The Hawai'i That Was: Into the Last Stand of Wilderness in Kaua'i, the Alaka'i Swamp

Yes, the last stand. To explain, Kaua'i is a relatively small island, the deeply eroded remnant of a giant volcanic shield. Most people of Kaua'i live along the narrow coastal plains that nearly encircle the island, but there is an uninhabited plateau covering the central part. It is bound to the north by the cliffs of Na Pali (a future post), and to the west it has been deeply dissected by the erosion of Waimea Canyon (also a future post). It reaches elevations of just over 5,000 feet.

The second highest point on the summit plateau, Mt. Wai'ale'ale is in the running as the wettest place on planet Earth, with an average rainfall of 456"/year between 1907 and 1945. So much rain falls on the upland plateau that most of the bedrock has weathered into a thick clay deposit, the raw material forming the mud of the Alaka'i Swamp. There was once an effort to build a road through the swamp, but the equipment sank in the muck. Access is provided by a number of trails instead.

Yes, "trails"

It might not be entirely clear why a person might want walk in such a forbidding place, especially when there are sparkling beaches close by, and nice paved overlooks as well. But there is a reason; it is the last stand of wilderness life on Kaua'i, and indeed the entire Hawaiian Islands. There are an inordinate number of rare and endangered species of plants and animals that share a declining area of high precipitation and tropical conditions. The native birds are especially vulnerable. They're thriving in this extreme habitat for two unique reasons. Mongooses were never introduced to the island (meaning no pressure from nest predation), and disease-carrying mosquitoes cannot thrive at the cooler high elevations, so the birds aren't threatened by avian malaria..

An 'Elepaio, one of the native birds of the Alaka'i Swamp

It might seem that a hiking trail through loose mud would also be a near impossibility, but many of the trails are actually wire boardwalks that keep the hiker out of the muck. The trail through the swamp is one of most fascinating places I've ever walked.

The lower parts of the trail are in a jungle setting, a tropical rainforest full of 'ohi'a trees and many other species. 'Ohi'a trees are one of the most adaptable trees on the planet, surviving in habitats as diverse as dry low elevation lava flows, and near alpine conditions at 11,000 feet. On Kaua'i, they are part of the rainforest canopy.

The trail climbs higher, and the rainfall is so extreme that the plants are stunted by the overabundance of water (the rain washes away soil nutrients). The vegetation consists of knee-high ferns and shrubs.

I was very lucky on the day I visited the Alaka'i Plateau in 2009. It was not overly cloudy, and we had a half-decent view of the summit area around Mt. Wai'ale'ale off to the south. We walked on, trying to reach the lookout at the end of the trail.

The mud grew thicker and the plant cover more sparse. At this point I was really appreciating the boardwalk. This landscape would have been an impenetrable bog without it.

And then we were there! The clouds were starting to gather, but we had a momentary view of Hanalei Bay thousands of feet below. The scenery was stunning. Weather on the plateau can be so fickle. We had our brief view, but a few moments later when other hikers in our party arrived, the view had disappeared, not to be seen again.

We hiked back down through the jungle. It was one of the greatest hikes I've ever done. I'm glad I did it though, back in 2009. The forest here is threatened. Global warming is affecting Kaua'i as it is so many other places, and the warming conditions are allowing the spread of the disease-carrying mosquitoes higher and farther into the interior of the plateau. It's like a noose tightening around a neck.

We are doing shameful things to our planet, and the present political atmosphere has just made things much worse. Global warming is accelerating, with profound effects being noted around the world. I despair over the recent election, because the American government will now be staffed by people who choose to ignore science. Kaua'i is just one place where the changes will be profound. We'll be saying good-bye to one of the most unique ecosystems on the planet.

I'm With Science, I'm With the Wild Places, and Therefore I'm With Her

Athabasca Glacier in Alberta, Canada

By and large, I avoid politics on my blog. I'm motivated in my writing to explore the beautiful places of the planet, and to enlarge our view of the geological forces that influence our lives. If you want the day to day political brawls I get involved in, you can find my Facebook pages, or Twitter. But here, on the eve of what I consider to be one of the most important presidential elections in my life, I need to talk about science. And the sanctity of our wild places. For all the arguments that could be made by the different parties for their respective candidates, there are some that have been largely ignored by the candidates and the mass media.

