800 Miles Upriver

Tomorrow we will leave Missouri and return to our Littleton, Colorado, farm, a drive of approximately 800 miles.  The entire journey, except for a short section near Limon, Colorado, will be within the vast watershed of the Missouri River.

After crossing the Missouri about ten miles west of Columbia, we will not encounter that River again since its main channel, which rises in southwestern Montana (photo), is well north of our route.  Nevertheless, every river and stream that we do cross on our journey will be a tributary of the Missouri; while we dip into the Arkansas River watershed near Limon, we will ford only a few seasonal creeks in that area.

Within a half mile of our farm, we cross the South Platte River.  Rising in the mountains around South Park (the South Fork) and near Kenosha Pass (the North Fork), the South Platte drains most of northeastern Colorado, including the eastern slope of the Front Range.  It merges with the North Platte River at North Platte, Nebraska, forming the Platte River; this braided, shallow river flows eastward and enters the Missouri just south of Omaha.  Though our trip will take an entire day, we will cross but a small portion of the Missouri's massive watershed. 

The Basking Tree

A large black walnut tree in our neighbor's yard catches the morning sun and, during the colder months, attracts squirrels and a good variety of songbirds as they attempt to warm up before a day of foraging.  Clearly visible from our back deck, it offers a convenient survey of our wild neighbors.

On this bright, chilly morning, I observed only ten avian species during a fifty minute vigil but twice that number are encountered on some mornings.  The barren limbs offer unobstructed views and the birds, enjoying the solar heat after a cold night, are often relatively still.  Indeed, such a scenario is recommended for beginning birders as they struggle to identify new winter residents and visitors.

While most birders and naturalists enjoy tramping through fields, forests and wetlands in pursuit of their quarry, we sometimes see more species in a shorter period of time in our own backyard.  Having a nearby basking tree augments that experience.

Many to Thank

Nearing the end of this difficult year, there are many individuals to thank on this National Holiday.  First, of course, are the front-line medical teams, who have risked their lives to treat those with Covid-19, as well as those who have worked to provide the essential services and products that keep the rest of us safe and healthy.  The medical researchers, whose expertise have brought us the promise of vaccines within the next few months, also deserve our sincere gratitude.

Next are all who worked toward the successful election of Joe Biden, from the campaign workers to the poll workers and especially those election officials who have resisted Trump's ongoing efforts to delegitimize the results.  Their efforts have rescued our Democracy and will, in time, turn out to be vital in addressing climate change, human rights and international relationships, among other important issues.

As the pandemic has taught us, we cannot take life for granted and, as the Trump Administration has shown, we cannot assume that American Democracy and our Constitution are invulnerable.  My personal thanks to all who have demonstrated the courage to insure their protection.

Novembers Remembered

Growing up in Cincinnati, Ohio, I recall thinking of November as a cold, gray, windy month, redeemed only by the Thanksgiving Holiday; over the past week, that nostalgic image has been confirmed here in central Missouri.  To borrow a phrase from the Eagles, "the sky won't snow and the sun won't shine."

Of course, as children, we pay little attention to the weather, not intimidated by forecasts or conditions; if it's not a school day, we're out with friends, active enough to ward off the late autumn chill.  As adults, we are much more aware of the weather, heeding the warnings of local or national meteorologists and perhaps influenced by the memories of Novembers past.

But some of us, attuned to nature's cycles and stirred by the spectacles that November often brings, are inclined to seek solace in the great outdoors as the days shorten.  We know to dress for the experience or we conduct our exploration from the comfort of a heated vehicle.  After all, we are no longer children; compared to them, we are a cautious bunch.

Time to ignore Trump

President Trump will not be changing his approach to the pandemic, climate change, conservation, human rights, international relationships, healthcare and immigration over the next sixty days.  Rather, he will be focused on the election, spreading lies to explain away his loss and making Joe Biden's ascent to power as complicated as possible.

It is time to ignore Trump (with the exception of any executive orders that he might choose to sign).  We do not need to hear about every tweet, lawsuit or pronouncement that emanates from Our Dear Leader or his sycophants.  Hopefully, the press (and especially the cable news media) will shift their attention to the Biden transition team and the policies that they plan to implement.

