hen a motorcycle gang threatened to encroach on a San Simeon, California, elephant seal rookery last year, Ann Grossman took it upon herself to politely shoo them away. The slight, fifty-six-year-old grandmother, who barely tops five feet, hardly looks like a highway bouncer. But as one of the first volunteer docents for Friends of the Elephant Seal, Grossman does what she must to protect the massive mammals that come to a mile-long stretch near Highway 1 to mate and give birth.
"They're very territorial animals," says Grossman. "They get creeped out if you're in their space." Indeed, the long-nosed giants have been known to chase human invaders down the beach -- and although a full-grown elephant seal can weigh 5,000 pounds, it's capable of scooting across the sand at 25 miles per hour. In her five years as a docent, the unflappable Grossman has only heard of one man getting bitten. ("He had an instant butt reduction," she jokes).
Grossman answered an ad for docent trainees in 1997. At the time, she was volunteering at the information desk at a historical mansion called Hearst Castle and bemoaning the fact that she was stuck indoors on beautiful days. Now she spends about three hours a week at the rookery. Her hope is that every time she teaches a child about the local wildlife and coastal history, she's helping to create a new generation of advocates.
Thought to be extinct in the 1880s, northern elephant seals have made a major comeback. In 1990, about a dozen appeared near a local lighthouse. This year, more than 8,500 have come ashore on their biannual migration from Baja California to Alaska. Most show up for the breeding season, December through February, when bulls fight for the chance to procreate. This is also the most popular time for visitors. "It's like a three-ring circus," says Grossman. "Sex and violence on the beach."
But life at the rookery isn't always so dramatic. On a calm morning, a handful of tourists wander the trail to the cliffs. Waves crash on the offshore rocks and bubble slowly over the sand. A yearling shimmies toward two huge adults, and Grossman sighs. "You never get tired of standing here."
