Juno & The Ark

Today, the Juno probe began to orbit Jupiter.  After traveling 1.8 billion miles over five years, the probe will spend the next two years studying our solar system's largest planet, beaming information back to Earth, some 500 million miles away.  Following that mission, Juno will crash into the massive planet, the first product of human ingenuity to reach its surface.

Meanwhile, two days from now, The Ark will open to the public in Williamstown, Kentucky.  Built to specifications outlined in the Bible, the Ark will house exhibits which "reveal" specifics regarding the life of Noah, the Great Flood and the management of the menagerie onboard the wooden ship.  True believers will no doubt flock to the site, paying good money to reinforce their faith.

This week's events highlight the ongoing juxtaposition of scientific achievement and religious mysticism in modern human society.  Long before humans understood the nature of our solar system, the story of Noah and his Ark were ingrained in Judeo-Christian culture.  Despite the knowledge that we humans have since attained, the simplistic concept of a Great Flood, documented in Holy Scripture, carries more weight among believers than does the vast amount of scientific evidence that validates the theory of evolution.

Algal Sludge in Southeast Florida

Over the past few weeks, a thick layer of putrid algae has been accumulating along canals and estuaries in Southeast Florida, centered near Stuart.  This unnatural scourge is threatening both the local economy and the welfare of regional wildlife.

The culprit is polluted water in Lake Okeechobee which, during periods of heavy rain, is released into the upper watersheds of adjacent rivers to relieve pressure an an aging dike; the St. Lucie and Caloosahatchee rivers receive the brunt of the runoff.  Once the nutrient-rich freshwater mixes with sea water at the coast, an algal bloom is triggered, covering the shallows with a toxic carpet of noxious and unhealthy sludge.  The only remedy is to cut off the flow of nitrogenous waste (primarily agricultural fertilizer) that fuels the bloom.

Repeated episodes have occurred over the years and politicians, at both the State and Federal levels, have stymied efforts to provide a solution (i.e. cleaning up Lake Okeechobee and expanding its basin to eliminate seasonal overflow).  While the tragic effects of pollution are clearly evident in this case, much of human-induced pollution across the globe goes unnoticed for extended periods of time, destroying ecosystems and poisoning wildlife long before the effects become evident.  The warnings of conservationists are often ridiculed by polluting industries (and the politicians whom they fund) until species are lost, fisheries are decimated and our natural environment is forever changed.

North of the Dome

Over the past week, a subtropical dome of high pressure has been developing across eastern Mexico and the northern Gulf Coast.  Pushing into the Southern Plains and Lower Mississippi Valley, it is both shunting Pacific storm systems to the north and fueling the Southwest Monsoon.

Along the outer edge of this atmospheric dome, moisture flows across Mexico (from east to west) and then up through the Four Corner States; this flow is augmented by low pressure over the Desert Southwest, which draws in moisture from the Sea of Cortez.  Just north of the dome, the moisture combines with inflow from the Pacific and moves eastward along a stationary front; pulses of low pressure move along the front, igniting thunderstorms and torrential rain.  "Training" across the same path (from eastern Kansas to southern Ohio), the storms will drop up to 5 inches of rain in some areas; northern Missouri is forecast to receive the brunt of the deluge.

Here in Columbia, light drizzle developed at 6:30 AM; steady rain has since moved in and will likely continue (off and on) for the next two days.  While the rains will provide welcome relief from our ongoing drought, heavy downpours on sun-baked soil will rapidly drain into creeks and rivers, setting the stage for flash floods.

In Search of Grosbeaks

Having learned that blue grosbeaks were recently sighted at Eagle Bluffs Conservation Area, a friend and I searched for them on our morning visit to that fabulous floodplain refuge.  As is often the case in nature, we failed to locate our quarry but saw many other species in the process; indeed, we encountered more than 45 avian species during our two hour visit.

Among the morning highlights was a large flock of American white pelicans, an abundance of great blue herons, a few bald eagles, a handful of great egrets and the usual mix of summer songbirds, dominated by indigo buntings, dickcissels, tree swallows and, of course, red-winged blackbirds; other sightings included yellow-billed cuckoos, eastern phoebes, eastern kingbirds, Baltimore and orchard orioles and a lone blue-gray gnatcatcher.

Fortunately, blue grosbeaks often stick around to raise a second brood and we should have more opportunities to observe these attractive summer residents before they depart for Central America and the Caribbean.  Whether those attempts will be fruitful remains to be seen but uncertainty fuels the joy of birding.

Wild Grape Vines

Today I engaged in my semiannual attempt to control wild grape vines throughout the wood border of our Columbia, Missouri, property.  While the fruit of this fast growing vine is an important food source for many songbirds and mammals, the aggressive vines can cause significant damage to trees and shrubs, blocking sunlight and weighing down the supporting plants.

Native to humid, Temperate areas of the Northern Hemisphere, wild grape vines are represented by at least 60 species; of course, domesticated grape vines are derived from these wild species.  Most wild grape vines (unlike domesticated species) produce only male or female flowers on any given plant; these flowers, which appear during the second year of new growth, are pollinated by the wind and yield loose clumps of purple-black grapes by late summer.  Seeds are dispersed by wildlife that feast on the fruit but new growth may also sprout from older vine stumps (as many homeowners know all too well).  Frequent cutting of the vines is the most ecologic means of controlling their expansion.

When I was a pre-teen in the woods of Greater Cincinnati (see Wonderland), large grape vines were a godsend, allowing us to swing out over ponds or creek beds.  As an adult homeowner, my image of these prolific plants has become far less positive.

Symphony at Dusk

Drier air, a gentle breeze and cooler temperatures drew me outside this evening for a late-day survey of our property.  Since the trees are in full leaf and the daylight was fading, there was far more to hear than to see.

A rising background din was provided by annual cicadas that started their tune-ups earlier this week; crickets joined in as well, their chirps not near as intense as they will soon become.  As usual, the songs of robins and cardinals dominated the avian chorus, mellowed by the soft calls of mourning doves and the distant chatter of chickadees; not to be ignored, Carolina wrens delivered their loud, ringing tunes from hidden retreats.  Squadrons of chimney swifts twittered overhead and the sharp "peents" of nighthawks echoed from the darkening sky.  Some nights, though not this evening, the questioning call of a barred owl rises from the nearby woods, bringing dusk's symphony to a close.

To fully appreciate the diversity of our wild neighbors, we must come to know them by voice as well as by sight.  A pleasant summer evening offers a good opportunity to practice that skill.

The Rise of Nationalism

As evidenced by the Brexit vote in England and the success (hopefully transient) of Donald Trump's Candidacy, nationalism is on the rise across the globe, especially in developed Western countries.  This movement seems to have its roots in the inequalities of globalization and the fear of immigration (especially in light of recent terrorist attacks).  Of course, racism and religious zealotry are at play as well.

Unfortunately, some politicians are taking advantage of the anger, fear and intolerance, placing emphasis on the risks of globalization and promising to protect legal citizens from the dangers of immigration, trade agreements and "cultural dilution."  Older, less educated and more provincial individuals, many having lost their jobs to outsourcing and failing industries (e.g. coal mining, manufacturing, textiles), are most receptive to their message.

While some of these inequities and concerns are legitimate, globalization is here to stay and international cooperation is vital in our efforts to assist developing countries, to prevent war and to combat the threats of pollution, ecologic degradation and climate change.  In the end, we must address the problems associated with globalization without resorting to nationalism; otherwise, we will destroy both our economy and our planet.

