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Birds

American Avocets in Surprise Valley, California — A morning on the causeway

D. Craig Young · April 25, 2026 · 6 Comments

I can almost remember the first time a saw an American Avocet. I cannot, of course, recall the exact day, but it was on an early excursion to Warner Valley, Oregon, sometime in 1988. Probably. I loved birds, but I was not as quietly infatuated with them as I am now. I recall, however, the dramatic coloring and upright stance of this confident shore bird. My wife has similar memories of brilliant Avocets at the Fernley Wildlife Management Area between Winnemucca and Reno. Because the Avocet is distinctive and lacks the relative sameness or subtle distinctions of so many bird families, I can see why it might be many western birder’s ‘entry point’ to a lifetime of birding. And they are so fun to photograph.

Wade. American Avocet, Middle Lake, Surprise Valley, Great Basin Desert, CA, USA

In June of 2025, leaving a geoarchaeological study in northwestern Nevada, I crossed into Surprise Valley, California, traversing the basin floor on the causeway through Middle Alkali Lake. The shallow lake, sometimes nothing more than a dry lakebed, is the floor of the once vast pluvial Lake Surprise, its relict, Pleistocene-age shorelines ringing the much higher valley-margin hillslopes. Small, gravel islands emerge from the shallow lake, paralleling the roadway. The gravel, left from roadwork along the causeway, catch the rising sun and glow warmly in the shallow water. Clear skies reflect from the smoothness of the mirror lake.

I am moving slowly westbound along the causeway when I notice a Willet wading calmly in grass protruding from a narrow shoreline. At the same moment, I notice a flat-bed pickup, the only other vehicle for many miles it seems, practically tailgating me. A pair of collies stare intently from the sides of the cab. No fault of the guy heading to chores, or whatever, I’m barely moving. There are no turnouts on this section of the causeway, so I pick up the pace to get to the other side. I will turn around and let the man and his impatient dogs get on with their morning.

Early bird. Willet, Middle Lake, Surprise Valley, Great Basin Desert, CA, USA

Working my way back to the wading Willet I find a turnout on the eastbound side of the causeway that will fit my rig. While Willets are nice to see, what had caught my attention just as ranch-life had barreled down on me was the flash of contrast; the black, white, and pink, of American Avocets! There were six or so outstanding birds wading or roosting on the gravel bars poking above the reflective waters.

2 on 3. American Avocet, Middle Lake, Surprise Valley, Great Basin Desert, CA, USA

I waded slowly from the causeway shore, staying close to the road but getting to level ground. The birds did not seem to care. Avocets tend to be less skittish than many shorebirds. I move slowly getting low to the water – the Willet had already had enough of me – but the Avocets went about their business. Two more flew in, landing with easy steps in the shallow water.

Feeder. American Avocet, Middle Lake, Surprise Valley, Great Basin Desert, CA, USA

The light was perfect. I spent an hour with the birds, getting a myriad of singles and pairs reflected easily in the low-gradient light of early morning. A pair seemed to be considering nesting spots while others foraged in the grass and gravel. It is a pleasant pause before my journey home, as I am soon southbound on Hwy 447 toward Gerlach and Pyramid Lake. The Avocets have a summer ahead of them, wading the segmented lakes of Surprise Valley, I am better having spent some time with them.

Keep going. (Thanks to Desna for the Avocet as birding ‘entry point’ story idea).

Nest watch. American Avocets, Middle Lake, Surprise Valley, Great Basin Desert, CA, USA
The itch. American Avocet, Middle Lake, Surprise Valley, Great Basin Desert, CA, USA

On the border with obsidian, dust, and eagles — Hamlin Valley, Nevada and Utah

D. Craig Young · February 1, 2026 · 2 Comments

I have been mapping the distribution of obsidian nodules in the landforms of the Cedar Mountains, where caldera remnants of volcanic tuff and glass have been incorporated into debris flows and alluvial fans the formed well before the last ice age. These ancient landforms, extending well beyond the eastern mountain front, host clasts of the Modena obsidian, a toolstone source of the eastern Escalante Basin. We continue to work on documenting and describing this resource, and I hope to share much more about it here. Today (May 2025), however, I am taking a break to drive a traverse of Hamlin Valley, north and east of our project area.

The Hamlin Valley traverse (May 2025)

It is a long loop from my camp in Echo Canyon State Park, and I planned to meet our field team in the late afternoon. There was not a lot of time to explore, but I could get a feel for an area I had not seen much of previously. Heading toward the eastern border of Nevada, beyond the southern end of Lake Valley, I pass through the north end of the Wilson Creek Mountains and through the crunchy, old mining town of Atlanta. I follow some distant Pinyon Jays, birds I have missed closer to home for some reason, but they do not let me get close. I am left only with their laughing calls. That’ll do.

