Dakota asks.

“Get this,” Manhattan says, “Miami Beach.”

“Miami?” Monterey asks.

“We’ll be there in no time,” Manhattan says. “And this time, someone’s gonna pay.”

“Yessss!” screams Chili, “Road trip.”

“Make him pay,” Salsa blurts.

“A Miami whammy,” Pepper snips.

“Your escorts await,” Dakota says, sweeping his wing inviting Monterey to the parade.

With a nod of his mighty head, Dakota signals for the air force to take to the skies. The formation launches itself skyward in waves, with Monterey and the Parakeets riding the currents in style, surrounded by the ranking officers.

**********

CHAPTER 27

[Video report on Outdoor Network Investigates]

An explosion of neon lights pops from the darkness as Thor Wild strolls down the main drag of Miami’s South Beach, down Ocean Drive, past the distinctive art deco buildings in the heart of the city. The lights reflect off the mirror-like doors of Mercedes and Cadillacs and convertible BMWs that cruise the strip.

“South Beach, home to Miami’s famous party district, is a place where the fun never ends,” Wild says. “If New York is a city that never sleeps, then South Beach never blinks. People from around the world are drawn here for the nightlife, the wildlife. But it’s a different type of wildlife that brings us here tonight. In the final installment of our undercover investigation into the endangered species’ black market we see that life is worth whatever someone is willing to pay for it.”

To the driving beat of Salsa music the video shows a collage of shots of many of Miami’s beachfront high-rise buildings as Turk narrates.

“Working on an inside tip that we shared with the Federal Bureau of Investigation, we set up a sting in one of Miami’s more ritzy addresses,” Turk says. “Our sources informed us that one of the most active traders in the black market for endangered species maintains a private sanctuary in the penthouse on the 34th floor. We managed to set up our sting on the 33rd floor, complete with surveillance cameras both inside and out.

“Through my connection with Rene Dupree, I set up a meeting with the man in charge, once again, declaring my intention to deal for California Condors. Our hopes are high that Dupree will bring us the top man in the scheme. If not, we at least hope to rescue the California Condor and Northern Spotted Owlets who were taken during the wild ambush in Panama. Finally, we hope Dupree will lead us to Kayah, who was also abducted and remains missing.

“But our plans take a turn for the worst with a telephone call from Dupree. The man we hoped to lure downstairs has decided he will only meet us at his penthouse. Once again armed with a hidden camera and microphone, I head upstairs. All our plans are out the window. I’m told to do my best to attempt to lure the man onto the patio, or the rooftop, where our other cameras can record him and I have clear transmission.”

The hidden camera shows Turk arriving at the penthouse. Dupree meets him at the door and escorts him into the main room. A pair of Blue-throated Macaws — bright blue wings with brilliant yellow bellies — buzz Turk’s head as he wanders in, raving about the beauty of the place. Dupree tells him it will be a while before his boss can meet with him. Turk motions toward the patio doors, behind a mosquito net, and asks if he can look at the view.

“Help yourself,” Dupree announces before disappearing.

Turk moves onto the patio, which has a magnificent view of Miami Beach lighting up the bright sandy beaches along the coastline. He hears the zipper on the mosquito net and turns to greet Descartes.

“What a wonderful place you have here,” Turk says. “The only thing more breathtaking than the view out here is the beauty inside. What were those, Macaws?”

“Blue-throated Macaws,” Descartes says, “It is one of the rarest parrots in the world, found mainly in Bolivia. They apparently fancy a particular species of palm tree that are native to that area — that tree in the corner, over there. The last in the wild were discovered in 1992.”

“You certainly know your birds,” Turk says. “As I mentioned to Rene, I’m interested in starting my own aviary.”

“Indeed,” Descartes says, as he saunters to the edge of the patio for a view of the night sky. “California Condors, I understand. One of many, many magnificent birds.”

Like a shooting star, a Peregrine Falcon screams out of the sky and snares a Pigeon out of thin air just a few floors beneath them.

“Peregrines,” Descartes says, “they are just arriving in Miami ...”

Descartes falls into a trance as he studies the Peregrine, which has landed on another patio and begins to devour its evening meal. After a few moments, another sound distracts him. He looks forward just moments before Starlight bursts into view. A quick dive to the floor saves Descartes from a disfiguring attack, or so he believes. But in an instant, he sees the real target.

With her mighty claws, Starlight grasps the mosquito net and rips it from its curtain rod. Turk leaps to the side and pulls open the second patio door.

Descartes screams “No!” and pops to his feet to close the doors, but his effort is in vain as Pepe pulls in his wings and smacks Descartes back to the floor with a body slam. As the band of Pelicans smother Descartes on the floor, a legion of rescuers ravage the penthouse, freeing all of Descartes’s prize birds.