Fish Crow at Eagle Bluffs

While surveying a large pool at Eagle Bluffs Conservation Area this morning, I heard a familiar call that echoed from over my left shoulder.  Turning to locate its source, I saw a crow flying across an open marsh, being chased by a trio of red-winged blackbirds.

The crow's call reminded me of lazy afternoons on the seawall at Longboat Key, Florida.  Indeed, this was a fish crow, more often associated with southern coasts but now increasingly common along the larger rivers of the eastern and central U.S.  Like their widespread cousin, the American crow, fish crows are omnivores, feeding on waste grain, berries, seeds, insects, bird eggs, stranded fish, small lizards, small mammals, carrion and human food waste; in fact, they are among the most relentless predators of eggs and nestlings at heronries and sea bird rookeries.

Distinguished from American crows by their slightly smaller size and distinctive, higher-pitched "nasal" call (contrasting with the harsh, raucous voice of their widespread cousins), fish crows generally gather in large flocks and move toward coastal estuaries during the colder months.  Until then, I and my birding colleagues along the Missouri River will lend an ear to their presence and enjoy a bit of audio from the coast in the American Heartland.

Flooding in Appalachia

Yesterday afternoon and evening, a line of strong thunderstorms stretched across the Appalachians, from the Ohio River Valley to south-central Virginia.  Aligned along a stationary front and steered by the jet stream, the storms "trained" over the same areas, unleashing torrential rain (up to 9 inches in some locations).

Falling on the dissected terrain of the Appalachian Plateau and the Ridge and Valley topography west of the Blue Ridge, the copious precipitation drained rapidly from the steep ridges to the primary river valleys; mudslides and valley floods were the result, most severe in southeastern West Virginia and adjacent sections of Virginia.  Unfortunately, most Appalachian towns lie within the valleys and widespread damage has been reported.

Flash flooding is especially dangerous in mountainous terrain since it develops rapidly and escape routes are often limited.  Those living in or visiting such regions are thus advised to heed weather forecasts and take note of potential routes to higher ground; multiple routes should be considered since some roads may be closed due to high water or mudslides.  Beautiful as it may be in sunny weather, mountainous terrain poses unique risks when thunderstorms approach, even when heavy rains fall far upstream.

Chat Alley

At South Platte Park, in southwest Metro Denver, a trail meanders along a low ridge on the west side of Eaglewatch Lake.  Winding through a landscape of shrubby meadows, lakeside woodlands and groves of cottonwoods, this trail is one of the better avenues for observing woodland songbirds in the south Metro Area.

During the warmer months, yellow-breasted chats are especially common here, delivering their endless sermons from woodland pulpits, their colorful vestments glowing in the bright morning sun; I observed seven of them today, spaced along the ridge.  Other common summer residents include gray catbirds, broad-tailed hummingbirds, yellow warblers, Bullock's orioles, western pewees and house wrens; among the permanent residents are great horned owls, Cooper's hawks, northern flickers, cedar waxwings and black-capped chickadees and this lakeside ridge is a magnet for migrant warblers, vireos and other songbirds (e.g. western tanagers) that stop to rest and feed on their way to the mountains.

In addition, the "chat alley" trail offers broad views of Eaglewatch Lake, which attracts double-crested cormorants, American white pelicans, ospreys, bald eagles, western grebes and a wide variety of waterfowl in the course of the year.  The chats may steal the show on summer mornings but this lakeside ridge has much to offer in any season; the trail is best accessed from parking areas near C-470, via the southern Park entrance from Platte Canyon Road.

An Incessant Songster

Working on our Littleton farm this morning, I was serenaded by the calls and songs of many avian residents and visitors.  Dominating this background noise was the incessant song of a male lesser goldfinch, delivered from prominent perches throughout the property.

Arriving along the Colorado Front Range in late April or May, lesser goldfinches initially maintain their gregarious habits, roaming about to feed in weedy fields, across foothill shrublands or on the sunny slopes of lower canyons.  By late June, males begin to establish their territories, announcing that intent with long soliloquies of high pitched notes and whistles designed to attract a mate and keep other suitors at bay.

Like other species of goldfinches, lessers nest in mid-late summer, when the seeds of thistle and sunflowers are most abundant.  Once the young are fledged, these small, attractive songbirds congregate in large flocks once again, heading for the Desert Southwest, South Texas or Mexico before chilly autumn winds rake the Front Range.

A Mulberry Bonanza

It's a good year for mulberries along the Colorado Front Range.  Indeed, the mulberry trees on our Littleton farm are loaded with fruit, attracting a wide variety of wildlife.

American robins and house finches are the primary consumers, clogging the trees for most of the day; less common visitors include cedar waxwings, Bullock's orioles, spotted towhees and gray catbirds and wandering opportunists such as magpies and starlings.  Raccoons and skunks feed on fallen fruit as do red fox and coyotes that hunt on the farm.  While the red fruit on the weeping mulberry is sweet, we humans are not generally fond of the tart, white mulberries on the larger trees.

Of course, there is a drawback to this mulberry bonanza.  Two of the trees sit close to the house and, unfortunately, near the two entrance doors.  Despite the best efforts of our avian residents, most of the fruit ends up on the ground, on the roof and in the gutters; those that litter the entrance walkways are most problematic, requiring regular cleanup to keep squashed mulberries off the soles of our shoes and out of the house.

Cool Down in Denver

After two weeks of hot, humid weather in Missouri, I returned to Colorado today and was greeted by a cold front.  As I approached Metro Denver, a thick band of clouds was moving south toward the city and the Front Range peaks were obscured by an upslope haze.

By the time I reached our Littleton farm, scattered showers and thunderstorms had formed above the urban corridor and the air temperature, thanks to the upslope flow, had dropped to 70 degrees F, a welcome change from the sunny, hot conditions on the Great Plains.

As I write this post, it is 65 degrees at the farm and skies are clearing behind the cold front.  To our south, however, a swath of thunderstorms stretches along the Palmer Divide and into the foothills north of Pike's Peak.  One of the storms, located near Wilkerson Pass, west of Colorado Springs, has become severe and radar indicates that it has spawned a tornado.  The storms will likely weaken as the sun sets and our cool reprieve will be brief; if the current forecast is accurate, we can expect high temperatures near 100 degrees F in the Front Range cities tomorrow afternoon.

Life & Energy

Life, whether in the form of a single-celled organism or a human being, might be defined as the capacity to harness energy for the purposes of constructing and maintaining vital tissues and sustaining metabolic processes.  From the moment of conception (or budding in asexual life forms), energy must be acquired or generated to permit survival; depending on the organism, it is needed to fuel growth, cellular diversification, physiologic processes and mobility.

Bacteria and other unicellular organisms are able to "ingest" nutrients through their cell walls while photosynthetic algae and plants utilize solar energy to fuel their metabolism and growth.  Fungi recycle nutrients from decaying plants and animals and some deep sea invertebrates feast on bacterial mats that form on the flanks of sulfide-spewing hydrothermal vents.  Complex marine, freshwater and terrestrial food chains consist of producers (plants or algae), primary consumers (herbivores) and secondary consumers (carnivores); of course, a series of carnivorous activity leads to the top predator in each chain (e.g. mosquito, dragonfly, frog, snake, hawk).