In my travels, I've seen directly the effects that global warming is having on our planet. I've seen the shrinking glaciers of Greenland (from above), and in Alberta, Canada (from the ground-see the picture above). I've been privileged to see the world's greatest coral reef complex, the Great Barrier Reef, which has been severely damaged by warming waters. It may die out in our lifetimes. I've seen the death of millions, perhaps billions of trees in places like Aspen, Colorado, and in Sequoia National Park, brought about by drought and the attack of boring beetles.

I've read the research of climate scientists, who have been documented the devastating changes we are causing on our planet for many decades. The science is clear, and the science is alarming.

Drought-killed conifers in Sequoia National Park

I've seen the deplorable actions of our elected officials, who protect corporations and prevent our conversion to a carbon-neutral society for purely political reasons. Because the science does not conform to their preconceived political beliefs, they have set our society back by decades. Market forces are slowly bringing changes that are lessening our addiction to oil, but they should have been encouraged decades ago. There is so much that we could have done. It is a tragedy that will haunt our children for generations.

So, we have a choice to make tomorrow. We can choose a man who has proven too lazy to actually read the science. Depending on those who whisper things in his ears, he decries climate change and global warming as a Chinese hoax, despite the fact that we have been living through the hottest years ever recorded. He says there is no drought in California. He suggests that he somehow knows more about climate science than people who have actually taken the trouble to educate themselves, and to get actually get degrees in science. On the other hand, we have a woman who is smart enough to learn the basics of climate science, and who listens to those who know more than she does about what has to be done. She has plans and proposals that could make an actual difference.

Small coral reef in Fiji

There are so many arguments that could be made in regards to the candidates for the presidency. We've spent (wasted) a great deal of time on peripheral issues that don't mean much in the bigger picture, and there has been some discussion of important issues like the place of the United States of America in the world, and our response to global challenges like Russia and terrorism. Those issues are indeed important, and I found my choice easy to make on the basis of the statements and actions of the candidates in those areas. But climate change and global warming are one of the greatest challenges facing not just the USA, but of citizens of the entire world. We need to have a president who understands and appreciates the need for action, and not one who denies the problem exists in the face of all evidence to the contrary. For that reason, I have voted for Hillary Clinton, and though I know that many minds will not be changed in the next 24 hours, I will hope you will consider these issues as you vote tomorrow.

A Moment of Beauty in Tumultuous Times: Sandhill Cranes at the Merced National Wildlife Refuge

It's no secret to my friends and family that I have followed the political scene closely, as bizarre as it has been. The many discussions and worries lead to all kinds of stress. In times like that, it never hurts to step back a bit and see what is happening at the nearest national wildlife refuge. With that in mind, Mrs. Geotripper and I set out to explore the Merced National Wildlife Refuge today. It's situated darn near the geographical center of the state just south of the town of Merced. 

In the winter months the refuge plays host to tens of thousands of Snow Geese, Ross's Geese, Greater White-fronted Geese, and Sandhill Cranes, all of whom spend their summers in the Arctic. The birds that arrive here have traveled thousands of miles. Not many geese were in attendance today at the refuge, but we were treated with the spectacle of thousands of Sandhill Cranes (Grus canadensis).

The birds gather thousands strong in several relatively small wildlife refuges in the Central Valley of California. 95% of our valley has been altered for agriculture and urban development, but these islands of wetlands and prairies allow the survival of several million migratory geese and cranes. It's probably a fraction of the number of birds that once filled the pre-western civilization skies, but it is a dramatic sight nonetheless. As we watched, a flock of what must have been close to a thousand birds landed in the fields before us.

The birds in general are doing okay with stable or slowly increasing populations in most areas. They mate for life, and usually raise a single chick each year. They would be vulnerable to the destruction of the wetland habitats that they prefer.

