Yosemite Valley This Week: A Moment of Spring Richness and an Uncertain Future

 

I admit it. I fear what lies ahead. That's not the usual opening statement in a photo-essay of Yosemite Valley at its best moments. But that's the problem. I was there last week, when the heaviest snowmelt should have been weeks in the future. And the valley was at its best, a lovely escape from the summer-like heat of the Great Valley downstream.

But the peak runoff is not weeks in the future. It is probably already past. This year's snowpack was an unmitigated disaster. The few storms that did come dropped a bit of snow, enough in some years to get by, but very warm and dry conditions during April dropped the snowpack to around 5-10% of normal, or what passes for normal in these uncertain times. The snowpack would usually keep the famous waterfalls busy until mid-June or even July, but many of them may be dry within a few short weeks. And then the fires will come. I don't know what lies ahead for this most beautiful of valleys, but a disastrous fire has to be considered as a possibility.

The natural condition of the floor of Yosemite Valley has always been controlled by wildfire. Lightning strikes have caused fires for thousands of years, leaving the valley floor as a patchwork of open meadows with a few mature oaks and ponderosa capable of surviving the occasional grass fires. When humans first discovered the valley thousands of years ago, they continued the practice of burning the valley floor every few years. They had their motives of course; the acorns of the fire-resistant Black Oaks provided much of their diet, and the hunting of game was easier when the prey was in an open meadow rather than a deep forest.

When the valley was "saved" by turning it first into a state park in 1864 and later into a national park in 1890, fire suppression became the governing philosophy. The park's original 745 acres of meadows were invaded by young saplings and the 65 acres of meadows today represents only 7% or so of their original extent. It didn't help that drainage outlet of one of the wetland areas was dynamited to keep down the mosquito population.

Much of the valley floor has become a thicket of young and unhealthy conifer trees, a fire hazard of the highest order. The park service has come around to accept the need for fires in the management of the valley, but their success has been spotty and controversial. Prescribed fires have been done in some areas of the park, but more than one has gotten out of control and damaged structures. And prescribed fires are done when soil and fuel conditions are on the wet side. That is not the case at Yosemite this year.

An alternate practice was begun around a decade ago, and it too has been controversial. Instead of burning, the park service has been allowing tree-cutting to be done in some areas to remove the unhealthy trees. The buzz of chainsaws does not seem compatible with the general notion of "preserving" natural lands, but it may be a necessary evil. It led to an unexpected change for me as we visited the park last week.

Everyone always seems to be in a hurry as they scurry through the park looking for parking spots. The traffic was a problem because the free park shuttles weren't running due to the pandemic. So to see the many features of the valley, one had to park and hike quite some distance, or else drive from parking lot to parking lot looking for a good view. I was letting traffic pass by pulling into roadsides that normally don't offer much in the ways of views. But this time was different.

A lot of trees had been cleared from a pullout that I knew had never had much of a view before. No one else was there, but as I got out I could see something was different. The rocks above were, well, unexpected. I've struggled at times to get an interesting angle on the Cathedral Spires (above), but they were easily visible. And as I turned, I realized the Three Brothers were also in the open (below). 

And as I turned yet again, I had a full-on view of El Capitan that showed the full expanse of the cliff from the "Nose" to Horsetail Falls. The sawn-down trees in the foreground were perhaps a sad mess (that will be cured in time by natural forces of decay), but the view of the cliffs was dramatic and quite unexpected. We sat in the pull-out and enjoyed a quiet lunch.

The Pacific Dogwoods were in full bloom. The trees are a somewhat nondescript part of the understory for much of the year, but during the spring the flowers are dramatic (and for the biologists among you, I know that the big white petals are actually modified leaves or bracts, and that the true flowers are in the "button" in the middle). 

Our journey through the valley was our first in nearly a year. It included a stop at one of the most congested spots, but as is always true, there was a reason for its popularity. The Tunnel View is close to the spot where European colonizers first viewed the valley in 1851. The party, a militia trying to chase down a group of Ahwahnechee people, was largely unimpressed with the valley. But their medic, Lafayette Bunnell, was deeply moved by the sight, and later interviewed Chief Tenaya and others to learn what he could of the valley. He is credited with the names of many of the features, including the name of the valley itself. Yosemite seems to have been a derivative of the Miwok name for Grizzly Bear. Their actual name for the valley was "Ah-wah-nee".