Energy flows through these food chains, stored for periods of time in certain tissues (fat, glycogen, starch, bulbs) but eventually recaptured by scavengers and fungi when injuries, illness, predation or natural aging lead to the death of plants and animals.  Prior to death, living organisms transfer energy to the environment via heat production and in the organic waste that they produce; they may also lose vital nutrients to parasites.  While this cycle of energy and life is easily observed and readily accepted in nature, we humans often reject the fact that our own lives, from conception to death, reflect this universal process.  We are, in fact, transient conduits of energy.

Social Dysfunction & Mass Murder

Once again, as details emerge about the tragedy at the Orlando nightclub, we learn that the killer had a troubled childhood and that he was expelled from college and fired from jobs due to violent behavior or threats.  It also appears that he may have been plagued by the guilt of homosexuality (stemming from his religious faith) and that his relationships with women involved domination and domestic violence.

In most past cases of mass murder, we learned that the male perpetrators came from a dysfunctional household, endured abuse from an alcoholic father, failed to establish normal social relationships or demonstrated symptoms of mental illness.  After the tragic event, family members, friends or colleagues recount the warning signs that they observed but did not or could not intercede beforehand.

Focused on international terrorism, Conservative Republicans place emphasis on a military solution, campaigning to beef-up a Defense Department that already consumes a massive portion of our Federal budget.  But while some of the killers may have been influenced by terrorist propaganda, they were already primed by social factors that we do not adequately address.  Sensible gun laws are certainly part of the solution but early childhood daycare, after-school activities, job training, troubled teen programs and an effective mental health care system all need to be adequately funded.  Unfortunately, the same politicians that favor increased military spending and oppose sensible gun control measures also want government out of our lives and refuse to support such vital programs.

Antares

For those of us in the Northern Hemisphere, Antares is one of the brightest stars in the summer sky.  A component of the Constellation Scorpio, it shines from the southern sky; in mid June, it's reddish image can be seen to the SSE at 10 PM and was just below the moon last evening.

Like its winter counterpart, Betelgeuse (in Orion), Antares is a super red giant; if placed at the location of our sun, its outer surface would lie between the orbits of Mars and Jupiter (i.e., the four inner planets of our solar system would be swallowed by its mass).  Antares is about 520 light years from Earth; though it is among the 20 brightest stars in the night sky, it would be far brighter if the majority of its radiation was not in the infra-red spectrum (and thus not visible to the human eye).

Super red giants are stars in the latest stage of their life; when they eventually collapse, a black hole is thought to form and their energy is released as a supernova, spawning the birth of many new stars.  Since Antares is 520 light years away, it may have exploded into a supernova 500 years ago and we won't know until 2036; in other words, the light that arrives from Antares today left the star about the time that Columbus left for the New World.

Summer Pelicans at Eagle Bluffs

American white pelicans breed on lakes across the Northern Plains and Great Basin of North America.  Come autumn, they migrate southward, often using staging areas along the way.  Pelicans that breed east of the Rockies generally winter along the Gulf Coast or lower Mississippi Valley while Great Basin pelicans head for the Central Valley of California, the Salton Sea, or coastal bays of Southern California and Mexico.  Some permanent, non-migratory colonies inhabit Florida, Texas and Mexico.

American white pelicans are not sexually mature until their third year.  Some of the young, non-breeding birds stay on their wintering grounds for the first two years while others migrate northward with the adults.  In either case, non-breeding white pelicans tend to wander about during the summer months and may turn up at attractive feeding sites throughout much of the U.S.

Indeed, a flock of American white pelicans has been present at Eagle Bluffs Conservation Area, in Central Missouri, over the past week and, as of this morning, their number had increased to 67.  While this summer flock is rather large (based on my experience), the total population of white pelicans has been steadily increasing over the past 50 years due to DDT elimination, hunter education and favorable habitat development (i.e. fish-stocked reservoirs).  It is thus likely that summer flocks of these magnificent birds will become increasingly large and widespread in the future (unless global warming decimates their breeding and fishing lakes).

Within the Dome

A massive atmospheric ridge of high pressure extends across much of the U.S., stretching from Southern California to the Mississippi Valley.  Within this dome, air is sinking, causing it to heat up and dry out; as a consequence, cloud formation is minimal, augmenting the intensity of the high June sun.

High temperatures will range from the mid 90s (F) to 120 degrees within the dome; the most extreme heat will develop in the low deserts of the Southwest while triple digit heat indices (combining temperature and dew point) will be widespread across the Great Plains and lower Mississippi Valley.  Here in central Missouri, we expect a high of 99 degrees F under sunny skies and anticipate afternoon highs in the mid to upper 90s for the next week.

Thunderstorms will erupt along the northern and eastern edges of the dome, where the hot, humid air interacts with a cooler and drier air mass; this clash zone currently stretches from the Great Lakes to the Ohio River Valley and Mid Atlantic Region.  On the back (northwestern) edge of the dome, a less intense band of precipitation curves from Northern California to Montana.  As the atmospheric ridge inches eastward, the storms will move in concert and relief from the intense heat won't arrive for a week or more.  By July, such high pressure domes begin to settle over the Southern Plains, triggering the Southwest Monsoon.

Lark Sparrows

Lark sparrows are summer residents of the American Midwest, Great Plains and Great Basin; found primarily west of the Mississippi River, their range extends into southern Canada, across eastern portions of the Pacific Northwest and throughout lower elevations of California.  During the colder months, they head for the Desert Southwest, South Texas, the Gulf Coast region, Mexico and Central America.

The only member of their Genus, lark sparrows sport a striking facial pattern of white, black and chestnut-brown stripes, a white breast with a central black spot and a white edge at the end of their long tail; the latter edge, thicker laterally than centrally, is a good field mark for novice birders.  These handsome sparrows favor open grasslands with scattered shrubs or trees and are often found along country roads where they scour the gravel for insects and seeds.  When threatened, they often escape to dense vegetation rather than taking flight.

Lark sparrows seem to be more abundant at Eagle Bluffs Conservation Area (in central Missouri) this year but this may merely reflect a personal familiarity with these grassland birds that inhabit both of my home States.  Regardless, it's always good to see them as spring turns to summer.

Chigger Season

To the dismay of farmers, gardeners, campers, hikers and music festival attendees, chigger season is underway across the American Heartland.  Chiggers are the larval forms of a mite that favors pastures, fields, grasslands and lawns, especially in warm, humid areas; the female mite lays her eggs on vegetation which hatch to release the larvae.  The latter feed on skin cells of mammals (humans included) before maturing into nymphs and then adults.

Chiggers feast on the skin cells by injecting an enzyme that breaks down the cellular structure, allowing the larvae to ingest nutrients; these "bites" trigger an inflammatory reaction, producing red bumps or welts that appear 24-48 hours after the infestation.  As many of us know, this rash is extremely pruritic if not painful; the intense inflammatory response generally fades within a few days.

Those who venture into chigger habitat are advised to shower and wash their clothes in hot water as soon as their activity is completed; of course, this is not always possible for campers and festival attendees.  For those "bitten" by chiggers, cool compresses, anti-inflammatory meds (e.g. ibuprofen) and anti-pruritic agents (e.g. diphenhydramine, topical hydrocortisone) are recommended; avoid excessive scratching which can lead to secondary bacterial infection.  Fever, expanding redness or pustular drainage are signs of infection and warrant medical attention.

A Stranded Duckling

Over the past two decades, I have made hundreds of visits to Eagle Bluffs Conservation Area, in Central Missouri, and have never failed to be inspired by its beautiful landscape and superb diversity of wildlife.  But nature offers both beauty and tragedy and, this morning, I was dismayed to observe a stranded duckling, swimming along the marshy edge of a floodplain pool.

