in late may of 2019, three of us drove to silver strand state beach — runs are supposed to be the biggest on broad, secluded beaches — and waited for the fish to come. the second hour of the second night is said to bring the biggest spawns, and we sat on shore, three out-of-staters poised to be reminded of why we came to college in california. the wind was blowing onshore in a familiar midwestern way, but none of the breaking waves brought fish with them, only thick salt spray. we walked further down shore, first year environmental science majors not yet possessing the language to explain the patterns of longshore drift that pull sediment (and grunion) north up the strand. after an hour of searching, our most significant sighting was a lone juvenile man-o-war, a small jellylike hydrozoan that from a distance appeared to be a small newspaper bag washed up at the high tide mark. we left grunionless, but relieved to see a different creature from ecology class rendered real instead of beach litter. 

two years later, on a springtime full moon, i reconciled that i couldn’t leave california without having taken part in a proper grunion run. early march is the first publicized run of the year. in 2021, this meant the day after daylight saving time, when midnight feels like 11 p.m. and it’s a little bit easier to be fully awake and present in the dark. we saw flashlights about halfway down the beach and turned away from them and started toward the jetty. the first discernable change was the texture of the sand. at high tide, it’s soft and gooey, the kind that your feet fall into and leave an oblong imprint, more hoof-like than human.

we saw one fish, about 400 meters north of the lifeguard house. it wasn’t a good omen. grunion have a built-in safety system: if the first fish don’t get swept back in the ocean by the tide, the rest of the group will identify a threat onshore and a run will not occur. i was convinced we’d witnessed precisely that, a lone scout on the beach signaling an apparent danger. as we walked further south, a group of plovers scurried out behind a breaking wave. dun brown on top with white underbellies, the small birds looked just enough like the silvery sides of a grunion to be the real thing. they moved in a pack, though they scuttled over land much more nimbly than a fish could. still, i wanted to believe they were grunion: if these fish could spawn on land, maybe they really could move like they had legs?

the plovers ran east, and we turned toward the breaking waves to see the silvery sides of hundreds of fish illuminated by parking lot lights. finally, grunion had materialized in the incoming water, glistening in a way that was distinctly the product of layered scales, and not deceptive feathers.  almost immediately, they surged up against the sand, burrowing vertically into the soft sediment and laying eggs. for every fish flopping onto land, there was another head visible, buried fins-down in this perennial ritual. further south, a network of holes was visible: we had found the grunion mid-run, the glistening orange eggs filling the indentations indicated. the grunion on the sand sound like wings, their tails beating against the thin laminate of water as the waves rush back down the sloped sand. 

catching grunion is a form of sustainable fishing in california: with no bait, lines, or lures, california fish and wildlife rules state that they must be caught with one’s bare hands, and strictly prohibits the catching of excess fish. a hunter approached us, armed with only a red cooler and small flashlight. upon seeing us, they turned back — it may be an unspoken rule of grunion hunting that it is best done in isolation. perhaps it was our turn to go, too, and just let the fish be.  

the next day, we went out again. the third day is sometimes as good as the second, research tells us. the weather felt strikingly similar to that grunionless may of 2019, with strong winds, giant kelp washed onto burgeoning dunes, and eggshell-white foam spray surrounding the kelp beds. the winds were strong enough to knock out a transformer, breaking the link between the electric grid and the entirety of the glorified sandbar that is mission beach. in the full darkness the grunion could be apart from humanity, spawning in actual darkness like evolution intended them to. we walked down to the jetty, and they were there — scattered across the shore with the force of the waves, but still digging holes with only tails and fins, still silver against the night-black sky, still making their world go on.

in contrast to other transit networks in major u.s. cities that have made alterations to the frequency of service, the san diego metropolitan transit system (mts) has been continuing bus and trolley service on schedules nearly identical to those pre-pandemic. according to brian lane, a senior transit planner at san diego association of governments (sandag), which works in conjunction with mts, keeping these schedules is crucial for both allowing for social distancing on board with reduced capacity, and ensuring that essential workers throughout the county are able to commute with as little interruption as possible.

one thing that differentiates san diego from similarly sized cities is the scattered nature of employment centers. the downtown region is the third biggest employment center, following kearny mesa and sorrento valley, suburban business centers located to the east of downtown. the geographic spread of employment makes improving first and last-mile options a priority, lane said, citing palomar airport as an example. many businesses are located along palomar airport road, but implementing a new bus line along the street would still leave many commuters at least half-mile from work. it is largely for that reason, lane says, that shared modes of transit for first and last-mile travel are so critical to the 2021 plan. 

the cornerstone of the 2021 regional plan is the “5 big moves”: five overarching strategies to change the way san diegans use transit. all of these moves are contingent on a willingness and motivation for commuters to both switch to or continue using transit.

a global pandemic understandably impedes some efforts to change commuting habits. the most significant losses in ridership occurred in mid-april, according to sandag’s regional travel survey. during that month, scheduling was reduced slightly to accommodate the need for drivers and essential transit employees to stay home. april also saw the most marked decreases in ridership attributable to the pandemic: system-wide, there was a 75 percent decrease in ridership. 

by the time of a joint meeting between sandag’s transportation, regional planning, and borders committees in mid-july, network-wide ridership had recovered by 53 percent. trolley ridership rebounded quickest, particularly on the blue line. the blue line trolley is regarded as the backbone of the mts network, with many essential workers commuting by a combination of trolley and bus. san diego transit is unique in that the mts network serves a bi-national metropolitan area, with blue line service at the u.s./mexico border in san ysidro. though the border has been closed to nonessential travel since march, essential workers have been commuting throughout the pandemic. 

while continuing to serve those working in person during the pandemic, sandag highlighted the positive environmental impact of teleworking as a means to achieve the 2021 plan’s long-term carbon emission goals. using data gathered from community-based organizations, sandag has set higher teleworking goals for the upcoming year, proposing that up to 25 percent of regional businesses could engage in some form of telework long-term. further development of the teleworking portion of sandag’s icommute program, which provides resources for organizations looking to transition into telework, is also a facet of the 2021 plan. although teleworking is connected to a decrease in emissions, the fact remains that those who are teleworking still drive for leisure, a fact that can obscure a clear understanding of exactly what highway driving trends will look like going into the future. 

what is much more evident is a persistent, longstanding need for accessible and equitable transit within the county. this is all the more crucial given the demographic of mts commuters, a group with an average annual income of $17,800 compared to a regional median of approximately $75,000. 

during july’s committee meeting, sharon cooney, the ceo of the mts board of directors, spoke about trends in the perception of transit as revealed by the 3700 responses to sandag’s regional transportation study. the results are promising: only 4 percent of respondents replied that they had used transit in the past, but would not again after covid. 18 percent of respondents reported having not ridden transit before and expressed an interest in integrating san diego’s transit network into their travel within the county post-pandemic.

in summary, cooney said, “fear of transit is not as profound as we expected.” 

while this is an overwhelmingly positive narrative, simply the idea of fearing transit implies that commuting by transit is a choice, which it is not for the 20 percent of mts commuters who do not have access to a personal vehicle. for these riders, it is not only the innovations brought forth by the 2021 plan, but consistency in and improvements to existing service that will prove critical in the coming months and years.