Desert Destination: White Sands

When you hear the word desert, what images come to mind? Perhaps sand dunes? I often think of sand dunes, even though we don't have any near our house. But there are some big ones about two hours away (because lots of neat stuff is about two hours away!). Today we'll venture farther away, to White Sands National Monument, located in the northern part of the Chihuahuan Desert in New Mexico.

I've visited lots of sand dunes over the years. Sand dunes frequently form in deserts when there is loose sand, high winds that often blow the sand in one prevailing direction, and a mountain range to force the wind up, upon which it drops the sand particles and creates the sand dunes. White Sands is unique in that the dunes are made of white gypsum sand, and covering 275 square miles they are the world's largest gypsum dune field.

White Sands at sunrise

Contrary to popular belief, many critters live on or near sand dunes. But life isn't easy when you have sand suddenly being blown on top of you or blown away from your roots. Some of the plants have adapted by elongating stems and growing upwards more than a foot a year, like the soaptree yucca (Yucca elata), or anchoring their roots on a dune so that after the dune moves on, they can continue to grow on a pedestal of sand. Some of the animals that live at White Sands have adapted by becoming whiter, so they blend in better with the gypsum sand. One example is the bleached earless lizard (Holbrookia maculata ruthveni).

Several picnicking areas are found in the park, but don't plan to picnic for lunch during the middle of summer. During the sunlight hours, the white sand reflects the heat and you literally get baked from above and below. The best times to go are very early or very late in the day. We planned our trip to coincide with the full moon so we could enjoy a moonlit hike.

White Sands is a harsh but fascinating environment. The constantly shifting dunes and designs in the sands make for great exploring and photography. If you'd like more information, visit http://www.nps.gov/whsa.

Water + Dirt = Mud

We're going to give the moniker Desert Boy a try. If you like it, or if you don't, leave a comment and let me know. Anyway, to make this post sound intelligent, I'll say that we were beginning chemistry lessons with Desert Boy, trying to teach him what happens when you mix water and dirt. In reality, Desert Boy just loves water, and goes wherever he can find it, including Henry's water dish.
Desert Boy thinks he's helping Henry get a drink of water. At least that's what I think at first. Then I realize he's trying to tip the pot while Henry is drinking.
Henry backs off and Desert Boy starts jiggling the handle, watching the waves in the pot. I know that this stage won't last long.
Sure enough, it doesn't. He's got to get his hand in there and start splashing. I have to go and move a hose by the garden. It's only about 20 feet away. It only takes me about two minutes to move. But by the time I get back...
Desert Boy has dumped the pot with water, is potching in the mud, has gotten his clothes all dirty, and Henry is taking off with the pot. At least Henry hasn't tackled Desert Boy in the mud. This time.

Desert Boy and Henry Go for a Visit

It seems like Desert Boy, Henry, and I have had a lot of adventures lately. They haven't all had particularly happy endings, but as I look back at them I find myself chuckling, and perhaps tales of our wanderings in the desert will entertain you.

A few days ago, I decided to go for a bike ride because it was still cool in the morning and I needed some exercise. I have a bike seat for Desert Boy that is attached to the front of the bike, so he can see where we're going. He loves it. I also added one of the little squeeze bike horns that his hands are finally big enough to grab and squeeze, so as we started out of the driveway, he started honking the horn. All was good. But then Henry decided to come along. Henry usually stays in the yard, but this morning he didn't want to miss out on the fun. The only problem is that Henry didn't know how to run next to a bike, so he kept running ahead of us and getting slightly run over. After getting run over a couple times, he realized he better run by the side of the bike. I thought maybe it would work out, he would get extra exercise by keeping up with the bike and we would have a nice ride.

By this time we had crossed two cattle guards and were out on the pavement, which also happens to be the main road through town. A truck came from the opposite direction, and Henry decided it would be wonderful fun to start chasing it, so he darts out in the middle of the road. My heart started pumping fast as I wondered if our little puppy would survive his stupidity. He did, and I sighed a big sigh of relief and scolded him. We continued on, hoping that there wouldn't be any more traffic. But another came, and Henry ignored my commands and chased it. And then another.

By this point I decided we needed to get off the highway. So we pulled into the driveway of a friendly older neighbor. Her dog was in the yard, and I thought it would be fun to say hi to her and her dog. She says hi from her open kitchen window and then comes out in her nightgown. Just as she comes out I hear a hissing sound from the back tire of the bike. Rats, a flat tire. She says she has a pump, and I say great. But then I look at the tire closer and see green slime coming out from near the valve stem. It's probably a broken valve stem so I won't even be able to fix it. 

The neighbor offers to drive us back home, but I figure she's in her nightgown and we shouldn't disrupt her. I say no, I'll just walk back, we are less than a mile from home. She offers her bicycle, and I say yes. It has a flat tire, so after searching for and getting out two different extension cords and her bike pump, we finally find a combination that works and get the tire pumped up. I hear something beeping in her house and ask if she needs to go do something, but she doesn't remember. I figure that I will ride her bike back to the house, put the bike in the back of my truck, and be back in five minutes. But I have nowhere to put Desert Boy on the bike, so I ask her to watch him and tell her I will be back in five minutes. What can happen in five minutes? I peddle out of the driveway, Desert Boy starts crying, and Henry won't come with me. I realize that it might be a long five minutes for her, so I ride as fast as I can, hoping Desert Boy will stop crying soon.

