The Siberian Express Rolls Over Haystack Butte

The coldest winters I ever experienced, were in eastern Montana. One day in particular, back in the early 1980's, when I lived in Havre, Montana, the wind chill factor was 100 degrees F. below zero.

The winds were screaming that day and even inside a heated building you were cold, and a heavy sweater didn't help much. If you faced the wall your front was cold and your back was warm. Cold pressed into the walls like spears of glacial ice were about to stab through the building, and into your body.

The story of 100 F. below zero wind chill factor, was probably an exaggeration, but I suspect it wasn't far off. To obtain a wind chill of -100, the temperature has to be - 45 degrees or colder, with winds over 60 miles per hour. That combination is possible, on the high plains.

The Montanans call the big storms and cold fronts that roar in from Canada, the Siberian Express.

Another memorable freeze-out, was the time I climbed Crow Peak (9,300 feet elevation), in Montana, back in January of 1973. The main summit of Crow Peak is above timber line, with no trees except for a few gnarly patches of krummholz. In German krumm means “crooked, bent, or twisted” and holz means “wood”. The fierce winter gales, and extreme low temperatures of Montana winter, turn high elevation trees into stunted low growing shrubs, that take foothold in the lee side of large rocks, or low spots in the terrain. An arctic environment. The lower elevations are forested with lodgepole pine, aspen, spruce and limber pine.

Four of us snowshoed into Leslie Lake, at 8100 feet, and stayed two nights at an abandoned miners cabin, which was in disrepair but offered 4 walls and a roof and an old wood stove that was functional. I suspect that the cabin is long gone, crushed by deep winter snows or ambushed by avalanches. Or torn down by looters. We took a day trip and ascended Crow Peak, on snowshoes, and once on the summit the wind was screaming, and it was incredibly cold. A retreat was in order. I had taken off my snowshoes and when I attempted to strap them back on I was unable to, because my hands were so cold. Numb and almost useless. One of my friends luckily had nimble enough hands to help me buckle them back on and we were soon traversing our way back to the cabin.

A couple years later two of my friends decided to mount a winter expedition to Leslie Lake. On the return trip out they attempted to cross a steep and icy slope, and they were unable to kick footholds with their skis and snowshoes and every step they slid a few feet closer to the bottom of a gorge. Each slip brought them closer to trouble and calamity. Darkness bore down and they were forced to bivouac in the canyon bottom, in several feet of snow. In the seemingly endless arctic night of Montana they huddled and shivered together, in one sleeping bag. With frost bitten feet, they hiked out the next day to the trail head.

I checked out the statistics on the coldest place in the Rocky Mountains, and there were some surprises. The Western Region Climate Center has the statistics by State, for record values:
Record Lowest Recorded Temperatures (degrees F)
Alaska: -80 at Prospect Creek Camp
Colorado: -61 at Maybell
Idaho: - 60 at Island Park Dam
Montana: -70 at Rogers Pass
Utah: -69 at Peter's Sink
Wyoming: -66 at Riverside R.S.
Alberta, Canada: -78 at Fort Vermillion

There are probably other weather stations out there that are record holders, or near record holders, but never received credit, because the data was lost or never recorded. My friend Steve tells me that the Taylor Park weather station (10,410 feet) in Colorado, has registered two observations at -60 degrees. For many years the Taylor Park was a manual station, and often times in the winter the weather data was never recorded, because it involved someone slogging for many miles through deep snows and frigid temperatures. The Maybell station is the current record holder, in Colorado, for lowest temperature recorded, at -61.

The Taylor Park station holds one weather record for Colorado, for the longest number of days, with a temperature of <= 32 degrees, which was for 310 days. A krummholz kinda summer. Perhaps one day the big chill will occur and Taylor Park will trounce the Maybell record. If not the current second place record will be condemned to haunt the data vaults, in Stygian exile.

The record in Montana, for the longest number of days with a temperature of <=32 degrees, is 251 days, set by West Yellowstone station, at a whopping 6,668 feet elevation. Montana, you can do better.

The wind speed, as well as temperature, needs to be factored in when calculating wind chill (how cold it really feels). In reviewing the State records for average wind speed and and I figured Wyoming or Montana would have the highest average speeds. Wrong. Not even close. Colorado has two stations that top the record for the highest average annual wind speed with Monarch Pass at 19 mph (over 11,000 feet elevation) and La Veta pass at 16 mph at (9,400 feet elevation). Monarch Pass is an extremely cold place, but at least you can drop down into the trees or a canyon to escape the wind.

