Southwest Storm

Yesterday morning, a deep atmospheric trough covered the western U.S., its leading edge stretching from southern New Mexico to Upper Michigan. As cold air poured southward within this dip in the jet stream, a powerful storm developed along its southern rim, sweeping moisture up from the Gulf of Mexico.

By later in the day, the storm had moved into the northern Texas Panhandle and its central pressure was falling. Strong, counterclockwise winds raked the Southern Plains and, northwest of the cold front, blizzard conditions developed across northeast New Mexico, southeastern Colorado and southwestern Kansas. Ahead of the front, Gulf moisture was streaming through the Midwest, igniting thunderstorms in northeast Texas and heavy rain across eastern Oklahoma, eastern Kansas and most of Missouri.

This morning, the storm has weakened and its center swirls over western Oklahoma. High pressure, dropping southward within the trough, has shut down the snowfall and has shoved most of the rain to the south and east; here in central Missouri, a light drizzle persists, driven by a raw east wind behind the front. While this system is abating, another storm, forecast to push through the Heartland later this week, may produce a White Christmas for those of us in the Midwest and Northeast.

Selling the Church

Tuning into 60 Minutes last evening, I encountered the usual mix of TV commercials for cell phone services, stock brokerages, automobiles and erectile dysfunction medications. But a new ad appeared amidst those expected enticements and was clearly aimed at the upscale, sophisticated viewers of that respected, long-running program. This polished and obviously expensive ad (given its placement on 60 Minutes) was directed at fallen-away Catholics; with images of the Vatican and scenes of aid work across the globe, it was a clear effort to restore the tarnished image of a once powerful and influential institution.

Reeling from the ongoing child abuse scandal and faced with an increasingly educated and skeptical populace, the Catholic Church is attempting to invoke a sense of nostalgia with this advertisement campaign. Whether a Fifth Avenue approach will be effective remains to be seen; after all, it is directed at past members who are unlikely to respond to this glossy package, having learned from personal experience that Church activities are devoted primarily to indoctrinating youth and ensuring future funds for the Church's coffers. As the ad so clearly demonstrates, the Catholic Church is (and has been) Big Business.

The new advertisement is, in fact, a capitulation on the Church's part, an admission that Catholic dogma, ritual and traditions are losing ground in the modern world. Support for the Church, like that for State Lottery programs, is increasingly dependent upon an impoverished and poorly educated segment of the population. It is unfortunate that those hard-earned tithings are now being used to fund this expensive propaganda.

A Sherbet Sunrise

Yesterday morning, as I left Denver under clear, cold skies, I was treated to a spectacular sunrise on the High Plains. The mellow but brilliant colors reminded me of the rainbow sherbet that I often enjoyed as a child (and still do on occasion). Low, flat clouds had taken on a raspberry glow while a swath of lemon yellow stretched across the horizon, fading to lime green at the fringes. As sunrise approached, the pale yellow evolved to a deep orange off to the southeast, marking the site where the sun would soon appear.

Humans have always been inspired by the sunrise and, for early man, it surely brought hope after the long, frigid winter nights. Even today, the sun's return is especially welcome after the extended periods of darkness that typify the season. More than signifying the recovery of light and heat (what little is provided by a low winter sun), the colorful display offers reassurance that nature's cycle will persevere.

Some may feel that I am overstating the significance of a sunrise to such intelligent creatures as human beings. But I suspect that we all carry collective memories from our distant ancestors, perhaps imprinted in our genetic code, that trigger deep-seated emotions in response to certain natural events. Early in our history, this revelation was vital to combat despair and, even today, it lingers in our soul for the same purpose.

The Owens Valley

The Owens River of southeast California rises along the eastern flank of the Sierra Nevada Mountains, at the southeast edge of Yosemite National Park. After flowing eastward through the Long Valley Caldera, the river angles to the south-southeast and begins its journey through the magnificent landscape of the Owens Valley.

