Momentous things are happening in the Great Valley this month! Wave after wave of migratory birds are starting to arrive at the string of national wildlife refuges up and down the valley floor. The Sandhill Cranes arrived in large numbers several weeks ago, constituting the "first wave" (this, by the way, is my entirely made-up description; I'm no biologist. I'm just reporting what I've been seeing). We saw hundreds and hundreds of them last week in the Merced National Wildlife Refuge, and I saw a few hundred of them at the San Joaquin River National Wildlife Refuge. There were also a few dozen Greater White-fronted Geese at both refuges, but not in large numbers.
But this week there was a big change at the San Joaquin River National Wildlife Refuge. I stopped by on Tuesday and again on Saturday to find a huge flock of several thousand Aleutian Cackling Geese (Branta hutchinsii). The corn in the section near the viewing platform on Beckwith Road had been cut so the birds were foraging for food.
The Cackling Goose strongly resembles the Canada Goose and was once classed as a subspecies. Subsequent studies showed enough differences that they are considered separate species today. They are noticeably smaller and their necks are short than those of the Canada Goose. They breed on just a few of the Aleutian Islands and most of them migrate to just a small area of the Central Valley, primarily the San Joaquin River National Wildlife Refuge. The birds were actually thought to be extinct for a few decades after 1938, due to over-hunting in the valley and the introduction of foxes in their breeding grounds in Alaska. A few hundred individuals were discovered on an isolated island and the bird was placed on the endangered species list soon after in 1967. The foxes were removed from the breeding islands and hunting was controlled and the birds rebounded. They now number more than 120,000.
There was a harbinger in the crowd of Cackling Geese which you may have noticed in some of the pictures above. It was the presence of seven or eight Snow Geese. They are another Arctic breeder, and they are on their way south too. In another two or three weeks there will be tens of thousands of them at the refuges (my official "third wave").
The viewing platform on Beckwith Road is about eight miles west of the Vintage Faire Mall in Modesto. It's open now and free to visit. If you want the challenge of a hike you can go across the San Joaquin River on Highway 132 and go a few miles south to another section of the refuge. The Pelican Trail is about 4 miles total with a variety of different riparian habitats. It's not unusual to run across three dozen bird species or more.
The Great Valley is often thought of as a dusty, flat and boring place. It often is. But there are treasures hidden here. A visit to the national refuges during the winter migrations is as spectacular as a trip through the African savanna, especially in those moments when tens of thousands of geese take flight all at once. It is well worth your time if you ever happen to be passing through.
Three Sandhill Cranes soar against a backdrop of hundreds of geese
I lived here for a quarter century absolutely ignorant of the dramatic scenes taking place just west and south of my home. Each winter tens of thousands of Snow Geese, Ross's Geese, Cackling Geese, and White-fronted Geese as well as Sandhill Cranes take the long journey out of the Arctic Circle and head for California's Great Valley. They converge on a series of wildlife refuges that wind up and down the valley like a string of pearls. They bide their time through the winter and then when spring comes they head north again to breed.
They once ranged across the entire valley, but agricultural development has stolen away 95% of their habitat, leaving precious little living space. Refuge managers will often grow fields of corn to provide food for the hungry birds.
They spend their days foraging around the region but as the sun sets low on the horizon they start to settle into a large field where they can bunch together. This evening the flock was pretty close to the viewing platform on Beckwith Road about 10 miles west of Modesto. When I first arrived about 25 minutes before sunset, there were just a few hundred birds in the field, but more were arriving by the minute. Soon there was a thousand, and then ten thousand. The noise was deafening (the amount of gossiping going on was appalling!).
Occasionally something would startle the birds and many of them would take flight all at once, circling like a bird tornado over the field until whatever got them going resolved itself. Who knows what it might have been. I've seen coyotes lurking in the area, as well as Bald Eagles.
Soon an entire sector of the pastureland was covered with thousands of birds settling in for the night, but as I was turning to go, there was one more disturbance. There was a sound like a jet plane throttling upwards to take off and thousands of birds were once again in the air.
