Looking over the photos from our recent trip to the west coast, I remembered I had shot some video clips of the Sandhill Cranes arriving at their overnight roost on the Rio Grande floodplain at Bosque del Apache, New Mexico.
It was an all-too-brief encounter, but the video will give you an idea of what it was like…
They have an impressive wingspread when you see them up-close.
Snow Geese may be overtaking the world; well, at least their Arctic breeding grounds. And when they invade their winter headquarters, they dominate that landscape as well. We thought there must be a thick layer of salt along the edge of the Rio Grande flood plain when we looked across the expanse of blue water.
That’s not a line of salt crystals along the shoreline, it’s a dense pack of Snow Geese! Ruddy Ducks are in the foreground.
High densities of Snow Geese congregate in their select winter headquarters in the U.S. and eastern coast of Mexico.
There must have been tens of thousands of these medium sized geese, crowded together in the shallow water of the Rio Grande. They are described as “voracious herbivores”, eating any and all parts of a plant, ripping up roots and all, or just shearing off the tops of grasses, sedges, and other aquatic plants. Digested food passes through their gut in just a couple of hours, so just imagine how much goose poop is going into this section of the river! Their voracious foraging is what has been decimating their tundra breeding grounds, as more and more geeese arrive each year to raise their chicks.
Snow Geese come in two color phases: white- and dark-bodied. The dark form was once believed to be a separate species, called the Blue Goose.
Color is controlled by a single gene, but the dark allele is dominant over the white variant (actually dark is Incompletely dominant, to be technically correct). So, this raises the very obvious question: if dark color is dominant, why are there so many white Snow Geese?
The amount of color is variable, depending on whether the individual has one or two dark alleles. Of the 3 most prominent birds in this photo, the one on the right has no dark alleles, the one in the middle might have two dark alleles, and the one on the left with less dark coloration might have one dark and one light allele.
The Snow Geese put on quite a display for us, with massive numbers of them taking off, circling in front of us, and then settling back on the pond. You have to marvel at their ability to fly in such close quarters without running into each other.
Take-off…
Coming closer…
Right in front of us….
Overhead!
What a spectacle!
Bosque del Apache (literally “woods of the Apache”) is a 3800 acre wildlife refuge in the floodplain of the Rio Grande River in southern New Mexico that was set aside in the late 1930s as a wintering spot for waterfowl.
One can look down on the flood plain of the Rio Grande River from an overlook a couple of miles away. We had no idea how many thousands of birds were concentrated there.
And thousands of birds do congregate here from November to March. Snow Geese by the tens of thousands (more on them later), dozens of ducks of all kinds, and of course, the one we had come to see, hundreds, if not thousands of Sandhill Cranes. Fortunately we arrived just as the light was turning golden, and developing into a beautiful sunset. (Click on the photos below to view them full screen and use the back arrow to return to the blog.)
The Snow Geese don’t seem to mind that Sandhill Cranes walk through and over them.
Hundreds of birds congregated in a shallow lake right next to the road through the refuge, completely unperturbed by all the photographers lined up on the shore about 100 feet away.
As is usually the case with Sandhill Cranes, they continually vocalize as new birds fly in, landing often in the middle of a clump of others.
It’s a short drive down the Lincoln Highway from Evanston, WY to Salt Lake City, and what a scenic drive through a gorgeous red canyon it is.
What could be prettier than white snow, red cliffs, and juniper and sage?
As we descend from the higher elevation Wyoming plateau, the cliffs get higher, and the topography more rugged.
Canyons with aspen and cottonwood meander back into the niches between cliffs. This must be glorious in the fall.
The Lincoln Highway was one of the earliest transcontinental routes for car travel from New Jersey to California, traversing 13 states. Now that would be a real cross section of America, instead of this abbreviated picture I’m presenting here.
Having driven through sparkling, crystal clear landscapes from western most Wyoming, I had big expectations of the sight that would greet us as we broke through the cliffs into the Great Salt Lake flats. But, a dense inversion layer of smog greeted us in Salt Lake City, and instead of mountains, city, and lake landscape, we saw this.
Ugh! I think there are supposed to be mountains on Antelope and Stansbury Islands visible from the southern lake shore as we drive along I-80.
If I have matched up google images correctly with our stop for lunch on the southern shore of the lake, it should have looked something like this.
A summer time view, when the air is cleaner and clearer. Courtesy of Salt Lake Tours
But the best view of this amazing body of water was still ahead of us at the Bonneville salt flat, where the salt-laden earth has dried into a hardened concrete and land speed records are set (currently 622 mph in a rocket-powered vehicle). Imagine the g-forces the driver of that car withstands as he rockets (literally) down the 10 mile speedway.
