Natural History Journal

Eric and I recently returned from a week-long camping trip in California's eastern Sierra Nevada, where we hiked, paddled, and birded around Mono Lake, Mammoth Lakes, and the White Mountains.  The following is a recap of some of my favorite bird encounters from the trip. East of the Sierra: Mono Lake, Mammoth Lakes Basin & the White Mountains Our first stop was at the popular fishing resort of Virginia Lakes, nestled below Dunderberg Peak just north of Mono Lake and west of Highway 395.  While the resort (which consists of a small store, a few cabins, and a campground) caters to anglers, it also maintains a few bird feeders outside the general store, next to the parking lot.  This arrangement is delightfully convenient and draws one particular bird that many birders come especially to see: the Gray-crowned Rosy-finch.  Gray-crowned Rosy-finches are birds of high elevations, making their living far above the range of the average biped, on alpine fell fields and snow fiel

California is exemplified by many different landscapes: its sunny beaches, rolling vineyards, granite mountain cathedrals, and vibrant cities, to name a few.  But it is also home to a wide array of forests, which contain a few of the world's most amazing types of plants.  To me, it wouldn't be California without the trees! While California's Coast Redwoods  ( Sequoia sempervirens ) have earned the title of the world's tallest trees, and Giant Sequoias ( Sequoiadendron giganteum ) of the Sierra Nevada are the world's most massive, hands down the winner for the world's oldest trees - and indeed the world's oldest living single organism - goes to the White Mountains' ancient Great Basin Bristlecone Pines ( Pinus longaeva ). While bristlecone pines are found across the Great Basin in parts of Nevada and Utah, the oldest specimens, many of which exceed 3,000 years, grow in the harsh conditions of eastern California's White Mountains.  The Methusel

Like most folks, our travel plans for this summer have been scrapped.  As we try to come up with alternative plans compliant with social distancing regulations and such, I've been looking back at some of the magnificent places we have been fortunate enough to visit in the past several years. Two years ago, during our semi-annual desert pilgrimage, Eric and I spent a couple of days around the Salton Sea, California's largest and most imperiled lake. The tale of the Salton Sea stretches far back into geologic time to the Pleistocene (between about 2.5 million and 11,000 years ago), when the meandering course of the Colorado River shifted north as it crossed its broad delta at the northern edge of the ancestral Gulf of California.  This type of shift happened more than once, causing the Salton Basin (or Salton Sink) to alternately fill with water, then evaporate, then fill again.  The cycle was repeated several times, as evidenced by the presence of wave-cut shorelines and