The young wood duck may have prematurely left its nest box; however, he appeared well-developed and his siblings would surely have followed.  Perhaps he became separated from his mother and her brood but wood duck moms are very attentive.  This leaves the possibility that his mother was killed and that he is the sole survivor of her brood, the others picked off by water snakes, snapping turtles, great blue herons, mink, coyotes or bald eagles.

Few animals are as cute as a duckling and many humans would be inclined to rescue this youngster.  Naturalists, however, understand that it is best to minimize our impact on nature and that her cycle of life includes the death of young creatures.  A stranded duckling, sure to die without the guidance of his mother, is vital to this fabulous ecosystem, as important as the majestic eagles that survey its realm.

Excusing Racism

It is both sad and deeply disturbing that most prominent Republicans continue to back the candidacy of Donald Trump despite his overt racism.  Suggesting that Trump, flawed as he may be, is a better choice than either the Democratic or Libertarian nominee, they are all-too-willing to excuse his racist remarks as missteps by an inexperienced politician.

Racism is not a misstep.  It cannot be explained away.  Rather, it reflects both Trump's deep-seated beliefs and his conviction that such remarks appeal to his white, uneducated base.  Continuing to support their bombastic, narcissistic nominee, the Republican Party is willing to condone racism in order to gain control of the Executive Branch; after all, that is what they need to shrink the Federal Government, curtail environmental regulations and place conservative-minded judges on the Supreme Court.

Hopefully, educated Americans will join minority groups across the country to derail the exploits of King Trump.  Despite his apparent willingness to commit political suicide, the Republican elite won't cast him aside; the "Party of Lincoln" is nominating a racist for President of the United States.

The Other Oriole

On this cool, sunny morning, an excellent variety of birds were moving about Eagle Bluffs Conservation Area, on the Missouri River floodplain; within 2 hours, I had observed 43 species.  Among these were a fair number of orchard orioles, the first I have seen this year.

Unlike their well-known Baltimore cousin, the male orchard oriole sports dark, rust-colored plumage, set off by a black head, chest, tail and wings.  Though a fairly common summer resident throughout the central and eastern U.S., it does not generally arrive until late spring and often leaves for wintering grounds (in Central and northern South America) by August.  Like most orioles, orchard orioles build a pouch-like nest that is suspended from a forked, distal limb of a shade tree; unlike most species, it is a colonial nester, often tolerating the close presence of other birds as well.

Orchard orioles prefer open woodlands, especially along streams.  While their name suggests a fondness for fruit, they feed primarily on insects during the summer months, snaring prey from vegetation or directing from the ground.  They do supplement their diet with berries, however, and, on their wintering grounds, consume the flowers and nectar of some tropical plants, playing a significant role in their pollination.

Glacial Lake Modoc

During the cool, wet climate of the Pleistocene, a large lake formed east of the Cascades in southern Oregon and northeastern California.  Known today as Glacial Lake Modoc, it had a surface area of 1100 square miles; its surface was 100 feet higher than that of Upper Klamath Lake, its largest remnant. Tule Lake and Lower Klamath Lake and their adjacent wetlands are also remnants of Lake Modoc, which extended eastward along the Lost River Valley and northward along the Wood, Williamson and Sprague Rivers that now feed Upper Klamath Lake.

Current geologic evidence suggests that the Upper Klamath Basin formed as a vast graben, divided by north-south trending fault-block ridges.  Glacial meltwater from the Cascades balanced outflow through the Klamath River which carved a spectacular canyon through the Northern Coastal Ranges of California to reach the Pacific.

Toward the end of the Pleistocene, as the climate warmed, the mountain glaciers retreated, inflow to Lake Modoc diminished and the lake level fell, exposing vast wetlands between the remnant lakes.  Of course, once European settlers colonized the region, wetlands were drained, rivers were dammed and tributaries were diverted for irrigation, producing the landscape that we find today.  Fortunately, some recovery has occurred with the establishment of the Lower Klamath, Tule Lake and Clear Lake National Wildlife Refuges and spectacular congregations of migrant waterfowl and shorebirds still visit the Basin.

The Asian Carp Invasion

On my walks around Landen Lake this week (a small suburban lake north of Cincinnati), I have been repeatedly reminded that the Asian carp invasion is a significant problem throughout the Mississippi River watershed.  Introduced in the 1970s to control aquatic vegetation and to filter sewage water, they escaped containment areas during floods and have spread throughout most of the U.S.  Favoring shallow, sluggish waters, they often attract our attention as they thrash about, their dorsal and tail fins breaking the surface.

Represented by four species (grass, black, silver and bighead carp) these large fish are very prolific and soon dominate the aquatic ecosystems that they colonize; black carp, which feed on mollusks, threaten native snail, mussel and clam populations while the others reduce the availability of plankton and vegetation vital to native fish, amphibians and aquatic reptiles.  As video enthusiasts know, silver carp also pose a threat to boaters, jumping into the air (and into boats) in response to the sound of outboard motors.

Concerned that Asian carp will enter the Great Lakes and disrupt the ecology of their fisheries, efforts have been made to block carp migration along canals that connect those Lakes with streams of the Mississippi watershed; "electric fences" have been used with some success but carp also spread as eggs or fingerlings on boat hulls, via the use of live bait, during floods and perhaps even on the legs of wading birds.  Taking advantage of the carp bonanza, some companies are culling them to produce pet food or fertilizer; vultures also partake of the bounty, feasting on dead carp that were stranded by shrinking lakes or rivers.

Western Heat Wave

Intense heat is beginning to develop across the Desert Southwest and will spread northward through the Great Basin and Central Valley of California; before it's over, the Pacific Northwest will also be enveloped in the swath of hot air.

The culprit is an atmospheric ridge, a northward bowing of the jet stream along the outer rim of a high pressure dome.  Within the ridge (beneath the dome), sinking air heats up and dries out and cloud formation is impaired; Santa Ana winds may also develop in Southern California.  Triple-digit heat is forecast for much of the region, with upper 90s (F) expected in Oregon and Washington.  Meteorologists warn that the high pressure ridge will remain in place through the upcoming weekend.

As one might expect, the Western heat wave is tied (meteorologically) to the Texas floods.  East of the ridge, the jet stream dips southward and this trough has spawned an upper level low over central Texas.  Counterclockwise winds around the low are combining with clockwise winds around a high pressure dome over the Southeast, pulling copious Gulf moisture across East Texas, Louisiana and the lower Mississippi Valley.  Once this atmospheric pattern shifts eastward, the flooding rains in Texas will cease and the Western heat will abate.

Brazos River Flooding

The Brazos River forms on the Llano Estacado at the junction of its Salt and Double Mountain Forks, northwest of Rule, Texas; it then flows northeastward to Seymour before angling southeast toward the Gulf of Mexico.  En route to the Gulf, the river passes through three major reservoirs: Possum Kingdom Lake, Lake Granbury and Lake Whitney; it also flows through Waco, passes west of College Station and flows west of Houston before emptying into the Gulf of Mexico at Freeport, Texas.

While the Brazos itself is 840 miles long, its watershed stretches back to eastern New Mexico; from its most distant tributary to its mouth, the River's watershed is 1280 miles in length, making it the 11th longest stream in the United States.  Over the past few weeks, heavy rainfall across the Brazos watershed has led to severe flooding, especially below the above mentioned reservoirs.  Not designed for flood control, these lakes must be partly drained as they fill in order to prevent catastrophic dam collapse.

