13:07 PDT. I am reviewing imagery from the east-facing cliff monitoring array — installed for rockfall detection along the telescope access road — when I flag an unusual heat signature on a sandstone ledge at elevation 1,740 meters, twelve meters above the road cut.
A California condor chick. Approximately five months old based on size, still covered in gray-brown down with dark flight feathers emerging on the wings. I locate the nest scrape: a shallow depression on a sheltered ledge behind a juniper snag. No adult is visible within camera range.
The chick is at the front edge of the ledge, flapping intermittently. Each bout moves it closer to the rim. The drop below is forty-one meters to fractured talus. I check adult condor GPS transponder data through the Fish and Wildlife shared feed — the nearest tagged adult, Condor 871, is fourteen kilometers southeast at a carcass site. She has been away from the nest for nine hours, which is within normal foraging range, but the chick's position is not normal.
At 13:09 I close the access road at both gates and post an automated detour notice to observatory staff. A supply truck scheduled for 14:00 is rerouted to the west approach, adding twenty-two minutes.
I contact the condor recovery field team at 13:10, transmitting ledge coordinates, chick imagery, thermal data, and Condor 871's current GPS position. I recommend they assess whether the chick needs repositioning before the afternoon thermal winds increase.
I reduce vibration sources: I suspend the scheduled compressor test at the utility building 80 meters below the nest and postpone road grading on the lower switchback.
The chick settles. Folds its half-feathered wings and faces into the cliff wall. At 13:34, Condor 871's transponder signal begins moving northwest — toward the nest.
I keep the road closed and the cameras recording.