Welcome to the Anthropocene

Cutthroat Castle, Hovenweep

The open skies and sweeping views of the Four Corners lend themselves to wondering and philosophizing.  When I hike out to the ruins of an ancient dwelling built precariously upon the boulders at the head of a forlorn canyon, the remains of a village abandoned 700 years ago, a common reaction is to reflect upon who I am and where my civilization is going.

The Anasazi ruins of Cutthroat Castle are part of Hovenweep, which is a Ute word for deserted canyon.  These days, only a few miles from the Canyons of the Ancients, dryland farming of beans, sunflowers, and winter wheat again reform many acres that were once vast sagebrush scrublands.  All rivers in the southwest are dammed for irrigation, with cattle ranching and sheep grazing occurring on all lands too steep and rocky for cultivation, including even alpine mountains so remote to be designated Wilderness Areas.  The mountains have supported 200 years of mining and logging, and has changed the composition and resiliency of our forests.  Overgrazing in some areas has resulted in desertification and disruption of soils, causing dust storms to transport topsoil vast distances.  The locals here have even adopted a Dust Bowl era cliche' when the strong south winds blow, "I expect Arizona is coming to visit today."  Open pit mines of copper, uranium,  palladium, and molybdenum  near the Four Corners can be seen from space, as well as our brilliant night lights powered by the coal that leaves tell-tale traces of mercury, sulfur and nitrates in sediments.

Tortured Utah Juniper and Cryptobiotic Soil

Some of this man-made geologic epoc, termed the Anthropocene, is really interesting to see in satellite images; particularly time-lapse LANDSAT images, such as urban development, disappearing seas, island building, forest clearing, and a plethora of other signs of human "progress".  Considering most of these images are less than 25 years old, it is stunning to witness the scope, magnitude, and pace of change.  However, these changes have been happening in North America since the Holocene.  In the book, The Call of Distant Mammoths, the extinction of most of our large mammals and their predators are linked to the shockwave of human expansion radiating from the Bering Land Bridge, which is stunning to consider how low the population density that can accomplish such irrevocable loss.  Soon, a new stasis of North American biota was achieved, such as the expansion of great grasslands aided by the frequent fires humans intentionally set.  This would soon change again as the next migrants arrived in North America, the Industrialists, and set in motion the next wave of extinction events that are still in progress.

Mariposa Lily

These new changes to the landscape, such as farming, logging, roads, and concrete do leave a geologic imprint that will be recorded in sedimentary layers for eons.  The predicted moderate sea-level rise is much more notable, but it's not as if Florida hasn't been submerged before just 20 million years ago.  Impressive (frightening?) as these facts are, they pale in comparison to geologic changes such as the Great Cretaceous Western Interior Seaway, Ice Ages, Lake Bonneville Flood, or the Laramide Orogeny.

What is more subtle yet powerful than geographical change is the recent fossil record of the biosphere.  Not only is our biosphere changing in species composition and radical ecosystem shifts, but with the advent of the 21st century technology, we now have the power to shuffle 4 billion years of evolution, opening up an incredible potential and a new Pandora's Box.

Cutthroat Tower

I just finished reading a book called "Frankenstein's Cat", which briefly presents several new bio-technologies that are rapidly developing and, in my opinion, will be the next technological revolution with the potential to change our way of life and the world as we know it.  The book discusses current technologies including cloning, wiring the brains of mammals with micro-circuitry to become remote controlled toys and tools, and the big game changer... genetic engineering.  The author briefly describes a few pros and cons of these technologies, but more importantly, wants us to think hard about how we want to use these new technologies.  Is cloning species to prevent extinction good (especially if the habitat has been lost)?  How about cloning extinct species (particularly if their extinction was directly caused by humans... like Neanderthals)?  How about cloning your dead pet for fun, or a prize steer with robust traits for profit, or your Supreme Leader?  How about tweaking modern elephants to resemble their long-lost cousins and help them stave off the next potential Canfield Ocean cycle?

Scarlet Cup Cactus

And cloning is the least complex of the moral and secular problems.  Pharming goats with genes spliced from bacteria to produce cancer drugs, GMO crops with genes from pigs, jellyfish, or even synthetic genes to resist drought, disease, or trademarked herbicides?  How about corn with human genes?  How about splicing in the FOXP2 gene to dolphins and creating a new evolutionary path for civilized cetaceans?  How about gene therapy to cure diseases, increase longevity, or make your next transhuman child "advanced"?  So much potential and topics that it's easy for someone like me who cannot even clearly define my own ethical standards to animals to wallow in a mire of hypocrisy.  Perhaps the best thing I learned from Frankenstein's Cat is that it is normal to be stuck in the troubled middle, where rational thought and emotions blend together in contradictions.