A series of rare calls shout across Ocean Drive like midnight revelers as they disappear, one-by-one, two-by-two, four-by-four, into the darkness. Descartes battles his way back into his penthouse, some of his escapees diving in for a perilous peck on the head as they fly to freedom.

He barely recovers from another whack of Starlight’s massive wing, and rushes down the hallway to the room on the end. He breaks through the door, where I stand guard over Malibu. Before I can react, Descartes shoves me to the side and grabs the large cage containing Malibu. He bolts through a backdoor, up a staircase to the roof.

My blood begins to boil and I remember the cruel, heartless ways of some humans. It’s as if I’m transported back to grade school, where it wasn’t enough for the class bullies to simply mock me. Whether it was the group who played softball, or the cheerleading bunch or even the band who sang like angels in the chorus, their insults and exile from their cliques were only the first stage. Eventually their torment would get physical, each month kidnapping whatever special wildlife guest I would bring to class.

When I reach the roof, I’m there again, on the playground, with all my essence on the side of wildlife and all my disgust on the side of humans. Descartes jogs across the roof. He is suddenly lit by a spotlight from a FBI helicopter hovering overhead.

“Freeze!” booms a voice on a loudspeaker from above, but Descartes doesn’t listen.

He thrusts himself to the edge of the roof, heaving with breathless panic. I envision this is exactly how each of his prizes felt in their final moments of freedom, before being locked up for life. He dangles Malibu’s cage over the precipice.

“That’s close enough!” Descartes shouts above the roar of the chopper. “Stand down, Kayah. Right there. Right now.”

“Or what?” I ask as I continue to inch closer to him, my eyes laser-locked on his.

“Or I’ll let go,” Descartes shouts.

“You wouldn’t,” I yell defiantly. “You couldn’t.”

“Oh, yes I could,” Descartes says, quieting as his shoulders slump. “All I ever wanted was for us to have our paradise. You and me and the most precious creatures on Earth. But you’re obsessed with these disgusting scavengers, garbage-pickers.”

“Step away from the ledge!” the voice overhead booms.

“If I can’t have what I want,” Descartes says, his evil eyes turning sad, “I can’t allow you to have what you want. Certainly you can understand that.”

“Step away,” the voice booms again, “Now!”

Descartes glances upward for a moment, and that’s just the break I need. I lunge for him. He instinctively charges forward to stop my attack, still holding the cage back behind him.

“Please,” he says softly as he pushes me back, “forgive me.”

He dramatically closes his eyes and releases his hand from the cage.

It falls.

My heart stops.

It drops a few inches to the ledge, where it teeters on the verge of plummeting to the street below, where hundreds of party hounds fall silent and take pause to look to the skies for answers like Coyotes howling at the desert moon.

With a second surge I discard him like a bad memory. As he tumbles to the floor, I steady the cage. I reach around to unlatch the door. Descartes tries to stand, but suddenly the chopper lurches downward to pin him with a blast of wind that knocks the cage over the edge. My right hand gets a hold of the metal handle but the momentum of the falling cargo pulls most of my body over the side. My left hand gets a life lock on the stone railing.

Some say your life passes before your eyes in your final moments. That’s exactly what flashes through my mind as my arm trembles, wondering if a year or so of softball would have given the strength to extend this scene a few minutes longer.

This is yet another “zone” to experience, where I have clarity as never before. It becomes clear to me I have the ability to control the next few moments, even though it appears I have no control whatsoever. The most bizarre thoughts creep into mind, like, for instance, that I’ll have plenty of time falling 34 stories for my life to pass before my eyes. That’s two stories for each year of my life.

Of all the ways to die, I never imagined falling from the edge of a building with a caged California Condor in my hand. I laugh because, more often than anything else, I’ve thought of plummeting to my demise in an elevator. You know, wondering if I can leap at the final second before it crashes to the ground allowing me to fall safely and avoid the crash. Do you think if Malibu takes off at the right moment in his cage, he can survive?

The craziness of my thoughts seems to lighten my spirit, if not my body, and while the drag of the cage remains painful on my arm, the grip on my life feels a bit easier. The pain suddenly leaps from my arms to my shoulders — a sharp, digging pain, instead of the draining disintegration of my grip. As the helicopter moves to reposition itself, I realize what prompts the changes in my predicament.

The spotlight blinds me for a moment, and then I feel the backlash of fluttering wings. The searing pain in my shoulders is nothing more than Monterey’s claws with a stranglehold on me as she attempts to lift me to safety. My heart swells from her intentions. Reality, however, intervenes.

“No,” I say softly. “I’m too heavy. The cage. Take the cage. Save Malibu.”

With another power surge, Monterey lifts me a bit. Not much, but just enough that I can take my foot off the wall. I frantically kick at the latch on the cage door. Once again, time slows. I understand. I take my time, kicking off my shoe and gently wedge the toes of my sock beneath the latch, and spring it forward. The door flings open. Malibu hops to the ledge.

