City Creek Nature Notes – Salt Lake City

June 1, 2017

June 1st

Genetics of Angiosperm Leaf Out Times

6:30 p.m. This is the first day of summer as defined by convention in the 1800s and as used by Thoreau. Modern astronomical summer begins on June 20th, and ecological summer, the estival or hottest season of the year, begins on June 15th. A summer-like storm approaches, the sky is overcast, but the warm temperatures only threaten, but do not bring, rain. The stream is lower today. The SNOTEL station at Lookout Peak records that only about 10 inches of snow containing 5.8 inches of water remain in the high elevation snowpack. Since May 1st, the snowpack at the peak has declined from 82 inches of snow containing 36 inches of water equivalent. Per SNOTEL records on average, it will take another 8 days before the remaining balance will be gone, but my feeling is the snowpack melt will be complete in half that time. Then life in the canyon will have to rely on water stored deep underground below the Salt Lake salient.

As I leave Guardhouse Gate, grey clouds have turned to low dark clouds, horizontal lightening jumps between black clumps, and a light rain begins to fall. Birds are silent with few exceptions. Below picnic site 1, a lone Plumbeous vireo sings, and a Song sparrow calls at mile 0.4. At milepost 1.0, a lone robin tweets. Lightening increases, strong winds blow, trees wave, and the rain turns heavy. The stream swells in response. It is wet, soggy, and shirtless, but refreshing, jog back down canyon. Bicyclists stream down canyon squealing with glee. A single Chirping sparrow complains from a rain soaked River birch. As I reach the Gate again, the storm is clearing, high grey clouds return, and a Warbling vireo again sings.

Tracey Aviary’s Bryant Olsen and his team returned to the canyon May 25th. In addition to the current cast of avaian characters (May 20th), they see two new birds: the Northern rough-winged swallow (Stelgidopteryx serripennis) and the Western wood-peewee (Contopus sordidulus). The diet of both consists of almost entirely of insects, and their arrival is consistent with rising temperatures and flying insects increasing numbers. Mountain chickadees, Dark-eyed Juncos, and Black-capped chickadees, who dominated winter birds and who survive the winter on conifer seeds, are now rarely heard.

Today, the United States executive branch announced action to withdrawal from the Paris Climate Agreement, on the grounds that American manufacturing and energy production must be unshackled from excessive regulation so the nation can compete with China and India. Implications are discussed below.

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The Blake edition of Thoreau’s “Journals” resume on June 1st, and continue with respect to his Concord observations through July 10th. Per the convention of his time, Thoreau declares summer to begin informally on June 1st (“Journal” on June 1st, 1853). In Thoreau’s “Journal” on June 1st, 1852, he notes sounds during a full Moon night including night-hawk, crickets, peet-weets, and a whippoorwill. He notes that the river waters are at their summer low level. On June 1st, 1853, he notes that the season has changed. Blooming is over and a period of rapid growth begins. Bees are swarming. Most trees are covered in leaves and berries are forming, and plants are quickly growing. White oaks have red tinge on the sun-exposed side. He examines a gall on a tree. Conversely, he notes that lupines are in full bloom, and sees snapdragons, geraniums, and lambkill. Birds are at low numbers. He examines a night-hawk nest and its eggs, and the parent night-hawk strafes his head to drive him from the nest. On June 1st 1854, he notes that within two weeks, a forest leaf canopy has developed and the forest floor is covered with new shoots. The new shoots are being eaten by numerous worms and insects. On June 1st, 1857, he examines a redwing nest and he hears a bobolink.

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Spring leaf out is governed by genetics but fall leaf loss is governed by environmental factors. Panchen and colleagues recorded the leaf out times of approximately 1,600 woody plants at eight temperate arboretums spread around the globe (Panchen et al 2014), and after controlling for latitude, they organized the average leaf out dates into phenological clade diagram (id, Table 5 and Fig. 6). Members of the Rosaceae family began leaf out on average on the 87th day of the year (s.d. 7.72 days), and this includes Woods rose, serviceberry and chokeberry in the canyon. Members of the Fagaceae family, which includes Gambel’s oaks, leafed out on average on day 109 (s.d. 1.93 days). Other relationships by tree family emerged. Angiosperms leafed out on average 19 days before gymnosperm trees. Shrubs leafed out 10 days before trees. Panchen’s team also investigated the leaf-loss, called leaf senescence or abscission at four of the eight temperature arboretums (Panchen et al 2015). Unlike spring leaf-out, autumn leaf-loss is much more variable and cannot be not organized by tree families (id, 871).

