Crossing Unfamiliar Terrain

Over the next few days, my wife and I will return to Colorado but will forego the all-too-familiar, 11-hour drive along Interstate 70.  Rather, we will dip southwestward through eastern Kansas and then cross northern Oklahoma.  Once we are west of Enid, we will be crossing unfamiliar terrain.

We have enjoyed numerous roadtrips across most of the Lower 48 but have managed to bypass a few areas; one of these is northwest Oklahoma, including the State's Panhandle.  Planning ahead, we have identified a few State Parks and nature preserves that we hope to visit along the way.  Of even more interest (especially for me) is the chance to encounter landscape as yet unseen.

Reports on our journey and sightings (some surely unexpected), will follow.  Of course, we will pay close attention to weather reports as we cross Tornado Alley in mid spring.

A Wind Advisory

This afternoon, a strong south wind raked central Missouri.  Transporting warm, humid air from the Gulf of Mexico, it brought a pleasant change from the chilly weather that characterized most of the month.

Unfortunately, this wind, currently driven by low pressure over eastern Wyoming, is also a message.  The storm's trailing cold front will push through our region tomorrow and is expected to spawn severe thunderstorms, some of which may harbor tornados.

While any rain will be welcome, damaging winds will not.  In modern society, we rely on the tools of meteorology to convey the risk of potential danger; long ago, our ancestors were far more attuned to weather patterns and would have known that today's gift was a warning. 

A Ritual of Spring

On this sunny, mild afternoon, a tufted titmouse settled on a limb in one of our magnolias.  Over the next half hour, he delivered a loud, ringing call every five seconds; I know this because his perch was no more than 10 yards from my deck chair.

About half way through his soliloquy, the distant call of another titmouse returned his summons but lasted only a few minutes.  Nevertheless, the suitor persisted, giving up only after a Carolina wren offered its own, more melodious (but equally loud) call from our back fence line.  Though he temporarily quit and flew off, the determined titmouse soon resumed his call from our neighbor's yard.

Of course, like all songbirds, the titmouse is responding to the lengthening daylight and to hormones coursing through his body.  He may or may not enjoy delivering the monotonous call but is surely unaware of its significance.  It is purely instinctual behavior, a ritual of spring; when a potential mate eventually turns up, other rituals will follow.

An Early Shorebird

Earlier this week, I encountered a flock of pectoral sandpipers at Eagle Bluffs Conservation Area, foraging on a mudflat along a marsh-lined channel.  They were the first migrant shorebirds that I have observed this year.

Indeed, pectoral sandpipers are among the earliest spring migrants; having wintered in South America, they are headed for the Arctic tundra of Alaska and Canada.  These medium-sized sandpipers feed primarily on insects and aquatic invertebrates and are most often seen in open wetlands or on flooded fields.  On their breeding grounds, nests are nothing more than a scrape in the tundra surface.

While we impatiently wait for the chilly, wet month of March to end, these hardy, long-distance travelers assure us that spring is already underway.  By the time we are enjoying the warmth and color of April and May, they will be settling into their Arctic digs.  

The Coot Arrive

Over the past few weeks, small flocks of American coot have been stopping by Eagle Bluffs Conservation Area, on their way to more northern breeding grounds.  On this cool, rainy morning, I encountered the first sizable congregation of the spring (about 250 individuals).

Abundant migrants here in spring and fall, a few thousand will likely grace the refuge by mid April, forming large rafts on the pools or grazing atop the levees.  Among my favorite visitors, coot are rather peaceful, nodding their way across the waterways; since they are not generally hunted, they are tolerant of close approach.  When they do feel threatened, coot rarely take flight but run across the water surface to escape danger (a choice imposed by their body structure).

We will enjoy their quiet throngs over the next month or so before most depart for the Northern Plains.  In their wake, Eagle Bluffs will settle into its summer mode.

Friendships & Technology

As I have expressed in previous posts, I am grateful to be a member of the Boomer Generation, which came of age during the Civil Rights Movement, Anti-War protests and the rise of Environmentalism.  My generation was also fortunate to have predated the scourge of Social Media.

