Aransas National Wildlife Refuge: Climate Change

By Jason M Hogle | Posted on May 20, 2009

I spent last weekend on the Gulf coast. Following six hours of driving across 350 miles/560 kilometers, I bunked down at a no-tell motel for a few hours of sleep before heading out before dawn. My destination was the Aransas National Wildlife Refuge, a 59,000-acre/24,000-hectare refuge that spans salt and freshwater marshes, the sandy coastline, sloughs and mottes, and grasslands and thickets. For all its heat and humidity this time of year, Aransas has to be one of my favorite places given its diverse habitats.

As part of the migratory flyway system for birds, this refuge lies centered in the Great Texas Coastal Birding Trail, that part of the state where spring and autumn migrations funnel birds moving south or north. In fact, 98% of all Nearctic-Neotropic migratory bird species have a presence in the state, many of which can be found in spring as the Gulf coast provides the first place to rest following a long flight across lonely waters. Hundreds of species and thousands of birds can appear within a few hours if conditions are right.

Of particular note is that the largest flock of migrating whooping cranes winters at the refuge. A critically endangered species once reduced to only 15 individuals, more than 200 of the birds now spend the cold season alongside throngs of other birds in the Aransas NWR.

But birds aren’t the only creatures in the refuge, a fact I knew would be especially evident while visiting in late spring when Texas weather has already become hot. A temperature of 90° F/32° C with relative humidity around 80% created a wee bit of discomfort. But if I could withstand the mosquito and fly onslaught, I certainly could survive the oppressive weather. (I should note that finding a clearing on the coastline became the highlight of my wanderings as the ocean winds blowing inland felt like air conditioning!)

My visit to the refuge had a threefold purpose: (1) Look for residual impact from Hurricane Ike; (2) look for impact from Texas’s ongoing drought; and (3) get out in nature and take some photographs, something I enjoy doing no matter the circumstances, especially given nature’s ability to rejuvenate my spirit and reinvigorate my mind.

On the first matter of Hurricane Ike’s residual impact: Aransas sidestepped major trauma from Hurricane Ike by enjoying a position not on the dirty side of the storm. The refuge saw rain and high winds, but both were diminished by the fact that the area sat within the northwest quadrant of a northbound typhoon. Wraparound storms offered precipitation and weakening winds slowed by being over land. Ultimately, Aransas NWR saw needed rain but little serious impact outside of some felled trees which undoubtedly had other issues that made them weak.

On the second matter of Texas’s ongoing drought and its impact on the refuge: The seriousness of the drought in this state has significant meaning when viewed along the Gulf coast. With ample moisture and warm, unstable air from the Gulf of Mexico, it surprised me how damaged the refuge is. All of the lakes are dry. All of them. I don’t mean dry earth cracked and exposed; I mean waist-high grass where deep water once proffered refuge to alligators, snakes, waterfowl and wading birds, and even the occasional white-tailed deer enjoying a leisurely swim. (Many more deer drank from the lakes but did not enter the water because of the alligators, but some ignored the threat and swam some laps anyway.  Go figure…)

The tidal marshes and sloughs are all but gone. A boardwalk over the salt marshes near the coast now stretches along dry reed beds, a few puddles created by light rain, and an influx of wildflowers and grasses. Where once blue crabs scampered about the pools avoiding the birds and other predators, today nothing more than some butterflies and other insects occupy the flats.

Grasslands show varied hues of brown vying to control the patches of green popping up here and there. Sloughs and ponds disappear altogether as dry-land plants take hold where fresh water fails to occupy spaces. Brushlands and mottes show less verdant cover and more barren limbs. And the salt content along the coast has risen dangerously high because insufficient water is flowing into the Gulf to dilute the saline content. Even The Wall Street Journal delved into the seriousness of the problem late last month with this article: Severe Texas Drought Threatens Coastal Wildlife .

A severe drought gripping Texas is causing unusually salty conditions along the Gulf Coast, upsetting the region’s ecological balance and threatening coastal wildlife including oysters, crabs and whooping cranes, the most endangered crane species.