When I get back to her house in my truck, I see that the sprinkler is on and Desert Boy is happily playing in it. No problem. But there's also a sweet smell in the air. The neighbor tells me that the beeping turns out to be the oven timer, but she had forgotten about it until the smoke alarm went off. She had been making hummingbird food and the sugar burned, filling her house with smoke and ruining her pan. She had opened all her doors and windows to try to get the smell out of the house. I apologized profusely, and then took out her bike to return it to the garage. She walked with me, and when we got back to Desert Boy, we found that he had walked over to the spigot for the sprinkler and had turned it on all the way, so the water was now sprinkling the inside of her house through the open window. I guess it would put out any fire. 

Desert Boy was sopping wet, so I grabbed him and told her we better be leaving before we caused any more destruction. When we stopped we had only wanted to wish her a good morning. Now she had a bike pump out, extension cords strung everywhere, a smelly house, a ruined pan, wet dining room curtains and carpet, and more excitement than she usually gets in a few days, all within a few minutes timespan. The phone rang, and she said it was the lady who checks up on her every morning. She was definitely going to have something to talk about that morning!

Coyote Morning

I was out doing a bird survey this morning and got to see some interesting sights. One was this coyote, a little close for comfort. The reason appeared to be some kind of injury, as he was limping badly and didn't make much of a move to get away from me. I was impressed with how green his eyes looked.

Later I saw some mule deer running through the shrubs. I got out my camera and had it ready, but due to my paltry zoom didn't get close shots of them. They ran across the meadow and soon a coyote came running out of the same willow and rose thicket. He ran in a different direction, knowing that the deer were much too big of prey for him alone.

Seeing these wildlife sightings is pretty exciting, because sometimes the bird surveys can be a little slow. Ten minutes is a long time if you have the same four birds singing the entire time. 

White-faced Ibis

I had some good bird sightings, including breeding Common Yellowthroat and Lazuli Bunting in the bushes that the irrigated meadows support on their margins, and White-faced Ibis, Eared Grebe, Sandhill Crane, and Northern Shoveler in the ranch pond. Out in the meadows Western Meadowlarks, Red-winged Blackbirds, Brown-headed Cowbirds, and Brewer's Blackbirds were the most common sightings.

I also got bit by a mosquito and a deerfly. They surprised me, because usually the dry desert environments don't support these biting nuisances, but the irrigated meadows provided enough water for them. My new waterproof boots were actually waterproof, so it was a good morning. Now on to more adventures!

Reriding the Pony Express Route

My nephew left this evening to go meet up with the Pony Express reride and help carry mail across the desert, bringing back to life a romantic bit of western lore. What exactly was the Pony Express? It was the way that U.S. mail was delivered for 18 months in 1860 and 1861. The railroads didn't stretch across the country. Telephones didn't exist. Telegraphs hadn't even been built from coast to coast. So if you wanted to get a message all the way across the West, it had to be hand carried.

Sure, stagecoaches could and did take some mail. But they were slow, and in 1860 the mail contract went to a company that advertised it could take the mail over 1,800 miles in only 10 days. The route went from St. Joseph, Missouri to Sacramento, California, and used horses and young riders to cover the ground quickly. A horse at full gallop can go about 10 miles, so stations were set up at that distance. When a rider came to the station, he would take the mochila with the mail and jump on to a horse that the station master had ready for him and continue on. He would generally go about 75 to 100 miles before another rider would take over for him. Each rider had one section of the trail that they usually rode. They learned that section so well they could cover it quickly at any time of day or night in any weather, including bad winter snowstorms or searing summer heat. One of my favorite books that includes firsthand accounts about the Pony Express is a true story called The White Indian Boy by Elijah Nicholas Wilson.
This Pony Express marker was erected by the Civilian Conservation Corps in the 1930s east of Callao, Utah. It is located near the remains of one of the stations. No one lives within 20 miles of this station, so not much has changed since the Pony Express Days.
Here is some of the terrain that the Pony Express riders covered. Along with the mail they carried some water and a revolver. Riders were not allowed to weigh more than 125 pounds, and they were paid $100 a month.. An advertisement recruiting riders read: "Wanted. Young, skinny, wiry fellows. Not over 18. Must be expert riders. Willing to risk death daily. Orphans preferred."
These are the remnants of another Pony Express station. The telegraph put the Pony Express out of business in October 1861. The short-lived operation has lived long in people's memories. The vision of young lads galloping across the country with important messages (like Lincoln's inaugural address) has allowed the Pony Express route to be recognized as a national trail. Every year, the entire route is ridden in June, around the time of the full moon to allow for more light on those dark stretches.

Somewhere out in the middle of the Nevada desert, my nephew will be carrying the mail, listening to the coyotes howl, feeling the wind on his cheeks, and reliving a part of history.

This year, the mochila contains a GPS tracker, so if you'd like to see where the rider is, check out http://ponyexpressnationaltracking.com/RiderTracking.html