Biology Reference
In-Depth Information
Drive along Highway 37 across the rim of the North Bay between Vallejo
and Novato and three qualities describe the scene: it's wide open, flat, and
often wet. This shoreline is a world away from the high rises of San Fran-
cisco or Oakland. It's rural. Fields of hay bristle and wave in every direc-
tion. Bay waters beckon from every overpass and through the occasional
break in the railroad levee, then disappear from view for long stretches.
Only by squinting at the far distance does anything resembling a big build-
ing materialize.
The fields of water on the north side of the highway are only knee-
deep, and most are former salt ponds flooded to provide better habitat for
shorebirds and waterfowl. On the south side of the highway a tawny tapes-
try rooted in mud and salty water reaches out into the bay, breaking into
the occasional wide slough. Indeed, apart from the highway and a few
ranch buildings, there's not much on the San Pablo Bay rim but wet open
space. This is the bay's largest remaining undeveloped shoreline—a
55,000-acre landscape preserved by a federal wildlife refuge, a state wild-
life area, the Sonoma Land Trust, various other land conservation inter-
ests, and a few cattle ranchers and hay farmers (see Map 15).
“We've all worked to create a continuous wildlife corridor, without
fragmentation, around the North Bay, and up into Sonoma Creek, the
Petaluma River, and the Napa River. Our goal is not a monoculture of
salt marsh but rather a mosaic of wetland and edge habitats,” says senior
wildlife biologist Larry Wyckoff of the California Department of Fish
and Game, which owns 15,000 acres of habitat, mostly north of High-
way 37.
“We're here to manage these lands for wildlife first,” says Wyckoff 's fed-
eral neighbor in the corridor, Christy Smith, who ran the adjacent 13,190-
acre San Pablo Bay National Wildlife Refuge until 2010. “The inherent
nature of marshes makes them perfect for wildlife and pretty inaccessible
for people.”
In the North Bay, most visitors are drive-bys. The few who do pull off
Highway 37 and venture out into this wilderness are carrying a gun, a fish-
ing rod, or a bag of garbage they'd rather not pay dump fees to drop. An-
glers come year-round both for fun and to feed their families; hunters
come when the season's open for waterfowl and pheasant. Most of the area
can only be reached by boat, kayak, or canoe, and only by those who really
know the tides. Despite the patches on their shirts, Smith and Wyckoff
aren't rangers. Those whose vessels get stuck in the mud and call for help
via cell phone, are more likely to be asked about their sunscreen and water
supplies than rescued before the next high tide. In any case, the first thing