Anazasi were awesome architects

Every week a new article or radio broadcast makes me ponder this huge quagmire all over.  Clearly, I need a walk in the glow-in-the-dark woods to help me see more clearly.  The home I currently live in is built next door to some long-ago crumbled Anazazi ruins, I wonder who/what will be living here in another thousand years?

So welcome to the Antropocene and the brave, new world that awaits us.  After all, the only thing we have to fear is fear itself (and perhaps mutant-cyborg-sentient-terrestrial-jellyfish Overlords).

Happy Earth Day!

I can tell spring has arrived this week.  Violet-green Swallows are circling the ponds and rivers, perfectly timed to catch the first round of bugs.  Waterfowl are on the move too, and we saw Canada Geese, Northern Shovelers, Cinnamon Teals, Common Mergansers, and Buffleheads.  A pair of red-shafted flickers were nest-building in the snag of an old cottonwood along the Dolores River, and a Bald Eagle Flew far overhead.

old growth pondorosa

Here's an interesting art project to celebrate Earth Day and remind me why I'm out here:http://www.lostbirdfilm.org/
This afternoon, I was privileged to watch a swan reach orbit for the first time!
To celebrate, I went for a hike up a ridge, past a raven's nest, to a sandstone arch near Taylor Creek to watch the moon rise in the window of rock.

On certain nightsWhen the angles are rightAnd the moon is a slender crescent

It's circle showsIn a ghostly glowOf earthly luminescence - Earthshine

Fantastic Fourth

My fourth season at Mesa Verde National Park has begun.  Between politics and career decisions, it was not a sure thing.  All my co-workers from the past two years have also moved on, so I am the only returning employee.  The crew will have the same structure as last year, 3 experienced technicians with 1 college-grad. We also should have a vegetation ecologist to lead the group, but a hiring freeze has kept that position empty.  I'm hoping I know enough from past experience, even though I am not formally trained as a botanist. 

My new crew starts next week.  I began work with a little lead time to plan our work and organize some training.  I hope one day to have time to visit the brand new visitor center.

This year, the San Juan snowpack is down 30% from normal, but recent snows are slowly reducing the deficit.  Last year, the spring was very warm and dry, so the already low snowpack faded too fast and Colorado experienced the 2nd worst fire season since 1960.  New Mexico and Arizona also had bad fire years, with the Gila Wilderness burning many acres.  The prescribed burn I attended at Zion last year was postponed due to exceptionally hot, windy weather and the Front range in Colorado had a prescribed burn that rekindled with tragic results.

It's a tricky problem, since continued fire suppression in some types of forests can increase the chance of severe fires.  Combined with the past decade of warmer than average weather causing insect damage and drier forests, the severity of fires in the Rocky Mountains continues to be a looming threat each year.  So far, the Four Corners is off to a slightly better spring than 2012, but New Mexico and California have much worse snowpack deficits.

This weekend, we went for a short hike up the old Pinkerton Trail that follows Scotch Creek.  Snow still lined the road, so it was a game trying to stay on the packed ski-trail so we wouldn't bust the crust and end up post-holing.  A short hike up, and we were rewarded with a gallery of majestic rock formations (and cold feet).  We drove up to Trout Lake, which always looks like Alaska this time of year, and then watched the winds whip snow of the summit of Sunshine and Mount Wilson.


Sunday was a nice lecture about photographing astronomical events that are tied to archaeological sites; such as the Lunar Standstill events at Chimney Rock, the Sun Dagger of Fajada Butte, and fascinating alignments between the sun, moon, and Great Houses.  I learned many new things, like the siting of Yucca House National Monument can view the winter solstice rise from Sleeping Ute's big toe.  Like a good puebloan farmer, I planted my crops (most inside in seed trays, except for frost hardy spinach).  There's occasional mule deer in our yard, so I have a feeling that I won't get much to myself.

Speaking of astronomical events, I hope to catch a glimpse of the comet to the west tonight.  This week, Antares might make its inaugural flight.  My brother is busy as a beaver building the Orion spacecraft, which now has a scheduled launch date too (Sept 2014)!  I expect tickets to the launch.

Happy Darwin Day!

Whew, I'm glad we made it past the Mayan Apocalypse!    It would be fun to research a list of all the purported doomsdays I've survived since my birthday.

