A Species Ripe for the Endangered List

In defiance of modern ecological trends, one of the state’s truly unique species is flourishing, not in a preserve but along one of the most developed sections of Orange County’s coastline--the Balboa Peninsula.

Jercus californicus, or the California Jerk, is not the celebrity the Capistrano Swallow has become. Yet its seasonal return is just as inevitable and its behavior just as predictable. In the case of J. californicus, however, its departure, not its arrival, is celebrated by the natives.

Although the species has been observed closely in Balboa for many years, little is known about where and how it spends its winters, springs and falls.

It was named californicus in the belief that it remains in the general vicinity during those seasons, becomes sluggish and is reduced to merely talking in movie theaters, running red lights in small pickup trucks and hooting at women riding bicycles.

But others argue that such off-season sightings are not of californicus but of Jercus ordinarius, which is found at all times and in all habitats throughout the society.

Compared to californicus, J. ordinarius is almost benign, probably due to the effort of sustaining its offensiveness all year. Some theorize that californicus can be so virulent because it spends its off-seasons hibernating under wet rocks.

It’s indisputable, however, that the onset of warm weather brings californicus out from wherever it has been hiding and leads it in great numbers to Balboa. No other migration in nature has such a profound effect on the environment.

In Balboa, californicus mingles with the indigenous and transient populations of Homo sapiens, erect primates who, by and large, just want to enjoy life and be left alone. However, californicus, which outwardly resembles these primates, by and large wants to make life un enjoyable for everyone but itself, and H. sapiens is easy prey.

Some believe the behavior is a result of the peculiar mating tactics of the species.

The male, which is enclosed in a garishly colored shell that has four wheels, an internal combustion engine and a 750-watt stereo, prowls along the streets of Balboa and calls to females, who are either in their own shells or walking.

The calls are distinctive and intended to differentiate the female californicus from humans. In that respect they are very effective, for they put off everyone within hearing except the female californicus. To the male californicus, any woman who doesn’t gag in his presence is a potential party animal.

For some unknown reason, these males tend to prowl two to a shell. Unfortunately, they are able to leave their shells and form larger groups. A pack of californici is a common and awesome sight along Balboa’s beachfront.

Since they so closely resemble people, they are able to rent bicycles and careen down Ocean Front, the narrow, densely populated path that separates the beach from the beachfront homes.

On one of my expeditions, I spotted eight of them riding together, an unusually large group. They were moving slowly, not so they would avoid colliding with the pedestrians but so they could douse them with squirt guns and insult them as they pedaled by.

I should insert here that the wit of J. californicus is extremely limited--so limited, in fact, that it believes it is very witty. A typical bon mot from californicus , spoken as it pedaled past an elderly woman wearing a straw hat: “Hey, nice hat, Granny.”

The woman, a longtime resident along Ocean Front who was seated in her tiny patio, told me that such things don’t bother her anymore. On the other hand, she said, she doesn’t sit out there on weekends, when the californicus population is at its peak. “That’s more than anyone can stand.” She resumes her sunning on Monday mornings--after she cleans up the cigarette butts and beer cans that have been tossed into her patio.

Frank Hughes has witnessed the J. californicus migrations for many years. The homes on both sides of his were converted for summer rentals years ago. They rent by the month, the week, sometimes even by the day.

When you ask Hughes the size of the neighboring buildings, he answers in terms of bedrooms: “Four bedrooms on one side, four on the other. There are times it looks like troop movements over there.”

He says they park their shells in front of his garage so he can’t open the door. They park them in his yard.

In your yard?

“In my yard. I don’t know how many vehicles I’ve had towed out of here over the years. And you should hear them when they come back for them. One said to me, ‘You people down here don’t have any consideration at all.’ ”

They flip Frisbees and balls toward his picture windows, and some of them reach, grinding sand into the glass. “When you try to talk to them, ask them to move farther out onto the beach, they resent it. I don’t think they really give a thought to what they’re doing. I think they consider us part of the beach provided for their enjoyment. It’s a lost cause, I think.”

Perhaps that’s true. Vermin control authorities say there is no pesticide that can safely be used against J. californicus. Adding something to the local beer supply would be certain to eradicate the species, since that is its major food source. But like aerial spraying, it has been ruled out because it could also affect humans.

All we can do is what we do every year: Hold tight and pray for rain.