Front Range Oasis

While those of us who live along the Colorado Front Range enjoy abundant sunshine and a mild, semiarid climate, there is plenty of aquatic habitat along the urban corridor.  One of the best places to observe water-loving birds and mammals is South Platte Park, which stretches across the river's floodplain from the northern edge of Chatfield Reservoir State Park to the outskirts of downtown Littleton.  A mosaic of ponds, lakes, wetlands, meadows and riparian woodlands, the Park is accessed by a paved bikeway, its parallel walking path and a number of adjoining trail loops.  An Interpretive Center, west of Santa Fe Drive and north of Mineral, introduces visitors to the varied fauna and flora of the Park.

On this mild, clear morning, the refuge was teeming with birds, including many that non-Coloradans might not associate with our State.  A dozen American white pelicans moved among the lakes or fished in the shallows, joined by a large number of double-crested cormorants, scattered great blue herons, a pair of snowy egrets, a flotilla of common mergansers, noisy flocks of Canada geese and a varied assortment of ducks (primarily mallards, gadwall and wood ducks).  Tree and barn swallows swooped above the ponds, a Swainson's hawk circled overhead, belted kingfishers chattered along the river and a wide assortment of songbirds moved among the trees and cattails; these included yellow warblers, common yellowthroats, American and lesser goldfinches, western wood pewees, northern orioles, house wrens, northern flickers, downy woodpeckers and those ever-vocal red-winged blackbirds.  A lone black-crowned night heron, spooked from his shadowy haunt, was my final sighting of the morning.

Though represented only by fox squirrels, cottontails and black-tailed prairie dogs this morning, a variety of mammals also inhabit the Park and are best seen at dawn or dusk.  Among these residents are mule and white-tailed deer, red fox, coyotes, beaver, muskrats, raccoons, striped skunks,  meadow voles and deer mice; mountain lions and black bear are potential visitors but are rarely encountered.

Monsoon Relief

Returning to our Littleton, Colorado, farm today, I found that early monsoon rains have revitalized the landscape.  Indeed, over the past few days, heavy rains have moved northward across the Front Range, bringing much needed rain to the tinder-dry mountain forests and welcome moisture to the urban corridor.  While some flooding, mudslides and sinkholes developed, the storms have reduced the wildfire risk to some degree and, so far, have not ignited any new fires.

The annual monsoon rains of the American Southwest result from a southerly flow that brings in moisture from both the Gulf of California and the Gulf of Mexico.  The engine for this wind pattern is high pressure over the Southern Plains that generally develops by early July and persists through much of August; winds move clockwise around that atmospheric ridge, sweeping moisture northward along its western rim.  Showers and thunderstorms are usually confined to the Desert Southwest and Four Corners Region early in the season, reaching the Colorado Front Range by late July and August.  Thanks to the dome of drought that has plagued the south-central and southeastern U.S. for several weeks, the Monsoon got an early start and Colorado, caught in its own drought after a mild, snow-starved winter and a warm, dry spring, has received an early and very welcome gift.

Unfortunately, the monsoon flow will be shut off for the rest of this week as high pressure builds in from the West, bringing another round of hot, dry weather to the State and blocking the southerly stream of moisture.  When the Southwest Monsoon might generate more relief is anyone's guess but its typical arrival date is still a week or two away.

Colorado's Black Canyon

Near the end of the Mesozoic Era, as the Cretaceous Sea retreated to the southeast, Colorado was a relatively flat landscape of wetlands, sandhills and primitive forest.  Then, about 70 million years ago (MYA), pressure within the North American craton crumpled up the Rocky Mountains, pushing ancient Precambrian rock up through the overlying Paleozoic and Mesozoic sediments.

As soon as they formed, the forces of erosion began to act on these new mountains, filling the intervening valleys with debris.  About 35 MYA, volcanism developed in central and southwestern Colorado, lifting the West Elk and San Juan Mountains; the copious ash, pumice and lava from these eruptions also coated the valleys and basins of that region.  By 10 MYA, the Gunnison River had formed; rising on the west side of the Continental Divide, in the Sawatch Range, and receiving large tributaries from the West Elk Mountains, to its north, and the San Juans, to its south, this river flowed west to join the Colorado.  Entrenched within the erosional and volcanic debris that had settled across the broad, intervening basin, the Gunnison was forced to cut into a ridge of Precambrian gneiss and schist, east of present day Montrose, that was buried within the sediments.  Since that time, the river has sculpted the Black Canyon of the Gunnison from that ancient rock, a process that was augmented during the cooler, wetter climate of the Pleistocene.

Almost 50 miles in length, the Black Canyon is up to 2720 feet deep and 1100 feet across at its rim; at river level, it is much narrower, only 40 feet wide in one area.  The Painted Wall, on the north flank of Black Canyon, is named for the light-colored lava rock that laces its surface and is the tallest cliff in Colorado, dropping 2250 feet.  Within the canyon, the Gunnison River drops 43 feet per mile, a grade that is almost six times steeper than the Colorado River's course within the Grand Canyon.  Named for its shaded walls, hidden from the sun by its deep and narrow topography, the Black Canyon of the Gunnison is protected within a National Park that stretches along its middle (and most spectacular) 14 miles.  Farther west, the Gunnison is thought to have carved Unaweep Canyon through the Uncompahgre Plateau, later diverted northward by a landslide to join the Colorado west of Grand Junction (see my blog on 12-27-10).

