Colorado Nature Narratives

It is 4:30 in the morning and the strong voices of American Robins are already carrying the melody of a new spring day. The nearest birdsong seems amplified as if the Robin is singing into a microphone, while dozens of other Robins blend their harmonies throughout the neighborhood.

At 4:50, a Spotted Towhee adds its three-note trills. Two more Towhees begin singing a few minutes later. The pre-dawn sky is beginning to lighten. I hear a train’s long, sorrowful whistle in the far distance. As if prompted by the train, a Mourning Dove begins cooing at 5:16, immediately echoed by another Dove. At 5:22, a Chickadee contributes its “dee-dee-dee” and a Crow its “caw-caw-caw.” By 5:30, the beginning movement of the Dawn Chorus is concluding as the Robins yield the sound stage to the House Finches and Towhees. It is barely light.

Mourning Dove (Photo credit: mizmak)

When I was growing up in Louisiana, I assumed that birds sang all year round. The sounds of cooing Mourning Doves and raucous Blue Jays are inseparable from my childhood memories. Then, when I was in my twenties and began birding with the Audubon Society in Colorado, I observed the unsettling fact that most birds only sing for about three months. April, May and June – the height of the breeding season – is the time to listen to the amazing variety of birdsongs. By the second week of July, most of the birds are silent. The Dawn Chorus has disbanded until spring comes round again.

Note:

International Dawn Chorus Day is now celebrated annually on the first Sunday of May. All around the globe, people will be rising early on May 6 to enjoy the birdsongs of dawn.

Each day comes bearing its own gifts – untie the ribbons.

Anonymous

Sand Lilies bloom after recent spring rains

This week I hiked on the meadow trail of Bear Creek Nature Center to look for early spring wildflowers. March was so dry in Colorado Springs that I knew their blooming would be delayed. Finally, on April 11, an overnight thunderstorm brought much needed moisture to our beleaguered flowers. Along the trail and in the meadow grasses, the sand lilies were thriving. Their slender ribbon-like leaves and translucent white petals contrasted with the angular hardness of the granite gravels.

Other wildflowers I saw were a few pale lavender Pasque flowers, light yellow Silvery Bladderpods, tiny pink Spring Beauties, and bold yellow Dandelions. Even though the wildflowers weren’t plentiful, they seemed especially beautiful as the first flowers of spring.

The bright, white Niobrara Ridge is one of the rock ramparts that seems to guard the eastern approach to Pikes Peak. The Ridge can be seen from almost anywhere in Colorado Springs and is a prominent feature in two of the city’s most spectacular places—Garden of the Gods Park and Red Rock Canyon Open Space.

At Garden of the Gods Park, the Niobrara Ridge is in the foreground, with Kissing Camels and Pikes Peak beyond.

Recently, on an unseasonably warm afternoon, I began hiking east from the Garden’s south parking lot toward Rock Ledge Ranch. Then, I turned southward to traverse the Niobrara Ridge trail, “prospecting” for some of the Park’s many natural treasures. Along the way, I narrowed my attention from the expansive views of the Park and Pikes Peak, to birds foraging in the piñon and juniper trees, to rocky remnants of ancient life.

Ammonite fossil and the author's hand

Scattered throughout the Niobrara’s fractured white limestone are fossils of marine animals. Upon close inspection of the white rocks, I discovered circular shapes of ammonite fossils, their rough outlines catching the sun’s rays and casting curved shadows. Ammonites were similar to today’s chambered nautilus and had coiled or straight shells to protect their soft bodies. The ammonite fossils and white limestone of the Niobrara Ridge reveal a time in Earth’s history when a vast seaway covered one-third of the North American continent, including all of Colorado.

Widening my focus from the rocks, I was immediately rewarded by the twisted shapes of the one-seed juniper trees. Their roots push between the fractured rocks of the Niobrara Ridge and somehow find enough moisture to survive. The tiny blue berries of the junipers are actually miniature pinecones, and are a favorite food of the gray townsend solitaire, a year-round bird of the foothills.

