On a trip to the outsourcing hub of Bangalore, I was urged to drive off the highway to see pelicans roosting in banyan trees.
They saw pelicans trembling about the bank like bronze ghosts strangling under glossy sheets.
I've seen it, seen pelicans drenched in oil, gobs of the stuff washed up on the shores of Louisiana after the 2010 BP blowout in the Gulf of Mexico, seen the monstrous industrial infrastructure for petroleum production in what was Alaskan Arctic wilderness, seen the young men and women who came home wounded in body and spirit from the oil wars.
Biologists have been pleased to see abundant pelican nests on Anacapa Island in recent weeks, probably boosted by a spike in the anchovy population.
Maybe he'd see that pelican, coated in oil and struggling to take flight, as a metaphor for America's past failed attempts to make meaningful progress toward the clean energy future we all know we must someday achieve.
I've never actually heard of anyone at Pelican Bay seeing a pelican on prison grounds, but they do live close by.
There was plenty to see: brown pelicans flying sentry up and down the bay, a herd of wild horses bathing in the shallows, seabirds fishing.
He had just taken a regiment of journalists out in boats to see oiled pelicans, and now, his clothes drenched from a sudden downpour, he was balancing a flurry of phone calls with the demands of the news media.
If your timing is right, and aided by informative signs that drive home the ephemeral nature of barrier island existence, you may see rangy pelicans or a great blue heron along a boardwalk that skirts a marsh outside the building.
Come on, dog, haven't you seen "The Pelican Brief" or "Sleeping With The Enemy"?