“Go!” I scream. “Both of you, go! Save yourselves! Your species!”

Malibu fires a glance at Monterey, and jettisons from the cage. I let go of the cage and watch it fall to a thundering crash below loud enough to be heard over the chopper. I get my right hand over the ledge, but quickly realize I’ve almost lost feeling in my left hand. I know Monterey will not fall with me. She will rejoin her brother and fly free again. Finally. I turn, and our eyes lock. The look of love and respect. The look of life.

My last thought lingers as I look into a pair of eyes fraught with maturity beyond its years. If only Papa knew, if he could see his offspring. The lives now passing before my eyes are of two, magnificent twins. Monterey must know. Her eyes offer a calm, peaceful gaze. I remove my left hand, and gently grab her claw. I pat it. My clock runs out.

I let go with my right hand. I prepare for my fall. I close my eyes.

Another sharp pain races up my spine from my lower back, and I imagine it is the first pain of impact. I open my eyes and see myself rising above the ledge, awash in a tremendously bright, white light. It all makes sense until I see Turk reach out and thrust his hands beneath my arms. He pulls me to the roof, and the pain in my shoulders and back subsides as I fall to the floor. I turn, and see Monterey and Malibu softly land, slumping in exhaustion, just before my mind goes black.

-END VIDEO REPORT-

**********

CHAPTER 28

Online Blog: California Condor Rescue

By Kayah

Day 26

It’s time to close the chapter on the California Condor Rescue. I sit in the Prey-go-neesh Team’s new private jet, compliments of Descartes, with Monterey and Malibu traveling quietly and comfortably in cages across from me. The last month has been a whirlwind. My head continues to spin.

I could swear we’re heading South rather than West to the Reintroduction Site. Maybe it’s just my reluctance to confront Father. Despite the final outcome, it is not a meeting I look forward to.

I’ve learned so much about myself that it’s difficult to digest. I have two realities engaging in an endless debate in my head. Despite my many setbacks, I realize there is nothing I can’t do if I maintain my focus. I feel like so much more — a much bigger person than the girl who began this adventure content to devote my life to the California Condors.

As much as I love these twins, this adventure has made me realize they only represent a small portion of the wildlife that begs for assistance. I’m interrupted by an in-flight FaceTime.

“Sweetheart,” Father says, “Finally. How are you?”

“I’m fine, Daddy,” I say. “I’m with the twins.”

“I know,” Father says, “I guess an apology and a thank you are in order.”

“That’s all right,” I say. “It all worked out in the end. Are all the other chicks fine? Healthy?”

“Of course they are,” Father says. “But, ah, not to jump ahead too quickly, but, have you thought about your future? About what’s next?”

“I’m not sure,” I say.

“You can always come back,” Father says. “We’d be honored.”

“Thanks,” I say, “I appreciate that, but...”

“But?” Father asks.

I look out the window at a sea of blue. This isn’t the cross-country flight I thought it was.

“But maybe you’ve got other plans?” Father asks.

“No,” I say, in confusion, “not really, I mean, I haven’t thought much about anything else than getting through each day these past weeks.”

An island comes into view.

“Well,” Father says, “as you know, the Prey-go-neesh Team just inherited another sanctuary.”

The jet begins to descend and circle the island, its ecosystems clearly defined from the sky.

“We need someone to oversee that new operation,” Father says. “If you’re interested ... “

Monterey and Malibu flutter in the cage, aware of the change in altitude. They seize my attention.

“It’s a wonderful offer,” I say, “But I don’t know if I can leave the twins behind, I mean ... “

Just then, the world begins to spin yet again. Suddenly I’m looking at myself sitting across from where I now stand, feeling the comfort of my claws digging into the bottom of the cage. I turn and Malibu looks into my eyes.

“We will always be bound together,” he says with a smile, “We are one.”

-END Online Blog ENTRY-

**********

CHAPTER 29

Online Blog: Endangered Species Island Project

By Kayah

Day 1

Just before the sun sends its blazing orange across the ocean, it floods the sky with a soft peach glow. In the middle of the Caribbean, there are no cirrus clouds to paint the edges of the horizon in stunning streaks of purple. A different symphony rattles my senses.

The twins left on a journey yesterday, but no alarms ring in my body. All is well.

If I close my eyes and calm myself I see, not imagine, the perfect sky, just like this, complete with a cyclone swirling into view. A flight of huge, Andean Condors soar in the morning breezes, circling down to form a funnel of life connecting the Earth and Sky. They are suddenly joined by Ospreys, Golden Eagles, Peregrine Falcons and Bald Eagles. My eyes well with tears as two more silhouettes fly into view to join the procession.

My vision quest, finally, becomes reality.

THE END