As of this morning, the Brazos crested at 54.6 feet in Richmond, Texas (southwest of Houston), shattering a Century-old record by almost 4.5 feet; unfortunately, more rain is forecast across the watershed in the coming days.  To date, at least 6 individuals have been killed by the flooding and 31 Texas Counties have been declared disaster areas.  See also Texas: Land of Drought & Flood.

Eulachon

Eulachon are small marine fish (8-9 inches in length) that feed on plankton in the eastern Pacific, from Alaska to northern California.  In late winter, they move into estuaries and coastal rivers to spawn; most adults die after this process.  Fertilized eggs, which sink to the gravel beds, hatch in a month and the fry head to sea; there they will live in offshore waters for 3-5 years before returning to spawn.

Heavily laden with fat, the spawning eulachon are known as candlefish (since dried specimens can be lit like candles) and were called "salvation fish" by Native Americans of the Pacific Northwest since their calorie-rich bodies provided vital nutrition during the leans months of late winter and early spring.  Of course, Steller's sea lions, dolphins and sea birds also welcome their spawning runs.

Unfortunately, eulachon have all but disappeared from the coastal rivers of northern California, Oregon and Washington and their numbers have decreased significantly farther north.  Global warming, overfishing, water pollution and altered river sediments (due to hydroelectric dams) are all thought to be playing a role in the population decline of this smelt.

Tragedy at the Zoo

Throughout my formative years, I was enamored with animals of every kind and visited zoos on a regular basis; in my mind, despite their use of restrictive cages, zoos played an important role in public education and wildlife conservation.  The increasing use of "naturalized enclosures" allayed some of my concerns and I planned to pursue veterinary medicine long before I opted for medical school.

The zoo of my youth was the Cincinnati Zoo, where yesterday's tragedy unfolded; a four-year old boy somehow gained access to the gorilla exhibit and fell into the moat.  This caught the attention of a 17 year-old male gorilla who grabbed the child (perhaps with protective rather than hostile intent), forcing staff members to kill him.  While the cause of this tragedy is under investigation, inadequate fencing and inattentive parenting both surely played a role.

In a larger sense, this tragic event highlights both the potential risks and ethical dilemmas of caging intelligent creatures (primates, elephants, cetaceans, etc.) for our own entertainment, even if a certain degree of education and research is achieved.  The concept of rescuing endangered species for captive breeding and reintroduction to the wild has been unsuccessful in most cases (California condors and black-footed ferrets are two exceptions) and "naturalized exhibits" can never match the freedom and benefits of native habitat.  Though tragedies such as occurred yesterday are rare, the greater tragedy of human-imposed captivity has long been a cherished practice in our culture.  Perhaps, as human enlightenment progresses, we will come to reject the imprisonment of intelligent animals.

Dickcissel Days at Eagle Bluffs

Driving through Eagle Bluffs Conservation Area this morning, it was clear that the transition from spring migrants to summer residents is well advanced.  Waterfowl were limited to Canada geese, wood ducks, a small flock of blue-winged teal and a few mallards; shorebirds, recently represented by large, mixed flocks are now limited to killdeer and spotted sandpipers.

With the exception of great blue herons, indigo buntings and the ubiquitous red-winged blackbirds, dickcissels were the most conspicuous birds this morning, delivering their distinctive song from the tops of reeds or shrubs; favoring open grasslands, pastures and weedy fields, these vocal, sparrow-like birds have recently arrived from wintering grounds in Central and South America.  They feast on both insects and seeds and will soon pair off and build a nest in the tall grass; 4-6 eggs are generally laid.

As the summer heat builds, dickcissels and other open country birds will dominate the scene as woodland species retreat to the cool shade of forests or riparian groves; already, these tree-dwelling birds are heard more than seen, active behind a dense canopy of leaves.  Throughout the summer months, those hoping to see these birds must arrive early or late in the day, when solar radiation is less intense and cool air settles across the floodplain.

Mammatus Clouds

As a line of thunderstorms approached Columbia this evening, our daughter called our attention to mammatus clouds above the city.  Indeed, a broad area of dipping lobes was observed overhead, the product of sinking air beneath the advancing cummulonimbus clouds.

Often associated with severe thunderstorms, mammatus clouds (named for their breast-like shape) have long been rumored to predict the development of tornadoes.  However, though their development indicates a potent updraft within the thunderstorm, mammatus clouds are actually most commonly associated with weakening storms.  Nevertheless, they do indicate the presence of wind shear, ice crystals and potent temperature gradients and weather-savvy pilots know to avoid these cloud formations.

For those of us on the ground, mammatus clouds offer a beautiful sight, especially when illuminated by a rising or setting sun; my thanks to Ally for the heads-up!  Fortunately (or unfortunately) we should have more opportunities to observe these clouds this weekend as a potent storm system moves in from the west.

A Formal Sendoff

Preparing to leave for Missouri this morning, I heard the distinctive call of an olive-sided flycatcher in the "backyard" of our Littleton, Colorado, farm.  Sure enough, the large-headed silhouette of that summer mountain resident occupied the end of a dead limb; he would intermittently dart out to snare a flying insect before returning to the same perch.  Though formally known as the olive-sided flycatcher, I have long thought he should be called the "tuxedo flycatcher" since his greenish-brown flanks part to reveal a vertical white band on his chest and abdomen.

Passing through the urban corridor on his way to the mountains, this insectivore will spend the summer near forest clearings or along the alpine timberline where he and his mate will aggressively defend their nest (usually placed in a conifer) from all intruders.  Olive-sided flycatchers breed from Alaska to eastern Canada and southward through the Western Mountains and higher stretches of the Appalachians; come September, they will head for wintering grounds in Central and South America.

As for ourselves, we left the farm by early afternoon and enjoyed sunny, mild weather as far east as central Kansas.  There, however, we encountered severe thunderstorms and stopped for the night in Hays, where tornado sirens sent us to the first floor hallway; fortunately, we escaped the brunt of the storms, receiving torrential rain and intense lightening.  Indeed, as I write this post, a spectacular light display continues to our east, promising more stormy weather when we reach Missouri.

A Plumbeous Vireo

During an otherwise unremarkable visit to South Platte Park this morning, I encountered a plumbeous vireo, hunting in shrubs west of Eaglewatch Lake.  Previously grouped with other vireo species under the title "solitary vireo," this gray and white songbird is now classified as a unique species; like all prior members of the group, it has prominent white "spectacles."

Plumbeous vireos breed along the Southern Rockies, from Colorado to Mexico, and across most of the Great Basin.  Primarily insectivores, they move rather slowly among the branches of trees and shrubs, snaring prey from the vegetation; berries are also consumed during the winter months when these songbirds head to coastal regions of Mexico and woodlands of Central America.

True to its former name, this morning's visitor, on his way to mountain forests, was alone.  Unlike many warblers and vireos, his feeding activity was unhurried and methodical, making identification easy in the bright Colorado sunshine.  Perhaps he'll stop by again when chilly September nights invade the Rockies.

Unwelcome Squatters

Since buying our Littleton, Colorado, farm in 1990, we have often been visited by coyotes; indeed, they killed off our resident foxes several years ago and have lately taken a toll on our cottontail population.  Returning from our trip to California, we noticed that the old fox den beneath our barn had been re-opened and enlarged; we suspected that coyotes had moved in and when coyotes den there is only one reason: pups are expected.