The Owens Valley is a geologic graben, a block of crust that dropped between the parallel faults of the Sierra batholith to its west and the White-Inyo fault block mountains to its east; as the mountains rose on either side, this block slipped downward. The floor of the valley has an elevation of 4000 to 3500 feet (north to south) while its steep walls rise toward some of the highest summits in the Lower 48; the latter include Mt. Whitney in the Sierra Nevada (14,498 feet) and White Mountain Peak (14,252 feet) in the White Mountains. The latter range also includes Boundary Peak (13,167 feet), the highest point in Nevada, while the Inyo Mountains, known for their exposure of Cambrian sediments, top out below 12,000 feet.

Representing the southwest edge of the Basin and Range Province, the Owens Valley lies in the rain shadow of the Sierra Nevada and receives very little moisture from the east due to the high wall of the White and Inyo Mountains. The waters of the Owens River have thus long been diverted for crop production across the Valley and, since 1913, much of its flow has been directed into the Los Angeles Aqueduct, leaving Owens Lake, the natural terminus of the river, mostly dry. Back in the Pleistocene, when mountain glaciers fed the Owens River, its lake basin spilled to the east (around the southern end of the Inyo Range), merging with lakes from other Great Basin rivers to produce an inland sea across Death Valley and adjacent lowlands.

The Art of Parenting

Ask responsible parents and you will find that they all agree on one point: Parenting is both the most rewarding and the most challenging endeavor that a human can undertake. More than a duty to provide food, clothing, shelter and education, it involves the commitment to guide a child (or children) through the varied, tumultuous stages of growth and maturation.

The art of parenting is the ability to offer advice without preaching, to instill confidence without stoking arrogance, to set boundaries without smothering creativity, to encourage social responsibility without stifling personal independence and to foster achievement without setting unreasonable goals. An engaged parent recognizes the innate abilities and natural talents in his or her child and makes the effort to provide the resources (financial, educational and social) that will facilitate their development. Above all else, good parenting involves the capacity to listen, the fortitude to discuss difficult issues and the willingness to step aside when the time is right.

Unfortunately, too many parents equate parenthood with procreation and have little to offer once the biologic duties are complete. The ills of modern human society reflect poor parenting, whether it be a dysfunctional approach to discipline, a zealous commitment to intolerance, an inability to provide emotional support or an indifference to the hopes, dreams and fears of their children. Parenthood must be desired, planned, welcomed and accepted with all of its joys and challenges; if not, both the child and society will pay the price.

River Refuge

Following a period of exceptionally cold weather along the Colorado Front Range, most of our lakes and ponds have frozen over, sending waterfowl to the South Platte River for vital nourishment. This annual phenomenon, earlier than usual this winter, concentrates the varied species of waterfowl as well as their natural predators. For birders and naturalists, this seasonal river refuge offers an opportunity to see a wide variety of species on a relatively short hike.

Yesterday morning, under clearing skies and amidst the warming air of a gentle chinook, I took a walk along the river through South Platte Park, in Littleton. As expected, ducks were abundant, including mallards, gadwalls, green-winged teal, buffleheads, common goldeneyes, common mergansers and a few ruddy ducks; hooded mergansers were unusually common, including one flock of a dozen birds. Belted kingfishers, great blue herons, ring-billed gulls, Canada geese, killdeer, black-billed magpies and the usual mix of winter songbirds were also drawn to the open water. A young coyote bolted from the riverside brush as I approached but other predators, including red fox, bald eagles and peregrine falcons were not encountered on my morning stroll.

The South Platte River is certainly not unique in its winter role as a waterfowl refuge. Most rivers throughout colder regions of our planet. providing open water amidst a frozen landscape, offer such seasonal spectacles. Indeed, birding along some of our larger rivers (the Upper Mississippi, Missouri and Ohio) is often very productive in winter as large, mixed flocks of waterfowl, gulls and bald eagles gather on and along their icy channels.