Waterline. Thirsty troughs at Wells Summit, Limestone Hills, NV, USA
Road to Hyde Springs. Hamlin Valley, Great Basin Desert, NV, USA

At Wells Summit in the Limestone Hills, I finally look into Hamlin Valley. I had been here before, but I was drawn north into the great wide open below the Snake Range. This time I will turn south to go the length of Hamlin. The valley is bounded by the Mountain Home Range on the east, but the extensional space of the vast valley is amazing. At the remnants of Hyde Well, the valley is over 15 miles wide, but it appears endless in the late-morning haze.

Waterless. Hyde Springs, NV, USA
Here it was. Cabins at Hyde Springs, Great Basin Desert, NV, USA

I turn south, rambling on roughly graded dirt and crossing the dry Hamlin Valley Wash, a distant tributary of the once vast, now dry, Lake Bonneville. I am now in Utah, moving along uplifted pediments built of ancient alluvial fans faulted upward to become dissected ramps of sediment, shed from the Mountain Home Range long ago. The wash and road are soon confined between toes of the relict fans extended from both sides of the valley. A Golden Eagle meets me halfway, flying low as it trolls the dissected slope overlooking the dry wash.

Glide. Golden Eagle in low flight along Hamlin Valley, Great Basin Desert, UT, USA

Once imperceptibly wide, the valley’s southern reach narrows between the White Rock Mountains (Nevada) and the Needle Range (Utah). The valley begins to close as private lands of small settlements, ranches, and homesteads confine creative travel possibilities. When you reach the southern end of the valley it literally pours into Modena Wash; the drainage divide is at the valley margin, not in the bounding hills of the Indian Peak Range. Modena Wash drops quickly through white-streaked, volcanic outcrops into the Escalante Basin.

Barely. Hamlin Valley, Great Basin Desert, NV, USA

The valley deserves more time, and I will be back to spend time among the relict fans and low-flying eagles. For the moment, I am back in the obsidian, full circle.

Keep going.

Please respect the natural and cultural resources of our public lands.

#naturefirst #keepgoing

Desert nights in Big Bend

D. Craig Young · July 31, 2025 · 1 Comment

Evening window. Chisos Basin, Big Bend National Park, TX, USA

It is the heat that gets your attention – and pay attention because one needs to travel wisely in the late spring in Big Bend National Park, but it is the promise of evening birds and late-night dark skies that holds it. I had dropped into Lajitas, Texas, to attend a photo workshop focused on astrophotography in and around the desert, borderland park. Night photography avoids the intense heat of the day, of course, but we also explored various locations to experience the moods of this variegated landscape.

Border wall. An outcrop of cactus overlooking the valley of the Rio Grande, Big Bend Mountains State Park, TX, USA
Diagnols. Lava intrusions along the Rio Grande, Big Bend Mountains State Park, TX, USA

The Big Bend topography is refreshingly disorienting to me. Unlike the regular, linear pattern of the Basin and Range, the mountains of Big Bend seem circular; we travel around and into them, not over and through. Alluvial fans and consolidated pediments extend from the rugged uplands, these are familiar.  The Rio Grande gasps for refreshment, barely any flow this time of year – the canyon marking the national boundary more than the river. The Chihuahuan Desert, its incessant volcanic rocks colonized with a wild diversity of arid-adapted plants and animals, is somehow sharper and coarser than our western deserts. Although the landscape is wide open, I feel like I cannot see as far. Between convoluted ridges, gunsight canyons reveal a surprise of distant ranges and mesas, verifying that the desert knows no borders.

Fade to light. Chisos Basin, Big Bend National Park, TX, USA

While I am not attracted to group excursions typically, I have great friends at Muench Workshops, and their participants are like-minded and lovely to spend time with. I always learn new bits of technique, and with astrophotography, there can be unique skills to apply in the field and in image processing. I forget most of them almost immediately, but that is not for their lack of unselfish sharing and engagement. It takes practice, and more practice, but it remains so much fun.

Castellan night. Astrophotography at Cerro Castellan in Big Bend National Park, TX, USA

While I gave full attention to our daily astro tutorials – we would hide away in a cool conference room during the hottest part of the day, I engaged my wanderlust during late afternoon excursions in search of birds and sunset light. I was then ready to settle in with the group to practice dark-sky compositions from blue hour to well after midnight.

