Birds of My Neighborhood: Geotripper Finds a Moment of Incredible Majesty Amid Environmental Devastation

A White-faced Ibis (Plegadis chihi) at the Merced National Wildlife Refuge

I wonder if you've noticed an additional aspect to my blogging in recent weeks. It wasn't a New Year's resolution because it started well before Christmas, but I realized that I needed to get rid of a few pounds, so I started walking once or twice a day. When a new and more powerful camera landed in my hands, I realized I could get some decent pictures of the numerous birds species I've been encountering during my explorations along the cow pastures and canal levees that are prevalent in my neighborhood.

A Black Phoebe (Sayornis nigricans) at the Merced National Wildlife Refuge

So I've started blogging bird pictures on occasion, such as here, here, and here (click on the words for the link). Is there a geological link in observing birds? I've decided there is, especially in California's Great Valley. The science of the Earth is eclectic, drawing on many different disciplines, including chemistry, physics, astronomy, oceanography, meteorology, and on occasion, biology (think especially of paleontology). Sometimes there is a direct connection, such as when overgrazing or removal of beavers changes the pattern of stream erosion. And land-use issues are one of those areas where geologists can provide an important perspective.

Artificially flooded ancestral wetlands at the Merced National Wildlife Refuge. These are reclaimed farmlands.

One of the most important land-use issues in the Great Valley involves agricultural and urban development and the conflict it causes with the natural habitat that existed prior to the arrival of European settlers. Some 95% of the valley has been plowed over, and all the major (and most of the minor) rivers have been dammed, diverted, or otherwise changed in the service of agriculture. In more recent years, urban growth has paved over prime agricultural acreage, creating a conflict within a conflict. The ramifications of these conflicts extend far beyond the Great Valley. They reach from the northernmost Arctic wastes to the equator, and into South America. The Great Valley, as it turns out, is one of the most critical stops on the migratory flyway for myriads of bird species. Our choices in the valley determine the health of ecosystems thousands of miles away. And most of the wetlands that made the valley such an important flyway stop were drained and plowed decades ago.

Black-necked Stilt (Himantopus mexicanus) at the Merced National Wildlife Refuge

That is why I am kind of thrilled to be writing today about the bird species of my home turf. I have driven by a couple of wildlife refuges for two decades without stopping (what can I say? I live next to the Sierra Nevada and the California Coast; they are a huge distraction). In the last few months, we've been stopping and having a look, and yesterday at the Merced National Wildlife Refuge I saw an incredible thing.

Great Egret (Ardea alba) at the Merced National Wildlife Refuge

The first thing to realize is that the destruction of wetlands has been recognized for many decades, and for years some visionaries have worked to establish protected wetlands. In some cases they have reclaimed former agricultural acreage in a concerted effort to reconstruct some of the original environment that once characterized the valley. There is now a mosaic of wildlife refuges surrounding my community, lined up like islands in a sea of farms and ranches reaching from one end of the valley to the other (a 400 mile stretch). We can never fully recover what was, and will never see the spectacle of millions upon millions of birds descending on the valley floor, but we can see the tens of thousands of the survivors.

Sandhill Cranes (Grus canadensis) at the Merced Refuge

That's what I saw yesterday. I'm admitting my own stupid ignorance here, but I had no idea that we had an American version of the Serengeti Plains a short way from my house. We've probably all seen television documentaries and footage of vast flocks of birds flying and flocking, but I'd never seen such a thing for myself. We headed out to the Merced National Wildlife Refuge because we'd heard they had flooded the wetlands, and that some Sandhill Cranes might be seen. We saw some cranes, but that's not what I found stunning. It was the Ross's (or maybe Snow) Geese.

Ross's Geese (Chen rossii) and Coots at the Merced Refuge

The Ross's Geese spend their summers in the far northern islands of Canada, and spend their winters in California. As we drove the loop road through the refuge, we could see vast flocks off in the distance, and from more than a mile away we could hear their noise. As we drew closer, we could see that there were thousands of them, maybe tens of thousands (some sources mention 60,000 geese). They were chattering and honking, and it was almost deafening. Then the extraordinary thing happened. There was a hush that made us look up, and then a sound like a jet engine began to roar. The ground actually seemed to tremble. Every single one of the ten thousand or so geese was taking flight at once. In less than 20 seconds they were all airborne. I have no idea what set them off, but it was like nothing I've ever seen in my life.

Ross's Geese taking flight

I got a good video of the event, but the compression process during uploading removes the high definition and makes it hard to easily visualize what was happening. I can only say to try and imagine what this piddly movie is showing, and then someday give yourself the opportunity to visit the wildlife refuge during the winter and see it happening for yourself. It's free!