Front Range Geese

Lying at the western edge of the Central Flyway, the Front Range of Colorado has always been an important rest stop for migrating Canada geese. Before human habitation, the wetland corridors of the South Platte and Arkansas Rivers attracted these migrants on their journeys between Canadian breeding grounds and wintering areas to our south.

Irrigated croplands and man-made reservoirs were the first developments to alter this pattern, encouraging some of the migrants to settle in for the winter; after all, contrary to popular perception, winters are relatively mild along the Front Range, the product of abundant sunshine, dry air and frequent chinooks. As the human population of the urban corridor exploded over the past several decades, many more lakes, reservoirs, parks and golf courses have made the region even more appealing to Canada geese and some never bothered to return to their homeland. Today, it is estimated that 150,000 Canada geese are permanent residents of the Colorado Front Range and their numbers triple during the colder months when winter migrants arrive.

Human development of the Front Range corridor has clearly impacted the "natural range" of Canada geese and efforts to reverse that pattern are not likely to be successful. Facing few predators (coyotes, fox, human hunters) their attraction to this man-altered environment is sure to make them honorary natives of Colorado. While many humans despise their messy lifestyle, most of us enjoy watching their majestic flights and admire their hardy independence. Perhaps, a century from now, they will be known as Colorado geese, some of which might migrate to Canada for the summer months.

The Wichita Mountains

Rising from the flat terrain of southern Oklahoma, northwest of Lawton, ridges of igneous and metamorphic rock trend northwest to southeast. Thirty miles long, these rock formations originated in a rift zone that developed from the late Precambrian Era into the Cambrian Period, some 550-600 million years ago. Though the rifting process was aborted, plutons of granite, intrusions of gabbro and deposits of rhyolite were encased within and atop the surrounding crust and, over the next 20 million years, were covered by layers of younger Paleozoic sediments.

During the Pennsylvanian Period, about 325 million years ago, the continents began to merge into Pangea. The collision of North America and Africa crumpled up the Southern Appalachians and the docking of South America extended that collision zone toward the west, lifting the Ouachita and Wichita Mountains. Erosion coincided with this uplift and continues today; having carried away the overlying and encasing sediments, wind and water have left behind outcrops of the ancient rock that formed within the Cambrian rift. Of course, the ridges of the Wichita Mountains, like all ranges on this planet, will eventually wear down to a level plain, their aprons of debris carried off to the sea or dispersed by the wind.

Wichita Mountains NWR protects a portion of this scenic landscape, providing habitat for bison, elk and the more common wildlife of southern Oklahoma. Several of the peaks rise above 2400 feet, offering a cool retreat during the summer months and attracting a wide variety of birds to their oak woodlands. From I-44, about 8 miles north of Lawton, head west on Route 49; the refuge will be approximately 12 miles ahead.

December on the Plains

As I left Columbia this morning, a silver dollar moon beamed in the western sky, illuminating the predawn landscape. By the time I reached western Missouri, the pink rays of sunrise were reflecting from a deck of high, puffy clouds and several flocks of snow geese wavered southward above the rolling farmlands.

Once I entered Kansas a thick layer of clouds covered the sky but rusty grasses of the Flint Hills added color to an otherwise drab landscape. Numerous red-tailed hawks perched along the highway, restless Canada geese moved among the crop fields and a lone Cooper's hawk streaked across the roadway, headed for a valley woodland. The first snow banks appeared west of Hays and snow cover waxed and waned for the rest of my trip, peaking near Colby, Kansas, and along the base of the Front Range. On the High Plains, flocks of meadowlarks, horned larks and longspurs drifted across the fields, ring-necked pheasants foraged along the highway and northern harriers flapped low above the crop stubble, hunting for rodents. Finally, north of Limon, a few herds of pronghorn, the only wild mammals encountered on my journey, roamed the grasslands of the Palmer Divide.

As I approached Denver, the Front Range was backlit by a brilliant sunset and a northeast wind was producing both upslope haze across the city and lowering clouds across the wall of peaks. A significant snowfall is not forecast for the Metro Area but one never knows along this corridor of fickle and ever-changing weather. It is, after all, December.