One more marvelous aspect of the Sandhill Cranes is their intriguing call. It's hard to describe, but it reminds me of the purring of a cat, amplified hundreds of times. Because of the bass tones, individual birds can be easily heard from a good half mile away. When thousands of birds are together, the sound is riotous. Check out my video from this afternoon below...

"Spring" Arrives in California's Great Valley

Now that I've got your attention, let's get to the post (explanation below)

In the great Central Valley of California there are only two seasons -- spring and summer. The spring begins with the first rainstorm, which usually falls in November. In a few months the wonderful flowery vegetation is in full bloom, and by the end of May it is dead and dry and crisp, as if every plant had been roasted in an oven.

John Muir, My First Summer in the Sierra

It's true, really. Winter doesn't exactly happen in the Great Valley (called by some the lowly Central Valley). While much of the country lies buried beneath snowdrifts, and people wait longingly for the first signs of spring somewhere around March, we watch the grass growing. Sure, we have some deciduous trees that turn bright colors and drop their leaves (still waiting for that to happen, by the way), but many of our oaks are evergreens. As Muir noted, the spring begins with the first rainstorm. He mentioned November, but our storms came a few weeks early. And like magic the parched valley is already turning green again.

For various reasons, it's been about two weeks since I've walked our nice little river trail where the Tuolumne River leaves the Sierra Nevada and flows into the Great Valley. The last time I was there, the landscape was parched. It had been nearly six months since any rain had fallen in the area, and it showed. There were weeds and dry grass everywhere, and every step raised a puff of dust. Then "the storm" happened, a record-setting late October storm that dropped two inches of rain in two days. A few days later, the green grass was sprouting everywhere. There is an entirely different feel to the Parkway Trail now.

I lived in an area that had winter seasons once, spending two years in Reno, Nevada, at 4,500 feet. I recall driving from Reno into the Central Valley at Christmas, struggling through a snowstorm on Donner Summit. When we reached the valley floor, it was warm (!), and I could smell the chlorophyll in the air. The greenery was stunning after what had been a month or more of snow storms. And that's what central California is like for most of the winter. It's the reason that Arctic birds like the Sandhill Cranes and Snow Geese like to spend the winter on the valley floor. They have access to food throughout the winter.

The storms of course had a huge effect on the river flows in the Sierra Nevada. Last weekend, we saw the effects of the rain in Yosemite Valley. The runoff of the Merced River resembled flows in early spring (at least for a few days). The Tuolumne River was less changed. The flow of the river is controlled by the turbines of Don Pedro Reservoir, a huge dam about 20 miles upstream. The river flows through a number of pools, and the reflections of the sky were beautiful. This was the spot where I saw some River Otters a few weeks ago (you can be sure that I'm always watching for them).

The water was so calm and peaceful. Occasionally a Hyacinth floated by, which explains the picture at the top of the post (turn the picture upside down and it will make more sense). The Hyacinth is actually a scourge throughout the rivers of the Great Valley. It is an introduced species that grows rapidly and chokes river channels. It causes oxygen levels in the river to plummet and many animal and plant species can't compete with the weed. The drought exacerbated the problem, as the rivers were not able to flush out the channels of the weed. Luckily, this year there was a bit of extra water, allowing higher surge flows that seemed to clear some of the channels. There is certainly less hyacinth along my stretch of the river.

It was nice to be home for a few days! We'll enjoy our "spring" for a while. When spring arrives for most other people, we'll be sliding into the dry summer season, and then I'll be jealous of you...

Pareidolia and Fall Foliage Art from the Sierra Nevada

Pareidolia is a trick of our minds that can cause us to interpret random images or patterns of light and shadow as faces. We were in the Sierra Nevada the other day ahead of Sunday's storm, looking for some fall colors around the meadows along the Clark Fork of the Stanislaus River near Sonora Pass.

I was mostly looking upwards towards the trees, but eventually my attention was deflected downward at the many aspen leaves that had already fallen to the forest floor. The bright yellow color of the leaves was giving way to brown, but the pattern was different on every leaf. The first one above immediately made me think of a face, or even a jack-o'-lantern (thus making a connection to tonight's candy obsession).

