Matthew Spaur reflects on why he enjoys the water, birds and other wildlife in the San Pablo Bay.
I’ve spent ten years of afternoon walks along San Pablo Bay with a part of me comparing the view to Puget Sound, where I grew up, and finding the profile of Mt. Tamalpais lacking the majesty of the Olympic Mountains west of Seattle. Or comparing my backyard bay to Monterey Bay, where I’ve vacationed and author John Steinbeck wrote, and wishing I was looking out on the otters playing in the kelp forests of the vast Pacific.
San Pablo Bay doesn’t have the bridges of San Francisco Bay, the surf sounds of Pacifica, or the laid-back vibe of Bolinas. But none of those spots are around the corner for me like San Pablo Bay, which I can reach in five minutes to stroll along the shore after a day of sitting at my desk. Familiarity bred in me not contempt but complacency.
This year, though, I’ve finally come to love San Pablo Bay for what it is. Mt. Tamalpais and the Marin Hills now have their own beauty, not jagged and snowy but long and low along the western shore. The bay’s aventurine waters display their own moods depending on the light and the tides. Ferries, freighters and sailboats skim silently north and south. Maybe it was the pelicans that won me over.
This fall, I’ve watched brown pelicans gliding along the shore, then diving in with a small splash to capture fish. Spotting pelicans has always been a reliable sign that I was truly on vacation, though, until now, pelicans have remained features of tropical San Diego or San Juan. Throughout California in recent years these birds have struggled to find enough suitable food.