What does all this data really mean or prove? Its just a bunch of statistics generated by weather stations scattered here and there.

I think the coldest place in the world is near a small cone shaped mountain called Haystack Butte, in the Sweetgrass Hills, north of Chester Montana, out on the treeless Great Plains, which is just a few miles from the Canadian Border. A great norther or Siberian Express can work up quite a head of steam, with nary even a twig to slow it down, between northern Alberta and Montana. The first obstacle this glacial air mass encounters, once it crosses the border, is the Sweetgrass Hills, which it smashes into and breaks with great fury, like a monster wave hitting a huge rock on the Pacific coast.

Try finding a place out of the wind on the open prairie. Other than a local tavern which sometimes functions more like a mountaineers hut, than a watering hole.

So I will cast my lot with eastern Montana, being the coldest place in Rocky Mountains, with the high plains of Wyoming coming in second.

Wolves frolic in the shadow of Denali

My wife Louise and I explored Denali National Park, in Alaska, for 3 days, in early Sept. of 2003. The tourist pamphlets informed us we had less than a 20% chance of viewing the mountain, due to the frequent cloud cover and storms. Denali Peak at 20,320 feet tall, was clearly visible every day, beating the odds and defying the authorities. A few low dark clouds scudded across the hazy blue sky, and in direct contrast to the massive glaciers, snow fields, horns and craigs and the low lying tundra and taiga forest.

The base of the mountain is 2,000 feet elevation which grants the mountain 18,000 feet of vertical rise. The tallest peak in North America. The Athabascan's called Denali the Great One, which seems rather appropriate. It's a land of perpetual ice and snow.

Denali and the surrounding peaks loomed over us, even though we never came closer than 40 miles. It was hard to take my eyes off the great massif, with its massive glaciers, rock walls and a protective warren of smaller peaks. When you first view Denali, the surrounding glacial horns seem insignificant until you realize, many of them are well over 13,000 feet in elevation. The mountain dominates the land, and the sky, in every way. If I had to characterize Denali I would call her haughty, overbearing, arrogant, lordly, superior. But beautiful.

On the day we drove south, back to Anchorage, the wind was blowing up a hurricane on the highest peaks and ice and snow was being ripped off the highest points, migrating south, creating streamers of ice, some of which must have been many miles long. An airborne dune of shifting snow. If an airplane flew through these grainy ribbons of frost, I would imagine the paint being torn off the fuselage, followed by gale force winds ripping the plane to pieces. A mountaineer on those peaks would be hard pressed to survive that storm of howling, furious wind, and would be forced to make a hasty retreat.

The tundra and taiga at the lower elevations is vegetated with willows, birch, alder, currants, rose and dogwood, a colorful blend of red, orange and yellow. Many of the leaves had already blown away, and fall would soon recede to winter. Some of the stream courses were outlined by dark green spruce trees (20-30 feet in height) which stood tall over the shrubs. Scattered spruce trees dotted the tundra, in total disregard of symmetry and order.

I spotted two caribou, and one of them was an enormous bull. The caribou seemed to be wandering aimlessly, half hidden in cooperating willow, but about half and hour later, they formed up and loped to the east. The big horns in the lead. At another stop I heard a wolf howling in the distance, and scanning with my binoculars, located a wolf pack on a far ridge, in varied colors of black, white and gray. The wolves seemed to be quite engaged in meddlesome play and needless howling.

The first expedition to climb Denali Peak was on April 3rd, 1910, by a group of 4 miners. It's better known as the Sourdough Expedition. It is said they spent 3 months climbing the mountain, spending most of that time on rock and ice, with no other living plants or creatures to be seen, other than a wandering raven or two. As for me I will make no attempt to ascend Denali and will stake my claim to the taiga forest, in good company with caribou and willows. My Sourdough Expedition will be limited to cooking over a roaring campfire of dry spruce wood and climbing mountains, by hefting a pair of binoculars.

