A Reminder of What Once Was: An Evening at the San Joaquin River National Wildlife Refuge

What is it like to see ten thousand birds take to the sky all at once? Do you have to live on the African Savanna to find out? Sometimes one has to merely look in one's backyard (so to speak) to rediscover the extraordinary nature of where one lives. For instance, my home is in California's Great Valley (called by some the Central Valley). The valley is sometimes derided as a boring place to live, an endlessly flat expanse of agribusiness farms and poorly planned urban centers, and there is certainly a truth to that idea. A full 95% of the valley has been altered by humans from the original prairies and wetlands.

But the other 5%? Astounding at times.

The valley was once an expanse of open prairies, riparian corridors, and vast shallow lakes. A diverse fauna grazed the flatlands, Tule Elk, deer, antelope, horses, camels, bison, mammoths, mastodons, and giant ground sloths. They were preyed upon by a fearful assemblage of carnivores: Saber-toothed Cats, Jaguars, American Lions, Dire Wolves, Coyotes, Black Bears, Grizzly Bears, and huge Short-faced Bears (nothing else was short about them; they stood 12 feet tall). Much of the megafauna disappeared around 10,000 years ago for reasons that are still debated, but the valley still supported a healthy ecosystem when the European colonizers arrived and started changing things.

The valley supported millions upon millions of migratory birds. The valley for a variety of reasons has some of the mildest winter weather in North America, and arctic species for millennia utilized the wetlands for a winter home. Agricultural development deeply altered the available habitat and the birds suffered for it, but a string of wildlife refuges were established decades ago to help them survive. I'd love to say it was for preserving the natural habitat, but it was often to provide the birds a place where they wouldn't destroy crops, and to provide hunters a dependable target. But still, the refuges are islands of relative safety for the birds, and many species have thrived. 

The Aleutian Cackling Goose was once thought to be a subspecies of the similar Canada Goose, but they are now considered a distinct species. They were decimated by changes in their winter refuge, but also in their breeding grounds in the Aleutian Islands, were introduced foxes had exterminated most of them. By 1936 they were thought to be extinct. In 1962 a few hundred were found on an isolated island, and they received protection under the Endangered Species Act in 1973. Since then their numbers have rebounded, with a population today of nearly 200,000. And a very large percentage of them spend their winters only eight miles west of the biggest shopping center in my town.

We had a package to pick up at that shopping center today, so Mrs. Geotripper and I decided to run out to the viewing platform on Beckwith Road west of town. The platform overlooks the fields of the San Joaquin River National Wildlife Refuge. I have visited the spot dozens of times in the last six years, but I had never seen so many birds as were there this afternoon. I made a rough estimate of 4,000 Aleutian Cackling Geese, as well as around 12,000 of the white Snow and Ross's Geese. And as we watched, a large percentage of the geese took flight, which I caught in the video at the top of the post. It was an astounding sight.

It's not just geese that call the Great Valley their home. There are a large number of other strange and exotic birds that can be found here. This evening we saw some other interesting species. There was a flock of 200 or 300 Long-billed Curlews in a field north of the road. They have impossibly long beaks for exploring the mud for worms and bugs.

There was also a flock of around a hundred White-faced Ibises. They look very dark from a distance, but closer observations reveals a colorful iridescence. The white face only shows up in breeding season. They are unique to the Americas, and apparently evolved from the far more widely distributed Glossy Ibises.

Photo by Mrs. Geotripper

I've lived in the Great Valley now for more than thirty years, and I've long extolled the fascinating geological story of the valley, including the extensive fossil record, but I was appallingly ignorant of the fascinating species that still call the valley home today. I had never seen the tens of thousands of geese take flight all at once until around six years ago. I now look forward to the privilege with the approach of every winter season.

A California "Snow" Storm: A Winter Miracle in the Great Valley

People don't usually hear a great many good reasons to visit Modesto and environs. Forbes and others often put our Great Valley towns on the "worst places to live", but I think they really miss something when they do this sort of "expose". We grow most of the nation's food supply for one thing, so folks could be a little more appreciative of what we do. But it's really something else that few people are aware of, even those of us who live here. It's the magic of the season, the fact that we are a winter wonderland. The "snow" has nothing to do with precipitation, though, it has to do with millions of refugees from the snowbound northlands. They are Snow Geese. And Ross's Geese. And White-fronted and Aleutian Cackling geese. And thousands of Sandhill Cranes as well. In winter, the Great Valley becomes an American version of Africa's Serengeti Plain.