Conditions are changing rapidly up in the high country. We've been able to travel to the highest elevations all summer, but the latest storms have begun to drop snow over the passes. Sonora and Tioga closed Saturday in anticipation of the big storm on Sunday. They might reopen if conditions stay dry in coming weeks, but the writing is on the wall (and on the leaves): winter is coming.

The leaves were almost gone from the aspen trees up on Clark Fork. I hope the omens are good for a big snow year. We need a break from the horrific and continuing drought here in California and the Southwest.

A Wet Day in Yosemite Valley; "Spring" Comes REALLY Early

October is nominally an autumn month, a time of falling leaves and low-flowing rivers after a dry summer and above-average temperatures. In Yosemite Valley, the waterfalls are dry. It might not be the best time of year for drawing tourists to the valley, but it's a fine time for a field trip. Well, maybe...

It's a given that if one schedules a field trip and reserves a bus months in advance that the weather is going to be a wild card. And it was definitely wild. The weather forecasts all week pointed to a 100% chance of rain essentially all day, and as we left town, the rain was indeed falling. All the way up the hill, all the way into the valley. I gave lectures from the bus, watching water pour out of the sky. I had 30 students, some of whom were expecting to see Yosemite Valley for the first time in their lives. I was clenching my teeth, worried that we would arrive in the valley and the walls would be hidden behind the clouds. We arrived at Tunnel View, and I was slightly relieved to see that the cliffs were just barely distinguishable through the rain squalls (see the top picture). At least we could say that we saw something. We got back into the bus, to go make more stops in the rain. Then something wondrous happened.

I glanced behind me as I climbed into the bus and realized that the rain had stopped, and that the cliffs of Yosemite Valley were emerging from the storm. We got back out, and started enjoying the gift of a 90 minute break in the storm. The valley was a glorious sight for those few precious minutes. El Capitan, the 3,000 granite monolith, loomed high above us.

Fall colors were visible all across the valley; oaks, cottonwoods and dogwoods were all at their late season best. We here in California can't compete with the pageantry of the show in the eastern United States (or even the aspen groves of the eastern Sierra Nevada), but ours comes later, and the trees back east don't have a backdrop of stunning granite cliffs.

The most incredible moment of the day came as we realized that with the rain, every waterfall in the valley was flowing. And not just flowing, but surging. Waterfalls were coming from cliffs that never have waterfalls. It could have been spring of a wet year. There was a lot of water falling from the skies above Yosemite today.

Yosemite Falls were especially spectacular. I strolled past lower Yosemite Creek, and it was flooding.

The Merced River was surging as well. It was spilling over its banks, which was enough to get me on my phone to check the flows today. It was pretty impressive. Normal flow for this time of year is about 30 cubic feet per second. A week ago the river was running 100 cubic feet per second. With two big storms this week, the river has risen to over 3,000 cubic feet per second! In the last year, a fairly good year for precipitation, the flow of the Merced exceeded 3,000 cfs only a few times.

It was an impressive day, and a really blessing to have a break in the storm. After 90 minutes, the rain squalls returned, and followed us most of the way home.

Record Rainfall in my Little Town

It's been a rainy night. At 1:00PM this afternoon, I've recorded 2.05 inches from a storm that began yesterday evening. Added to the 0.48 inches a few weeks back, we've had 2.53 inches in the month of October. This is 0.01 inches short of the record for the month in my data that goes back to 1991. And we have one more powerful storm due to arrive Sunday (during my scheduled field trip, of course...). We will break the record for October.

Source: NWS Sacramento

This would seem like great news in regards to the drought that has afflicted California since 2011, but such thinking would most definitely be premature. As one can see in the flooding advisory above, the most intense part of this storm is centered right over our area, and other areas may not be receiving as much precipitation. In addition, this storm may not reflect a changed pattern. At least some of the additional moisture was captured from the remnants of a tropical storm, and that sort of thing won't be happening as the winter intensifies. Long range forecasts are not particularly promising for Southern California and the Southwest (below).

Still, there has been rain across the state this week, and I'd rather see rain falling rather than continued dry conditions. It's a start when you can have a fifth of a year's normal rainfall in the bank before November arrives.