Swoop of the Swifts

The outback of the Snake River Valley. The big dry. It's about as rugged a country as you can find. Remote. Waterless.  For the most part. A big dry desert. The spring flowers were out and they dotted the flat prairie, like so many little dabs of colorful paint, of red, yellow, pink and blue.  The ground was hard gravel with not a hint of soil,  yet indefatigable wildflowers, silver sage and bunch grasses seemed to thrive. Two antelope raced across the savanna, and contoured up a steep hill, before they stopped to observe the two-legged intruders.  The pronghorns were spooked but nothing was chasing them, at least that we could see.  

Greg, Steve, Soni and I were out exploring, the deserts of the Owyhee Mountains.  Greg was elected the leader of our expedition, because of his familiarity with this area, and because he had conducted a geologic study of these mountains.  We stopped at a vantage point on the sloping plains, less than half a mile from the Owyhee Mountains.  Or at least the foothills. Greg explained the topography in detail and definition was brought to suspect terrain.  He pointed out a fault line that he had discovered during his studies.  This line ran along the base of the Owyhee Mountains, where plains meet argillite and even more basalt.  The big fracture where uplifted ground left a scarp. A slip of the fault line.  Tectonic forces ripped soil from rock and stone was stretched skyward, a few feet here, a few feet there, and 10-20 feet in other locations. Imprecise uplifting deforming perfectly good rock formations.      

We hiked to a high bluff, a promontory with canyon on two sides of us.  A perfect lunch spot where we lingered under scudding clouds and drifting silent shadows of turkey vultures.  A line of green several hundred feet below marked a narrow water course, lined with grasses and willows.  Our discussion during lunch was lively as we talked about the geology of this canyon country and the merits of folk and rock bands we had recently encountered.   

Just below the rim of the canyon White-throated Swifts darted back and forth like miniature jet fighters, feeding on insects and gathering bugs in their throat pouch, to carry back to the young, hidden safely in deep crevices in the cliff walls. A group of swifts are collectively known as a "swoop" of swifts. Swoop and swift, indeed.   The Swifts remind me of the a Prairie Falcon, in their quickness and the shape of their body and wings.  Only a smaller version.   The White-Throated Swift has long straight wings and narrow tail, white markings on throat and belly, white tips on secondaries, and they roost at night with hundreds of other birds, usually in secret caves and crevasses in cliffs.  Their daily ritual includes an evening aerial gathering above the roost, where they ascend beyond view then descend as a swoop, entering the cavity several abreast.

We stopped at another location in a sage-deep canyon, to search for unique rocks and fossils, only to be interrupted by a bounding jackrabbit.  The rabbit raced through the brush and was soon out of sight.  I tried to recall the last time I had seen a jackrabbit as they used to be so common.  I couldn't remember.  Steve found a chunk of fossil bone that we thought might be of an ancient camel, but I had envisioned something more dramatic like a cave bear, or a saber toothed tiger.  We found small pieces of white chert scattered everywhere which appeared to be the work of careless neolithic craftsman.  A lizard was discovered and he thoughtfully posed for my camera.


The day was waning and we headed for home, and encountered another jackrabbit, running at full gait, through dense sagebrush.  I tucked away a rucksack of memories, about our geologic excursion, and great conversation with friends.   It was a good day in all regards.  Made even better by the appearance of a couple of jackrabbits.  Perhaps they have returned.