Confirmation was provided yesterday when I observed three coyote pups playing outside the den; how many were inside remains uncertain (6 pups is average).  They will likely be weaned in a week or two and the squatters will move on or simply take up exterior residence on the farm.  We will discourage their stay though they do provide a service when it comes to rodent control; but neighborhood pets, snakes, birds and other wild residents will suffer the consequences of their presence.

We could contact an animal control specialist to trap the squatters but relocation of coyotes is illegal in Colorado so trapping is a death sentence.  Besides, our farm was coyote territory long before we owned it and the dwindling open space in Metro Denver is placing stress on these predators, just as it is on many species of wildlife.  For now, we'll enjoy watching the pups while making sure that mom and dad get the message to move on as soon as possible.

Visitor from the Desert Southwest

On my usual birding walk at South Platte Park this morning, sightings were unremarkable except for a large number of yellow warblers and the presence of an ash-throated flycatcher.  The latter bird, rare along the Colorado Front Range, is a summer resident of the Desert Southwest, from western Colorado to California and from the northern Great Basin to Mexico.

Unlike most flycatchers, ash-throats generally snare their prey from foliage or directly on the ground; large insects, such as beetles and grasshoppers, are favored but they also consume berries and small lizards.  Nests are placed in the cavities of trees, fenceposts or nest boxes and two broods are raised each year.  Wandering widely during migrations, ash-throated flycatchers sometimes turn up on the East Coast; most winter in coastal regions of Mexico and Central America.

This morning's visitor was feeding on a wooded hillside, west of Eaglewatch Lake; on their home summer range, they are best found in pinyon-juniper or mesquite woodlands, along desert streams or in the canyons of desert ranges.  Adapting well to human habitation, ash-throated flycatchers are gradually expanding their territory and may soon be more common along the Front Range.

The White-tailed Kite

One of the highlights of our recent trip to California was our first sighting of a white-tailed kite, at Humboldt Bay National Wildlife Refuge, just south of Eureka.  Perched in a small grove of trees amidst an extensive wetland, the kite resembled a snowy owl (though out of place and out of season).

White-tailed kites are permanent residents of wooded grasslands and marshlands along the Pacific Coast (from Oregon to Baja), in southern Texas, in southernmost Florida and throughout Mexico, Central America and South America.  Formerly known as the black-shouldered kite, this light-colored raptor often hovers while hunting; small rodents are its favored prey but it also consumes snakes, lizards, frogs and large insects.  Breeding pairs generally produce four offspring each year and the population and range of these beautiful predators appears to be expanding.

It's one thing for a seasoned birder to discover a new life species by patiently stalking small songbirds in dense vegetation and quite another to be confronted by a theretofore unseen raptor, sitting in the open for all to see.  It was as if nature was extending a gift, a reward of sorts for years of enduring stiff necks, cold feet, insect bites and other maladies common to birders.  The gift was sincerely appreciated.

Through Riverless Terrain

Leaving Ely, Nevada, this morning, we headed east on US 50; our first stop was Great Basin National Park, in the Snake Range, just west of the Utah Border; details regarding the Park are provided in the linked post.  Today, a deep snow pack closed the Wheeler Peak road at Mather Overlook (just above 9000 feet) but we enjoyed broad views of the Park and adjacent landscape.  We then took a hike along South Baker Creek before setting out across the beautiful but arid lands of the Great Basin.

One of the highlights of that journey was the vast but dry bed of Sevier Lake; filled to the brim during the cool, wet climate of the Pleistocene, the lake is now a sink, fed by the fickle flow of several basin rivers that have been mostly dammed or diverted.  After crossing Interstate 15, we climbed along US 50 to merge with Interstate 70 and then crossed the massive hump of the Wasatch Plateau; beyond this high ridge the highway winds through some of the most scenic topography in North America (if not on the planet) where eroded beds of late Paleozoic and Mesozoic sedimentary rocks line the road.  After dropping through the Waterpocket Fold, we crossed the Green River, completing our loop through Utah, Nevada and California.

Looking down at that River, it occurred to me that this tributary of the Colorado was the first stream of any size that we had crossed since leaving Mono Lake; indeed, the West Fork of the Walker River, north of that lake was the last river that I had encountered.  Such is the nature of the Great Basin: two days of driving through magnificent but riverless terrain.

Back in the Basin

Since the high passes through the Sierra Nevada remain closed due to a heavy snowpack, downed trees and rock slides, we backtracked to U.S. 50 last evening and spent the night in Carson City, Nevada.  This morning, we traveled south on Route 395, along the eastern base of the mountains, headed for Mono Lake; approaching that famous remnant of the Pleistocene, we re-entered California, ascended along the West Fork of the Walker River, descended into the basin of Bridgeport Reservoir and then climbed onto the northern rim of the Mono Lake basin where we enjoyed a fabulous panorama of the lake and its surroundings.  For more details on the lake and its history, see the above link.

Stopping at the Visitor Center and three public access sites along the edge of the lake, we explored the tufa (calcium carbonate) formations and surveyed the open waters where thousands of eared grebes fed on brine shrimp; during the autumn migration, up to 1.8 million of these diving birds stop to rest and feed on Mono Lake.  Two pair of ospreys are currently nesting on the tufa formations but must travel to other regional lakes to catch fish, which cannot survive in the alkaline waters of Mono.  Other sightings included hundreds of California gulls and a single pair of ruddy ducks; according to local birders that we met, avocets, black-necked stilts and phalaropes, regular migrants and summer residents at Mono Lake, have not yet arrived.

Heading east across the Great Basin, we passed the northern end of the magnificent White Mountains; Boundary Peak, the highest point in Nevada, is at the northeast end of that Range.  Continuing along U.S. 6, we crossed the stark beauty of of central Nevada; the highlight proved to be the broad, scenic Railroad Valley, southwest of Ely, where Blue Eagle Peak rises along its eastern rim and Currant Mountain anchors its northern end.  After a night in Ely, we plan to visit Great Basin National Park and then head for Colorado.

Assault on Yosemite

As we left Oakdale, California, this morning and headed east on Route 120, the high peaks of the Sierra Nevada shimmered across the eastern horizon, partly obscured by clouds.  Leaving the flat landscape of the Central Valley, we climbed through hills of grass and oak savanna before ascending more steeply into the Sierra foothills.  Charred forest, damaged by wildfire, was soon encountered along the road, extending into western portions of Yosemite National Park.

When we eventually rounded a curve and Half Dome appeared in the distance, I knew that my dream of visiting Yosemite was finally realized.  Indeed, the Park's spectacular glacial valley, lined by the granite cliffs of El Capitan, Half Dome, North Dome and other well-known summits, drained by the beautiful Merced River and adorned by Bridal Veil Falls, Yosemite Falls and other magnificent cascades, is one of the more inspiring sites on our planet.

Arriving on a Monday morning in mid May, we hoped to escape the summer crowds that descend on Yosemite and many other National Parks.  Alas, the crowds were already there, parked along the roadways, congregating at overlooks and clogging popular trails; we, of course, contributed to the human assault.  One wonders if our population has expanded beyond the point where landscapes as grand as Yosemite National Park cannot withstand the onslaught.  It seems we must significantly curtail access if we are to protect these natural gems (or even to make them worth visiting).

