• September 27, 1999
• Vol. 52
• No. 12

Under Siege

With Their Homes Becoming Condor-Miniums, Some Californians Feel Like Endangered Species Themselves

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From PEOPLE Magazine

They're typical adolescents: messy, noisy, surly. And since late August, a gang of them has invaded the little town of Pine Mountain Club, Calif., 90 miles north of Los Angeles. "They'll eat just about anything," says Fred Ray, chief of the town's Public Safety Department. Indeed, since the rowdy band of 20 California condors (all between 2 and 5 years old) came to roost, they've bitten chunks out of patio furniture, stripped insulation from pipes, torn up roofs and, of course, left giant condor calling cards.

The wrecking crew, as they are affectionately known to locals, even broke into 83-year-old Les Reid's place after ripping through a screen door; Reid found eight of the birds eating his mattress—and a pair of his undershorts. "It was," says Reid, a longtime Sierra Club member, "a beautiful moment."

To a wildlife lover, perhaps. The California condor was almost extinct a dozen years ago, when the last six birds were put in zoos to breed. About 100 have since been raised in captivity, and over the past four years 49 have been released into the wild. But it takes time for them to get the hang of living on their own; most lack the requisite fear of humans. Ornithologists hope that with the onset of sexual maturity, in a year or so, the wrecking crew will become more wary. Meanwhile, says biologist Steve Kirkland, who monitors the birds in Pine Mountain Club, the residents realize, "Hey, this is condor country."