Intermixed with the juniper trees are fragrant piñon pines. Both the piñons and the junipers are drought-tolerant tree species that grow primarily in the American Southwest. After checking several piñon pinecones, I found a few nuts hidden within the cones. In Colorado Springs, these evergreen trees are at the northern edge of their growing range, so the piñon nuts are usually very small and dry, unlike the plump nuts found in piñons growing further south.

Piñon nut near center of resin-covered pinecone

The quiet of the afternoon was broken by birds gleaning insects from the piñon-juniper woodland. Blue-gray gnatcatchers, black-capped chickadees, and dark-eyed juncos were in small, separate flocks, softly calling as they flew from tree to tree. Soon, the natural treasures of the Niobrara Ridge will increase as migrating birds return and spring wildflowers bloom. And, I will return to look for them.

Notes:

All three photos by author Melissa Walker

For a trail map of Garden of the Gods Park, visit the following webpage – http://www.springsgov.com/units/parksrec/maps/pdfmaps/gogs-pg1.pdf

On this gray February day, I find my mind’s eye drifting to colorful images of summer—scarlet red Indian Paintbrush blooming along a mountain trail, pink wild roses lighting up an aspen grove, and a green snake….

Wild Roses

A smooth green snake. That is what took me totally by surprise last June. It was side-winding across a shady trail in North Cheyenne Cañon in southwestern Colorado Springs. I have hiked in Colorado since I was a little girl and had never seen a snake like this. My first thought was, “Did it escape from the nearby Cheyenne Mountain Zoo?”

Opheodrys vernalis: Smooth Greensnake (Photo credit: Todd W Pierson)

Later in the day I searched the Colorado Division of Wildlife’s website and quickly found the snake. Its actual name was “smooth green snake,” the same words I had used to describe the unexpected reptile to my unbelieving friends.

The website described the snake’s range and habitat as “the northeastern United States with only isolated populations in the western and south-central U.S.; typically inhabits lush growths of vegetation along mountain and foothill streams on the east side of the Continental Divide.” Obviously, North Cheyenne Cañon is the perfect Colorado habitat for this isolated population of green reptile ribbons. Now I hope to see another one – summer is only three months away.

Photo Credits: Wild Roses by author Melissa Walker; Smooth Green Snake by Todd W. Pierson

On August 8, 2011, Lenore Fleck and I went for a short hike on the Lower Columbine Trail in North Cheyenne Cañon Park. The first mile of the Columbine Trail follows Cheyenne Creek and provided cool hiking for us in the shade of ponderosa pines, white firs and willow trees. Within the first few minutes of our hike, we were amazed to see a gorgeous orange bird with black wings fluttering in a tree near us. Neither one of us had ever seen a bird like this before! Fortunately, we got a good look at this brand new bird (to us) as it fed a fledgling at close range. After consulting two bird books, we identified it as a male Scarlet Tanager, Orange Variant.

Scarlet Tanager, Orange Variant. Photo by Bill Maynard

I called expert Colorado Springs birder Bill Maynard who immediately dropped what he was doing and drove to the Park. Fortunately, Bill arrived in time to observe the male Scarlet Tanager, Orange Variant, still tending the juvenile bird. Bill took some great photographs to document the unusual bird and reported it to Colorado’s Rare Bird Alert.

Photo by Bill Maynard

Typically, Scarlet Tanagers nest in the eastern United States and are considered rare sightings if they are seen west of central Oklahoma, Kansas and Nebraska. To see this rare Tanager with its even more rare “Orange Variant” color was quite a birding event. Local birders and I exchanged emails during the next 24 hours, and several of us had the good fortune of seeing the colorful Tanager the following morning. I looked for it again today, August 13, but couldn’t find it.