Point Reyes National Seashore

Southwest of Petaluma, California, the Coast Range mellows into a chain of grass covered hills, traversed without mind-numbing switch-backs.  It was across this scenic landscape that we returned to the Pacific Coast, headed for Point Reyes National Seashore.

More than a peninsula along the California Coast, Point Reyes, like much of Southern California, lies on the Pacific Plate, geologically separated from the North American Plate by the San Andreas Fault; the latter passes below Tomales Bay, the Olema Valley and the Bolinas Lagoon, east of the preserve.  Established in 1962, the National Seashore is a mosaic of public and private lands, home to both the Philip Burton Wilderness Area (established in 1976) and a large swath of cattle ranches that date back to the 1850s; it is also home to a herd of tule elk and harbors the Point Reyes Lighthouse, constructed in 1870.  Renowned as an excellent site for whale watching, the lighthouse point was our first destination this morning; unfortunately, high winds and choppy seas impaired our effort to observe whales.  However, we were entertained by a noisy congregation of elephant seals on Drake Beach and were inspired by spectacular seascapes across the peninsula.

After leaving Point Reyes, we headed for San Francisco, enduring innumerable hairpin turns as we climbed over the Coast Range for a final time.  We then traversed the majestic Golden Gate Bridge, clogged with vehicles and walkers alike on this mild, sunny Sunday and headed for famous attractions along the city's waterfront.  Though we enjoyed a pleasant meal overlooking the Bay, the congestion of San Francisco was hard to take after a week on the road and we set our sights on Yosemite National Park; after a night in the Great Central Valley, we'll head to the Park tomorrow.

Counting on the Coast

Today was designated Global Big Day by eBird, an effort to assess the health and diversity of avian populations across the planet.  Since we planned a morning visit to Mendocino Coast Botanical Gardens, just south of Fort Bragg, California, I decided to submit my observations from that location.

As we walked through the fabulous gardens, more birds were heard than seen but the wide diversity of foliage attracted an excellent variety of species; in addition, since the gardens extend to cliffs above the Pacific, a number of sea birds were observed.  Highlights of the morning count (which totaled 30 species) included pigeon guillemots, pelagic cormorants, Allen's hummingbird, olive-sided flycatchers, Steller's jays and a large number of white-crowned sparrows.  While my contribution to Global Big Day was modest, I was honored to participate and certainly enjoyed the experience.

South of the Gardens, we visited a magnificent sand dunes ecosystem at Manchester State Park and enjoyed a long, scenic hike to sea cliffs at Salt Point State Park.  Sea fog slowed our journey to Jenner where we turned inland, climbing along the beautiful Russian River; passing through the Coast Range, we escaped the fog and settled in a hotel room along Route 101.  Tomorrow we plan to visit the Point Reyes National Seashore before heading into San Francisco.

A Kite, Whales and a Glass Beach

Early this morning, my wife and I visited the Humboldt Bay NWR, just south of Eureka, California.  Once a vast saltwater marsh, the basin was later drained for agriculture and has since been restored for the benefit of resident and migrant water birds; riparian woodlands, cattail marshes, sloughs, lakes and tidal flats characterize the preserve.  During our visit, we were fortunate to observe a white-tailed kite (formerly known as a black-shouldered kite), a beautiful and common resident of the refuge and a new "lifer" for me; we also encountered black phoebes, California quail and a large flock of marbled godwits.

After our visit to the refuge, we headed south on Route 101, climbing along the scenic valley of the Eel River and its South Fork.  We then switched to Route 1, enduring countless hairpin turns as we crossed the Coastal Range.  Emerging along the Pacific Coast, our patience was rewarded with spectacular seascapes all the way to Fort Bragg.  Nearing that city, we turned into MacKerricher State Park, where we walked out to Seal Point and watched harbor seals as they lounged on the sea stacks or cruised the clear waters beneath the overlook.  While observing the seals, my wife noticed "whale spouts" far out to sea; close inspection with my binoculars revealed four humpback whales, identified by the contour of their backs and by their habit of raising their massive flukes as they dove to feed.  Needless to say, the sighting of these magnificent cetaceans was one of the highlights of our road trip to date.

But we could not end our day without visiting the "Glass Beach," in Fort Bragg.  Once used as a city dump site, the beach was reclaimed by the sea which sorted and recycled the debris, leaving smooth pebbles of glass amidst the shells and sand.  Once this beach of glass gained nationwide fame, visitors flocked to the site, walking off with samples of nature's handiwork.  As too often characterizes man's relationship with nature, we first abuse her ecosystems and then take advantage of her restorative powers; alas, the glass of Glass Beach is rapidly disappearing.

The Redwood Coast

The Siskiyou Mountains stretch from southwestern Oregon into northwestern California, separating the watershed of the Rogue River (to their north) from that of the Klamath River (to their south).  This morning, we drove northwest from Medford, Oregon, descending through the Rogue River Valley; after crossing the Rogue at Grants Pass, we headed southwest on Route 199, climbing back through its watershed along the Applegate and Illinois Rivers, two of its major tributaries.  Passing through the Collier Tunnel, we left the Rogue River watershed and entered that of the Smith River, which drains the southwestern end of the Siskiyous.

Descending along the Middle Fork of the Smith River, we stopped at the Jedediah Smith Redwoods State Park and explored the Stout Grove, one of the more pristine and scenic stands of redwood forest in California; walking among those giants, their shade supporting a rich understory of ferns, one is both inspired and humbled.  Moving on to Crescent City, we observed massive seabird colonies (mostly common murres) on Castle Rock and visited Point St. George where we encountered ospreys, black oystercatchers, whimbrels, black scoters, brown pelicans and a host of shorebirds; the highlight was provided by a peregrine falcon that swooped down at close range to snare an unwary sandpiper.

Heading south on Highway 101, we encountered herds of Roosevelt elk, drove through more stands of majestic redwoods and stopped at numerous overlooks to scan the ocean for whales, sea birds and sea lions.  While we failed to observe whales on this cool, foggy day, we did find a large colony of noisy pinnipeds, crowding a sea stack near Trinidad.  Tomorrow we continue our journey down the California coast.

Exploring Volcanic California

Yesterday morning, we left Lake Tahoe and drove north on Route 89, undulating across the east flank of the Sierra Nevada; initially, all streams (including the scenic Little Truckee River) rumbled eastward, flowing into the Great Basin.  Then, about an hour into our journey, we crossed a fork of the Feather River; its flow was to the west, indicating that we had reached the gap between the Sierra Nevada Range and the Cascades.  After lunch in Quincy, California, we climbed along Indian Creek and then Wolf Creek, eventually reaching Lake Almanor, east of Lassen Peak.

Though we had planned to hike at Lassen National Park, we soon learned that the Park road was closed due to a heavy snowpack.  We thus visited McArthur-Burney Falls Memorial State Park, off Route 89; there we enjoyed the scenic falls and hiked through a gorge of volcanic basalt.  Another detour, resulting from a snow-blocked National Forest road, sent us westward, where we circled the majestic cone of Mt. Shasta.  Angling northeast on Route 97, we then crossed tule marshes and the Butte Valley Grasslands, passed through Klamath Falls, Oregon, and dipped back into California, spending the night in Tulelake.

This morning, we visited the fabulous Tule Lake NWR, where we encountered American white pelicans, western grebes, eared grebes, bald eagles, a few sandhill cranes, cormorants, various terns and a wide variety of waterfowl (including cinnamon teal).  We then visited Lava Beds National Monument, just northeast of the dormant Medicine Lake volcano, where we explored basalt flows and lava tubes.  Finally, we passed through Lower Klamath NWR (where avocets were especially abundant) and drove west to Medford, Oregon, dropping through the scenic Siskiyou Mountains en route.  Tomorrow we head for the California Coast.

