A feathery touch amid the heavy development

As the rich folks sip coffee in the warm confines of their sprawling mansions, the intrepid paddlers glide silently by on a brisk winter morning, feeling as though they’re in another world.

They are surrounded by these magnificent estates, which dot the hilltops and line the waterfront. And they are dwarfed by grand yachts tied to docks leading to the doorsteps of their owners.

Yet amid all this, running the length of Upper Newport Bay, is a band of wetlands that is refuge for more than 150 species of birds and other creatures unaware of how precarious their existence was and still seems.

Indeed, it appears as though their little world might at any moment be swallowed whole and unsuspectingly by the ominous monster called progress.

One cannot help but wonder, paddling by, “How many of those mansions are owned by developers who amassed fortunes by destroying this very kind of habitat?”

But then the naturalist chimes in --”Buffleheads up ahead! That’s a curlew digging for crabs! Snowy egret on the shore!” -- and the focus returns to the feathery characters endeavoring simply to make it through another day.

*

The Upper Newport Bay Ecological Reserve is one of California’s few remaining coastal estuaries. More than 90% of the state’s wetlands have been developed.

This 752-acre mixture of soggy fields, towering bluffs and tidal wetlands -- at one point earmarked for marinas and hotels -- survived largely through the lobbying efforts of citizen volunteers.

Now managed by the state Department of Fish and Game and nurtured by the Newport Bay Naturalists & Friends, the reserve is regarded as one of the nation’s top bird-watching sites.

More than 165 species visit or nest here, including several that are threatened or endangered because of pollution and habitat loss. With this being a stopover for waterfowl on the Pacific Flyway, as many as 30,000 birds may clutter the wetlands on a given day.

Kayaking offers a rare perspective and this particular tour is offered about once a month by the Aquarium of the Pacific in Long Beach, via Southwind Kayak Center in Newport Beach.

Half a dozen brave souls have shown up beneath the Pacific Coast Highway bridge, despite temperatures in the mid-40s and a stinging northeasterly wind.

They’ve learned the basics from guides Lynn Haskell and Harold Tervort, and now they’re on a slow but easy up-current trek toward the back-bay reserve.

Emily Wood, the naturalist, notes the difference between various gulls, and identifies the many small birds poking around the mud.

Bunched on the flats are nearly a dozen cormorants, dressed darkly and with hunched shoulders. Hoodlums up to no good.

Nearby, in stark contrast, pelicans stand among one another, duded up in breeding plumage, with silvery wings and sporting saffron crowns. Groomsmen outside a wedding.

“You get so close to them,” says Vince Storke, riding in the back of a two-seater behind his daughter-in-law, Laura. “That’s the difference between being right down on the water with them and in a tall ship or a yacht, where you see stuff but you’re at such a distance.”

These larger birds are waiting for the incoming tide and the fish it will bring, while the sandpipers are taking advantage of the exposed real estate, feasting on crabs and other burrowing crustaceans.

Overhead, a passenger jet descends toward John Wayne Airport. To the left, an outrigger hurries past. In the distance, anglers in a skiff cast for bay bass. And the rich folks have opened their drapes.

*

Upon crossing the reserve boundary, the paddlers can almost feel the openness around them. No more waterfront homes or motorboats.

Just the sound of paddles on water. And, occasionally, of birds winging past or diving for fish.

Grebes, plovers, Heermann’s gulls, western gulls, ring-billed gulls, snowy egrets, a great egret, more herons, more curlews, sandpipers, cormorants, pelicans and terns.

A red-tailed hawk surveys from its perch on a chalk-colored cliff. Another rides the wind. Two young ospreys are setting up housekeeping in a nest atop a tall pole.

Ospreys, beautifully colored raptors that prey on fish, made headlines last spring when they became among the first of their species in decades to nest in Southern California.

The result was three hatchlings, two of which are the birds now visible, each nearly two feet tall. One swoops before the paddlers and clutches a clump of brush in its talons. It’s the highlight of a three-hour journey near an end.

The paddlers turn around and begin to ride the current back to the real world.

As they go, Haskell, a guide of four years, seems happy to have introduced the back bay to yet another group.

“People like to travel,” she says, while glancing about. “But they sometimes forget to look and see what’s in their own backyards.”

Some mighty fine wildlife, all right. And some mighty fine yachts.

pete.thomas@latimes.com