Trump feeds on public attention and the adoration of his followers.  By taking away his megaphone, we will reassure allies and calm the political turmoil that pervades this country.  Time to cut the cord of rhetoric and drama.  Trump's reign is over; judgment awaits.

Birding between the Shooting

During duck season, Eagle Bluffs Conservation Area, on the Missouri River floodplain, is half-open for wildlife viewing between 1 PM and 3 PM.  On this cool, cloudy and showery afternoon, a friend and I took advantage of the hunting hiatus and made a brief visit to the refuge.

Our first sighting was of a distant flock of geese, heading northward through the valley; the lighting and distance made identification difficult though their flight pattern suggested they were snows.  A good variety of ducks on the pools and central channel was dominated by mallards, ring-necks and coot, though redheads, northern shovelers, lesser scaup, green-winged teal and ruddy ducks were also observed.  Other sightings included a pair of bald eagles, great blue herons and pied billed grebes.

Despite the weather and the limited viewing time, it was (and always is) worth the short drive down from Columbia.  Human hunters may rule the refuge for the next two months but I don't envy their time in the cold muck; we are not naturally designed for duck habitat.

The Nature of Fear

Throughout the Animal Kingdom, most species experience instinctual fear, triggered by sights, sounds, and smells that threaten their welfare or survival,  We humans, endowed with a large, complex brain, experience fear in various forms.

During childhood, fear is often a constructive emotion; fear of punishment or injury molds our social behavior.  On the other hand, irrational fears (e.g. mysticism, fear of non-threatening insects, etc.) is also instilled during these formative years.

As adults, we have many appropriate fears that govern our behavior, generally induced when risk outweighs benefit.  But, depending on our experience and psychological development, we may also fear interpersonal commitments, new challenges and the unknown, among other aspects of life.  Some fear overwhelms courage, limiting action that would be constructive for ourselves, our family or society as a whole; Republican Congress members, frozen by the tyranny of Trump and his minions, offer a good example. 

The Republican River

Just east of Limon, Colorado, Interstate 70 climbs onto the steep, High Plains escarpment, where a large wind farm extends off to the north.  At the crest of that ridge, one leaves the Arkansas River watershed and enters that of the Missouri River.

More specifically, the Interstate begins to cross the upper watershed of the Republican River, a secondary tributary of the Missouri.  Rising SSW of Flagler, Colorado, the river's main channel crosses under the highway just east of that town, flowing northeastward toward Nebraska.  Receiving seasonal flow from numerous streams of northeast Colorado, northwest Kansas and southernmost Nebraska, the Republican passes through McCook, Nebraska before winding eastward just north of the Kansas border.  Finally dipping to the southeast, the river passes through Milford Lake and then courses along the north side of Junction City, Kansas, where it merges with the Smoky Hill River to form the Kansas River; the latter flows into the Missouri River at Kansas City.

Though it is a major river of the High Plains, flowing for more than 450 miles and draining a relatively large watershed, the Republican, like many other streams of the Great Plains, is unknown to the traveler who uses our Interstates and primary highways.  Its upper tributaries (and even its upper main channel) are dry for much of the year, their course marked only by the shrubs and trees that cluster along their banks.  But for wildlife of the High Plains, such streams offer vital riverine habitat for nesting, denning, feeding and escaping the harsh weather of that vast, semiarid ecosystem.

A Lasting Tragedy

Today marks the 50th Anniversary of the Marshall University plane crash that killed most of the football team, coaches and some fans.  Among the victims were three of my high school classmates, one of whom had been a close friend since grade school.  That tragedy ended my age of innocence and doused any flames of mysticism that still influenced my life.

I still recall learning of that horrific event and often think of the victims, especially on the anniversary of the crash and on my birthdays.  Conscious of the fragility of life and the too often random nature of death, I appreciate every year and have long since given up worrying about my age; we were only 20 at the time of the accident and I am now 70, fortunate to have experienced so much more during my time on this planet.

No doubt, some see a divine plan when such tragedies occur but it is clear to me that bad luck, foul weather and human error were the only culprits.  While we have some control over our longevity, primarily by engaging in a healthy lifestyle, good genes and good luck are equally important.  Their luck ran out fifty years ago and ours could end tomorrow. 