Nevertheless, we did miss out on the benefits of digital communication.  Over the few decades that followed our high school and college years, we relied on occasional phone calls and annual Holiday cards to stay in touch with one another.  Unlike our children, who have used email to maintain communication with most of their friends, we have lost touch with the majority of ours.

I personally believe that life-long friendships are important (see: Valuing the Past) and access to email would have significantly improved that effort.  As I found out during a brief trial, social media is certainly not the answer.

See also: Old Friends

Deep Freeze in March

March has long been a chilly month in the American Midwest with intermittent episodes of snow and cold rain.  But the current deep freeze is certainly unusual this late in the season; it was 17 degrees F in Columbia, Missouri, at dawn this morning.

While weather patterns have been fickle throughout recorded history, extreme events have become increasingly common as the climate warms.  This deep freeze is the result of a gyrating jet stream that is injecting warm Pacific air into Alaska and displacing a dome of polar air into the American Heartland.

Though an unsettled jet stream has always been characteristic of spring, it seems to be energized by climate change (especially by the warming oceans and polar regions), leading to catastrophic weather events such as the flooding in California.  Time will tell how climate change will affect various regions of the planet but recent evidence suggests that many challenges lie ahead.

The Temptation to Believe

When we witness the behavior of persons such as Vladimir Putin, Donald Trump and Alex Jones, we hope that some form of retribution awaits them.  Frustrated that they have the means to escape punishment in this life, we are tempted to believe in a deity that will even the score.

Of course, no evidence exists for such a Supreme Judge though millions of humans anticipate eternal punishment for even the most common of human "sins."  Instilled in early childhood, this fear of God permeates their lives; indeed, true believers argue that such faith strengthens human society though evidence suggests otherwise.  Religious zealotry has fueled many (if not most) of the conflicts and social injustices throughout the history of our civilization.

Yet, the concept of universal justice appeals to most of us.  Leaning on the tenets of a democratic society (while it lasts), we put our faith in the judicial system.  We should find out in the next few months if that faith is warranted. 

The Sargassum Belt

Sargassum is a brown, macroalgal seaweed that is a natural component of Subtropical marine ecosystems. Its structure includes leafy and cystic components which keep it afloat in the sea; when sections of the seaweed decay, they sink to the sea floor.  Floating masses of sargassum offer food and shelter for a wide variety of marine creatures (from crustaceans to sea turtles) and the decaying seaweed, having trapped carbon from the atmosphere, feeds organisms from the surface to the sea floor as it sinks.

These natural benefits of sargassum have been overshadowed by its excessive growth in recent decades, likely fueled by pollutants from river water (primarily fertilizers and industrial waste).  While parcels of the Sargassum Sea (in the Mid Atlantic) have always broken off and moved ashore on ocean currents,  the massive expansion of this seaweed has now produced a 5000-mile long belt of sargassum islands, floating toward the Caribbean and Gulf of Mexico.  Wreaking havoc on beaches and reefs, this man-made crisis is threatening both coastal ecosystems and the tourist industry.

As with the Red Tide, our careless stewardship of the planet has turned a natural process into a recurring disaster.  Unfortunately, there is no immediate solution to this environmental tragedy; even if pollution was halted today, the damage has been done and will likely worsen as the oceans continue to warm.  Efforts to corral the sargassum as a carbon-capture mechanism appears to be the only potential benefit of this ecologic dilemma.   

Climate Change Reporting

Climate change, primarily induced by human activity, is threatening the welfare of countless species across the globe, including our own.  It is imperative that we stay informed regarding the effects of global warming and make every effort to minimize our impact.

Nevertheless, there is ongoing competition among the networks to bring the most fascinating and worrisome reports into our living rooms.  Sending their crews and celebrity reporters to ground zero (i.e. the Arctic, Antarctica, the Great Barrier Reef, island societies, etc.) to document the damage to both natural ecosystems and human communities, they appeal to both the educated public and responsible advertisers.

One wonders whether the carbon footprint of such ventures outweighs the benefit.  Would it not be more responsible to use footage from scientific research expeditions to illustrate the damage we have done? Unfortunately, competition within the media requires that each network send its own "climate specialist," thereby augmenting the problem that they are covering (and exploiting).

Peaceful Coexistence

Something strange happened late this afternoon.  A red-shouldered hawk flew into our backyard, escorted by a pair of crows.