So a hot and dry summer season looms. I hope for the best.

Went Looking for Rocks and Birds, Came Back With Flowers and Butterflies

Oh boy, do I ever have a blind spot for learning. I can't learn flowers or butterflies. I'd blame it on age, but I've managed to learn something like 200 bird names in the last three years, so it's not that. Whatever the cause, I headed into the hills of the Sierra Nevada today looking for rocks and birds, but I came home with a bunch of flower pictures with butterflies that I couldn't confidently identify. So I won't try...I'll depend on your help! The comments section is below.

We were headed to Yosemite Valley to see the waterfalls before they dried up (it has been an excruciatingly dry year). We had already missed what was apparently a spectacular Golden Poppy extravaganza in the Merced River canyon downstream of Yosemite, but there were still plenty of wildflowers to be seen, especially on the shady north-facing slopes. But the unexpected delight of the day was the abundance of butterflies on what flowers there were.

One poor individual flew into our car and had a confusing time trying to get nectar from a pillow.

There was even bits of drama with butterflies vying for the best flowers. The one in the pictures above and below drove off several Checkerspots.

I guess if I get tired of trying to identify every bird I see, I'll turn to flowers and butterflies. The thing is, birds are a year-round project. The flowers are ephemeral, and so are the organisms that feed off of them.

There weren't just butterflies in the wildflower fields. I caught the Ladybug below too, and any number of bees and flies.

It was a spectacular day, and not just from the flowers. Look for some new posts on Yosemite Valley as soon as I get the chance!
 

California's Rarest Ecosystems: The Prairies and Vernal Pools (Part One of a Two-part Miniseries)

The lower foothills of the Sierra Nevada are one of the most unique and almost universally ignored parts of California. Caught between the famous and heavily-visited forests and alpine regions of Yosemite's high country and the utilitarian agricultural fields of the Great Valley, the lower foothills are made of soils too poor to be developed, and too "plain" to be noticed by people rushing up the highways to the mountain resorts. For much of the year they seem barren and lifeless. But these prairies are one of the most precious of California's diverse ecosystems.

The prairies of California once extended the length of the Great Valley, a 400-mile-long grassland supporting millions of grazing animals, birds, and predators, including Tule Elk, Pronghorn, Deer, Grizzly Bear, Mountain Lions, Coyotes, Foxes, and numerous rodents, reptiles, amphibians, fish, and insects. In earlier times (more than 10,000 years ago) there were camels, horses, bison, giant ground sloths, Columbian Mammoths, Saber-tooth Cats, and Dire Wolves.

There were also modern-day wolves, and it is ironic and coincidental that a wolf returned this week to the Great Valley for the first time in a century. It is a young male from Oregon who made an epic journey through Modoc County into the Sierra Nevada near Yosemite Valley, and then into the Sierra foothills of Fresno County, and across the Great Valley (including two freeway crossings). At last report it's now in Monterey County (it's wearing a radio transmitter). 

The prairies were covered with native grasses that were quickly replaced by invasive species when European colonizers arrived and started herding sheep and cattle. Farms eventually replaced the ranches, and the remaining prairies, no more than 5% of the original land cover, were relegated to the fringes where the soils were poor and no water was available for irrigation. Those remaining prairies form a belt through the foothills of Sierra Nevada.  A narrow remnant can be found along the Coast Ranges and the Carrizo Plains west of Bakersfield.

The prairie soils in the Sierra Nevada foothills are notably poor in nutrients because they have not been part of an active floodplain in tens of thousands of years, and the fertile components have been leached away, leaving behind reddish iron oxides and thick clays. Differential settling and wind deflation has left small hollows and depressions that collect rainfall during the relatively rare winter storms. The clay prevents the water from seeping underground, so pools will persist for weeks or months at a time. These pools are the basis for one of California's rarest ecosystems, the vernal pools.