Eta the Wanderer

After bringing devastation to coastal areas of Central America, Hurricane Eta weakened to a Tropical Storm and headed toward Cuba.  Crossing that island nation, the storm's counterclockwise winds brought torrential rain and storm surge to Southern Florida; some areas of Metro Miami received 1.5 feet of rain.

Following another landfall in the western Keys, Eta has entered the Gulf of Mexico, churning slowly to the WSW.  Some models suggest the storm will turn back to the northeast, striking the Great Bend region of Florida, while others indicate it will head north, making a fourth landfall along the northern Gulf Coast.

Of course, Eta does not have a mind of her own.  Her wandering course has been determined by high pressure domes and atmospheric troughs, steering her back and forth across the Caribbean and the Gulf of Mexico.  The next impact on her course will likely come from a potent cold front that brought four inches of snow to Metro Denver yesterday and is now spreading snow and thunderstorms across the Northern Plains.  If the front drops far enough south, it will sweep Eta to the northeast or east; if not, the tropical storm may hang out in the Gulf of Mexico, potentially strengthening into a hurricane once again or simply fizzling out.  We may not know for a few more days. 

The Buzzards Bay Earthquake

The Western Coast of North America is, geologically speaking, an active margin, where the Pacific Plate is scraping past the North American Plate (Southern California) and where remnants of the Farallon Plate are subducting beneath the North American Plate (Mexico and the Pacific Northwest).  Intermittent powerful earthquakes occur along or near the coast and volcanic activity and tsunamis threaten the subduction zones.

The East Coast, by contrast, lies on the passive margin of North America, moving westward as the Atlantic Ocean opens, a process that has been ongoing for 150 million years.  Prior to the Atlantic's opening, Earth's land masses had merged into the mega-Continent of Pangea (some 225 MYA); when Pangea broke apart, the new fractures did not always match the old suture lines (e.g. some Continental crust, formerly part of the African Plate, now form sections of our East Coast, primarily in Southern New England and Florida).  As the Atlantic continues to open and pressure builds within the North American Plate, minor earthquakes develop along those old suture lines and their associated faults.

Yesterday's magnitude 3.6 earthquake, centered over Buzzards Bay off New Bedford, was felt across coastal Massachusetts, Rhode Island and Connecticut.  Reported to be the strongest earthquake in Southern New England in several decades, it reflects geologic events that were set in motion back in the Mesozoic Era, when dinosaurs ruled the planet.

Land of Laccoliths

Laccoliths are isolated rock formations, mountains or mountain ranges that result from the injection of magma into overlying layers of sedimentary rock.  Cooling into igneous rock, the laccolith is uncovered as the crust in which it lies is uplifted by tectonic forces and the softer sediments encasing it erode away.

Some of the most famous laccoliths in the United States are found in the Four Corners region of the Colorado Plateau.  The La Sal Range, just southeast of Moab, the Abajo Mountains, west of Monticello, the Henry Mountains, west of Canyonlands National Park and Navajo Peak, ENE of Page, Arizona (just north of the Utah-Arizona border), are prominent features of the landscape in southeastern Utah.  In extreme southwestern Colorado, Sleeping Ute Mountain (southwest of Cortez; photo below) and the La Plata Range (northwest of Durango) are well known laccoliths.

The intrusions in Utah occurred during the Oligocene and Miocene Periods (20-30 million years ago) while those in southwest Colorado were emplaced during the Laramide Orogeny (the first uplift of the Rocky Mountain Chain), some 65-70 MYA.  Of course, over the coming eons, these scenic mountains will also succumb to the relentless forces of wind, water and ice.  Better go see them before it's too late! 

The Challenge Begins

Now that Joe Biden has secured the Presidential election, his daunting challenge begins: successfully healing the political and cultural rifts that divide this country.  In my opinion, his approach must come from the middle where he might be able to establish a coalition that includes moderate Democrats and Republicans.

On the other hand, that coalition must address the issues that have fueled discontent in America.  Among these are access to affordable and high quality healthcare, attention to the many factors that are fueling climate change, efforts to resolve the inequalities wrought by racism and social status, a commitment to building an economy that benefits all Americans and, of course, a science-based approach to the ongoing pandemic.  The Biden Administration must demonstrate support for religious freedom while also ensuring freedom from religion.

