by Clint Thomsen
GUEST COLUMNIST
Beauty in nature, as the human mind tends to define it, is usually marked by vivid flora decorating raw surroundings -- salient accents that immediately catch the eye. Beauty, we think, should be exotic, distinctly contrasting with the plainness of its backdrop. Too often the human eye focuses on the lavish décor and overlooks the substance beneath it.
To be fair, many desert places do indeed fit the description of "exotic." But aside from striking vistas and mesmerizing openness, the Great Basin largely lacks natural and man-made embellishment. Here, true beauty is unassuming and often requires a closer look. Most desert dwellers understand that often the most worthwhile attractions between the Wasatch and the Sierra Nevada ranges aren't advertised by billboards or neon signs.
Most, in fact, aren't advertised at all. Many are tucked away on remote mountainsides or etched into canyon walls, while many are simply driven past and ignored. I habitually take note of vegetation, geographic phenomenon and wildlife when I'm driving. But for some reason I've never paid much attention to birds. Sure, I enjoy the colorful collections at zoos, but I've never stopped to study a flock of ducks in a roadside pond or tried to spot an elusive songbird in the trees. I learned about birds as a Boy Scout, but aside from seagulls and pigeons, the only bird I can still remember from those days is the Yellow-bellied Sapsucker -- mainly because of the giggle-generating name.
Needless to say, birdwatching -- or simply "birding" -- has never made my short list of outdoor adventures. So last Saturday I enlisted the help of U.S. Fish and Wildlife ecologist Nathan Darnall to help me broaden my horizons. Darnall is also the president of Great Salt Lake Audubon, and his enthusiasm for feathered vertebrates was palpably conveyed in his e-mails prior to our meeting.
"Now you're here to ask me about duck recipes, right?" Darnall joked as I climbed into his Honda CRV in Lake Point.
We drove to a pond next to the I-80 Lake Point exit, where he handed me a pair of binoculars.
"Let's see what's in here today," he said.
In the unremarkable pond that I pass every day, Darnall eagerly pointed out some American Coots, Canvasback ducks, and a Yellow-Headed Blackbird. Continuing west on I-80, we stopped at another pond teeming with Cinnamon Teal, Northern Shoveler, and Eared Grebes, which Darnall said were likely en route to places like Montana and Canada.
Migration is one of the things that make this area a hot spot for birding. The Great Salt Lake's unique ecosystem attracts millions of ducks, shorebirds, and other waterbirds during annual migration. The lake has been designated a Western Hemispheric Shorebird Reserve Network site, having five separate Globally Important Bird Areas.
"Just to give you an idea," Darnall told me, "about half of the world's Eared Grebes winter on the Great Salt Lake. Up to 1,000,000 Wilson's Phalaropes -- maybe 90% of the world's population -- migrate through the Great Salt Lake. The lake and surrounding wetlands are truly spectacular."
Spring is an excellent time for birding, both because of migration and because the birds are sporting their best plumage.
As we drove, I spotted a long-beaked wader with a cinnamon-orange head standing near the edge of the pond. We saw several more of this species in Factory Springs on our way back toward Lake Point. Darnall identified the bird as an American Avocet. I've probably seen this bird countless times before, but never took notice. Once I saw one, I started seeing them everywhere. The discovery was simple, but memorable nonetheless.
Darnall explained that while naturally-occurring bodies of water may not be as aesthetically attractive as manicured reservoirs, such oases are more conducive to bird life. Looking out over the lake in Stansbury Park, Darnall commented that "it might not be where you'd want to go birdwatching for the first time."
The canyons above the Tooele Valley, however, are a different story. The mouths of Pine Canyon and Middle Canyon abounded with meadow larks, Black-Billed Magpies, and Dark-Eyed juncos. The still-bare tree branches made it easier to locate the sources of cheerful birdsong, but snapping pictures was tough for this first-timer.
Our last stop was Settlement Canyon, where we walked down the road toward the creek bed. We didn't see much on the way down, but we decided to take the return stroll a bit slower. No sooner did we start than we heard rustling in a nearby tree and walked closer to investigate. A bird with a blackish-brown upper body hooped toward the top of the tree. Darnall identified it as a Steller's Jay, a bird he'd never seen before in the canyon. We scanned the surrounding trees and spotted two others quietly watching us while another perched in the distance, loudly singing.
"Now had we walked back up at the same speed we came down here," Darnall pointed out, "we might not have seen these."
One need not purchase a high-powered scope and an expensive tripod to go birding.
"Anyone can do it," Darnall said. "Birding does not take a lot of specialized knowledge or sophisticated equipment. And you're almost always guaranteed to see something."
"You may not catch a fish while fishing," he said, possibly alluding to my fishing troubles that I may have mentioned along the way. "But birding is a sure thing. It's lots of fun to see the expressions on people's faces, often because what they see is unexpected."
I certainly didn't expect to have so much fun watching birds. For me, our short trip revealed a new way of looking at nature. Sometimes the most rewarding discoveries are the ones all around us -- ones that require a quiet pause to see.
Clint Thomsen is a Stansbury Park resident who grew up climbing mountains, wandering desert paths and exploring Utah's wilds. He may be contacted via his Web site at www.bonnevillemariner.com.