NATURAL PERSPECTIVES:

It’s been quite a while since Vic and I have had a late-night run-in with the police. We know how much our readers enjoy hearing about our encounters with the local constabulary, so last week we headed out to see how much trouble we could get into.

Our best bet for running into the law seemed to be hunting for grunion, a late-night activity. We joined up with a group from the Amigos de Bolsa Chica who were helping Bill Burhans, a state parks interpreter. He, in turn, was helping collect data on grunion spawning for a researcher at Pepperdine University. The plan was to search for grunion between 11 p.m. and 1 a.m. Perfect!

Despite several previous attempts to observe grunion spawning, Vic and I had failed. These mysterious little fish spawn out of the water. On the three days after a full or new moon, they splash, flop and flip onto the sand at high tide on an incoming wave. Quick as a wink, the females burrow into the sand to lay their eggs. The males curl around them, maybe up to eight at a time, and release their milt, which is a fishy term for sperm. Then they all go back out on the next wave. Two weeks later, the next high tide causes the salmon-colored eggs to hatch.

On our last attempt to observe grunion spawning, about 15 years ago, we had a lovely sunset picnic with a friend. We built a fire and chatted until it was time to hunt grunion. But before that happened, a uniformed state parks official came by and told us the beach was closing.

We told him that we were there to hunt for grunion. He said that we had to be actively hunting for grunion, not just sitting on the beach. Whatever. We walked along the beach for about 15 minutes, but the predicted time of the run — high tide — wasn’t going to be for another hour or so. We left.

Vic figured that our chances would be better this time because we would be in the company of the parks interpreter. Bill had seen grunion the previous two nights. Rarely an optimist, I figured that our presence would jinx the grunion run.

We parked next to the only other cars there, a total of four vehicles in an otherwise empty lot. Just as Vic and I were joking about our propensity for attracting the attention of the law on our late-night forays, up drove an official vehicle and out hopped two uniformed rangers. Dang the luck.

I automatically “assumed the position” with hands on the hood of my car and my feet spread, hoping that there would be no strip search. Vic thinks that maybe I’ve been too influenced by my “home boys” at the Orange County Conservation Corps. But the officers had just stopped to talk to Bill and say hi.

Bill gave us an introduction to grunion spotting, and we headed to the tideline a bit after 11 p.m. Bill had warned us to be quiet and not use our flashlights because the first few fish to come ashore are scouts. If we scared the scouts, somehow they would communicate this and the grunion would choose another place on the beach.

A dozen of us spread out along the beach to improve our chances of spotting something. It helped to have a glittering reflection from the offshore oil islands lighting up the sand. Then I saw something that looked like a frog hopping on the beach. The wave washed it away. Then there were two frogs hopping. Then three, then four, more with each incoming wave. Except frogs live only in freshwater, and the ocean is, of course, saltwater.

I figured they must be grunion. I wasn’t sure of the etiquette of alerting the others. We were supposed to be quiet, but I would have had to shout at the top of my lungs to be heard over the pounding surf. I thought that flashing my flashlight in the direction of the others would be good. Then I saw that they were flashing at me. There were grunion scouts everywhere.

Pretty soon there were patches of 15, then 25, then 40 fish clustered in scattered groups. Within minutes, the beach was covered with silvery, glistening fish, thousands of them.

I struggled to get a decent photo. A wet, reflective nighttime beach threw my camera’s auto focus for a loop. With inadequate light, it didn’t know where to focus. Manual focus wasn’t fast enough, because I couldn’t see through the viewfinder well. The solution was Vic shining his flashlight on a female while I tried to focus before the next wave washed over us. I ended up knee deep in the water at the end of each photo.

I didn’t dare move while the fish were swarming around. They were so densely packed that I was afraid that I’d step on one if I moved. The fish bumped into my feet and calves repeatedly. Some of the males seemed to be attempting to mate with my sandals. They didn’t seem to be the brightest bulbs on the Ferris wheel.

We were there only to observe grunion, not collect any. Because so many people are collecting grunion these days, the fishing season for them has been limited to June and July, leaving the fish alone for April and May, when their spawning is at its peak.

They must be collected by hand, no nets allowed. And people are asked to take only as many as they want to eat to help conserve the species. Finally, one needs a fishing license with a saltwater stamp to collect them.

We’re glad that we finally got to see these interesting little fish. The wait was worth it.

VIC LEIPZIG and LOU MURRAY are Huntington Beach residents and environmentalists. They can be reached at vicleipzig@aol.com.