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The Patient Work · Observation No. 03

Where the Wild Things Are

Santa Ana River watershed · August 2026 · Dusk

A tarantula hawk wasp with orange wings walking across a wooden bridge handrail© Lindsey Thome
A tarantula hawk on the bridge handrail—the encounter Sloane noticed first.

Like many people, my fascination with the local environment started with native plants. And you can't ask for better subjects for a phenology journal, because plants can change dramatically throughout the year. Just as important for someone documenting seasonal changes, they're stationary. In fact, they almost seem to pose for you.

Barring some type of major environmental change—at worst, fire, flood, or major infestation; at the most mundane, someone getting carried away with a lawn mower—the plants will be there the next day. The next month and the next season, they might be withered and rusty late into autumn, heavy and swollen from a recent winter rain, or vibrant and in bloom in the spring. But they will be there.

Wildlife, however, is fleeting. I frequently find myself looking for tracks in the mud or soft dirt, or investigating scat, dirt mounds, and abandoned webs, all in the vain attempt to catch a glimpse of a furry, scaled, or winged subject. You can try to time your excursions to align with their activity, both throughout the seasons and throughout the day, but sometimes encountering creatures is just dumb luck. And being prepared to take a focused photograph of them is even trickier.

Nevertheless, over the past couple of weeks, I was able to observe quite a bit of wildlife. It just took patience and consistency.

For the past five nights, at approximately 7:45 p.m., I've watched a colony of at least 400 to 500 bats emerge at Green River and fly north over the golf course. At first, we thought they were coming from an underpass beneath the freeway. After returning night after night and watching more closely, we finally located their roost: the entry bridge to Green River Golf Course. Although I still can't see them in enough detail to identify the species, there is no mistaking the spectacle—hundreds of bats pouring from beneath the bridge together at dusk.

© Lindsey Thome
The mystery solved: hundreds of unidentified bats emerging from beneath the Green River Golf Course entry bridge at approximately 7:45 p.m.

I've also been fortunate to see several coyotes emerge around dusk. A couple of them appear to be juveniles, possibly from the litter of pups hiding under thick pine brush that we heard yelping back in April or May. There have also been an adult or two. One was crossing the service road, heading south toward the river, while another took a snooze in the lush golf course grass.

One encounter, captured in the photographs, was with a juvenile crossing the bridge by the railroad. The coyote saw us and nearly turned around, but after a few seconds seemed to decide we weren't a threat. He continued on his way and finished his passage across the bridge.

One brief crossing

A pause on the bridge

A young coyote walking toward the camera across the railroad bridge© Lindsey Thome
The young coyote approached along the bridge, then stopped when he saw us.
A young coyote looking back while crossing the railroad bridge© Lindsey Thome
For a moment he considered turning back—then continued on his way.

I am also happy to report that I have routinely seen the funnel weaver spiders on almost every trip to the river these past few weeks. I regularly saw Emily's spotted orb-weaver, too, until recently—the past three days, she's been absent from her regular post by the bridge. I've even been fortunate enough to photograph another western black widow, this time with a large insect, likely a cricket, in her clutches.

The recurring spotted orb-weaver resting on a steel cable by the river© Lindsey Thome
Emily's spotted orb-weaver at her familiar post, before her recent absence.
A western black widow holding a large insect in her web© Lindsey Thome
A western black widow with a large insect—likely a cricket—secured in her web.

Finally, the last observation I'll note for the record was made by my six-year-old daughter, Sloane, who's turning out to be quite the budding naturalist. She saw a tarantula hawk wasp steadily crawling across the wooden handrail of the bridge and called out for me to bring my camera: “Mommy, quickly!”

I got a great shot of it with both my phone and my Nikon. She asked me what it was, and, being a 21st-century naturalist, I immediately looked it up on my smartphone and began reading her the name and description. We were both surprised to learn about its infamously painful sting, but then immediately saddened to learn of its predilection for hunting tarantulas, paralyzing them, and burying them as living food for their larvae.

Side view of a black tarantula hawk wasp with folded orange wings and orange antennae moving on a wooden handrail© Lindsey Thome
The tarantula hawk Sloane spotted, its bright orange antennae caught in motion while its wings remained folded and still.

Sometimes nature can be cruel in its ingenuity.

Fortunately, I was able to grab some photos of these encounters. Some are great and some are blurry, but the observations are still in the record.

The patient work continues.