This is seen in the canyon’s Gambel’s oaks. Within broad elevation based, Gambel’s oaks turn at once. Conversely, within bands, the effect of lower temperatures at altitude are apparent. The oaks at Guardhouse Gate are fully leafed out, but broad swaths of oaks on the high slopes at mile 5.0 have not yet begun to bud.

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Today, the United States executive branch announced action to withdrawal from the Paris Climate Agreement, on the grounds that American manufacturing and energy production must be unshackled from excessive regulation so the nation can compete with China and India. Long-term national polling indicates that the country is not behind the executive branch as more than 50 percent of citizens in each of the 50 United States are in favor of the Agreement (Leiserowitz et al 2017), and prior to the announcement, local cities and governments issued press releases indicating that they would further the Agreement notwithstanding the federal position. I am having a disconnect while watching a broadcast of the announcement, which occurs under a clear, blue skies and beautiful spring day on the White House lawn. The World AQI monitor page shows an AQI index near Washington, D.C. of 36, but over much of China and India the AQI scales are between 150 and 400. Delhi, India has monitors reading 621 and two at the meters reach the maximum of 999. Huangshan, China, near Shanghai, that nation’s largest industrial center, reads 291. As I noted back on February 8th, one consequence of the decision in the 1980s to de-industrialize the United States through globalization in the 1980s was the transporting of pollution to other countries, and Americans have grown accustom to relatively clean air. The source of my disconnect with the President’s broadcast is that it does not acknowledge the trade-off. Bringing back heavy industry under current technology will return United States’ air quality now seen in India and China. The broadcast would have been visually more honest if it had been done against the backdrop of a Beijing bad air day. Conversely, United States de-industrialization did offshore jobs, reduced the middle class, and increased income inequality. That is not a politically stable path for the nation. But these social and economic trends also represent an opportunity, different from that of the current federal executive branch, to correct the missed vision and path at the end of Jimmy Carter’s 1979 administration. Then the vision for America’s future was energy independence and transition to a service economy with clean industries. Omitted from that vision (and later abandoned by the Reagan administration) was the development of clean manufacturing technology for basic necessities. Globalization simply moved pollution intensive manufacturing to with countries with lower pollution standards, and economists claimed, ignoring non-economic impacts, that this was more efficient, but including non-economic impacts it is not. Investment and research in clean manufacturing is the way forward; it is necessary; but it will be more expensive for the American consumer than simply exporting pollution or than the United States racing to the bottom to match India’s and China’s low pollution standards.

For the birds in the canyon, this executive action weighs in favor of further declines in continental bird populations based on Soykan and colleagues’ 2016 study (May 28th; Soykan et al. 2016). But for the canyon, this may mean increases in western bird populations as species continue to migrate north and to retrench around the best watered habitats, e.g. – City Creek Canyon. The executive branch is out of step with the rest of America and is representing a vocal minority. It remains to be seen how the matter will play out in the future.

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On June 1st, 1921, Mayor C. Clearance Nelsen and city officers inspected the City Creek watershed and reported more snow and lake water than average (Salt Lake Telegram). On June 1st, 1920, Dr. Will Ellerbeck urged the creation of a highway through City Creek Canyon to connect Salt Lake and Morgan counties (Salt Lake Telegram). On June 1st, 1919, the Salt Lake Tribune promotes a new automobile using City Creek as the backdrop. On June 1, 1904, two young men became lost in City Creek and Emigration Canyons while horseriding (Salt Lake Telegram). On June 1st 1903, fifty prisoners were assigned to work on the City Creek Road over the summer (Salt Lake Telegram).

May 9, 2017

May 6th

Wizards of the Canyon Soundscape

7:00 a.m. The entrance to the canyon along Bonneville Drive is closed today for one of the many social 5K runs that occur during the summer. This adds an extra mile jogging along the drive to reach Guardhouse Gate. As I start, the sun line is just beginning to descend the snow capped peaks of the western Qquirrh Mountains and the small sliver of the southern tip of the Great Salt Lake reflects slate blue. The clear western sky shows the last vestiges of dark slate band of the Earth’s shadow retreating from the sun. Along the first stretch of road there are many sage brush bushes that provide cover to chukars. I stop to pick and crush a bracket of this pungent bush to remind myself of what Utah smells like during the heat of summer. About one-half mile from the gate and around a bend, the canyon explodes with the sounds of stream and birds. Although hidden, a male Lazuli bunting peaks from behind some red maple leaves, singing loudly. His colors are muted, since he perches in early morning shadow of the canyon’s east ridge. The sound of the stream is overwhelming, and this indicates the vernal season’s heat is melting the high snowpack. At the gate, the parking lot is full, and includes the enormous truck of the wild turkey bow hunter (May 4th). I must have just missed the race organizer’s closing of the road.