Meanwhile, I've found some more fun citizen science projects to keep myself entertained and thought I'd post them here to share:

• http://www.zooniverse.org  -- my favorite is the Ocean Floor Explorer
• http://cosmoquest.org/Citizen_Science -- exciting to think you could help discover a new minor planet!
• http://www.scientificamerican.com/citizen-science/ -- just found this site, need to check it out
• http://www.birds.cornell.edu/citsci/projects -- the Great Backyard Birdcount is nigh!

Of course, there's many other volunteer science projects.  Museums, universities, hobby clubs, are all great places to get plugged into a project.  I've helped a little at the Heard museum preparing a mosasaur, and hope to get out to the Arlington Archosaur Site sometime this spring.

We recently saw the movie The Big Year.  It was a fun show and the paralleled story-line of the ruby-throated hummingbird will be in my mind this spring... although for us we have our resident chimney swifts that come to roost soon, at about the same time our juncos migrate north. 

Time to Fly South

Trout Lake and the Vermillion Peaks

It is finished: another season at Mesa Verde just ended and we're on the move again.  Almost all of my final day was spent hiking down a canyon I had never had the chance to explore yet: the aptly named Long Canyon. 

Our goal was to investigate springs that in recent history were described by Marylin Collier as having pools of water.  One site was a thicket of Forestiera neomexicana, the New Mexican Privet.  It had lots of tiny blue berries and bright yellow leaves in a nice autumn show, but the thorns make it somewhat stand-offish.  The next site was high up on a cliff and took some serious hiking to reach, and had a grove of 20 Populus fremontii (fremont cottonwood) trees, but like nearly all the springs in the park, no surface water.  The final site we visited had a pool of water, but was trampled extensively by feral horses and cows so that the riparian community was no longer intact and worth investigating for a long-term monitoring project. 

The closest to seeing a lynx I've even been

This past season is the 2nd driest on record for Mesa Verde, and the area is in the 11th year of a persistent drought, so it is really having a toll on the hydrology.  We had intended to explore another spring far up the canyon wall, but did not have enough time.  Instead, we visited a large sandstone arch below Springhouse Ruin.  A great finish to my last hours working.

For weekend fun, we drove down Last Dollar Road, a scruffy mountain pass that connects the Telluride basin to the Dallas Divide.  The quaking aspens were just gorgeous, and the weather had a crisp, cool edge after the first snow fall.  I hiked through a little snow up one of the nearby peaks called Whipple Mountain, and somewhere up there I lost my Fire Crew hat.  We finished hiking around and then went for an extended soaking session in the hot springs of Ouray and ate a delicious meal at the Ore House Hotel.

Snow on Sneffels

We camped again at Angel and the morning was frigid.  We drove up to Camp Bird Mine, which is being reopened to process tailings and perhaps mine a bit more ore from the mountains.  The road was in great shape, but we decided not to push our old truck too much and turned around shortly past the mine.  I explored a small creek coming off the mountain, which led to a series of waterfalls and another set of "Baby Bathtubs".  After that, we went for a hike up the steep switchbacks of Weehawken Trail.

We're going to miss the scenery and adventure of the Four Corners.  I wonder if we will return or if the future holds something different for us?

For now, it's on the road again!

Thar's Gold in Them Thar Hills!

Columbine Creek

Come greet your newest National Monument:  Chimney Rock!  I read a great book about a new wildlife biologist who fought all kinds of obstacles to save the Peregrine Falcons nesting there: Wings for My Flight.  It's a very scenic spot, so no wonder the Ancient Puebloans build a Great House there.  The book House of Rain has an excellent chapter about the Lunar Standstill event than can be seen from the twin spires of rock that frame the ruin.

Nature's Hardest Hue to Hold

As always, I can't believe another season is drawing to a close.  We've been very busy at Mesa Verde trying to complete our projects.  The new Visitor Center is about to open; it is built on the site of an old corn field worked in the mid 20th century.  Since all the native plants were lost in the plowing of the field, we're working to restore it to some semblance of a natural mix of plants.  It will probably take another five years of consistent effort of planting and controlling invasive plants before it's done.

Columbine Lake (click link for professional photos)

Since our weekends are numbered, we've been sure to get out and enjoy fall every chance we get!  Having been born in Texas, I have a strong bias towards Spring as my favorite season:  redbuds, dogwoods, and magnolias all in full blossom, and whole fields turning blue, red, and yellow with wildflowers as the songbirds migrate up from Central and South America -- I feel like the New Year doesn't really begin until the first flowers.  A Rocky Mountain spring is very different: the weather pattern is chaotic with snows, dust storms and heat waves all in the same week.  The plants (and field technicians) can't trust it.  Oak trees do not leaf out until late May, and even then they can get zapped by frost like many did this year and have to go through a second leafing almost a month later.  Spring tries to start up in the valleys, and moves up the slopes in fits and starts, with July being the best wildflower season since snows have finally melted and monsoon rains hit the lower canyons.