My thanks to Bill Maynard for his permission to post his great photographs of the Scarlet Tanager, Orange Variant, and to reprint his descriptive email:

“I looked at my photographs and the Scarlet Tanager grabbed what looks like a yellow jacket or other yellow and black abdomened wasp, worked the stinger end between its mandibles, probably disabling the stinger, and fed it to the juvenile.  Pretty cool.”     – Bill Maynard

Tanager preparing wasp to feed to fledgling bird. Photo by Bill Maynard

Scarlet Tanager, Orange Variant, feeding fledgling. Photo by Bill Maynard.

Few people can hike through our mountain forests without being scolded by a pine squirrel. Also called a chickaree, this little gray squirrel is very noisy and territorial.

The chickaree gnaws through the cones of ponderosa, spruce and fir trees to reach its preferred food—conifer seeds. Similar to the way you and I eat corn-on-the-cob, the squirrel holds the pinecone between its front paws. Then, it turns the cone as it chews off the woody bracts all the way down to the pinecone’s core. Between the bracts, it finds the nutritious seeds.

Chickaree eating a cone. (Photo by Bret Tennis)

Usually the squirrel has a favorite feeding tree where it eats and then drops leftover pinecone pieces. The shredded cones at the base of its feeding tree may accumulate into huge piles, called middens, that are sometimes several feet across and over two feet deep. Very large middens are evidence that several generations of chickarees have used the same feeding tree for decades.

Pine Squirrel Midden (Photo by Bret Tennis)

In summer and fall, the chickaree gathers pinecones and buries them in the midden to serve as its winter and early spring food supply. On cold winter days, the well-prepared squirrel retrieves and eats a few of its stored cones.

As you walk or picnic in the higher elevations of our Colorado Springs mountain parks and open spaces —Garden of the Gods, Red Rock Canyon, Section 16 or North Cheyenne Cañon—look for a chickaree’s midden at the base of an evergreen tree. And if you hear a chattering squirrel long before you can see it, no doubt it is a chickaree.

On June 7^th, I took a short trip to Rocky Mountain National Park to see some of my favorite mountains sparkling white, wearing this year’s unusually high snowpack. Trail Ridge Road finally opened on June 6^th, its latest opening in 20 years, with 30-foot snow drifts covering parts of the alpine highway.

Long’s Peak at 14,259 feet towered over the Estes Park Valley and the blue jewel of Lily Lake. Every summer, I take a wildflower hike on the lake’s circular trail. This early in June, I was treated to a return to Spring. Light lavender Pasque flowers that bloomed in April in Colorado Springs were in full bloom on the west side of the lake. Scattered beneath the Ponderosa Pine trees was the largest natural garden of Pasque flowers I’d ever seen.

Long's Peak, June 7, 2011

The higher elevation of Estes Park, cooler temperatures and ample precipitation provided the perfect environment for these wildflowers to bloom a few weeks later than in the foothills. That’s one of the extra benefits of living in Colorado. You can follow Spring up the mountainsides.

Pasque Flowers at Lily Lake

Pasque Flower Close-up

Lily Lake and the Mummy Range

Photo Credits: all three photos by Nature Narratives author Melissa Walker

When I first moved to Colorado Springs, I was an 18-year-old college student. More than anything else about that first year, I remember the thrill of waking up every morning and looking out at Pikes Peak. My parents saved the letters I wrote that fall, letters full of long descriptions about the clear, crisp weather, the sky that always seemed to be blue, and the new snowfall on the tops of the mountains.

Having grown up comfortably enveloped in the hardwood and pine forests of Louisiana, I simply felt different in Colorado. I felt as tall as any tree as I gazed out at the expansive horizon. Views of horizons were new to me.

Here in this place, I could see where I wanted to go. I wanted to go around Cheyenne Mountain to see what was on the other side. I wanted to explore the upended rocks of Garden of the Gods. I wanted to climb Pikes Peak.

Then, I found that wherever I went in the Pikes Peak Region, I could see where I had been. On top of Mt. Cutler, I could see my dorm back on campus. On top of Pikes Peak, I could see the cottonwood trees marking Fountain Creek’s path to the Arkansas River—a river that eventually met the Mississippi and flowed through my home state. Like so many before me, I was captivated by this place. Now it is my home.