The Nomad in our Soul

Last evening, a flock of cedar waxwings moved across the slate blue sky, heading toward the orange glow of sunset. We birders are fond of waxwings, admiring their agreeable nature, their cooperative behavior, their attractive plumage and, in particular, the carefree independence of their nomadic lifestyle.

We humans, after all, were nomads for more than 90% of our history. Having evolved some 130,000 years ago, during a warm interglacial period of the Pleistocene, we roamed about sub-Saharan Africa for 50,000 years, trapped by a vast desert to our north and deep seas to our east, west and south. Then, as the Wisconsin Glaciers expanded, sea levels fell and the Sahara retreated, permitting our migration out of Africa that began about 80,000 years ago. By 60,000 YA we had reached Australia and by 50,000 YA humans were in Japan; our ancestors arrived in Europe 40,000 YA, in Siberia about 30,000 YA and had crossed into the Americas by 20,000 YA. Throughout all of this time, members of our species moved about in small clans, hunting and gathering to ensure their survival; permanent human settlements would not grace the globe until 10,000 years ago.

Some humans seem to have lost the genetic connection with our nomadic ancestors, preferring to spend their lives in familiar territory, leaving only for an annual vacation to equally well-known locations. However, many of us, fond of travel and adventure, sense the nomad in our soul and heed its call whenever possible.

The Unexpected

In the course of our daily lives, unexpected events tend to be of the negative variety, producing hardship and disruption; accidents, injuries, acute illness, plumbing problems and other crises come to mind. Indeed, there are some periods in our lives when we seem to lurch from one crisis to another.

However, for those of us who enjoy the exploration of natural areas, unexpected events are usually rewarding and, in fact, motivate our desire to engage in such activity. Unexpected encounters with various species of wildlife or theretofore unseen plants instill memories that draw us back to the woods, fields and wetlands. It is the anticipation of such experiences that encourage naturalists to visit new areas, whether they are just across town or on the other side of the globe.

Over time, the unexpected may occur less frequently but the potential for its resurgence continues to feed our thirst for adventure. After all, the opportunity to experience nature's hidden and transient gifts is reserved for those who immerse themselves in her varied ecosystems.

Holla Bend NWR

In 1954, the U.S. Army Corps of Engineers straightened a section of the Arkansas River in an effort to reduce flooding in west-central Arkansas. This detour left an abandoned river bed that dips to the south and, since 1957, Holla Bend NWR has occupied the floodplain ecosystem that lies between the Arkansas and its old channel. Characterized by crop fields, wetlands, shallow lakes and bottomland woods, the refuge is known for its large number and variety of wintering waterfowl; in recent years, this has included trumpeter swans, brought from Iowa in an effort to re-establish a Midwest migratory population.

Attracted by the waterfowl, bald eagles also congregate at Holla Bend during the colder months, as do a number of golden eagles. Permanent residents include greater roadrunners, armadillos, coyotes and a large herd of white-tailed deer while a variety of herons, egrets, rails, shorebirds and summer songbirds inhabit the refuge during the warmer months. Least terns breed at Holla Bend and both American white pelicans and black terns visit on their spring and fall migrations.

Holla Bend NWR is in west-central Arkansas, about 6 miles downstream from Dardanelle. Like most of our National Wildlife Refuges, it is open every day of the year, from dawn to dusk, and is accessed by a network of trails and graveled roads. The waterfowl population, which includes Canada and snow geese and a wide variety of wintering ducks, peaks from December through early February.

Swans over Columbia

At exactly 8:30 this morning, I glanced out a window at the University of Missouri Hospital, just in time to see a flock of swans. Moving east to west over the football stadium, they were too distant and my observation was too brief to make a species identification. Needless to say, the sighting was an unexpected shock to my system and they moved out of view before I could even get an accurate count; my guess is that a dozen swans comprised the flock.

