Lost (And Found) At Sea

I’ve always been fascinated by the study of biology, a fact that can be confirmed by my college roommate, John Withey, a bio major who spent many hours patiently answering my penetrating biology-related questions. Questions like “Does osmosis have anything to do with the Wizard of Oz?”, “Is it safe to eat this piece of week-old pizza if I eat around the hairy green part?” and “So the bio lab – is that a good place to meet women, or what?”

As a tribute to John, and to the school housing administrators who refused his repeated requests for a new roommate, I open today’s column with a question from the world of Biology - specifically, what is a “pinniped?”

A. A single-celled organism found in many North American fresh water lakes
B. A long extinct giant sloth common to Central American jungles
C. I looked ahead, so I already know that A and B are wrong.
D. A member of a family of aquatic mammals including seals, sea lions and - Hey! No cheating!

Well, now that the Sneaky McGees in the reading audience have ruined it, I guess I can confirm that pinnipeds are not only sea mammals, but also the subject of this week’s column – specifically the collection of California sea lions that frequent the docks at San Francisco’s Pier 39.

Like most Bay Area residents, I'm proud of our sea lions, which have long been a top local tourist attraction. It’s easy to see why, for where else in the state can you witness such an impressive display of foul-smelling, overfed behemoths lying around, posturing and barking loudly at one another all day? Assuming the state legislature is out of session, that is.

Marine biologists don’t know why the sea lions started arriving at Pier 39 in the fall of 1989. But whatever the reason, these “sea lebrities” have joined the long list of misdirected Bay Area visitors that began with Spanish explorer Gaspar de Portola, who first stumbled upon the San Francisco Bay in 1769. The tradition continued with “Humphrey” the wayward humpback whale who captured the world’s attention in 1985 as he bumbled around the Bay for a few weeks, and today is perpetuated by the many wide-eyed Midwestern tourists who unwittingly wander into the Castro district on Saturday nights.

I think what makes us so proud of the sea lions is that despite being wild animals, they voluntarily choose to take up residence in our urban midst. It’s like a tacit confirmation from Mother Nature that San Francisco is, in fact, the greatest city on earth. Sure, other cities have fine attractions, but it’s not like the Eiffel Tower just showed up in Paris one day, shouted, “Tres bien!” and decided to stay.

That said, one advantage landmarks like the Eiffel Tower offer is that they’re not likely to just disappear. Yet that’s precisely what happened one day last fall, when the sea lions when abruptly and unexpectedly deserted the Pier 39 docks.

Mind you, we’re used to the sea lions taking off in the summer. Unlike the many shivering shorts-and-t-shirt-clad tourists, the sea lions understand that summer is when our city is blanketed by cold and fog. For as Mark Twain famously said, “Reports of my summer in San Francisco were greatly exaggerated.” Or maybe it was, “There are lies, damned lies, and summer in San Francisco.” No wait, it was “The only certainties in life are death, taxes, and freezing you’re ass off during a San Francisco summer.”

Either way, the point is that this time the sea lions had unexpectedly departed in autumn, with no indication if they would ever return. “Oh no, where could they have gone?” we wondered. “Was it something we said? Something we did? And then a terrible thought struck us – no, they can’t have, they wouldn’t have moved to – ulp! – Los Angeles?

Our worst fears were allayed, however, when the sea lions turned up on the Oregon coast a month later. Still, many Bay Area residents couldn’t help but feel a sense of abandonment and rejection. “Wow,” we thought, devastated, “this must be how fans of a local sports team, such as the L.A. Rams, felt when the team bolted for St. Louis, leaving the entire Los Angeles area without a single professional football team.” (We still have two, by the way. Not that anyone’s counting).

Thankfully, the region-wide soul-searching proved to be short-lived, and proper order returned to the universe this past February when the sea lions began clambering back onto their Pier 39 perches. While we’re all relieved, city leaders remain concerned, unsure what can be done to keep the peripatetic pinnipeds from bolting again. Of course, if they want my advice, I know exactly what I’d do in their place: go ask my old roommate John Withey.