Along the road, the grasses are now twelve to eighteen inches thick, and the first quarter-mile is nearing full leaf out. Near mile 0.3, I look up through the trees to the step slope above, and there a young female mule deer idly grazes on the new grass. I stop to watch and after some minutes, she takes notice of me, stares back, and knowing that it is not hunting season and she is in no immediate danger, she slow walks and disappears into the Gambel’s oak forest. A bird loudly chirps from a nearby tree, and I catch a fleeting glance of black, white and red-brown from below. It is probably a Rufus-sided towhee (Pipilo maculatus). I count about forty or bird separate birds calling the forest thickets in the first mile.

I am not a morning person, most of my daily observations are in the afternoon, and the morning spring canyon is a new place. The warm morning light crawls down the western ridge of the canyon, and makes the thick grasses of spring bathed in an inviting green light. Although it is a pleasant high fifties along the road, one can feel the advancing daytime heat in the seventies approaching. Between mile 0.5 and 1.0, large overhanging trees in partial leaf-out form a series of green tubes through which the rising south-eastern sun penetrates. The lighted end of these tubes with the darkened green leafed foregrounds reminds me of the religious ceiling paintings of European cathedrals. I am overwhelmed by the beauty of it all.

In this half-lit morning reflected light, the canyon has a different character. I have misjudged the Starry solomon’s seal. In the afternoon, I have found two or three open out of an estimated 20,000 plants (May 4th). This morning, most are open, and I easily count 200 open blossoms in the solomon grove surrounding the seep below picnic site 5. The number of active birds is astounding, and a multiple of several times over my afternoon encounters.

At the entrance to Pleasant Valley, I run into the Tracey Aviary sponsored birding, a course directed by and led today by aviary biologists Bryant Olsen and Cooper Farr. I am happy to find the group; I have followed their Cornell birding logs in the canyon for some years; and in the spring, they regularly return to the canyon. Other seasons draw them to other habitats. Traveling down canyon, there seven group members including the leaders, and their five students are a diverse group that range from their thirties to eighties. They allow me to tag along as they proceed down the Pipeline Trail for the one mile walk back to the parking lot. Since I have been frustrated for some years in identifying the thicket hidden birds by sound, and I hope to gain some insight into the process by watching and learning. I quickly learn that I am in the presence of masters. Many birding skills quickly become apparent that explain the large number of birds that they record each week in the Cornell University E-bird log system (Cornell Ornithology Laboratory 2016).

First, birding in groups greatly increases detection. I first encountered this in amateur astronomy. Looking for detail in nature, which involves rare events, is more likely with more eyeballs that can cover the whole sky. In addition to the chance of making a sighting, the ability to perceive rare events also differs greatly by both the ability to perceive and by the knowledge to understand what one is seeing or hearing. The seven of the birders stare intently towards a sound coming from a clump of leaves, and one or two of the seven will first detect the bird, and then direct the others to it. Seven sets of eyes scanning the sky’s dome catch fleeting glances of bird movements in opposite directions, and this greatly increases the number of exclamations that one or another of some species has been seen.

Second, time explains the groups many sightings. As we descend the trail, younger runners and bikers wisk by at six to fifteen miles per hour. They traverse the mile of Pipeline trail in five to ten minutes. When I was younger, I has one of these. They smile as they pass, confident in their belief that in their superiority that their youthful ability to exercise makes them the most important denizens of the canyon. My slow jogging takes twenty minutes, but the birding group takes about one and one-half hours to walk this mile. Perception and time are inversely related. The slow see more; much more. Chance visual sightings reveal common sightings such as the cliff-soaring Red-tailed hawks. In this way, the group quickly seeings a Peregrine falcon resting on the top of the western massif at the entrance to Pleasant Valley and a brood of cliff dwelling Violet-green swallow (Tachycineta thalassina) living nearby in the crumbling deposits of Van Horn and Crittenden’s Triassic conglomerate No 2. sandstone. Are these the peregrine’s prey? Peregrines prey on many of the plentiful birds and mammals in the canyon, including mallads, swallows, Mourning doves, Northern flickers, starlings, American robins, Black-billed magpies, American crow, hummingbirds, owls, mice and Rock squirrels. Thoreau used the Peregrine’s historical name – the duck hawk – and Audubon memorialized this predator-prey relationship in a noted 1827 oil painting (Audubon 1827). The peregrines are in turn fed upon by larger birds of prey like Bald eagles and Red-tailed hawks. The birding group has great interest in following the falcon back to its nest, since these birds, although removed from the United States endangered species list in 1999, remain popular and are known to raise young near Pleasant Valley.