I caught a short video of the moment. Sorry for the shaky cinematography. I've been watching too many crime procedurals lately. Or else I was just kind of excited...
It's an incredible sight to see the migratory geese making their winter home in the Great Valley of California. As noted in the previous post, we were watching the geese swirling into the fields for the night at the Beckwith Road viewing platform in the San Joaquin National Wildlife Refuge. The first video showed them arriving. They're a fractious bunch though, and it takes some time to settle. Once in a while, thousands of birds will suddenly take flight, only to land a few moments later. That's what the second video shows. If the flying monkeys in the Wizard of Oz gave you nightmares in your childhood, you might want to cover your eyes! There is some extraneous noise on this one; a couple of teens decided to practice skateboarding on the platform while I shot the video. Oh well...
I fell for the ruse. I was duped into Christmas shopping on a Saturday, because it included a quick trip out to the Beckwith Road viewing platform at the San Joaquin National Wildlife Refuge west of Modesto in the Great Valley. It was a decent trade-off. When we pulled up, it looked like we would be disappointed, as the fields were almost empty of birds. But then the magic started...the sky filled with geese coming from all directions, all spiraling towards the field west of the viewing platform. There were dozens, then hundreds, and then thousands of them.
The Cackling Geese arrived first, and the few Ross's Geese looked a bit confused and lost, but the tornado of white birds expanded, and more and more of them arrived. It was an astounding sight. I took a few videos. The first is below. I'll post the second in a few moments.
There were rumors "flying" about in birding circles this week about a Brant that made an appearance at the Beckwith Road viewing platform. Well, not rumors, it was actually there. It's only the fourth appearance by this goose species ever in our county. I'm not quite to the place where I drop everything in an effort to see a single rare bird, but I was in town on errands, so I went on out to the San Joaquin NWR to see what was happening. It was early in the afternoon which is not the best time to see the birds, and my low expectations were fulfilled. The geese flock was nearly a mile away. There was not much else going on, but as I was leaving, I saw an American Kestrel (Falco sparverius) perched on the telephone wires.
It was not as skittish as they often are, and didn't fly off, so I got a couple of shots. They are colorful little falcons.
It looks like some Snow Geese and Ross's Geese have begun arriving in the valley. I could see a flock at the pond in the great distance, along with the Cackling Geese.
I live in California's Great Valley, also known as the Central Valley. It's one of the most important agricultural regions on Earth, in that it produces around a quarter of the nation's produce. It's an extraordinary geological province, 400 miles of almost perfect flatness. When I moved to the valley nearly thirty years ago, I thought I was moving to a boring place, featureless, and bereft of the kinds of terrain that makes a geologist's heart go pit-a-pat. I was wrong...
I must admit that an exploration of the valley can be a bit monotonous. Traveling Highway 99 or Interstate 5 involves hundreds of miles of featureless fields and orchards, interrupted now and then by towns whose cultural attractions consist of gas stations and fast food restaurants (don't get me wrong, some of our towns have fascinating cultures, but you may have to work to find them at times).
The valley environment ranges from oak woodlands in the north through semiarid prairie in the middle reaches to barren desert to the south. The land is actually well-watered, as the adjacent Sierra Nevada feeds numerous rivers that flow into the valley. The rivers have been mostly diverted for use in irrigation, but about 30% of the water continues on to the sea. About 95% of the land surface in the valley has been converted to agricultural and urban development.
What has enriched my life in recent years is seeing the valley the way our migrant birds see it: a series of "wilderness" islands that allow me to imagine the valley as it once was, America's version of the Serengeti Plains. The prairies and wetlands once supported millions of grazing animals and migrating bird species (along with the year-round resident species). Most of these "islands" are part of the National Wildlife Refuge system, while others are preserves administered by a variety of federal, state and private organizations. These refuges allow the preservation and survival of the remnants of the incredible ecosystem that once existed here. It took a long time to recognize what we were doing to these animals as we took away more and more of their habitat to grow our food, but now there is a movement towards rehabilitating some of the wetland environments. We are trying to undo the damage we've caused over the last century and a half.