Mules Ear Rides the Ridge

The dry hillsides of the rolling Boise Front Range, exploded into color this week. The Arrowleaf Balsamroot (Balsamorhiza sagittata) are flowering in profusion, especially at the lower elevations on south facing slopes. Balsamroot are also known by the common name of Mules Ear, which is a reference to the arrow shaped leaves that get up to 6 inches long, and are covered with a dense mat of silver-gray hairs. These plants get up to 2 feet tall and the flowers are as large as 4 inches across, making for a very showy array on the mountain sides. They usually start to flower in late April, so they are very much on schedule this year, even though we have had a very dry spring. Bighorn sheep sheep are lambing at the same time as the Mules Ear is flowering. The tender sprouts, large roots and seeds are edible and were harvested by American Indians. The flowers and sprouts are also a favorite food of elk, deer and bighorn sheep. Once I see the Balsamroot in flower I know the hotter weather of summer will soon follow, even though snow is still a possibility. The fickle days of spring in the Rockies.

The Nesting Continues

I have been making trips, at least every other day, to the Red-Tailed Hawk aerie on Cottonwood Creek. On two days this week, she was standing on the edge of the nest, with her back to the sun, apparently shading the eggs. There are no signs of any chicks yet, unless she is keeping them close underwing. Many of the trees are starting to leaf out and the wild grasses are growing fast, with our warmer days and nights. The tall grass must make it harder for the hawks to hunt, but there is probably more prey available.

Hawk Jousts with Vultures

Image Courtesy of Alan D. Wilson, Naturespicsonline.com

A week ago on Monday (April 13, 2009) I went on a short hike, to check on the red-tailed (RT) hawk nest, on Cottonwood Creek. The sun was warm that day and the female RT was sitting on the nest, as she has been doing for the last 2-3 weeks. The eggs may have hatched by now. I was surprised to see 3 Turkey Vultures, dark brown colored with a two toned underwings, flying 200 feet above the aerie, which they apparently spotted, and one bird was starting to circle. It's amazing how graceful turkey vultures are, with their 5 foot wingspan.

Suddenly one of the vultures made an evasive move and I saw a streak of brownish-red flash by. A red-tailed Hawk had dive bombed the vultures, flying directly at them. The RT flew up the canyon a short distance and wheeled around, and was back in seconds, and cannonballed directly at the vultures. The vultures continuing up the canyon, rapidly gaining elevation, beating a hasty retreat. The RT made another pass, flying like a nimble fighter plane, compared to the vultures, which moved like lumbering cargo planes or bombers.

I suspect it was the male RT hawk protecting the female on the nest. The turkey vultures were probably just curious when they saw the female RT on the nest and they would have been in a real fix if they approached it, with the two adult hawks present. It all happened in less than a minute and the vultures were gone but the male RT continued to patrol up and down the canyon, for a short time, flying just a few hundred feet above the nest. The female RT stayed on the nest and never moved an inch during the entire encounter.

Then I saw the male RT quickly gain elevation and he was soon flying hundreds of feet above a nearby ridge. There was another hawk, riding the updrafts, along that same ridge top, and the male winged towards the intruder. He closed on the meddler but stayed back a dozen feet, and they flew wing to wing for a short time. Soon after there was only one soaring hawk in view. I am not which hawk it was.

On April 16th I checked on the raptors, and the female Red-Tailed Hawk was sitting quietly on the nest. I continued on my hike and was back in that area, a few minutes later and there were two hawks on the aerie. The male had returned to check on the female red-tailed hawk.

Flight of the Feathered Fisherman

Images Courtesy Alan D. Wilson, Naturespicsonline.com

The American White Pelican. The second largest bird in North America. Only the California Condor can claim to be bigger. The pelican is a beautiful bird with an incredible 108 inch wing span, which is over 8 feet! In comparison the Bald Eagle has a wing span of 80 inches. They are one of the most graceful flying birds I have ever seen, and it's quite a sight to see several of them, flying in perfect formation.

In April of 2009 the Idaho Fish and Game Department (IDFG) issued a draft 5 year management plan (2009-2013) for the management of the American White Pelican and native cutthroat trout in Idaho. The plan has an objective of reducing American Pelican numbers from the current estimated population of 6,400 birds to 2,800, over a 5 year period. Adult birds would be shot or the eggs would be killed, to reach this goal. The plan indicates that this might increase the number of native cutthroat trout, due to the reduction of predation.

