Los Angeles Zoo

Listen for a moment before you walk in. Somewhere ahead, a bird calls in a voice that does not belong to any city street. Behind you, there is the low hum of traffic on the freeways that curve around this corner of Griffith Park. Above you, the brown hills rise, dry and scented with sage. This is the Los Angeles Zoo, where a very large city meets a very old landscape.

The zoo sits on the northeastern edge of Griffith Park, close to the boundary between Los Angeles and Glendale. Many visitors arrive thinking they are in Glendale, and in spirit they almost are. The rooftops of the neighbouring city are just across the freeway. But the land under your feet belongs to one of the largest city parks in the United States, a wild stretch of hills inside the city limits.

That park has its own story. In the late nineteenth century, a mining speculator named Griffith J. Griffith gave this land to the city. He imagined a place where ordinary working people could escape the noise and smoke of town. More than a century later, that idea still shapes your visit today. The zoo, the trails, and the observatory on the far ridge all grew from his gift.

This is not the first zoo in the park. In the early twentieth century, an older and much smaller zoo opened a short distance south of here. Its animals lived in cages and stone grottoes that look harsh to modern eyes. Here is a detail most visitors miss — those old enclosures still exist. Today people picnic inside them. You can climb into a former bear den and eat a sandwich.

The zoo you are standing in opened in 1966. It was built on a larger site, with more room for the animals and for the people who came to see them. The city of Los Angeles owns and runs it. A nonprofit support group helps with fundraising, education, and events. Over the decades, the layout has been rebuilt again and again, as ideas about how to keep wild animals well have changed.

You will notice that the paths here go up and down. The zoo follows the shape of the hills rather than flattening them. That means some walking, and some shade, and some views. As you climb, look back now and then. On a clear day, the slopes of the park roll away in every direction. The animals share the same light, the same dry air, and the same seasonal heat that you feel.

Now for the story that matters most here. The California condor is one of the largest flying birds in North America. By the 1980s, it had almost disappeared. Only a handful still flew in the wild. Scientists made a hard and controversial decision. They captured the last wild condors and brought them into protected care. The Los Angeles Zoo was one of the places that took them in.

What followed was slow, patient work. Keepers bred the birds carefully. In some cases, they raised chicks with hand puppets shaped like adult condors, so the young birds would not grow attached to humans. Over time, condors raised in programs like this one were released back into the mountains of California and beyond. Today, condors fly again over wild country — partly because of work done just behind these walls.

The zoo is not only about animals. It is also an accredited botanical garden. Many visitors walk right past the plants without noticing. Take a closer look at the trees and shrubs along the paths. Some are chosen to match the native homes of the animals nearby. Others are California plants, tough and grey-green, built to survive long, dry summers. In spring, parts of the zoo fill with the smell of flowering shrubs.

The major habitats carry you across the world in a short walk. Elephants of Asia gives the elephants space to roam, with pools and sandy ground. In the rainforest area, the air feels heavier and the colours turn deep green. There is a gorilla reserve, a home for chimpanzees, and a building for reptiles, amphibians, and insects. Each area tries to show the animals inside a version of their natural surroundings.

Here is a second surprise. Some of the most interesting wildlife here never paid for a ticket. Griffith Park is home to coyotes, deer, hawks, and owls. For years, a mountain lion known as P-22 lived in these hills. He crossed busy freeways to reach the park, and he became a local celebrity. His story showed how wild animals and a city of millions can share the same ground — sometimes uneasily.

So as you walk, keep two kinds of looking going at once. Watch the animals in their habitats, of course. But also watch the sky for a red-tailed hawk circling over the hills. Look at the edges of the paths for lizards warming themselves on the concrete. Listen for crows arguing in the trees. The zoo is a managed space, but the hills around it are not. The line between the two is thinner than it seems.

Before you leave, pause somewhere with a view of the slopes. Notice the colour of the hills — gold in summer, faintly green after the winter rains. Notice the sound of the freeway, steady and distant, and the birds calling over it. You are standing where a city chose to keep room for wild things. As you walk back toward the gates, take one last look up. Something with wings may be watching you, too.