In the ensuing years, I have discovered that alongside this Region’s stunning beauty are unforgettable stories of its people; inseparable from its beauty are its native plants and wildlife; and the foundations of its beauty are its rocks, canyons, mountains and horizons.

Pikes Peak on the Horizon & Indian Paintbrush

Photo by Author Melissa Walker

Dry, dry, dry and windy sums up the weather in Colorado Springs for the last two months. During March and April, we usually have over a foot of snow. This year, we have had only a dusting. I went on a short hike last week at Bear Creek Nature Center to look for my favorite spring wildflower – the Pasque flower. The trails showed few signs of spring – it has been so dry. Finally, I found two pale Pasque flowers beginning to bloom on a shady slope. They had pushed through a brittle layer of last year’s scrub oak leaves.

Pasque Flowers and Oak Leaves

Later that day, my brother called from Steamboat Springs, Colorado, to describe how migrating birds are beginning to arrive in his snow-filled part of the state. He sent a photo of a Sandhill Crane struggling to walk on snow and of a Mountain Bluebird perched on snow. The birds are having a difficult time finding any bare ground. He described Steamboat Springs’ weather for the last two months as “snow, snow, snow and more snow.” This week, the Steamboat Springs Pilot newspaper reports that the area still has 15 feet of snow on nearby Buffalo Pass and over 9 feet on Rabbit Ears Pass. My brother reports that he has over two feet of snow in his yard in town.

Sandhill Crane Walking through Snow

Mountain Bluebird Perched in Snow

How could our weather be so different? Colorado Springs is in a rain shadow, a phenomenon of mountain weather patterns. Colorado Springs is on the east slope of Colorado’s mountains, and Steamboat Springs is nestled against the northwest side of the mountains. When the moisture-laden Pacific storms reach Colorado’s northwestern mountains, the winds push the storms up the crest of the mountains, where the moisture condenses in the cold air and falls as snow.

By the time the storms blow to the east side of the mountains 100 miles away, the clouds have often released all their moisture, leaving Colorado’s Front Range cities and eastern prairies “high and dry.” Also, this spring’s weather is a continuation of the La Niña pattern where most of the snowstorms are tracking across Colorado’s northern mountains (according to the Natural Resources Conservation Service).

Fortunately, as of this week, rain showers are finally bringing some moisture to Colorado Springs. And eventually, warmer days will bring an end to Steamboat Springs’ snow – at least for this year.

Photo Credits:

Thanks to my brother Winston Walker for his photos of the Sandhill Crane and Mountain Bluebird

Pasque Flowers by author Melissa Walker

Recently I read The River in Winter, a collection of essays by Stanley Crawford. The author describes the rhythms of life and seasonal changes on his northern New Mexico farm and in the natural land bordering his cultivated fields. He observes how people absorb knowledge of their natural world without even trying. Even if they don’t know the names of trees, birds or flowers, they will know which trees leaf out first, where a hawk likes to perch, where the first flower of spring will bloom.

Light green bark of aspen trees

I have found this to be true. Even as a little girl growing up in north Louisiana, I knew when to look for ripe blackberries, that one bird sang only at night, and I recognized the songs of many birds even though the birds remained nameless to me for a long time. Over the years, though, I began to pay more attention to the natural world and came to expect to be surprised by nature on almost every venture outside. Just yesterday in my Colorado Springs neighborhood, I saw a Merlin, a small falcon with dark plumage, for the first time in my life. It was perched in one of the tall cottonwood trees right across the street. And in our backyard, I noticed the faint green color of chlorophyll that shades the bark of aspen trees, and heard the two-note whistle of the Black-capped Chickadee, reminding me that the first day of spring is only 23 days away.

Image via Wikipedia

Photo Credit: Bark of Aspen Trees by Melissa Walker; Black-capped Chickadee from Wikipedia