I was reminded of these efforts this afternoon when I drove over to a viewing area at the San Joaquin National Wildlife Refuge, one of the main centers of the efforts to rebuild the wetlands (something like 400,000 trees have been planted in riparian habitats that had been converted to farmlands, later abandoned). I saw an astounding sight.
There were perhaps tens of thousands of Aleutian Cackling Geese (Branta hutchinsii leucopareia) gathered in a plowed cornfield (planted by the refuge employees to provide food for the birds). The birds are closely related to the Canada Goose, but are considered a separate species based on DNA analysis. The species had gone into a steep decline due to hunting, the introduction of foxes on the island where they bred, and loss of winter habitat in the Central Valley. They were actually thought to be extinct for twenty four years, as none were seen after 1938, but a group of several hundred were found on some isolated islands in 1962. They were listed officially as an endangered species in 1967.
Aggressive efforts began to protect the birds from extinction, and in fifty years, the results have been successful enough that the bird has been removed from endangered status. From a population of less than 1,000 birds, there are now more than 120,000. And I was looking at a large percentage of the entire population of these birds at the San Joaquin National Wildlife Refuge this afternoon. It was stunning.
The birds certainly still face problems. They are crowded onto relatively limited lands, and drought years can limit the amount of maize and wheat that can be planted on their behalf. The drought also limits that available wetlands that they prefer for roosting. But still for a few moments this afternoon, I was reminded how the valley used to support millions of geese and cranes. It may still do so again. It's possible to share the bounty of our valley with the original inhabitants.
I imagine some people would think I was exaggerating a bit when I said there were thousands, maybe tens of thousands of birds at the refuge this afternoon. I certainly couldn't fit them all into a single picture, so I invite you to see a video I took, sweeping across the crowd next to the road. Enjoy!
Mind you, they may have been there for weeks. I've only had a handful of chances to check the Beckwith Road viewing platform. Two weeks ago I saw a few way off to the south. Today I saw a few dozen, maybe a hundred off in the distance. I turned back and started to look for Towhees and sparrows in the brush, but then a huge commotion broke out in the sky above. I looked up and there were thousands of birds overhead. It was astounding.
Cackling Geese (Branta hutchinsii) are a new species, having recently been thought of as a subspecies of the Canada Goose. They were one of the first species to be listed under the Endangered Species Act, but efforts to rebuild populations have been a success story, and they were taken off the list in 2001. A large percentage of their population spends the winter at the San Joaquin National Wildlife Refuge west of Modesto in the Great Valley.
There are Sandhill Cranes in the region, but we are still awaiting the arrival of the Snow Geese and the Ross's Geese. December and January are noisy times at our local wildlife refuges, and they are a reminder of the rich abundance of wildlife that existed here before 95% of the valley was taken over for agriculture. I'm looking forward to winter!
You drive west of town, through the seemingly endless agricultural fields. The road gets more corrupted and full of potholes, and soon there is a sign saying "no outlet". Another mile brings you to a small dirt parking lot with a kiosk and a wooden viewing platform. You climb the short path to the top of the viewing area, and there it is: a field! The field seems empty except for a constant noise in the distance, and you finally realize that the sky is in motion, like white glitter, like a gigantic snow globe.
This is the Beckwith Road access point of the San Joaquin National Wildlife Refuge just west of Modesto, only about eight miles from the Vintage Faire Shopping Mall. The contrast between the parking lots crowded with shoppers and this empty field could hardly be bigger.
The Great Valley of central California was once the destination of millions, maybe billions of migrating geese, ducks, and other birds. Snow rarely falls on the valley floor and the temperature rarely reaches below freezing. Once the rains begin, the grass will grow all through the winter, providing a basic food chain with seeds, bugs, fish, amphibians and other creatures that feed the multitudes of birds when food is scarce elsewhere. The valley was a haven.