Crossing the Great Basin

West of Salt Lake City, Interstate 80 passes between the north end of the Oquirrh Range and the Great Salt Lake.  As we drove west, black-necked stilts were feeding in the roadside shallows, cliff swallows swooped about the highway bridges and flocks of California gulls moved across the morning sky.  Throughout western Utah, flat plains, remnants of Lake Bonneville, alternated with stark fault-block ranges, many of which were capped with snow.

In eastern Nevada, the ranges were more numerous and the intervening valleys were both rolling and green, covered by sage grasslands that were grazed by horses, cattle and pronghorn.  Just west of Wells, the highway began to follow the Humboldt River, passing the majestic Ruby Mountains; we would parallel that river all the way to Lovelock, where it enters its terminal sink.  Beyond that point, the greenery of eastern Nevada gave way to desert landscape, characterized by vast lake flats where American avocets patrolled the alkaline pools.  This low desert, lying within the rain shadow of the Sierra Nevada, ended at Fernley where we climbed into the Sierra foothills along the Truckee River.  Passing through Reno, we continued westward and upward on Interstate 80 before turning south to Lake Tahoe.

Backed by the high spine of the Sierra Nevada, this beautiful lake is renowned for both its resorts and its fabulous alpine scenery; after a full day on the road,  it seemed like a great place to spend the night.  Tomorrow we head into the California Cascades.

From Denver to Salt Lake

Beginning the first leg of our California road trip, we left Denver this morning, headed west on Interstate 70.  Climbing through the Front Range, we crossed the Continental Divide at the Eisenhower Tunnel and entered the vast watershed of the Colorado River.  After dipping through the Blue River Valley, we crossed Vail Pass and descended along Gore Creek and the Eagle River to the Colorado itself.

Following the Colorado, we snaked down Glenwood Canyon and, just west of Glenwood Springs, cut through the Grand Hogback, entering the Colorado Plateau, a landscape of mesas, buttes, plateaus and cliff-lined valleys.  Passing Battlement and Grand Mesas to our south and the Roan Plateau to our north, we then drove along the Book Cliffs (Cretaceous in age), that rise along the north side of the Interstate from Grand Junction to Green River, Utah.  Leaving the Colorado, we entered Utah where the La Sal Mountains, a massive laccolith near Moab, loomed to the SSW; after crossing the Green River, just east of the Waterpocket Fold, we turned north on US 6 toward Price, Utah, passing formations of Mancos Shale carved by the Price River and its tributaries.

Beyond Price, the highway climbs onto the Wasatch Plateau where, at Soldier Summit (7477 feet), we left the watershed of the Colorado River and entered the Great Basin, dropping from the Plateau and through the Wasatch Range to the urban corridor of Provo and Salt Lake City.  Tomorrow, we cross the Great Basin on Interstate 80, headed for Reno and Lake Tahoe.

Birding in Bad Weather

Since we are leaving on our California road trip tomorrow, I decided to get in one more visit to South Platte Park.  While recent visits to the preserve occurred on warm, sunny days, this morning promised a different experience; low clouds, chilly air and a steady northeast breeze greeted me at the parking lot.

Despite these conditions (and, indeed, because of them), birding was excellent at the floodplain refuge.  Violent-green swallows were especially abundant, strafing the lakes and the woodlands; other sightings of note included 55 yellow-rumped warblers, 17 yellow warblers, 6 yellow-breasted chats, 4 western tanagers, a few chipping sparrows and a lone great horned owl that stared at me from a lakeside tree.  In all, my two-mile walk turned up 33 species, better than my counts on the warm, sunny days.

A gray overcast produces lighting that mimics dawn and dusk, when many species tend to be most active.  In addition, the chilly air invigorates birds and mammals alike, stoking the drive to move and to feed.  As a consequence, birding is often most productive on days that are less appealing to birders; today's visit to South Platte Park reinforced that fact.

The Cormorant Doth Soar!

Reading out back yesterday afternoon, I looked up to see a dark bird soaring high above our Littleton farm.  Since similar past sightings turned out to be a golden eagle or a Swainson's hawk, I grabbed my binoculars for a closer look.  To my surprise, the aerialist was a double-crested cormorant and his circular flight, with no apparent destination, continued for twenty minutes.

Usually observed flying low at rapid speed (when not resting on limbs, docks or channel markers or diving for fish in bays or lakes) cormorants are not generally included on a list of soaring birds; members of that group include eagles, vultures, cranes, buteos, kites, frigatebirds, gulls, pelicans and albatrosses, among others.

Indeed, often maligned as a "fish crow," the cormorant is not a stately bird.  Perhaps, like many humans, yesterday's high flier needed to boost his self esteem; mimicking a golden eagle is certainly one way to achieve that goal!  Then again, if you're equipped with wings and have the ability to soar high above scenic Colorado on a beautiful spring day, why not?

An Ibis Squadron

Returning to South Platte Park this morning, I found that the yellow-rumped warbler invasion had diminished but those active insectivores were still abundant in the trees surrounding Eaglewatch Lake; my official count today was 93, less than a third of my estimate two days ago.  Joining them were an increasing number of summer residents (especially house wrens and yellow warblers) and the usual mix of late spring visitors.  A flock of American white pelicans soared above the refuge, an osprey fished on the open waters and the last of the wintering ducks had apparently left for northern breeding grounds.

This morning's highlight was a squadron of 16 white-faced ibis, moving in tight formation from southwest to northeast.  Having wintered in Mexico or along the Gulf coast, these western ibis are on their way to shallow wetlands across the Northern Plains, stopping to rest and feed on small fish and aquatic invertebrates en route; they generally appear along the Front Range in late April or early May.

Engrossed as I was with counting songbirds on the meadows and in the trees, the appearance of the ibis was both a pleasant diversion and an inspiring sight.  Like the flocks of migrant geese in spring and fall, they evoke a spirit of freedom that most humans can only begin to appreciate.

Invasion of Yellow-Rumped Warblers

Hoping that my second e-Bird checklist for South Platte Park would significantly exceed my first (see A Disappointing Survey), I headed down to the floodplain refuge on this cool, sunny morning.  Taking my usual 2-mile loop hike, I encountered 30 species, a modest improvement from last month; however, the count included two ospreys, a flock of Franklin's gulls, a tardy group of female buffleheads, a lone loggerhead shrike and a flock of 17 barn swallows, perched in a small tree and presumably exhausted from their migration.

But the highlight of this visit was a tremendous number of yellow-rumped warblers (I estimated 300), foraging in almost every tree that graces the southern section of the refuge.  Indeed, their numbers were so great that the movement of these small insectivores distracted me from other species that I attempted to locate.  Per records provided on e-Bird, this count is more than double the previous maximum for any site in Colorado this year but it doesn't come close to the U.S. e-Bird record of 63,600+ observed at Cape May, New Jersey in the autumn of 2010.

After wintering across most of the central and southern latitudes of the U.S. and Mexico, yellow-rumped warblers return to breeding areas in the western mountains of North America and across Alaska, Canada and northernmost regions of the Lower 48.  During their spring and fall migrations, they often travel in large flocks, a fact that was certainly confirmed at South Platte Park this morning.