You’re walking up the steep, thigh-burning incline of Greenwich Street, maybe heading toward Coit Tower, and suddenly you hear it. A screech. Not a seagull’s cry or the coo of a pigeon. This is a raucous, jungle-thick squawk that feels completely out of place against the backdrop of foggy Victorian houses. You look up and see a flash of emerald green streaking across the sky. These are the San Francisco wild parrots, and honestly, they’re probably more famous than most of the local tech CEOs.
People think they know the story. They think these birds are "native" or that they escaped from a crashed plane in the 70s. Most of that is just urban legend. The reality is a bit more chaotic and, frankly, way more interesting. These birds shouldn't really be here, yet they’ve become a permanent fixture of the city’s skyline, surviving hawks, cold snaps, and the relentless march of gentrification.
Where the San Francisco wild parrots actually came from
The myth-making around these birds is intense. I've heard tourists swear they were released by a distraught lover or that they flew all the way from South America. Neither is true. The San Francisco wild parrots are Cherry-headed Conures (Psittacara erythrogenys), a species native to the deciduous forests of Ecuador and Peru.
They didn't fly here. They were brought here in cages.
During the late 80s and early 90s, the exotic bird trade was booming. Thousands of these conures were imported into the United States. They're loud. They’re demanding. They live a long time. It doesn't take much imagination to realize that a few frustrated owners—or perhaps a few overwhelmed pet shop employees—decided to open a window. Once a small breeding pair found each other in the wild (or what passes for "wild" in a city of 800,000 people), they started doing what birds do.
They thrived.
Mark Bittner is the name you’ll hear most often when talking about these birds. He was a man living in a rent-free cottage on Telegraph Hill who spent years feeding them and documenting their social lives. His book, and the subsequent documentary The Wild Parrots of Telegraph Hill, turned a local oddity into an international sensation. Bittner noticed things most people missed, like the fact that the flock isn't just a mindless group; it’s a complex society with feuds, romances, and distinct personalities. He named them. He knew who was mated to whom. He saw the tragedy when a hawk took out a lead bird.
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Surviving the "City by the Bay"
How does a tropical bird survive a San Francisco winter? It's a fair question. It gets cold here, especially when that damp Pacific fog rolls in and sits on your bones.
The parrots are surprisingly hardy. They’ve adapted to the microclimates of the city. While they started on Telegraph Hill, you can now find them in the Presidio, down in Brisbane, and even hanging out near the Ferry Building. They eat what they can find, which turns out to be a lot. San Francisco’s landscaping is a buffet for a conure. They feast on the seeds of the juniper trees, the blossoms of the red gum eucalyptus, and the fruit of the loquat trees that dot the hillsides.
But it hasn't been all easy.
In the early 2000s, the flock faced a massive threat: West Nile Virus. It hit the bird population hard. Then there was the issue of "conure wasting syndrome" (PDD), a neurological disease that can wipe out entire groups. Despite this, the population has grown. From a handful of birds in the 90s, the flock now numbers in the hundreds. They've even started hybridizing. You might spot a bird that looks a little "off"—maybe a bit more yellow or a different shade of red. That’s because they’ve been known to interbreed with Mitred Conures, another escaped species.
The controversy of feeding wild animals
You’ll see people trying to feed them. Don't be that person.
There’s a massive debate in the birding community about the ethics of interacting with the San Francisco wild parrots. On one hand, people love the connection. On the other, feeding them makes them vulnerable. They lose their natural wariness of humans. They hang out lower to the ground, where cats—the number one killer of urban birds—can get them.
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The city actually passed an ordinance in 2007, often called the "parrots of Telegraph Hill law," which prohibits feeding the birds in public spaces. It was controversial at the time. Proponents said it was about the birds' health; critics said it was a move by wealthy neighbors who were tired of the noise and the bird poop on their Porsches.
The noise is no joke.
If you live on a street where the flock decides to congregate for their morning meeting, you don't need an alarm clock. You need earplugs. They scream. They bicker. They sound like a dial-up modem being run through a distortion pedal. But for most San Franciscans, that noise is part of the city’s soul. It’s a reminder that even in a place dominated by glass towers and tech campuses, nature finds a way to be loud and messy.
Spotting the flock: A local's guide
If you want to actually see them, you have to be smart about it. They don't just sit around waiting for tourists. They have a schedule.
The best spots for a sighting
- Ferry Building/Embarkadero: Look up at the palm trees near the waterfront. They love the seeds there.
- Telegraph Hill: Specifically the steps of Greenwich or Filbert Street. This is their ancestral home.
- Dolores Park: Occasionally, they’ll make a cameo in the Mission, though the pigeons usually hold the territory there.
- The Presidio: They’ve been moving west lately, hanging out in the cypress and pine groves.
The best time is usually early morning or just before sunset. They’re social. They travel in groups. If you see one, you’re almost certainly going to see twenty more within seconds. Listen for the sound first. You will hear them long before you see the green feathers.
The future of the flock
What happens to a non-native species that everyone loves? Usually, invasive species are treated as a problem to be eradicated. Think of the wild pigs in Texas or the pythons in the Everglades. But the San Francisco wild parrots are different. They occupy a weird niche. They aren't really displacing native birds because they've carved out a life in the highly artificial environment of city parks and ornamental gardens.
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They’ve become a protected symbol.
There are local non-profits, like Mickaboo Companion Bird Rescue, that step in when a parrot is found injured or sick. They have a whole protocol for "the wild ones." If a parrot from the flock is rescued, the goal is always rehabilitation and release back to the flock, rather than putting it up for adoption. This is rare. In most cities, an escaped pet is just a lost pet. In SF, it’s a member of a sovereign community.
Actionable ways to enjoy the parrots responsibly
If you’re coming to the city to see the birds, or if you live here and want to be a better neighbor to them, keep these points in mind.
Keep your distance. Use binoculars or a long lens for photos. If the bird changes its behavior because you’re there, you’re too close. They are wild animals, not pets, despite their history.
Report injured birds. If you see a parrot on the ground that looks lethargic or can't fly, don't try to keep it. Contact Mickaboo or San Francisco Animal Care and Control. They have the expertise to handle PDD and other contagious issues.
Plant native, but think "bird." If you have a garden in the city, planting trees that provide natural forage is a million times better than putting out a bird feeder. Bird feeders congregate too many birds in one spot, which is how diseases spread.
Watch the documentary. Seriously. Before you go looking for them, watch The Wild Parrots of Telegraph Hill. It gives you the emotional context of what these birds represent to the people who have lived alongside them for decades.
The San Francisco wild parrots are a testament to the weirdness of this city. They are beautiful, annoying, resilient, and completely out of place—which, when you think about it, makes them the most "San Francisco" things in existence. They didn't ask to be here, but now that they are, they’ve made the city their own. Just remember to look up every once in a while. You might just see a bit of the tropics flying over the Golden Gate.