Off the coast of San Francisco, the Farallon Islands—a rugged, uninhabited archipelago—are experiencing a peculiar problem: the ground literally shifts underfoot. But this isn’t due to earthquakes or landslides. The soil here quivers because of an estimated 60,000 invasive house mice tunneling through it like tiny, furry construction crews. These rodents, accidentally introduced by ships in the 19th century, have turned the islands into a Swiss cheese of burrows, destabilizing the ecosystem and creating a surreal landscape where the earth seems alive.
The mice, with no natural predators on the islands, have multiplied into a teeming metropolis. Their tunnels crisscross the terrain, causing soil erosion and threatening native species. The burrows collapse under the weight of seabirds, including rare species like the ashy storm petrel, which nest in the ground. For plants, the constant digging uproots seedlings, leaving the islands’ vegetation sparse and patchy. It’s like a rodent version of urban sprawl, but with more dirt and fewer coffee shops.
The situation is so dire that the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service has labeled the mice an ecological emergency. Plans to eradicate them using rodenticide have sparked debate, as the poison could affect other wildlife. Conservationists argue the mice must go to save the islands’ fragile ecosystem, while critics worry about unintended consequences. Imagine trying to evict 60,000 tenants who’ve overstayed their welcome by 150 years—it’s not just a pest problem, it’s a legacy.
Why haven’t the mice been dealt with sooner? The Farallones are a protected National Wildlife Refuge, making access difficult. Plus, the mice are survivors. They’ve adapted to harsh winds, acidic soil, and a diet of seeds, insects, and even bird eggs. Their tunnels, some spanning dozens of feet, double as storm shelters and pantries. It’s a mouse utopia, if utopia smelled like guano and had no Wi-Fi.
The “shaking soil” phenomenon isn’t the islands’ only oddity. The Farallones are nicknamed “Devil’s Teeth” for their jagged rocks and treacherous waters. But the mice add a layer of bizarreness, turning a pristine sanctuary into a rodent reality show. Scientists studying the islands often joke that the ground feels like a waterbed—if waterbeds were made of dirt and paranoia.
So, next time you complain about a few mice in your attic, think of the Farallon Islands. They’re proof that even the most remote places aren’t safe from tiny invaders. And if you ever visit, watch your step—the soil might just wave back. Just don’t blame the earthquakes. This time, it’s the mice.