The view from our Alaska Airlines was a February fantasy. As we descended, the verdant green rolling terrain of San Luis Obispo appeared below and the deep blue Pacific Ocean and its sandy beaches shone to our right. We stared at this land and seascape illuminated by bright sunshine in happy disbelief. Friends, butterflies, birds, seals and Valentine’s Day brought us here.
Our visit was timed to witness two spectacular migrations of two different species that occur in one relatively small 70-mile stretch of the central California coast. One of these species weighs about as much as a one-dollar bill; the other can weigh the equivalent of two small cars.
Pismo Beach State Park Monarch Butterfly Grove is where the lighter of these two species roosts. Monarchs from west of the Rockies and North to Canada overwinter here. Upon arriving to this park, the sight and incense-like aroma of tall Eucalyptus Trees provided our first powerful sensations. Soon afterward, Monarchs appeared in all of their graceful, colorful glory: on the ground, perching by the dozens in branches and swarming through the air like a snow globe filled with butterflies instead. Enchanting? Yes. Beautiful? Incredibly so. Dreamy? Absolutely. 
We wandered through in a similar state of bliss to that of our Mexican butterfly encounter two years ago. Although the numbers of Monarchs were much lower here than in Mexico – nearly 19,000 at Pismo Beach alone, and 250,000 total in California, compared to some 2.5 million in Mexico – the experience was still magical.
For us, there was a sense of geographical thrill to have seen the two main places in the world where Monarchs overwinter. 
According to one of the docents, female Monarchs had begun departing recently on their return journey north. This ramped up the competition among males for eligible mates. Males are recognizable by the two dark spots they have near the base of their wings. We saw at least three Monarch pairs mating, which begins with the male pouncing on top of the female’s back, pinning her to the ground. The male then flies away with her dangling below to a perch in the trees. The female will later fly north to lay her eggs on a milkweed plant to continue the amazing Monarch life cycle.
As the afternoon transitioned to evening and temperatures dropped, the
Monarchs fluttered back to the Eucalyptus trees, forming dense clusters that shimmered in the late afternoon sun.
The next day, we headed north to Piedras Blancas to witness another natural history spectacle. Here we saw 5,000-pound blubbery sea creatures that overwinter by the thousands on the seven mile stretch of beaches that comprise Piedras Blancas Northern Elephant Seal Rookery.
Upon exiting our car, we 
were hit by a wall of sound composed of loud grunts, squeals, and a loud, repetitive percussive sound like a fence-post driver being used to pound in metal fence stakes. Hundreds of humongous tawny-brown bodies were strewn about the beach, mostly in prone position. They flipped sand into the air with their fins to cover and cool their bodies. These massive seals are accustomed to the cold, deep waters of the Pacific; to them the beach was hot, even on a breezy 65-degree day.
The giant males were upright and animated. Their elephant-shaped heads raised high and jaws open, they roared at and charged rivals to defend their harems. Occasionally one would mate with a female by clambering onto her back and biting her on the neck to clamp on. The females appeared to be in pain. Who wouldn’t be after a bite on the neck combined with the crushing weight of a 5,000-pounder? As was the case with Monarch mating, the romantic aspects of Elephant Seal mating were lost on this observer.
Like the Monarchs at Pismo Beach, these giant seals migrate thousands of miles to reach a relatively small coastal stretch in central California. After the breeding season, Elephant Seals head north and northwest into the open Pacific. Males swim toward the Aleutian Islands of Alaska and females to the northwest, far from any land masses. In the open sea, where they spend roughly seven months of the year, the seals dive to depths of 1,000-plus feet in search of the 200 pounds of fish they need to consume daily in order to survive.
As a friendly, knowledgeable docent told me: “They feed on ugly fish like Ratfish, Hagfish and Rays…You wouldn’t think these lazy-looking things would swim thousands of miles for months at a time in search of food, but they do.” she added.
Some 2,500 of the estimated 25,000 total population of Northern Elephant Seals breed and give birth at Piedras Blancas Rookery. Mating activities reach their peak in mid-February, which coincided with our visit. You can view this incredible spectacle from a vantage point just above the beach.
On our way back to San Luis Obispo, we stopped at a mostly abandoned
coastal view point south of San Simeon. A woman in the only other car parked in the lot asked Lori if she had seen the Zebras. We thought she had meant to say something else. But she persisted, pointing to a distant area in the coastal foothills. We played along, raising our binoculars for a view to the east, and sure enough, we found five grazing on the hillside grasses. Apparently, the Hearst family released African game animals onto its property near San Simeon and Hearst Castle. Some survived and became naturalized, thus the zebras.
When you look up, you never know what you might find! On California’s central California coast we found the amazing Monarch and Elephant Seal wintering sites, 107 species of birds, 8 species of mammals, and at least three ecosystems – oak, riparian, and marine – protected by large state and regional parks and private nature preserves. We also found the sun, an important component for the sanity of Pacific Northwesterners, and good food in the San Luis Obispo area.
