I’ve been here long enough to think something is awry in the local environment. I don’t have the expertise and time to scientifically measure the changes in local insect and wildlife populations. But I have been going up the same trails for 40 years and have a few scary observations.
One trail I refer to as the Butterfly Trail, officially known as a jeep road “behind the sign” at the top of Smuggler Road at the intersection adjacent to the observation deck. It was not that long ago that I had to step carefully, grinding my way up from the fork in Smuggler Road to the upper meadow about seven or so minutes above the deck. There were so many butterflies with so many names I didn’t know that it was important not to step on them.
There were not just the common yellow and whites but black ones with purple-tinged wing ends, green and yellow ones, yellow and blacks, and little blue butterflies. I stop in the middle of a run to catch one. Now I run ever more slowly on two titanium knees, plenty of time to see who is there to be seen.
Alas, hardly anyone. It’s steeper there and a bit less casual an ascent than the Smuggler Road. I also note that the sphynx moth my wife calls a “bumblebird” is basically AWOL from the front of my house and from the beautiful array of flowers at the Clark’s Market plaza.
These tiny moths look like miniature hummingbirds when in flight, darting from flower to flower with quickness beyond my cell camera’s capability: stop, focus, frame .