The vernal pools are islands of diverse life in the otherwise barren grasslands. Numerous species of plants and wildflowers, amphibians, and invertebrates have evolved to survive the weeks of water and the months of dryness. As the waters evaporate away, one species of plant after another germinates, grows, and goes to seed. The pools are often rimmed in colorful zones of different flowers.

I'm writing about the vernal pools today because the limitations of travel in the times of a pandemic have kept me pretty close to home. I live on the edge of the prairie between the Tuolumne and Stanislaus rivers and I was out there today. A few pools are left, and flowers are blooming across the region. The views are expansive, extending to the snow-capped peaks of the High Sierra.

The pools and plants provide food and cover for multitudes of bugs and other wiggly organisms, so the pools are trafficked by a large variety of birds, and dozens of species can be identified by discerning and observant individuals, and occasionally by me as well. 

I saw a half-dozen American Avocets in one pond a few weeks ago.

The prairies are one of the best places to see the rare and threatened Burrowing Owls. The area around Crabtree, Willms, and Cooperstown Roads are among the most dependable places to see them in our region.

Savannah Sparrows are a common species, and they'll occasionally cooperate with photographers.

The Western Kingbirds seemed to arrive from their winter homes in Mexico all at once last week. I saw none a week ago, and dozens today, including this one that hung about long enough for a picture.

I have no picture, but I came upon a Gopher Snake in the road that was in serious danger of being run over. I stopped, looked at it carefully to make sure it wasn't a rattlesnake, and then I picked it up to put it in a safer spot. I was suddenly reminded of how Gopher Snakes sometime pretend to be rattlers! They can flatten their normally narrow heads into the triangle shape of a rattler, and will strike in a similar manner. I didn't hold it for long...how do you explain to the EMTs that you picked up a rattlesnake that you thought was something else?

If you are lucky enough to live near a California prairie, this is a good time of year to explore them. If you tend to rush through this unique part of the Sierra Nevada and the Great Valley on your way to Yosemite or some other mountain destination, slow down and give these precious and unique lands a quick look. You won't be disappointed.
 

A Worm Moon Rising, and a Very Far-away Plane

One of the really sad casualties of the pandemic was the ending of visiting our good friends on the night of the full moon rising. Their house has a fine view of the eastern horizon, and the rising moon is almost always a dramatic sight. After a hiatus of more than a year, we have had our vaccine shots and finally felt we could gather safely in a small group for the tradition tonight. And it was quite a sight.

Our eastern horizon is the composed of the alpine peaks that surround Yosemite Valley, and in the twilight picture above, one can see the snowy peaks of the high country. The snow is a welcome sight, but it is still too little to put a dent in the second year of drought conditions.

I was kind of amazed that I could just make out some trees on the ridges below the peak. The camera (which I just love) is an appropriate point-and-shoot for fools like me who need a 60x zoom for capturing birds and moonrises.

As the moon lifted above the horizon, I thought it was passing a power line when I realized the line was moving. It was a jet plane with a contrail following! I can't even begin to estimate how far away the plane was...

The Worm Moon refers to the thawing of the soil, allowing worms to start doing what worms do. We don't see much of a difference here in the warm climes of California, but the worms are certainly active in the garden right now.

This moon is also a "super-moon", meaning the moon is relatively closer to the Earth in this part of its orbit, so it appears a bit larger and brighter than "normal". There will be four "super-moons" this year.

 

The Vernal Equinox: Equality in Unequal Times

The sun set today on an unequal and unbalanced world. But for a day, the whole world shared a moment of equality, the day and night being more or less equal at all latitudes. Supposedly the day and night are both 12 hours long no matter where you are. There is a bit of squishiness in that statement, given that the refraction of the image of the sun makes the day last a few minutes longer, six minutes or so.

The sun sets due west on the equinox, which allows for interesting pictures in an otherwise mundane location like an absolutely flat valley with lots of east-west roads and irrigation canals. Some years I try to be out running errands, but today I was at home, so I went a few blocks west to where one of the canals has just been filled for the irrigation season.