Try something new each day. Your life will be richer for it!

Mining the Rocks, the Water, and the Air...Using Up the Land in the Western Mojave Desert

 My recent journey home from Southern California included a series of diversions and "short cuts" that afforded me a chance to see some new territory. We diverted from Interstate 215 to take a look at the Wrightwood mudflow and the San Andreas fault in Lone Pine Canyon. Later in the day we saw some spectacular flower displays in the Sierra Nevada foothills above the Central Valley town of Arvin.

We also took a diversion from Highway 14 a few miles south of the town of Mojave, following Silver Queen Road, Backus Road, and Willow Springs Road to take an alternate route to Tehachapi Pass. It offered some strange sights that reminded me in no uncertain terms how extensively and completely we can use up the surface of the Earth. I'm not passing judgement necessarily, since we make use of the resources, and a lot of them are in short supply. But still, some things were just stunning.

Take the photo above, which shows a portion of the eastern edge of the Tehachapi Wind Farm. How many turbines are in just this one picture? There are about 5,000 windmills in the entire field, and it is actually only the second-largest complex in California (the Altamont in the Bay Area is larger with 7,000; San Gorgonio Pass has 3,000). Tehachapi Pass is one of the consistently windiest places in the world, and utilities are trying to wring out every last bit of energy from the breezes. It provides enough electricity to power 350,000 residential units. It is an eerie sight to see them all in motion.

My photo-essays on the Mojave Desert and Basin and Range provinces generally focus on the wild areas like Death Valley National Park, the Mojave Scenic Preserve, and Joshua Tree National Park. The wild desert is incomparably beautiful. Near Mojave and Rosamond, the story is a bit different.

Five small mountain ranges rise through the sediments near the town of Mojave, and they mostly expose Tertiary (Neogene) volcanic rocks resting on older Mesozoic granitic rocks. Superheated water moving through fractures and faults in the rock deposited gold, silver and other valuable ores. We passed one of the richest of the mines first (above), the Golden Queen. It was discovered in 1894, and ultimately produced around $10,000,000 of gold (figured with gold at $20-$36 dollars per ounce; consider this to be equal to maybe $350-400 million at today's prices).

We turned onto Backus Road and soon passed the second major mining complex, on Middle Butte. This is listed as the Cactus Queen, discovered in 1934, and active until 1942. It produced in that short time about $5 million in gold (maybe $200 million at today's values). It looks to have been active more recently, but I don't have any info on any development after World War II (please comment if you are familiar with the mine). The sulfide and oxide minerals weather into bright shades of orange, yellow and white.

It strikes me that somebody got rich by mining these deposits, but there isn't much anyone can do with the landscape anymore. That's one of the choices we make as a society, assigning the value of one land-use over another.

A short distance later, we crossed the Los Angeles Aqueduct, one of the greatest engineering feats of its time (2013 is the centennial celebration of the completion of the project). The aqueduct is 223 miles long, and takes water from the Owens Valley and eastern Sierra Nevada to the San Fernando Valley using gravity to move most of the water at a capacity of just over 400 cubic feet per second. It is a seriously redirected river. It provides around half of the water used in Los Angeles. The story by which this all came about is the stuff of drama (it played a central role in the movie "Chinatown", for instance) and heartache and economic ruin for many people . One of the many choices that were made in this instance of history was the destruction of a large agricultural region in the Owens Valley.

I didn't actually notice when we crossed the aqueduct, as it is mostly in a buried pipeline in this area along Willow Springs-Tehachapi Road. I borrowed the photo below from Wikipedia (source here).

Source: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:LA_Aqueduct_Antelope_Valley.jpg

So we use the land. In the Mojave region we mine the land, the water, and even the air. It involves a lot of choices, and in this part of the western Mojave Desert, those choices were made a long time ago. The area could never be mistaken for a pristine wilderness in any case. But we inhabit the planet, and we insist on having our "things" like food, shelter, security, and iPads. As I said before, I don't necessarily pass judgement on these things, but I think we should be reminded once in awhile that our metals, plastics, glass and building materials don't magically appear out of thin air (except for the wind energy, of course).

One final note about the Mojave area. It's also a dumping ground. Have you ever wondered where old airliners go to die (or to be mothballed or sold to third-world country's airlines)? They go to Mojave Airport to be long-term parked (and you thought only cars get put into long-term parking at airports). The GoogleEarth image below shows part of the parking lot. I've heard (but cannot confirm) that it is cheaper to park a plane here than it is to park a car in some parts of San Francisco.