I had to use a lot of dehaze filter to cut through the thick layer of smoky, foggy air. The reflection of the distant mountains is best seen when the water is just a few inches deep. When this area dries up in the summer, it will be a completely flat and extremely hard surface.
The drive through the rest of the salt desert went by quickly, and soon we were greeted by Wendover Will at the Nevada border. My husband claims he always looked forward to seeing cowboy Will greet them on their trips from California to Nebraska in the summer. It’s good to know that some things don’t change over 50-60 years in the west.
I am intrigued by the idea of a creek that runs through the heart of a dense urban area with mostly clear water and that supports a variety of wildlife along its riparian border.
Water levels may fluctuate, but there is always enough to support wildlife.
Los Gatos creek runs northward 24 miles from the Santa Cruz mountains through the once orchard-rich, now highly residential Santa Clara valley to join the Guadelupe River which eventually empties into the southern end of San Francisco Bay.
Steep slopes along its course have been lined with sandbags or rocks to prevent the inevitable erosion of soft soils into the river that would dam its flow.
Along its length, the creek feeds two reservoirs and several small impoundments meant to recharge the ground water and prevent San Jose from subsiding as water is drawn from underground storage during urban development.
Creek water is aerated as it cascades over waterfalls and dams along its course.
In places, the creek becomes a narrow channel, where water moves swiftly over rocks.
Hard to believe you’re in the middle of a major metropolis when you stand by the creek and watch a Coopers Hawk take down an errant little bird on the opposite shore.
Maples, oaks, sycamores, and cottonwoods line the shore of the creek, creating colorful landscapes and providing cover for wildlife.
Walking north on the trail along the creek toward downtown San Jose, I came across an unusual painting on one of the many highway overpasses.
Was this creek a salmon run?
In the late 1800s, “speckled trout” (probably the steelhead, or pacific rainbow trout) were apparently so numerous in the creek, they could be caught by hand. But agricultural development in the valley lowered the water table too much to sustain the salmon migration, until the reservoir and percolation pond system raised it.
Today tagged steelhead trout and Chinook salmon once again migrate up the Guadelupe River and Los Gatos creek from San Francisco Bay, which is a testament to the health of this urban riparian system.
I think of American Coots as very common, uninteresting birds, and so I never photograph them. But I was intrigued by their diving maneuvers to obtain submerged vegetation, and stopped to watch them more closely on my walk along Los Gatos Creek in San Jose, CA the other day.
This juvenile Coot was very protective of a small patch of submerged vegetation a foot or so below the surface.
Coots seem to be very buoyant in the water; it takes work to submerge and they actively kick their feet against the water as they dive, quite unlike what Cormorants do.
This is the intriguing part. Look at those big feet/toes that the bird uses to propel itself down into the water.
Using their lobed toes to propel them, Coots can get down to choice bites of vegetation.
Sometimes they bring up a large amount of vegetation that they bite off in chunks.
A better look at those funny feet. Photo from http://naturemappingfoundation.org/natmap/facts/american_coot_712.html
Coots occupy a wide variety of wetland habitats throughout North and Central America, feeding on a variety of aquatic vegetation. But they are not fussy and will eat seeds or invertebrates they find on land as well. Typically, they forage in small groups, their lobed toes expanded to a web as they kick backward to propel them through the water, and then collapsing inward as they bring their foot forward again.
That lobed toe design comes in handy when Coots walk across muddy, marsh ground, preventing them from sinking down into it. And they assist Coots in taking off from water, when they need to use their feet to help lift their chunky bodies into the air.
Pretty useful, those funny feet!
American Coot taking off from water (Audubon Guide to North American Birds).
If you’re a busy Cormorant that’s been diving for fish all morning on Los Gatos creek, you need to spend some time drying off before flying on to the next destination.
Diving Cormorants sit very low in the water, all the better to quickly submerge in search of prey.
The reason for the “drying time” requirement is because Cormorants do not water-proof their feathers with an oily secretion as other birds do, which makes it easier for them to stay submerged, dive, and “fly” through the water.
This juvenile Cormorant spotted a potential drying off place, and began to raise itself up to get on the branch.
Even wet feathers can lift the bird a little ways up in the air…
Lots of wing flaps begin the process of drying off…
Really vigorous wing flaps may shake the water off those feathers, but somehow the bird doesn’t lift off the log.
The more typical Cormorant “drying off” pose. This works best where there is a little sun and some wind, neither of which this site on the creek provides.