Engineer Mountain

 Autumn is a different story in the Four Corners: the plants and birds all take their cue from the shortened day length and the season is much more organized.  The trees and shrubs all agree Fall is here and the aspens steal the show here with there bright gold leaves.  It is visually stunning to see the quaking leaves suddenly let loose by a strong breeze and rain down along a mountain side.  The air is crisper, so the moon shines bright as geese and humming birds all shuffle for the season.  Colorado's best season for me is Fall.

A scenic overlook of the Ampitheater

Finally, I made the effort to see Columbine Lake.  It's a steep switch-backing trail that heads over Silver Shield basin and up to Columbine Lake (not to be confused with the other 1000 Columbine Lakes).  I saw a Blue Grouse in the park last week, and another as we hiked the Pass Creek trail from Coalbank Pass this past weekend.  It was very windy as we stood below the summit block of Engineer Mountain, so we took shelter behind a lone, stalwart fir and watched a bluebird dance in the gusts.

View from campsite

We camped overnight at Angel Campground, nestled in the cliffs that frame Canyon Creek above Ouray.  This is the same campground I stayed with my brother and friend 4 years earlier before I began working at Mesa Verde.  The following morning, we hiked along the Portland Trail around the Amphitheater, and then went for a long soak in the hot springs.  Driving toward the Matterhorn on the way back home, we had to stop and stare at the aspens framing Mount Wilson.

A cold front was bearing down on the mountains and the first snowfall to hit the Weminuche would begin falling in two days.

Das Matterhorn

Arrival of Autumn

Summer was gone and the heat died down
And Autumn reached for her golden crown
I looked behind as I heard a sigh
But this was the time of no reply.

The trees on the hill had nothing to say
They would keep their dreams till another day
So I stood and thought and wondered why
For this was the time of no reply.

Time goes by from year to year
And no one asks why I am standing here
But I have my answer as I look to the sky
This is the time of no reply.  -- Nick Drake

The Equinox is here and the aspens at the higher elevations have already spun their bright gold.  Morning's here are already chilly, so I need to dress for 3 seasons each day.  On the first cool day, we went for a short hike down the lower Dolores River Canyon.  It is like a miniature Grand Canyon experience (excuse the oxymoron); towering red sandstone cliffs capped in white with white and a tiny river flowing down.  We saw an osprey, and at the overlook was a family of white-throated swifts zooming around the cliffs like fighter jets.  The swifts would SWOOOSH right over your shoulder, occasionally starting you to watch them instead of the sweeping vistas.  On the way home, we stopped by Lowry Pueblo with the intent to hide a geocache there.  Every place we thought might make a good hiding place had artifacts on the ground, so decided against it.

The next weekend, I went for a hike up Owen's Basin in the La Plata mountains.  The aspen there were still green, but there were a few groves that had already turned a luminous autumnal orange.  When I arrived at the basin, I saw the Mountain of the North, Dibé Nitsaa, in bright sunshine.  Each time I've been near this mountain, it has sent me discouraging vibes:  rockfalls, snow, storms, tired feets... this time it beckoned.  Even the route up seemed obvious on a mountain that has few obvious routes.  By the time I reached the summit, it was shrouded in thin clouds that swiftly flowed around the summit, making me feel like the summit was moving in a sea of clouds.  Sometimes gaps in the clouds provided views of Mount Moss, Centennial, Durango, and Mancos.  Then a pair of sharp-shinned hawks circled the summit, with one flying straight towards me with a loud SWOOSH as he flew just overhead.  Right after that, the cloud deck lifted quickly, where I could see Sleeping Ute, El Diente, Engineer, and the Needles far in the distance.  A few huge clouds the size of an ocean liner would come sweeping down at the summit, giving the sense it would crash into me with force -- but instead would just wrap around like a light mist and pelt the ground with a few white gems of sleet.

I made my way down along a faint trail and misunderestimated the amount of time required to get back.  Darkness fell, and I neglected to bring a light to save weight in my pack.  I reached the river fording at dark and was scared outta my shoes by a cow-bear!  (a black angus that spooked out from the willows and for a split-second I thought was a bear).  I got back to my truck and noticed some mud and my side mirrors bent -- darn meddling kids!  In the morning light, I realized the mud had huge paw marks on them: there was indeed a bear o'er there!