Whether they were tundra or trumpeter swans is impossible for me to say but this was, by far, the largest congregation of swans that I have ever seen in central Missouri. Tundra swans, which breed across the Arctic, generally winter on estuaries along the Pacific and Atlantic coasts though some head south along the Rocky Mountain corridor to wetlands in New Mexico and Texas. Trumpeter swans breed on lakes throughout parts of the Northern Rockies and have been reintroduced across the Upper Midwest over the past few decades; most of these birds stay put or migrate short distances in winter through some banded in the Midwest have been found to migrate as far west as southeast Colorado and as far south as Arkansas.

For the above reasons, I suspect that this morning's flock was comprised of trumpeter swans but I plan to check local rare bird alerts in the coming days to see if others had a better view; if time permits, I'll also pay a visit to Eagle Bluffs Conservation Area, on the Missouri River floodplain, which is a magnet for waterfall that pass through our region. Whether I obtain more information or not, the swans provided a brief but inspiring sight that I will remember and cherish for many years to come.

Lessons from the Silk Road

Established more than 2000 years ago, the Silk Road is the popular name for a network of trading routes that connected China with the Mediterranean region. These terrestrial roads and sea lanes facilitated an interchange of ideas, products, materials and food items, fueling the rise of early human civilizations and promoting the growth of large urban centers across Eurasia.

Yet, this vanguard of our modern global economy had negative effects as well. The routes were conduits for the spread of disease, the transport of slaves and the invasion of armies. In addition to the valuable goods, caravans and sailing ships brought political and religious zealots, spreading their message with a mix of promise and intimidation.

While modern technology has increased the speed and scope of global trade, the interaction of human cultures continues to produce benefits and risks. The natural tendencies of mankind, focused on personal welfare and survival, assures an imbalance of resources, an abuse of the poor and the dominance of rich and powerful nations. Epidemics spread more rapidly, armies invade with more devastating force, environmental pollution rings the globe and mysticism is even more effective at staunching the advance of science and fomenting the threat of unbridled population growth. In reality, little has changed since the days of the Silk Road.

Humans & Cold Weather

Most humans, it is safe to say, are not fond of cold weather; we are, after all, tropical creatures, designed to function in a warm climate. While we enjoy an occasional snowstorm, relish the scent of wood smoke and look forward to the winter Holidays, the first taste of polar air triggers a longing for spring that often persists through the season.

Though we cannot shake our subconcious, genetic recoil to cold weather, some of our negative attitude is learned. Children, while naturally oblivious to threats that surround them and seemingly undaunted by the cold and snow, often learn to despise winter by observing and listening to the reaction of their parents. Then there is that human phase, from the teens through young adulthood, when attention to appearance outweighs the importance of appropriate winter clothing, instilling memories of cold exposure that persist through life.

For all of these reasons, many if not most humans come to loathe winter weather and prefer to remain indoors for most of the season. But those of us who recognize the genetic and psychological basis for this attitude and choose to venture out in appropriate winter clothing come to appreciate the natural beauty and tranquility that the season affords.

Winter Sinks In

The dip in the jet stream that brought frigid temperatures, snow and Santa Ana winds to the West over the past few days has broadened out and the atmospheric trough now covers the western two-thirds of the country; this morning, its leading edge extends from south-central Texas to western New York and wintery conditions stretch from this front all the way back to the Pacific Coast.

A reinforcing cold front has also dropped southward through the Rockies, bringing single-digit and below-zero (F) temperatures to the northern parts of that region while low pressure over the Desert Southwest is spinning snow into southern Colorado, New Mexico and West Texas. Light snow is also expected along the southeast edge of the trough, including northeast Texas, northern Arkansas and southeast Missouri. Here in central Missouri, we dodged the precipitation but the temperature at dawn is 27 degrees F and highs are expected to remain in the thirties for the next several days.

Unlike many winter storms that rush in with high winds, heavy snow and ground blizzards, this widespread surge of cold air, not tied to a powerful zone of low pressure, has pushed south and eastward with little fanfare. Nevertheless, it is the first major outbreak of the season and, as it spreads eastward, only South Florida will escape winter's advance.