Snow Goose at the San Joaquin River National Wildlife Refuge

Hundreds of years ago, before the European invasion, the valley was home to tens of millions of migratory birds, but with settlement and development, 95% of their original grassland and river flood plain home disappeared. The birds could have been wiped out entirely, but a few visionary people worked to preserve a bit of the original valley habitat in an effort to save as many birds as possible. The result was a string of federal, state and non-profit run wildlife refuges that form a pathway down the 400 mile length of the valley. The birds will take refuge from October to March, when they begin making their way back north for breeding in the Arctic.

Aleutian Cackllng Goose (Branta hutchinsii) at the San Joaquin River National Wildlife Refuge. Several decades ago, there were only 600 of them left. Today there are around 200,000 because of conservation efforts in both Alaska and at the San Joaquin refuge (their primary winter home)

A great many people right here in the Modesto area are unaware of the Christmastime miracle that takes place each year. It's not hard to see incredible things just a short drive out of town. Only eight miles west of the biggest shopping mall in the region, on Beckwith Road, the San Joaquin River National Wildlife Refuge offers a viewing platform where one can see tens of thousands of migratory geese all at once. The best times are early in the morning and in the afternoon close to sundown. I took the video below at about 4:15 this afternoon during a short break from final exams at the college. Even with the YouTube compression, you can see tens of thousands of geese taking wing. You can hear the cacophony, but there is nothing like seeing and hearing it in person. The ground literally vibrates as the birds take to the air.


The spectacle is amazing, If you live here and you've never seen it, check it out right now! If you are from the Bay Area and are rushing to the Sierras for a ski day, take a short detour. It's worth your time. And if you are a birder, we are a winter paradise. More than 300 bird species have been documented in our area, and many of them can be seen during the winter season when the pickings are poor in other places (a lot of those disappearing birds come here!).

Evening Scenes of a Primeval Landscape: The Great Valley as it was

It's my home, and I've been known to denigrate it for it's pollution, dust, and visual desolation (hundreds of miles of monotonous agricultural fields). Only 5% of the original landscape of California's Great Valley remains. But there are times when my travels take me to places where I can travel back in time, and the natural beauty of the valley shines through. This week it was a return to the Sacramento National Wildlife Refuge near the small town of Willows just off Interstate 5. A six mile self-guided auto tour provides access to the refuge, and a visitor center provides interpretation.

As I have noted many times, the valley was a originally an arid savanna environment, with vast prairies, oak woodlands, with miles of riparian (river) habitat, and associated floodplain wetlands. The valley provided a living for horses, camels, antelope, bison, mammoths, mastodons, sloths, bears, sabertooth cats, lions, and dire wolves. After the great extinction at the end of the last ice age, the valley still had vast herds of pronghorn antelope, deer, and tule elk who were hunted by wolves, coyotes, grizzly bears, and mountain lions, and the new arrivals, the humans. Today the valley supports vast herds of dairy cows, pigs, and sheep (along with the occasional small herds of horses or llamas).

We had already traveled 400 miles, and had 160 to go, and the sun had just slipped below the horizon when we arrived at the refuge. Yet we couldn't resist the urge to stop and have a look at this fascinating spot that we had discovered only a month earlier. We thought we would be alone, but there were a dozen other cars on the auto tour. The natural environment of the Great Valley has a lot of appeal.

After a week of hectic traveling all over the northwest, the peacefulness of the twilight was a welcome moment. The birds, thousands upon thousands of Snow Geese, Ross's Geese, and numerous species of ducks, were settling in for the night.

The valley serves as a winter haven for many dozens of species of birds who spend the summers far to the north, in Canada and Alaska. We rarely have freezing nights or snow, and the wetlands and grasslands provide a source of food during the lean months. The string of federal, state and private wildlands and refuges up and down the valley provide a piece of the original environment that allows the birds and other animals to survive.

The darkness was growing as we came around the final corner of the auto tour. We noticed for the first time the moon high in the sky above us. After a week of gloomy overcast skies, it was a surprise to see that the moon was already half full. We drove back onto the paved highway, and headed home.