Third, these are the wizards of the canyon’s bird soundscape. Raw knowledge, expertise, and practice allows the group to identify many birds by sound alone or first by sound and then by sight. A member will hear a call of interest, and all will stop intently listening while leaning in one direction; some cup hands around their ears. Someone will call out a name, there is a discussion, and then a final determination is made as to the species. Sometimes, this is accompanied by a pointing figure and the exclamation “There it is!”, and all binoculars are raised in unison. I humbly learn the calls of one or two common canyon residents, like the chirping of the Rufus-sided towhee, and can notice distinct obvious sounds, like the wing-beat of a passing Broad-tailed hummingbird (Selasphorus platycercus) and the obnoxious squawking of the Red-breasted nuthatch (Sitta canadensis). But the group’s ability to identify unseen colorful birds by sound alone is astounding. They hear a Green tailed towhee (Pipilo chlorurus), an Orange-crowned warbler (Vermivora celata), and a Western tanager (Piranga ludoviciana).

The group’s ability is distinguish between similar calls is uncanny. I have a particular interest in the rapid chirping call of the Rufous towhee. Later at home, I compare audio recordings and spectrographs of several species found along the trail that all include to my uneducated ears, subtle variations on a series of four to six rapid fire trill chirps, preceded or followed by two tones. The songs of the Rufous-sided towhee, the Green-tailed towhee, and Orange-crowned warbler, are all variations on a theme.

The group continues down the trail as the bright line of sunlight engulfs them. The celebrity bird of the afternoon are many Lazuli buntings. On the western brightly lit slopes, perching on a Gambel’s oak, several of these buntings are seen. They males are aflame in their cloaks of brilliant iridescent blue. Bryant notes that a bird’s coloring are the result of their feathers refracting sunlight. The explains why colorful birds have dulled colors in diffused light, but radiant colors in full sun. Near trail mile 0.5, a Black-chinned hummingbird (Archilochus alexandri) sits on a powerline and obligingly ignores the birders as they take photographs. In the last third of trail mile, the sun and temperature has risen, the birds are less active, and the group quickly exits back to the road. A mallard rests in the flood retention pond.

I point out the cliff nest site that I followed last spring near mile 1.0 (Dec. 9th, 40°48.227 N, 111°52.204 W), but only about one-half of the group can see the nest. I had previously thought it was built by Peregrine falcons or Cooper’s hawks, but Bryant notes I am mistaken. Peregrines and Cooper’s hawks do not build stick nests, he says, a point supported in literature (Utah Legacy Raptor 2011). A later search on the internet returns many photographs of peregrines nesting in nearly identical stick nests. A probably resolution of the difference is found elsewhere: peregrine falcons sometimes will take over the stick nests of other raptors like eagles (White et al 2002).

Comparing the group’s Cornell Ornithology Lab birding logs for the canyon since April 30th reveals the arrival of many small migratory song birds with the abrupt rise in temperatures and the arrival of the vernal season (April 29th and May 1st). Common canyon birds in their logs in April through May 6th include mallards, European starlings, American robins, House finches, Song sparrows, Dark-eyed Juncos, Black-billed magpies, Mourning doves, Ravens, American crows, Red-tailed hawks, and Cooper’s hawks. New spring heat-seeking migrants that arrived just as the temperature switch tripped two or three days ago include the Peregrine falcons, Plumbeous vireo (Vireo plumbeus), Warbling vireo (Vireo gilvus), Orange-crowned warbler, Yellow warbler, Virginia’s warbler, Chipping sparrow (Spizella passerina), Green-tailed towhee, the Western tanager (Piranga ludoviciana), Broad-tailed hummingbird (Archilochus alexandri), Black-chinned hummingbird, Lazuli bunting, the Lesser Goldfinch (Spinus psaltria). These new colorful arrivals have followed the north running heat wave from the southern states and Mexico for a thousand miles to this northern canyon, and now that they have arrived, their next tasks will be mating and beginning the construction of nests.