Darker Days, Brighter Nights

In the American Midwest, winter days are darker and, of course, shorter; sunrise begins later and sunset occurs much too soon. While sunny days come along, most are cloudy and the low sun angle provides little heat. It is, indeed, a gray and daunting season.

On the other hand, winter nights are often ablaze with stars. The dry, frigid air, free of summer haze, provides an unfiltered view of the heavens, a dazzling display of light arriving from the distant past. Though our own sun has retreated to the south, thousands glow overhead, lending perspective to our lives here on Earth.

The depth of our winter darkness is less than three weeks away but solar warming will take much longer to recover. Until then, we can gaze at distant suns, knowing that they are bringing summer heat to countless populations across our vast Universe.

Short-tailed Weasels

Short-tailed weasels, also known as ermine or stoats, are circumboreal in their distribution; in North America, they are found across Alaska and Canada, extending southward to the Northern Sierra, through the higher Rockies to New Mexico, across the Upper Great Lakes region and into New England. These small mustelids favor taiga, stunted timberline forest and open, brushy woodlands along streams; there they hunt for voles, mice, pikas, chipmunks, rabbits and small birds.

Solitary for much of the year, short-tailed weasels mate in summer and, after a period of delayed implantation, an average of 6-8 kits are born the following spring; able to fend for themselves within 2 months, the young disperse by late summer. Adult short-tailed weasels are generally 10-12 inches long and sport a brownish coat with white underparts during the spring and summer months; come fall, they molt to a white pelt to blend with their snowy surroundings though the tip of their tail remains black in all seasons. Like many predators, these energetic and aggressive hunters are primarily nocturnal but may be encountered early or late in the day.

The population of short-tailed weasels tends to wax and wane with that of their major prey species; most live less than two years but some survive for six years or more. Owls, gyrfalcons, coyotes and fox are their primary natural predators and humans have trapped them for their white winter pelts over the centuries. Introduced in New Zealand during the 1800s, these mustelids have since been decimating native bird populations, reminding us that human manipulation of natural ecosystems is frought with danger.

Evolution & Climate Change

Most life forms, including the first unicellular organisms, evolved in tropical ecosystems. Even today, the Tropics harbor the great majority of species on Earth and provide an environment in which new species are most likely to evolve.

Over the eons, adaptation to a temperate or cold climate fostered more diversity as plants and animals dispersed across the planet, continents drifted toward colder latitudes and Earth's climate gyrated between periods of glaciation and global warming. Physical traits such as feathers, fur and fat insulation favored survival in the cold while some species developed behavioral adaptations such as migration, estivation or hibernation to survive in regions with a dramatic change in seasonal conditions.

We humans also evolved in the Tropics but, thanks to our large brains, were able to adapt quickly to colder climates without "waiting" for natural selection to control our expansion; the capacity to utilize fire, produce clothing and construct shelters fueled our dispersal across the globe. Nevertheless, climate change and its associated natural forces continue to challenge our welfare and how we adapt to global warming will determine the future course of human history.

Ripples in the Sky

Last evening, after two days of clear, cold weather, a shelf of high clouds stretched across the western horizon, lit by the colorful rays of the setting sun. Along the leading edge of this sheet of ice crystals was a series of ripples, giving the appearance of pink beach sand, molded by incoming waves.

This spectacle was produced by low pressure over the Great Plains, injecting moisture into the upper layers of the atmosphere and creating turbulence as the rising, warmer air encountered the frigid air at an altitude of 40,000 feet. Later in the evening, this thin veil of cirrus clouds moved across central Missouri and produced a halo around the bright crescent moon.

Such high cloud formations usually signal an advancing front and, in this case, a deep trough is forming across the western U.S.; this dip in the jet stream will bring heavy snow and frigid temperatures across the Rocky Mountain corridor and spawn Santa Ana winds in Southern California. Ahead of the front, milder air is pushing up from the Gulf Coast and we'll enjoy a brief respite before winter reclaims the Heartland.