The hawk settled onto a limb of our black maple tree while the crows perched in trees to either side of the maple.  All three seemed to have taken their assigned seats; there was no squabbling or theatrics and the crows remained silent.  Had they engaged in their usual raucous objections to the presence of a hawk, every blue jay in the neighborhood would have turned up to take part in the harassment.  Meanwhile, a squirrel on a limb across from the hawk merely looked on with no apparent alarm.  Neither did a host of songbirds pay much attention to the raptor, foraging about the yard in the late day sunshine.  Eventually, the hawk flew off but the crows stayed put for a few minutes, perhaps confused by their own civility.

In my 47 years of birding, I have never encountered such a peaceful assembly of natural enemies.  Perhaps there is a cosmic explanation for this event but I am inclined to accept the incident as a natural variation in animal behavior.  Besides, it is best to appreciate such peaceful coexistence (however brief), a phenomenon too uncommon in human society.

Robins in March

American robins are permanent residents across most of the U.S.  Nevertheless, many non-birders claim to see their first robin of the year in March, when the soil thaws and they reappear on suburban lawns in pursuit of earthworms.

In fact, robins are present throughout the year and often form massive flocks during the colder months; during that time, they tend to remain in woodlands and wetlands, feasting primarily on berries.  Come early spring, they fan out and large flocks may be seen on farm fields; indeed, I encountered about 1200 robins on fields east of Columbia, Missouri, this morning.

Most American robins that summer in Canada do migrate south into the U.S. for the winter and the southernmost regions of the U.S. may only host robins during that season.  Wherever they might be, robins consume a mix of berries, insects, earthworms and other invertebrates.  When they do pair off and nest, many select sites near the neatly-trimmed lawns of human society and are thus among our best known bird species.

A Midwestern March

Greenery is spreading, bulb plants are blooming and birdsong is intensifying.  Yet, March does not always feel like spring in the American Midwest.

Cloudy skies, wet snow, cold rain and soggy terrain are the rule, producing a damp chill across the landscape.  Even if one is dressed appropriately, a steady breeze often discourages outdoor exploration.  On the other hand, the flooded fields attract migrant waterfowl, the thawing soil draws robins back to our lawns and the copious precipitation restores flow in our stagnant streams and wetlands.

Were we less eager for the warmth and color of spring, we might more easily tolerate the dreary month of March.  But its gifts are essential, fueling explosive growth in the months to come.

First Phoebe

Yesterday, while driving along a country road east of Columbia, Missouri, I encountered an eastern phoebe, perched on a fence.  It was the first I have seen this year and may be the earliest sighting of this species in my long birding career.

Known for its early spring and late fall migrations, despite the fact that it feeds primarily on insects, this distinctive flycatcher is a common summer resident across Canada, the Great Plains, the Midwest and the Northeastern quadrant of the U.S.; over the past decade, they have also been observed in Metro Denver.  Eastern phoebes winter in the Southeastern U.S. and Mexico.

The instinctual behavior of this phoebe and other early spring insectivores (such as tree swallows) raises interesting questions about the evolution of avian migration.  Most dedicated insectivores winter in the Tropics or Subtropics and do not arrive in Temperate Zones until mid-late spring, when the risk of a freeze has passed.  While eastern phoebes are known to feed on berries when necessary, their early return to central latitudes seems to tempt fate.  On the other hand, as our climate warms, they might just become permanent residents in Missouri.

 

Competition & Life

Throughout the natural world, "survival of the fittest" rules, ensuring that the "best genes" are passed along to the next generation.  The young, the old and the ill are most often culled by predators and physical traits play a major role when it comes to breeding rights.

In humans, our large brains ensure that competition is more nuanced.  Physical, mental and emotional traits all come into play, determining both the availability of opportunities and how we respond to them.  Of course, social factors complicate the scenario; discrimination (based on gender, race and other factors) and one's economic status may limit opportunities.

Finally, luck plays a significant role.  No matter how competitive one may be, accidents, injuries or illness may intervene.  Since such external factors are often beyond our control, it is best to recognize our unique skills and take advantage of opportunities when they arise.  For its part, society must ensure that talent and effort are uniformly rewarded.