Finally satisfied with the dryness of its wing feathers, the youngster relaxes and looks around. It is unperturbed by my presence only 20 feet away. I wonder why?
Now it’s easier to see the difference in coloration between this juvenile bird, with its pale throat and chest and brown head, and an adult bird.
An adult bird in breeding plumage sports a set of white-tinged crests on either side of its very black head.
Back in California for a couple of weeks, for a wedding and to enjoy prolonging lovely fall weather as long as possible. It was a good day to hike along Los Gatos creek in Campbell (a small municipality in San Jose, CA) and enjoy the local wildlife.
This pond along Los Gatos creek trail supports an amazing diversity of wildlife, from tame Mallards and Peking ducks, to breeding colonies of Cormorants, a pair of kingfishers. various Gull species, and of course, Canada Geese.
There hasn’t been any rain here yet and most of the landscape is extremely dry except bordering the creek itself.
Five little Bushtits looking for bugs on the dried wild anise. Can you find all of them? (I didn’t take the telephoto lens on my walk today.)
More on the Los Gatos creek wildlife in the next post….
Back in Minnesota, the trees are putting on their fall color extravaganza after losing their chlorophyll to unmask those other, colorful leaf pigments. Whether you’re looking up at the tree tops or down into a reflected pool of color in the lake, the brilliance of leaf hues is impressive (and kind of inspiring, if I was artistic).
Sunny days are wonderful for capturing the brilliant reflected color in the Lake water.
Amur maples yield a whole variety of shades.
Leaves reflected in the pond in the back yard look like a painting by Monet.
Even on cloudy, foggy days, the fall color reflections are still beautiful.
Fog mutes the colors, but the contrast with leaves in the foreground is interesting.
A perfect reflection in the fog and still water on a bay of Lake Owasso.
I wonder what the Canada Geese think of the fall color spectacle…
What a pleasant surprise to find such a rich and interesting wildlife refuge just an hour north of Cape Canaveral — Blackpoint Drive, a 7 mile road along dikes in a salt marsh that is part of the Merritt Island National Wildlife Refuge.
A typical scene along the dike roads of mangroves and pools in the salt marsh.
Here’s how the Fish and Wildlife Service describe this unique area.
“Imagine a broad, flat expanse of salt marsh stretching from where your car is parked to the Indian River, a distance of about 1 mile. The only obstruction is an occasional hammock of palms or a mangrove-rimmed pond, and behind you, on higher ground, slash pines. Marsh streams gracefully wind through the marsh and provide a thoroughfare for microscopic plants and animals, shellfish and fish. Egrets and herons are poised along the stream edge, like spearfishermen patiently awaiting a meal. Secretively, sparrows search for insects in the chest-high grass. Occasionally, tides aided by a strong wind flood the marsh, and on the ebb, nutrient-laden waters are exported to the river. The marsh and river are one.”
An island of palmetto on higher ground stands behind the sea of grass in the salt marsh.
Although we were visiting before the big influx of winter migrants arrived, there was still plenty to see, which is why a 7 mile drive took us more than 3 hours. Butterflies, lizards, lots of birds, alligators, and even a errant manatee that wasn’t supposed to be in this area of the salt marsh crossed our path.
Tri-colored Herons were common in the shallow pools lined by mangroves.
This one was pretty tame, and walked right up to us.
Greater Yellowlegs foraged in the shallow mudflats.
A few flocks of small dabbling ducks floated in the deeper pools, but quickly took cover in the mangroves when they spotted us.
Floating in some of those same deep pools were alligators of various sizes, from small like this one to very large.
A solitary Little Blue Heron stalked its prey.
Mangroves make useful perching spots for both Great Blue Herons and Great (White) Egrets.
Yellowthroat and Yellow-rumpled Warblers were frequently seen foraging in the low bushes and mangroves along the water’s edge.
Common Moorhens must have raised their brood in these pools lined by mangroves. This juvenile bird is flanked by two adults in the background.
The manatee was swimming along the edge of a small stream, squeezing itself through culverts that connected waterways. Apparently they are restricted from this area because they get stuck and have to be rescued and removed by wildlife biologists.
We found Black Vultures resting in the shade on the lawn of the visitor center 2 miles up the road from the wildlife refuge. It was close to 90 degrees and very humid, so no wonder they took refuge here.
What an amazing area, the last remnant of the natural salt marshes that probably lined the eastern coast of Florida before it was extensively developed. Not only is it a haven for wildlife, but it’s a natural barrier to storm surge and salt water intrusion inland.
