The BLM Condor Viewing Site

I drove one and a half hours on US 89A, climbing 2500 feet over the Kaibab Plateau and dropping down into House Rock Valley. The aptly named Vermillion Cliffs rise like a spine jutting from the valley floor. The dramatic colors and endless variation of chimneys, waves, and striations leave me in awe. I can see the edges of the Colorado River canyon in the distance.

Turning onto a gravel Bureau of Land Management (BLM) road paralleling the cliffs, I spy the tell-tale whitewash of roosting birds high on the rocks. After traveling a little further, I stop to scan with my binoculars. I’m still too far away to tell if I’m seeing rocks, shadows, or birds on the ledges. A black bird is soaring, riding the wind above the cliff.

A few clicks further, and I’m at the official condor viewing site, consisting of a couple of picnic tables, a sun shelter, some information boards, a blurry spotting scope, and an outhouse. It’s very windy—perfect condor weather. At a whopping 18-25 pounds, these birds rely on wind to aid their flight.

In 1985, only 22 California condors remained in the wild. In 1987, with their population down to just nine individuals, the decision was made to capture the last wild birds to try to save this 1.65-million-year-old species. They’ve lived here since prehistoric times, outlasting wooly mammoths, saber-toothed cats, and countless other extinctions only to succumb to lead poisoning. Nature’s janitors clean up the environment, feasting exclusively on dead animals. When hunters using lead ammunition leave any part of their kills, the condors become fatally poisoned. 

Six condors were released here from a captive breeding program in 1996. Since then, California condors have been released here every year. They require ongoing management to survive. To be downlisted from endangered to threatened, there must be at least two populations with 150 or more birds. There are currently five wild populations totaling 370 free-flying condors. At 85 individuals, this Arizona/Utah flock is the largest.

The blurry spotting scope doesn’t get me closer to the distant cliffs. The black bird is still soaring along the cliffs. I take pictures of the ledges with whitewash and what might be a California condor. I can zoom in later to see if there are birds there. I’m not optimistic from what I see through the 600mm lens.

I drove further up the gravel road as it turned rutted and rocky in another low-clearance compact rental car. Surely, there must be a closer viewing site. I drove to the end of the cliffs without any more bird sign and turned back. This detour was rewarded by four wild mustangs grazing along my route!

A Scenic Detour

I’m disappointed that this popular viewing site is impossibly far from the cliffs. I wonder what I’m meant to find on this wander if not the condors. It’s two hours until sunset. Pondering my options, I decided to drive another twenty miles to Marble Canyon, check out the bridge over the Colorado River, then loop around to take US 89 back to Kanab.

A pedestrian bridge spans the gorge 500 feet above the water, parallel to the road bridge. There’s whitewash on the far canyon wall. I glass. No one’s there. I walked the length of the bridge and turned around to see a woman carrying a radio-tracking antenna walking toward me.

Incredible Luck

She excitedly tells me about the condors. They often roost under these bridges – sometimes a pair, sometimes dozens. There are nest sites along this canyon and the cliffs I’ve just come from. Today’s weather is perfect, she says, just the right amount of wind. If they come, they will show up anytime between now and dusk. She extends the antenna and uses an app on her phone to dial in the unique frequency of each individual bird.The radio beeps with the signal of L4, female hatched in the wild in 2011. She is sitting somewhere. The field worker waves the antenna around to assess in which direction we should scan these cliffs with their many condor-shaped crags and shadows to find her when her mate, K6, one year her junior, soars overhead.

“Well, I guess I don’t need this,” she quips as she folds the radio telemetry and pulls up her binoculars. We watch him bank, dip, ascend, and glide with the wind. He alights on a ledge beside L4. This is a much easier way to find her!

We’re looking into the bright, falling sun, shading our eyes with our hands. K6 stepped toward L4, opening his shoulders to expose the white underside of his wings. “This is the mating display,” my private guide says. “She’s not biting him. This is a good sign they might copulate.” And that is precisely what happened.

The pair stepped into the air and soared down the river, disappearing around a bend. A few minutes later, an immature condor, A5, captive hatched in 2021, with his black boa-feathered neck, appeared and landed on the road bridge in front of us where he would stay. This bird was released this year. They don’t get their pink necks and heads until they’re about five years old, much like bald eagles.

Next came 33, a formerly captive-breeding female hatched in 1996, and 0A, a female hatched in captivity in 2021, landing on a wide rocky ledge between the bridges.

L4 and K6 returned and landed on the same ledge, causing the youngsters to leave.

K6 again tried to impress L4 with his big, full crop (“I’m a good provider!”) and sexy dance. This time, she’s not interested.

F1, a wild hatched 2007 male, coasted in to land on the bridge beneath me. L4 and K6 left their rocky ledge for the steel beams of the road bridge. OA soared far north above the mountains in the setting sun, and 33 chose a spot on the cliffs above the pedestrian bridge.

“Of all of the suitable natural habitat around, why do they prefer to roost under the bridge?”, I asked.

“Because it’s fun”, replied Brianna, my condor expert. That’s as good a reason as any!

I can’t believe my luck being in the right place at the right time to encounter The Peregrine Fund’s Brianna, soak up her knowledge, and see these critically endangered, enormous (nine-foot wingspan), colorful birds in the wild. She is so enthusiastic about these birds, sharing her knowledge with people like me twice a day on this bridge without fading. She is where she is meant to be.

Species Recovery Efforts

The Recovery Program for the California condor is an international effort led by the US Fish and Wildlife Service that includes state, federal, non-governmental, and tribal partners. Captive breeding programs at the San Diego Zoo, Oregon Zoo, Los Angeles Zoo, Chapultepec Zoo (Mexico City), and the World Center for Birds of Prey (Peregrine Fund, Boise, ID) supply birds to five field team partners who perform the releases into the five population groups in California (4) and Arizona (1). All birds have radio transmitters on their wing tags (identify your condor here). A few are also equipped with solar-powered GPS transmitters. Once per year, field teams attempt to capture all of the wild California condors for health monitoring. This includes a field lead test (they average 40% positive for exposure). Results within minutes allow the bird to be kept for treatment, which requires removing the bird from the wild for a few weeks. 

Condors are intelligent birds. The field teams lure them into traps baited with carrion and ensure a positive experience for the birds (ie, a free meal without harm). The teams are successful in that endeavor, capturing more than 75% of the birds each winter. Without all of these efforts, the California condors still could not survive in the wild. Hunter education about replacing lead-based ammunition with copper has largely succeeded in the breeding area, but these condors range widely. (One GPS-tracked condor flew 90 miles to Zion National Park and back one afternoon). There is more work to be done.I spent two hours here learning, marveling, watching, and photographing. The light was getting low, and I had a long drive through deer habitat to get home, so I bid them goodnight. I’m thrilled at this immersive California condor experience and thankful to everyone who works hard to keep these birds alive in the wild.

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