A Scarred and Beaten Ecosystem Persists: The Native Species of the Great Valley

I live in an extraordinary place! In my last post on the Great Valley I was discussing our use and abuse of our most precious resource, one of the richest soils on the planet. Some 95% of the original ecosystem has been manipulated by humans to achieve the highest biomass production possible. Our burgeoning population has to eat after all, and the amount of arable lands is declining worldwide, not expanding. I also posted a number of photographs that intimated what the Great Valley might have looked like prior to 200 or so years ago when European colonists began twisting the landscape to their desires. The valley must have been a fascinating sight in all seasons!

Cedar Waxwing (Bombycilla cedrorum). For more pictures of these beautiful birds, check out my post at Geotripper's California Birds.

Since arriving home after nearly two weeks of extensive travels, I finally had a chance to get out and check my walking routes, around the pasture near my home, and out by the "mini-wilderness" on the west campus of Modesto Junior College. We also stole a moment from our errands today and watched the sun set at the Beckwith unit of the San Joaquin National Wildlife Refuge, which has a viewing platform just eight miles west of town. There had been a lot of changes in the two weeks as a number of migrant species had arrived, including especially the Cedar Waxwings (above).

Nuttall's Woodpecker (Picoides nuttallii), a California endemic species.

Walking through my normal haunts, I was struck once more with a realization about the scarred and embattled ecosystem I live in. There are survivors of the apocalypse still living among us. Like a war zone, there are vast areas of destruction, and little enclaves where the native species still hang on. Sometimes it is in stretches of woodland along rivers where the ground was too uneven to plow. In other instances, the alien invaders happened to plant ornamental trees that produce just enough berries or fruits that the natives can thrive. In a few precious localities, the alien invaders set aside larger environments from abandoned farmlands (partly so they could hunt the natives species, but that's the Faustian bargain that had to be made). In any case, the walks and observations this week for some reason included no Pigeons, Starlings, or House Sparrows, all of whom are opportunistic alien species. The birds I saw were the native species that had found a way to survive in this new alien world. There was a Nuttall's Woodpecker, a California endemic (when one includes a portion of Baja California, anyway). It was hunting for insects on fenceposts instead of trees.

Yellow-billed Magpie (Pica nuttalli):  More on this California endemic can be seen in this post.

There was a small flock of Yellow-billed Magpies in the pasture. These striking birds are a wholly Californian endemic species, found only in our Great Valley. They were almost wiped out by the West Nile virus, but they are slowly making a comeback.

Western Bluebird (Sialia mexicana)

I see the Western Bluebirds on occasion throughout the winter and spring. I think they migrate up into the Sierra Nevada during the summer. 

Western Scrub Jay (Aphelocoma californica)

The Western Scrub Jay is a perennial visitor to the feeders in my backyard. They've done well in relation to agricultural development, especially with nut trees, as can be seen above. They'll often make noise on our roof as they peck at pecans (and a number have taken root in our yard after pecans being left behind by the jays)

Oak Titmouse (Baeolophus inornatus) on a west campus oak tree.

Another more-or-less California endemic is the Oak Titmouse (Baeolophus inornatus). It ranges a little into Baja California and Oregon. The acre or so of oak trees in the "mini-wilderness" provides them a bit of valley habitat in our area.

Sooty Fox Sparrow (Passerella iliaca unalaschcensis)

Finally, there is a Sooty Fox Sparrow (Passerella iliaca unalaschcensis) that I discovered Tuesday on the west campus of my school. I'm new at this birding business and so was not used to searching the leaf litter for what I always thought were House Sparrows. The Sooty is one of four subspecies of Fox Sparrows. The number and variety of American sparrows is incredible, and is a startling picture of ongoing evolution in action.

It's inspiring to find that some hint or echo of the Great Valley's natural heritage still survives here and there, especially when it is a short walking distance from home or work. More than anywhere else, though, the glory of the ancient days still lives on in the federal bird refuges that line our valley like a string of pearls. Last night we saw a sky filled with migratory birds, thousands of them, who still have a winter home on part of the valley floor (see the video at the top of the post). These are places that should be protected and cherished, and not criticized because they take up some of the water in these hard drought years. Although I understand farmer resentment in such situations, the total water devoted to wildlife survival is no doubt a small percentage of the total utilized, and I'd rather see a healthy population of native birds over an additional field of cabbage or corn.