I ask a question about what some of the most common canyon birds eat. I am interested in not only the simple phenological list of what bird species arrives when (this is what Thoreau did), but also how the web of insects, plants, and birds link together. The aviary experts’ answers are general and unsatisfying. “Seeds” (there are none), “grass” (they have not developed grains), and “insects” (there are still few, given the newly higher temperatures). The same vague discussions are found in my various paper and internet birding guides. I have witnessed a few instances in which canyon birds actually eating something over an entire year. A scrub jay ate acorns in the fall (Oct. 6th); wild turkeys ate winter acorns (Dec. 29th); chickadees ate winter fruit; spring kingfishers fish along the ponds and stream, although I have never seen them catch anything (March 19, April 6, 11, and 18); in the mallards eat spring algae from the stream; hummingbirds and dragonflies feasted on summer gnats (August 1st and August 11th), and a few days later, cliff swallows gorged on the dragonflies (August 22nd). In the spring of 2015, two falcons ate a mouse. But what are they, in particular the new arrivals, eating now? After this morning with the soundscape wizards and a subsequent literature search, I am struck both about how much science knows about the birds and how little science knows about birds. All things cannot be known, and I suspect there is little grant money available to fully construct and quantify the ecological relationships of even close natural areas, since minerals, logs, and skiers only have economic value and iridescent sheen of the Lazuli buntings do not.

A lone mallard sleeps near the shore of the flood retention pond. Jogging out of the canyon, the social-cause, 5k fun-run has begun, and three or four-hundred joggers are going towards milepost 0.5, along the opposite western leg along Bonneville Drive. A loudspeaker blares out popular music. Groups of racing bicyclists stopped by the police to allow the race to pass joke about blindly coming around a curve into such a mass of humanity. Their focus on life is different from mine, and neither, as they go about their respective enjoyment of the canyon, will perceive the dazzling blue of the Lazuli buntings seen by the wizards of the canyon soundscape.

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Iridescence in birds is caused by both pigments and the refracting structure of their feathers (Doucet and Meadows 2009; Rajchard 2009), and many birds also perceive light, including the iridescent refraction, in the ultra-violet spectrum (id). The view that humans see of birds is not what they see of each other. The blue feathers of birds, like the Lazuli bunting, may be hint that a bird can see ultra-violet light (see Doucet and Meadows, S118). Falcons use the ultra-violet reflection of mole and mouse urine to determine the density of their mammalian prey in fields (Rajchard). Fruit seeking birds like crows better see mature fruits because the ripe fruit better reflect ultra-violet light (id). Blue tits switch to the ultra-violet spectrum to see insects against non-contrasting backgrounds (id). The iridescent patches also help birds to distinguish their sexes, just as human birders do, but in some birds, the ultra-violet spectrum of their iridescent patches enhance the sex difference of their pigments seen in the human visual spectrum (id). Another study suggests that in the ultra-violet spectrum, some birds find it easier to distinguish eggs (id). Iridescence can also be an indicator of fitness to breed. Male birds lose iridescence as they age and when they are sick (Doucet and Meadows, S120-S121).

The iridescent patches of birds involve a trade-off. Iridescent patches, like those of the front-chin of the Broad-tailed Hummingbird and the side-neck of the Black-chinned hummingbird seen today, may be more visible to their predators, but they are also more visible to their potential mates (Doucet and Meadows). To reduce the predation cost of these patches, some patches are directional. A bird living in a diffusely, dark lit forest can perch in a ray of sunlight and send a narrow beam “flash” to other members of its own species and to potential mates (id). Predators circling above will not see this visual chatter. Conversely, the bright Lazuli bunting simply shines like a beacon. What do the hawks and falcons circling above see of these beautiful song birds in the shorter-bands of light that we human birders are unaware of?

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On May 6th, 1899, work to replace the City Creek water main with a larger diameter pipe was underway (Salt Lake Herald), although a suit seeking an injunction against the construction had been filed. On May 6th, 1888, Z. Jacobs canvassed citizens for suggestions on how to increase the city’s water supply, including Fire Chief Ottinger (Salt Lake Herald). Jacobs argued against building a dam in City Creek Canyon, since failure of the dam would destroy the downtown (id).

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