Blackfoot Reservoir is located on the Blackfoot River, near the town of Henry, Idaho. The Blackfoot River originates in eastern Idaho, with the headwaters located in the Caribou Range, Wooley Range and Grays Range. The Blackfoot River flows into Blackfoot Reservoir, near Henry and then meanders on to the Snake River. Lake Walcott and Minidoka Wildlife Refuge are located on the Snake River, near the town of Burley, Idaho

If the numbers of pelicans are reduced there is no way to monitor the success or failure of the proposed IDFG project. If by chance trout numbers increase (with a decrease of numbers of pelicans) was the project successful? Who knows. There is no way to measure that, because the increase in numbers of trout might be directly related to an increase in water quality and quantity. There is no guarantee that killing pelicans will increase trout numbers, because in the end its all about trout habitat, which is related to water quality and quantity, and stream side vegetation.

The IDFG plan is incomplete and does not address the positive benefits of pelicans on the environment and on trout species or other fish populations. The plan indicates the pelican's diets consist mainly of non-trout species such as the chub. If 50% of the pelicans are killed what is the effect on the chub population? If the chub population greatly increases what is the effect on the trout? The IDFG plan does not address this.

The proposed IDFG plan does have several good elements (other than killing pelicans) including hazing pelicans away from spawning trout and in-stream modification or refuge areas in the water.

The real problem with maintaining trout populations, is the dams and irrigation canals, but the IDFG plan indicates there will be no attempt to mitigate or change those operations. More protection for stream side vegetation, and additional pollution control is also needed. Changing the way the dams and irrigation canals are managed would take long term planning and commitment, by the State of Idaho, but in the end it is the only real solution.

One of the biggest thrills of fishing in Idaho is enjoying the outdoors and the beautiful scenery, and watching the dippers, eagles, ducks, ospreys, and pelicans, plying the waters for food, or just flying around. What is the value of seeing a flight of pelicans flying down the Snake River? I can't put a dollar figure on it but it's a beautiful sight. Would I want to see half of the pelicans in Idaho killed? No and it would be a real travesty. Pelicans winter in the south in Mexico or on the Gulf Coast, and they aren't really just Idaho birds, so who are we to decide their fate? Who indeed.

Forked Pondo Pine

On a walkabout last year, in the Boise Mountains, up Cottonwood Creek, I was traversing through a grove of ponderosa pine (Pinus ponderosa), or pondos, and stumbled upon a tree that had a remarkable fork in it. The bark of the pondo was a yellowish color and the bole was forked, at around 10 feet from the ground. The fork was probably created when the tree was a sapling and the top was injured by a falling tree, or maybe by a porcupine chewing on it. Ponderosa pine is the signature tree of the American West, or much of the West. The bark thickens as the tree matures and turns a yellowish color. The thick bark of the pondo serves to protect it from wildland fires, that commonly sweep through the forest.

As a result of the damage, the top of the tree was died. Assassinated by a falling chunk of wood or the jaws of a hungry mammal. The upper branches then competed to be the leading branch, over the next few years. The head honcho. El Jefe. Two branches in particular, managed to stage a growth spurt over the next decade, and both survived, creating a fork. A double topped tree. A woody duo.

The cleft was a perfect nesting spot for a bird or raccoon, or maybe even a tired hiker. A fire had burned through this area several years ago, and it left char marks at the base of the tree, and killed the lower branches but the tree easily survived the flames. The bunch grass and shrubs had grown back thick and luxurious, leaving few traces of the fire.

Growing up in the Rocky Mountains there were pondos in our back yard, and we perfected our climbing skills on the wide sweeping branches. Mountaineers of the woodlands. Many times we clambered all the way to the very tip top of the tree, only to enjoy a magnificent view of the Mission Mountains with Goat Peak, and Mount Calowahcan in the distance. The neighbor kids would sometimes accompany us and most of them were adept climbers, but occasionally I would have to coax one of them down the tree when they became scared. Going up the tree was fairly easy but going down could be a tad bit scary, because you were looking down and it was hard to see your footholds.

In addition to tree climbing I also engaged one time, in some hazard fuel reduction. All it took was matches and the imagination of a 10 year old. My sister and I spent a couple of hours lighting dead pondo needles under the trees around the house. Unsupervised of course. I don't recommend anyone playing with matches but it caused no harm.