Looking at the Invisible

This week at CERN, the Organization for European Nuclear Research, near Geneva, Switzerland, nuclear physicists may have discovered the Higgs boson, first theorized to exist back in 1964.  Using the Large Hadron Collider, in operation for just two years, they smashed protons together at high velocity and found a particle that had never been observed with past forms of technology.  Based on their initial calculations, it is thought to be a transient manifestation of the cosmic soup that gives mass to the elementary particles.

If confirmed, this discovery will herald a new era in our understanding of the Universe, focusing on the dark energy and dark matter that, combined, make up over 95% of its content.  Indeed, the visible stars, planets, comets, asteroids and interstellar dust make up less than 1% of the Universe, with intergalactic gas accounting for 3.5% or so.  This week, we caught our first glimpse of the dark side and took our first step toward understanding the dark energy that is causing the Universe to expand at an increasing rate.

For most of us, the details of the Higgs boson discovery are difficult to understand.  Those who prefer to concentrate on the simplistic dogma of their chosen religion will dismiss the news as scientific heresay; after all, bosons are not mentioned in the Bible.  But for those hungry to understand the complex nature of our Universe, this discovery promises a new world of adventure.

A Stubborn Ridge

The dome of high pressure that has parked itself over the Heartland for the past two weeks shows no sign of abating.  Rather than drifting off to the east, it has backed into the Southern Plains; unfortunately, those of us in the lower Missouri and Mississippi Valleys remain within its grip.

Beneath this atmospheric ridge, the air is sinking and drying out, producing excessive heat and retarding cloud formation.  Storm systems are shunted along its outer rim, exacerbating drought within the dome while fueling violent weather at its periphery (as we saw in the Upper Midwest and Mid-Atlantic region last week).  On the positive side, this stubborn ridge may ignite the Monoon Season across the American Southwest, pulling in moisture from both the Gulf of California and the Gulf of Mexico as clockwise winds stream along its western rim.

Those of us caught within its boundaries can expect another week of hot, dry weather, with afternoon highs near 100 degrees F.  Beyond prolonging our personal discomfort, this dome of drought is taking a toll on forests and crop fields across the Heartland, stressing natural ecosystems and posing a serious challenge for farmers and ranchers.  Unless relief arrives in the form of a potent Canadian front, it may take a hurricane to dislodge this ridge.

The Heart of Champions

As the Olympic Trials wind down and national teams prepare for London, it is clear that there is something special about Olympic athletes.  Like others in their respective sport, they are talented and hard-working individuals who enjoy a good deal of support from family, friends and colleagues.  Yet, these Olympians seem to harbor traits that set them apart.

Despite their success and self-confidence, few (if any) are arrogant or egotistical.  Rather, their achievement reflects their competitive spirit, their courage in the face of adversity and, perhaps most importantly, an unwillingness to concede defeat.  This latter trait, which might be defined as heart, is found in all champions, from race horses to long-distance runners to heavyweight boxers.  When the margin of victory is razor thin or when endurance plays a major role, heart is especially vital.

Of course, this trait is not confined to sports.  While some owe their success to good fortune, most champions of human society possess this same competitive spirit; facing obstacles that discourage their rivals, they have the heart to persevere.  Heart is, indeed, a human trait which seems to require a delicate mix of genetic, familial and cultural factors.  Alas, in most individuals, it never reaches full expression. 

The Season of Insanity

Humans, tropical creatures that we are, have a healthy respect for winter,  Not naturally equipped to survive its wrath, we take shelter from winter's storms and tend to hibernate for much of its course.  While the cold, dark season may be depressing for some and does induce its fair share of injuries, winter keeps us on our guard and, for the most part, out of trouble.

Summer, on the other hand, that carefree season of vacations, picnics and outdoor recreation, is welcomed by most humans and its dangers are too often ignored.  But, contrary to what many believe, the summer heat causes far more deaths than does the winter chill.  The elderly, stressed by excessive heat and too often housed in poorly ventilated apartments, are the primary victims; ironically, young, healthy athletes are the other group at risk.  Driven on by macho coaches and drill sergeants or by their own sense of immortality, they work out or engage in sports on summer afternoons and, as we observe every year, some fall victim to heat stroke..  There is a popular misconception that exercising in the heat, drenched in sweat, is a more effective way to lose weight or to get in shape than is exercising during cooler parts of the day.  This, of course, is false and such behavior invites disaster.

Despite these admonitions, repeated throughout the summer by news and weather reporters, many will ignore the warnings and our current heat wave will be the last for some young athletes.  We may be designed for the tropics but there are limits to our capacity to dissipate heat.  Staying well hydrated is important but common sense is our best means of protection.