I VEERED MY car over to the side of the road, snapped on the hazards, and gaped out the window. On a hillside overlooking Sir Francis Drake Boulevard – just a few miles from Point Reyes National Seashore, where I'd been tramping around all day in search of wildlife – was a bobcat.

About three feet long, it stared back at me in the fading, winter-afternoon light. Afraid of spooking it, I didn't dare lower the driver-side window to get a better look at its tufted ears, furry face, and spotted, tawny coat. Often mistaken for a mountain lion, which has a much longer tail and a bigger appetite, the bobcat thrives throughout much of the continental United States, including Marin County.

We both sat motionless for maybe 45 seconds, gazing at each other. Then the bobcat turned to bound up and over the crest of the hill, its short, bobbed tail revealing a flash of white underneath as it disappeared.

It was a fitting end to a day devoted to "Nature in Winter," a field seminar led by two local naturalists, David Lukas and Simone Whitecloud. The seminar had given me a good excuse to skip the pre-Christmas Saturday madness in the city and spend the day looking at sea lions, harbor seals, elephant seals, and red-tailed hawks instead. Deer abounded – both the native black-tailed deer and the two species introduced decades ago for hunting, the axis and fallow deer. They seemed almost like domesticated animals, placidly grazing in groups. The massive gray whale that lures many winter day-trippers to the coast proved elusive; still, there's so much to see this time of year at Point Reyes, you'll wish you hadn't stashed your binoculars away in the trunk for the drive home.

Our day started just after 9 a.m. in the Red Barn Classroom, near the PRNS visitor center, where we met Lukas, whose revised and updated version of the classic field guide Sierra Nevada Natural History has just been published by the University of California Press, and Whitecloud, an avid birder who teaches at the College of Marin. After quick introductions, the eight of us drove out to the Point Reyes Lighthouse to look for whales.

Passing by Tomales Bay, where egrets hunt in the shallow waters near shore, we headed out through the coastal grasslands, passing historic ranches still in operation. A merlin falcon darted across the road in deadly pursuit of a tasty snack, and a northern harrier swooped over the fields, listening for its prey. About every quarter mile a red-tailed hawk sat perched on one of the poles connecting the power lines running next to the road. There were so many now, Lukas explained, because hawks from Alaska, Canada, and other parts north migrate here in the winter, swelling the ranks of the local population.

When we got to the lighthouse parking lot, it was relatively clear and calm, the Farallon Islands visible in the distant haze. On the beach below, cresting waves and sunlight produced a startling effect: dazzling rainbows that seemed to ride the waves as they broke. Near the lighthouse a handful of sea lions swam around the rocks, where dozens of cormorants and a few stray brown pelicans huddled in the wind. Most of the pelicans had already high-tailed it down to Baja for breeding, but a few stalwarts remained.

There'd been one gray whale sighting, at 8:30 a.m., but despite our earnest staring at the ocean, we failed to up the tally. The great surge of gray whales – which have the longest migration of any mammal, from the Bering Sea to Baja and back again – will be arriving in the weeks ahead. After New Year's the road out to the lighthouse will be accessible on weekends only by shuttle bus, to better manage the annual migration of whale-watching crowds.

Trekking back, we ate our sack lunches on a nearby overlook above sea lions barking and playing in the surf and quieter, mottled harbor seals lounging on the beach in an adjacent cove. Whitecloud identified fox scat on some nearby rocks, and I admired the animal's fading paw prints left in the sand as it retreated from its latrine. In the distance, Montara Mountain in the South Bay was visible, giving a sense of just how far Point Reyes juts out into the Pacific.

As day's end approached, we headed to Elephant Seal Overlook above Drakes Bay, where grebes, bufflehead ducks, and mergansers were feeding below the white cliffs. We watched male elephant seals, with their magnificently ugly noses, lolling on the beach below, waiting for the pregnant females to arrive to pup in the coming weeks. On the drive back we stopped and flushed a barn owl out of a clump of trees near one of the ranches, examining it through a spotting scope. And then it was time to make my way home 22 miles south – past one inquisitive bobcat – to San Francisco. Katharine Mieszkowski, a senior writer for Salon.com, can be reached at km@salon.com.

Trip planner

The next "Nature in Winter" field seminars are Jan. 22 and Feb. 19 and cover other habitats in Point Reyes National Seashore. The cost is $49, $46 for Point Reyes National Seashore Association members; some scholarships are available. For more information about this and other classes, call (415) 663-1200 or go to www.ptreyes.org. To plan your own free outing to Point Reyes, go to www.nps.gov/pore/home.htm.