Sendero rio. Big Bend Mountains State Park, TX, USA
Simple dusk. Volcanic badlands below Cerro Castellan, Big Bend National Park, TX, USA

Our little group moved between the mountains and canyons, dropping to the river occasionally; anything to feel the evening releasing the heat of the day. Although Wayne and Matt had locations planned, we often detoured when the light caught our attention. They picked some amazing scenes, but our focus was technique so we could have been almost anywhere in the jumble of desert spires and ridges. We practiced variations on focus-stacking, time-blending, and multiple exposures to battle the digital noise of long exposures, high-ISO settings, and heat-affected sensors. We also practiced various low-level lighting techniques to bring warmth and detail to our scenes. The field craft is a bit fiddlier than I am drawn to typically, and the files take quite a bit of patience (and computing power) to process, but the results are, or can be, amazing.

Adobe y cielo. Big Bend Mountains State Park, TX, USA

I mastered nothing on this trip, but I was reminded that improvement continues with practice. I may use few of the skills and tricks that well-practiced astrophotographers bring to their scenes, but there are landscapes and landforms in the Great Basin that I want to capture under a night sky, so I will continue to practice (special thanks to Wayne Suggs and Matt Payne). There is nothing like being under a dark sky in a desert or mountain landscape. It heals concessions we make living in cities of artificial light and constant motion, and it wakes up senses we hide from ourselves most of the time. The photos are then reminders that we should go back to the dark, occasionally, to heal and wake up.

Plus, there are birds to enjoy in the blue hour as we wait for the stars to shine.

Keep going.

In memory of my nephew, Robby Young, who we lost so suddenly and too soon, while I was in Big Bend (June 2024). I did not see him enough, and I cannot see him again. But I will always have a reminder of him when under a dark sky, where the stars feel close enough to touch, even as they continue their journeys, far, far away.

Quick camp on Miller Canyon Fan, western Utah

D. Craig Young · July 26, 2025 · Leave a Comment

Panoramic photo showing beauty of Sevier Basin, Utah
Gunnison distance. The broad expanse of Sevier Valley after a storm, Great Basin Desert, UT, USA

Waypoint: Miller Canyon Alluvial Fan, Sevier Valley, Utah

After a warm day of landform reconnaissance in the Great Basin of western Utah, I camped in a small back-berm playette on the broad alluvial fan of Miller Canyon extending from the House Range in western Utah. The playette – a miniature dry lake – formed behind a relict gravel berm of pluvial Lake Gunnison, building over thousands of years as loessic alluvium scoured from the hillslopes settles behind the abandoned berm. This is the modern setting on the expansive alluvial fan – a small dry lake nestled behind a beach long after the once vast pluvial lake faded and dried, its lakebed shrinking to the playa of the Sevier Basin. The berm provides a stage for photographing storms that try and fail, evaporating into the evening skies of the Great Basin. The variegated color of a juvenile Brown-headed Cowbird greeted me as I rolled out of my sleeping bag the following morning. Altogether, a somewhat typical experience during geoarchaeological fieldwork in the Great Basin Desert. Keep going.

Glow squalls. Watching the storms pass from a small playa below Miller Canyon, Great Basin Desert, UT, USA
Skies over House Range. Great Basin Desert, UT, USA
Thirsty bird. A young Brown-headed Cowbird searches camp for water, Great Basin Desert, UT, USA

[2024.05.15 — Bonneville Basin Recce with Brian Codding (Univ of Utah) and Daniel Contreras (Univ of Florida); aka, The Strandline Society].

“These images and words are a reflection, simply and wholly, of my respect for our public lands and the public science and occasional art I am, and we are, able to do there. Our ability to create and think are not trivial, and wild space and healthy ecosystems nourish such things. It is here that we will find our better selves, even as the misdeeds of a few threaten much that, until recently, provides for our common good. Keep going.“

Please respect the natural and cultural resources of our public lands.

#naturefirst #keepgoing

Nevada High Points #128 – Slate Ridge

D. Craig Young · December 31, 2024 · 8 Comments

Desert walk. The Mount Duffee bajada, coalesced alluvial fans of Slate Ridge, Mojave Desert, NV, USA (Map point #1)

Mount Dunfee

7064 ft (2141 m) – 1647 ft gain

2024.11.13


I am on the road again. Having arrived home from northwestern Nevada only recently, I need to be in southern Nevada for some time in our Desert Branch office and a quick bit of fieldwork near Rogers Dry Lake in southeastern California. It is one end of the state to the other, and from the Great Basin Desert to the Mojave.  I enjoy the quick transitions, one ecology to another, Basin and Range to the Walker Lane tectonic silliness, and the travel day provides the opportunity to explore another high point without much of a detour. South of Goldfield, Nevada, I turn west at Lida Junction before heading into alluvial expanses below Slate Ridge.

This small, circular range is a tilted block of limestone and volcanic rocks, with actually very little slate, but for dispersed outcrops east of Mount Dunfee, the range high point. Not only is there little slate, Slate Ridge is not much of a ridge either. It has some fantastically dramatic outcrops and steep slopes, but it is really a complex jumble of hills and volcanic plateaus; however, from the historically minded town of Gold Point at its base, the western prominence of Slate Ridge is nicely imposing and ridge-like, if not slatey.