Appeasing the far left will be difficult and earning the cooperation of the far right, poisoned by Trumpism, may be impossible.  But, despite the rancor and rhetoric that has dominated the news for the past four years, most Americans will respond to decency, sincerity, open communication and a commitment to address their problems.  Conspiracy theories must be quickly debunked by both sides of the aisle and governmental policies must be based on truth and scientific facts.  I wish him well in this difficult task.

A Prolonged October

 Our homes in Littleton, Colorado, and Columbia, Missouri lie in the same latitudinal belt of North America, where the four seasons of the year are fully developed.  Of course, their elevations differ by 4600 feet and their climates differ due to that factor, their proximity to ocean water and the local geography (i.e. the high mountain barrier west of Littleton).

Nevertheless, in both regions of the Continent, the effects of global warming are becoming manifest.  Hotter summers and milder winters are most evident as are less precipitation in Colorado and more in Missouri, the former leading to drought and wildfires and the latter triggering floods.  And as I have reported in past entries to this blog, the peak autumn waterfowl migration seems to be occurring later in the fall at both locations, reflecting more prolonged open water across northern latitudes.

Indeed, in recent years, the weather in November has been more typical of that previously associated with October; warm days and cool nights have become the norm for much of the month.  While November has traditionally been one of the snowiest months along the Colorado Front Range, that pattern seems to be changing as well.  Perhaps my observations are purely anecdotal but the extremely active hurricane and wildfire seasons certainly lend support.

Back at South Platte Park

Having not visited South Platte Park since spring, I met a fellow birder there to peruse the autumn bird population.  Though we did encounter a fair variety of species, the numbers were not impressive on this beautiful November morning.

American wigeon dominated the waterfowl population, joined by northern shovelers, green-winged teal, gadwall, American coot, hooded mergansers, buffleheads and Canada geese; far less common were mallards, common mergansers, redheads and common goldeneyes.  A solitary western grebe graced Eaglewatch Lake and a group of shorebirds (killdeer, Wilson's snipe and a single lesser yellowlegs) foraged on the mudflats of Bufflehead Lake.  Raptors were absent during my ninety-minute visit and songbirds were limited to common, permanent residents of the Park.

As in recent years, the autumn waterfowl migration is behind schedule, likely reflecting a slower freeze-up across Canada and the Northern Plains.  Despite the lackluster birding, it was good to be back at South Platte Park, one of the more appealing nature preserves in south Metro Denver.

Soil, Plants & Global Warming

Last evening, while surfing the options on Netflix, I came across Kiss the Ground, a documentary focused on the role that soil and plants play in the carbon cycle.  In particular, the show discussed how deforestation and desertification (primarily due to agricultural practices) have decimated these carbon sinks and greatly exacerbated the process of global warming.

By removing trees and tilling grasslands for crop fields, topsoil has been severely depleted across the planet; furthermore, the repeated use of pesticides, herbicides and artificial fertilizers has sterilized the soil, destroying the microbes that are responsible for returning carbon to the soil.  In addition, the widespread use of feedlots and mechanized hog farms has deprived grasslands of natural fertilization.

Most importantly, the documentary points out that our conversion to clean energy and electric vehicles will only serve to slow or stabilize global warming.  The excess carbon dioxide in Earth's atmosphere can only be diminished by reversing our impact on natural ecosystems, i.e. by converting to no-till agriculture, by reverting to open range, grass fed livestock management, by recycling food waste and by halting deforestation and planting trees.  I highly recommend the documentary.

Near Death Experience

Reading outside late this morning, I occasionally glanced toward the bird feeding area where fox squirrels also forage for seed.  Just before heading indoors, I witnessed a near death event as our resident red fox suddenly attacked from a shrub line, chasing one of the squirrels and briefly pinning him by the tail.

Fortunately, for the squirrel, the fox lost his grip and the agile target scampered up a nearby tree.  Trotting away, the fox settled back in the shrubs where he endured scolding by a posse of blue jays and magpies.  On the positive side, for the fox, he appeared to be in better condition than the last time I saw him and I am now more convinced that he will survive the winter (while keeping our cottontail, squirrel, vole and mice populations in check).

It is not often that we have the opportunity to witness such an attack, especially near mid-day, and we are acutely reminded that sudden death is a regular event in the natural world.  Of course, we are also subject to an unexpected demise, something we prefer not to dwell on.