A Short Stressful Life

Crossing the Great Plains today, I saw young calves frolicking in the warm sunshine, a scene that would warm the heart of any animal lover.  Once cold winds, rain or snow return, they will seek the protection of their mothers.

Within three months, most of the male calves will be castrated; all calves feed on mother's milk and grass until they are about 6-10 months old.  During the warmer months, the cattle will endure biting insects, gathering in crowded herds or in farm ponds to escape the torment.  By 12 months of age (sometimes sooner) they leave the open grasslands and are placed in feedlots (those hellish pens we see along the highway), where they will spend the last 6 months of their short life.

Of course, there is suffering and death in nature as well.  But this suffering is human-induced.  Enjoy those steaks and burgers.

See also: Dead Cows Standing 

Spring Snowstorms in Denver

Based on long term records, March is the snowiest month in Metro Denver.  This is not unexpected since the undulating jet stream of spring ushers in a string of Pacific storms, creating upslope snowfall on the eastern flank of the Continental Divide.

In Denver's case, this scenario most often develops when the storm's center of low pressure crosses southern Colorado; counterclockwise winds surround the low, sweeping moisture toward the higher terrain of the Front Range.  Typically, such storms bring heavy, wet snow that melts rapidly under the higher March sun.

As we have observed this year, global warming may accelerate the development of this spring jet stream pattern, producing upslope snowstorms earlier in the year.  Snowfall was especially heavy in February, evidence that it may steal the crown from March as climate change progresses.  As I discussed in a previous post, global warming may also affect the intensity and timing of the annual Southwest Monsoon, bringing more uncertainty regarding vital precipitation for this semiarid ecosystem. 

Waxing Nostalgic

Yesterday afternoon, a large flock of cedar waxwings turned up on our Littleton farm.  After feeding in a line of junipers, they gathered in a large elm where I was able to easily count them (42 as it turned out).

While rather common, cedar waxwings are nomadic when not nesting and often move about in sizable flocks.  Nevertheless, non-birders are likely unaware of their existence since they are rather quiet and unobtrusive birds (see Polite Visitors).

Checking my original field guide, I found that I saw my first cedar waxwing in Kent, Ohio, in October of 1976.  I still remember the experience since it was one of the most exotic birds that I discovered during my first year of birding.  On the other hand, I was 26 years old, documenting the fact that I had walked the planet for more than two decades without knowingly encountering a waxwing.  Clearly, we cannot appreciate the diversity of nature unless we make the effort to explore her ecosystems.

Our Junco Hotel

Each October, about 30 dark-eyed juncos gather in a low swath of junipers on our Littleton, Colorado, farm.  This annual reunion is generally composed of slate-gray, Oregon and gray-headed races, content to spend the winter in the balmy climate of the Front Range urban corridor.

Arriving from Canada or the nearby Rockies, these small, gregarious songbirds feed primarily on a variety of wildflower and "weed" seeds which are plentiful on our naturalized property.  The junipers offer protection from predators, strong winds and heavy snow though these winter visitors, often called "snowbirds," are a hardy bunch.

While there are likely plenty of seeds beneath the shrubs, the juncos emerge in flocks throughout the day to scour the farm for other morsels or simply to bask in the Colorado sunshine.  Come April, it is getting too warm in Metro Denver for their taste and, despite our spring snowstorms, they depart for their breeding grounds.

Evolution & Extinction

Since life first evolved in the sea, some 3.6 billion years ago, the balance of evolution and extinction led to a fabulous diversity of plants, animals and fungi across the globe, sustained, in part, by unicellular organisms (i.e. bacteria).  Then humans evolved.

Rather than using our large brains to sustain the natural diversity of our home planet, by 10,000 years ago we began to destroy and alter Earth's vital ecosystems.  Beginning with cultivation and domestication and accelerating with the Industrial Revolution, we have decimated natural habitat across the globe to meet the needs and desires of our ballooning population.

Having effectively shut down evolution on Earth, we have also threatened the survival of our own species.  Global warming and widespread pollution are the consequences of our unbridled growth and consumption; though we have begun to address our impact, the response may be too feeble and too late.

See also:  The Sixth Mass Extinction