The value of the valley was apparent to humans. For thousands of years, people have lived in the valley alongside the birds and other animals, and drew sustenance from them. But in the last century and a half, the humans have changed the landscape, drying up the wetlands, and breaking up the prairie soils in favor of crops. Eventually only about 5% of the original landscape remained, and the birds no longer had many safe places to wait out the winter.
Over the decades, there were those who came to recognize the value of the birds, and eventually a series of wildlife refuges were established that allowed the health of the bird populations to be a priority. A visit to these refuges at the right time of year is a stunning introduction to the way the Great Valley used to be. There are birds here. Tens of thousands of Snow Geese, Ross's Geese, Aleutian Cackling Geese, and many others. In the evening, they start to settle in large groups, but occasionally something will startle them, a predator perhaps, and tens of thousands of birds will take to the air simultaneously. The sound of their wings is almost like a jet engine.
I still am in awe that I lived here for twenty years before I realized the treasure in my backyard. It is a wondrous experience to watch these huge beautiful birds flying so chaotically and yet with perfect timing and direction. Eventually they come drifting back to the ground, but the cackling never seems to stop.
How many birds are in this one picture alone? The flock we were watching was estimated at 30,000 individuals.
YouTube compression does awful things to my videos, but the short example below gives some hint to what it is like to see these birds in motion.
If you've ever been accosted by a Canada Goose at the local park, pictures like these might give you the shivers. If one of them can deliver a nasty bite, just imagine what a few thousand of them can do. But take heart, these scenes are no nightmare. They aren't even Canada Geese. The birds occupying this field in the San Joaquin National Wildlife Refuge west of Modesto are Aleutian Cackling Geese (Branta hutchinsii). It's true, though, that before 2005 they were Canada Geese. Allow me to explain.
The Canada Goose lives in many environments, and in some cases particular flocks broke away and colonized different islands or territories (see yesterday's post for an extreme example). The presence or lack of food sources or differences in the nature of predators favored certain traits (size and behavior, for instance) in the young. The geese who summered on the Aleutian Islands were long recognized as a smaller subspecies of the Canada Goose, but recent DNA analysis has led researchers to consider these birds an entirely different species. And so these birds are not Canada Geese, they are the much smaller Aleutian Cackling Geese, which are genetically distinct from the Canada Goose.
The Cackling Geese winter by the tens of thousands in the wildlife refuge a few miles west of my home. It is a stunning sight to see so many of the birds in one place. From the observation deck on Beckwith Road, one can see and hear thousands of birds taking off and landing, and in general making a racket (cackling, as it were). They have been encouraged to stay here instead of nearby agricultural fields through the planting of corn and other food plants. In April they will pick up and leave, headed north to breed in the Arctic.
The refuge is also home to thousands of lesser Sandhill Cranes. We could just make out a flock of them in the far distance. Snow Geese also winter in the area. There were five of them among the thousands of Cackling Geese yesterday, looking mildly confused. They usually arrive in large numbers in late November or early December.
"George, are you SURE this is the right place? Shouldn't you have asked directions in Oregon?"
As we were standing and watching the flocks there was a tremendous BOOM, and thousands of the geese immediately took flight. A huge dust plume over to the west revealed where the explosion had come from. And why.
It was a huge net. Several dozen of the birds had been trapped and for the next few minutes we could see Fish and Wildlife employees tagging them.
As usual, the picture quality from YouTube sucks (the compression process I suppose), but you can get a sense of the cacophony of sound from the flying geese from the short video below.
Momentous things are happening in the Great Valley this month! Wave after wave of migratory birds are starting to arrive at the string of national wildlife refuges up and down the valley floor. The Sandhill Cranes arrived in large numbers several weeks ago, constituting the "first wave" (this, by the way, is my entirely made-up description; I'm no biologist. I'm just reporting what I've been seeing). We saw hundreds and hundreds of them last week in the Merced National Wildlife Refuge, and I saw a few hundred of them at the San Joaquin River National Wildlife Refuge. There were also a few dozen Greater White-fronted Geese at both refuges, but not in large numbers.