Welcome party. Joshua Trees on the fans of Dunfee Peak, Slate Ridge, Mojave Desert, NV, USA (Map point #2)
Map of the alluvial bajada along the western front of Slate Ridge and Mount Dunfee. Note the surface texture and general shapes of the oldest (Qa1) to the youngest (Qa4) individual alluvial fans and pediments.

Vague roads head toward various prospects visible on the slopes at the mountain front. I follow a maintained route before parking where a two-track intersects and provides a good start point. I have some wide bajada to cross before the steeper slopes begin. A bajada is a typically broad, mountain-front apron of coalesced alluvial fans, each emanating from its own canyon. Individual fans have their own source areas, with rock types in the fans matching the geology of their canyon sources generally. Because this region remains tectonically active, each tectonic jump or sheer along the mountain-front tilts the fan upward or moves the source canyon aside. The actions are quick, and the fans continue to build in the long quiet intervals in between – weathering and flashy floods cutting into and delivering sediment to the fans of the basin below. The lifted fans are isolated as gullies incise, and we can look at the degree of surface weathering and incision to place each fan and each tectonic change in time. The fan patterns are evident in aerial imagery, but there is nothing better than walking across the landforms themselves. It is why I visit these places.

Contacts. Beds and folds on the southwest fact of Dunfee Peak, Slate Ridge, Mojave Desert, NV, USA (Map point #3)

And, yes, there is the high point to reach. There are mining prospects where the fans intersect the mountain front, and the slope steepens into a nice climb. I soon notice circling raptors as I gain the ridge leading to the Mount Dunfee summit. There are several large birds, but one stands out, and its prominence does not go unnoticed by other birds who are doing their best to alter the larger bird’s slow, soaring path. The Golden Eagle merely shrugs at the swoops and dives of the Red-tailed Hawks; it looks as if the eagle is just passing through, veering close to the roosts of the juvenile hawks unknowingly. The Golden continues its straight-line glide path unperturbed.

Spotter. Red-tailed Hawk watches my approach to Dunfee Peak, Slate Ridge, Mojave Desert, NV, USA

I am soon on the summit of Mount Dunfee, a rounded dome among a scattering of cliffs. But something seems wrong. This is the named location of Mount Dunfee; I can, however, see a clearly higher summit to the northwest. It is, maybe, a half mile away, and one of the hawks is perched there. It is a sign!

Sentinel. A Red-tailed Hawk sits on the Mount Dunfee summit outcrop, I have to wait, Dunfee Peak, Slate Ridge, Mojave Desert, NV, USA (Map point #4)

It is not unusual to have a few summits of similar elevation in a summit cluster, especially among the smaller groups of hills or even along the high ridge of a prominent range. I am often, therefore, second-guessing the labels shown in map apps and other sources. I tend to trust the USGS topographic maps, but even these sometimes mark a named point that is not the high point. This seems to be the case along Slate Ridge. The hawk sensed my brief confusion and helped me out; it seems so, anyway.

The actual high point is more dramatic and precipitous than its rounded, illegitimate twin behind me. The hawk remained perched on the pinnacle until I got close. I hated to disturb it, but it had been watching every movement of my approach, so it was not startled or stressed. Its job done, I found the summit register, and I could enjoy the expansive views toward the Sierra and deep across the ranges of Nevada. There is just enough wind to lift the several hawks – the eagle is far away now – in various swirls and glides among the cliffs and canyons surrounding me. There are at least six raptors close by; maybe more, but I cannot turn quick enough to decide if I have counted that one or that other one, once or twice. A pleasure to watch for a while, nonetheless.

Hill space. Weather ridge top on the way to Dunfee Peak, Slate Ridge, Mojave Desert, NV, USA (Map point #5)

It is another wonderful day in a small, generally unknown group of hills in the midst of Nevada. I could digest the setting of the mountain-front alluvial bajada before reaching heights enjoyed by a kettle of raptors (yes, I looked up ‘kettle’).  The descent is easy, and I can soon continue my drive toward Las Vegas Valley and points beyond.

Serrated. Lichened outcrops on the ridge of Dunfee Peak, Slate Ridge, Mojave Desert, NV, USA. (Map point #6)

This might be my final high point of 2024. I made it to 13 this year, so far, and I am very happy and fortunate to be able to wrap so many summit excursions into my general travels. I hope for one a month, if only to keep the discipline of getting out, being curious, and learning.

Here’s to more high points in 2025. Thanks for coming along with me here at TrailOption; I look forward to hearing from you and, maybe, seeing you out there.

Keep going.

Please respect the natural and cultural resources of our public lands.

#naturefirst #keepgoing

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