Although I focused most of this summer exploring the Great Basin and its soundscapes, I also dabbled on it’s edges in northern California and southern Idaho. In early June, I detoured a bit from my search for Brewer’s sparrows to check out a small mountain range that borders the northern Great Basin. Waters on the southern part of the range flow into the Great Basin; waters on the northern part flow to the Snake River and on to the Columbia, ultimately ending in the Pacific Ocean.
I spotted this little range while playing on Google Earth, looking for remote places that might have potential for soundscape recording. Known locally as the “South Hills”, this range seemed to fit the bill, and appeared to be a mix of sage and aspen, with conifer-lined canyons. The actual Rocky Mountain chain is quite a distance away – on the far side of the Snake River, but a series of north-south running mountain ranges step their way from the South Hills east to the Tetons, on the Idaho-Wyoming border. The valleys between these ranges appear to be mostly farmland (probably grassland or sage-steppe before agriculture arrived), so, like the Jarbidge Mountains to the west, the South Hills are an interesting lesson in biogeography. What species are present depend not only on habitats and microhabitats, but the ability of species to get there from some source populations. The isolated mountain ranges in the Great Basin have been the subject of many such studies. In general, the western side of the Great Basin has more species with origins in the Sierras, the northern and eastern side with the Rockies, and the southern portion is a real mix, with Sierran, Rocky Mountain, and coastal species mixed in with Mojave Desert stuff.
One animal I was really curious about in the South Hills was moose. They are extremely rare in the Great Basin, not surprising given the lack of habitat. But a moose has been spotted over the last few years wandering in the sage flats between Jarbidge and Elko. Where did it come from? They are not known to be resident in the Jarbidge Mountains.
I arrived on a blustery Thursday in early June after dodging thunderstorms on my way north from Ruby Lakes National Wildlife Refuge. I headed east on dirt roads still muddy from winter snow melt. The roads were pretty washed out, with some huge puddles to drive through. I learned the hard way that you really need to close your window before splashing through deep puddles. Apparently this was the first weekend when the roads were finally opened for camping, and every available pull-off was already occupied by large pickups hauling large trailers and toy haulers. I continued slogging my way east until I came to the paved road that headed up to the now-defunct Magic Mountain ski area. Not far away was a nice little campground with only one other site occupied (it was too small for the pickups+trailers+toy haulers). As I drove the loop through the campground, looking for that perfect site, a huge bull moose trotted across the road and disappeared into the forest. That answered the moose question!
Although it was a bit windy with additional noise from the stream, the dense pine and fir forest echoed with the lovely sounds of birds in peak breeding condition. As the shadows grew long at the end of the day, my favorite bird, the Hermit Thrush, began his beautiful evening song:
The next day dawned cool and breezy. Some low puffy clouds scudded by. I drove up the canyon a little ways to a trailhead, and took a nice little hike through aspen and fir and snow, up to the top of a knoll with a great view of the whole area. The snow had obviously melted in just the last week or so, and the wildflowers were furiously growing and blooming to take advantage of a short season. I even found moose tracks, and sign where a moose and her calf had bedded down.
The clouds started rolling in, with a chilly wind. I retreated to camp, and watched the clouds thicken until it started snowing mid afternoon. A nice, warm motel room in Twin Falls was starting to sound pretty good, but according to the weather report I got when I was on top of the mountain, it was supposed to be a quick storm, so the dog and I persevered under piles of blankets and sleeping bags in the car. By 6 pm, the storm was over and the sun started to come out, turning the west-facing hillsides gold in the low sun.
Dawn was cold and sunny. Traces of snow still clung to the tree branches. But that didn’t dissuade the birds from singing their hearts out. The dawn chorus was rich, and almost chaotic. Listen close to this recording and you can hear a ruffed grouse drumming. Ruffed grouse are another species rarely seen in the Great Basin.
As the sun rose and the day warmed, this cute little chipmunk came out to search for a meal. I spotted a few Cassia crossbills. Interestingly enough, there are no red squirrels in the South Hills. Without competition from the squirrels, the crossbills have evolved to take advantage of abundant lodgepole pine cones. They were recognized as a separate species in 2017.
The road in front of the campground became a long line of pickups hauling trailers and ATVs up into the mountains. With the weekend crowds approaching, I packed up and headed back into the Great Basin. On the way out of the canyon, I stopped for a quick hike up to a waterfall. As I headed back to the car, it started snowing again.