The drought is one of the driest on record for Texas and is currently the worst in the U.S., which has seen persistent dry weather across several Western states, Florida and even Hawaii, according to academic and government monitors. The scarcity of rain has reduced fresh-water flow from rivers and streams into coastal marshes, estuaries and bays that normally dilute the salt content of water from the Gulf of Mexico.

This spring, the only migrating whooping-crane flock that exists in the wild lost 23 of its 270 members to hunger and disease brought on by the dry weather, said Tom Stehn, U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service whooping-crane coordinator. That is a big blow to conservation programs that have worked over the past 50 years to slowly increase the number of cranes.

And:

Even weeds are having a hard time flourishing. Wild quail and turkey are having trouble finding enough insect feed. Farmers have delayed planting corn and cotton because the soil isn’t moist enough for seeds to germinate, and some 7,000 wildfires across the state have burned through more than 400,000 acres and destroyed hundreds of structures.

Along the coast, even before the drought intensified, bays and estuaries were already saltier than normal because of the vast amounts of ocean water Hurricane Ike pushed into the area last year.

In San Antonio Bay near Corpus Christi, the inflow of fresh water from rivers from December to March was the lowest in more than 50 years, said Norman Johns, water-resources scientist with the National Wildlife Federation in Austin. That has made the nearby marshes of Aransas National Wildlife Refuge Complex, where whooping cranes winter, almost as salty as the Gulf.

The blue crab population has been impacted, hence the whooping cranes have been impacted, and the rest of the flora and fauna has been likewise impacted. What little water remains available is either dwindling fresh reserves or too high in salt content to support much of anything.

Texas suffered a drought of more than a dozen years, a scourge that ended in 2007 with six months of monsoonal flow, a torrential half-year across the state that brought us rafts of fire ants floating on floodwater looking for higher ground, devastated crops in the nation’s second largest agricultural state, venomous and nonvenomous snakes seeking refuge in houses, crippling impact to the largest petroleum port and processing area in the country, and other impacts that reached far and wide. Yet following that relief from years sans rain, the drought returned—and worsened.

Standing in the midst of the Aransas National Wildlife Refuge brought that home. Where in the past lakes stood teeming with life, only dry grasslands remain in the present. Where a few years ago marshes and sloughs sheltered numerous alligators, deer and birds, today a mere handful of creatures can be seen sheltered in the few shrinking ponds that exist. Where in 2007 lush habitats of varying kinds gave rise to a protected environment overflowing with wildlife, last weekend a couple birding the area summed it up nicely with this: “Slim pickings.”

Because of its importance to Nearctic-Neotropic migratory birds, not to mention a legion vast of resident creatures like the endangered American alligator, critically endangered whooping cranes and several species of critically endangered sea turtles, witnessing the drought’s continuing devastation wounded me. The ecological soundness of the entire state hinges on rain, something not offered and not forthcoming. While floods drench places like Fargo, ND, severe spring storms fail to materialize in a state known for having the most tornadoes. After living nearly 40 years in Texas, I fail to recognize this place given its bizarre weather. It pushed the blade deeper to see the detriment to a protected place where life tends to flourish despite our indifference.

One can argue the semantics of climate change until one becomes blue in the face. One can argue the effects of greenhouse gases until one explodes from a buildup of carbon dioxide.  One can say cool and dry weather in Texas on May 20 means “global warming” is a farce because it should be much hotter, and all the while one has to water more frequently to keep one’s manicured lawn from looking pale and sickly.  One can do all these things without lifting a finger to preserve the dying world around us.  And one can be so calloused if one wishes to be ignorant and insensitive to the needs of the planet that supports us.

Or one can realize Earth has its own rhythms which cannot be explained by our limited experience in monitoring them, and one can do so whilst simultaneously admitting we’ve done a terrible job being stewards of the only place that offers us shelter and sustenance. One can assume poking the beehive with greed and selfishness doesn’t necessarily explain the swarm, but it doesn’t help prevent it either. One can see it takes two normal years for whooping cranes to recover from losses this year, and one can accept our role in creating this trap that restrains them on them edge of oblivion.  And one can do something, take action, accept responsibility for whatever role we play in this drama.

Either way, one can do something. In which direction will you travel?

Finally, on the third matter of enjoying nature and taking some photos: That will come in the second part of this post.