 

Doo, doo, doo, Lookin' Out My Backdoor: What to do when you're stuck on the couch on rainy day

I have had few chances to write about my geological journeys for the last year, because there have been precious few geological journeys. Well, literally none. I'm blessed by having the Tuolumne River flowing by a half-mile from my house, and I'll spend a bit of time there almost every day exercising and searching out birds and other life forms. But rain turns the trail to mud, so I was pretty much stuck on the couch for the afternoon.

The rain has been rare this year, and the air outside smelled delicious (that's also truly rare in this valley). So the back door stood wide open during the afternoon while I sort of napped on the couch. But I kept the camera at my side. Who knows what could happen?

The main goal of the day was to catch a few pictures of our truly rare birds for this time of year: a pair of Hooded Orioles. They are tropical migrants, and so far this year only five have been reported on eBird in the entire San Joaquin Valley (there are more in Southern California and the central coast, as they are starting their northward migration). Our area used to be the northern boundary of their range, but with a warming climate and the planting of ornamental palms, they are found as far north as Arcata. They like the palms to construct their unique hanging nests, and as I've found, they love the sugar water in Hummingbird feeders. They've been coming by a dozen or more times a day, a male and a female, for a drink. Normally I can only take pictures through a window and blinds, but with the open door, I got some sharper images. The male is the brighter one with the black face and throat (below).

While waiting for another appearance of the Orioles through the narrow doorway, I saw fluttering in the far distance, about three backyards away. Zooming in I saw a flock of Cedar Waxwings. They fly through the neighborhood every so often looking for fruits, berries, and insects. I haven't seen any for a month. I must not have been looking...

The Orioles aren't the only birds that like coming to a Hummingbird feeder. We have a pair of Anna's Hummingbirds that visited today as well. They are the only Hummingbirds who stay in our region through the winter. Black-chinned and Rufous Hummingbirds will be arriving as spring progresses.

One kind of bird has been a constant visitor in our yard all winter: the White-crowned Sparrow. Most of them will leave the region in a few weeks on their way to breeding grounds as far north as the Arctic Circle. They do a great job of picking up the sunflower seeds that get scattered on the ground by the other birds.

The House Sparrow is a Eurasian native that was introduced to North America in the 1850s, and they quickly spread across the continent and are among the most common birds around. We see them so often that we become inured to their presence. I suppose we should admire species so adaptable as to be able to live successfully wherever humans do.

We have House Finches and Purple Finches that spend time at our feeders, but I was not successful at getting decent pictures today. Later on we had one more visitor, another bird seen so often in our region that one can sometimes take it for granted. But familiarity can't take away the stunning beauty of the California Scrub Jay (until somewhat recently called the Western Scrub Jay). They are found along the Coast Ranges from the Puget Sound to the southern tip of Baja California. There are dozens of them along the Tuolumne River this year, perhaps because of a huge acorn crop this year. But they also like the seeds available in my yard.

And that was the nature I experienced today through a narrow sliver of the landscape visible while looking out my back door.

Mars Landing! And a Speculative Question: What Spot Would You Pick on Earth?

 

Courtesy of NASA

The landing is almost here (or by the time you read this, it's happened already, for better or worse)! I hope, hope, hope that all goes well. Mars is a tough target, and I've seen to many failures and disasters. But...if they are able to stick the landing, we'll have an incredible adventure ahead of us, exploring the Jezero Crater, the site of an ancient sea and river delta complex. It's thought to be one of the most likely places to find evidence of any life that might have evolved on Mars.

Jezero Crater delta complex, landing site of the Perseverance Mission

Lots of good resources and landing schedules can be found here: Landing Toolkit: Perseverance Rover - NASA Mars. I've checked out things ahead of the landing, as you can see below, and the rock samples look intriguing.

(You can do your own pic with the mission toolkit)

I'm curious. The Mars landing site was carefully chosen as to glean the most information possible in a small area. If you had a single chance to land a rover on Earth for an only exploration, what place on Earth would you pick for the landing? And why? Answer in comments!