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Caoba de Montaña

Caoba de Montaña: Árbol de caoba de montaña de hoja rizada, Courtesy & Copyright USU Extension
Árbol de caoba de montaña de hoja rizada
Cortesía y derechos de autor: USU Extension
La historia de hoy está en inglés y en español.
Para escuchar la traducción al español nos puedes sintonizar los miércoles a las 9 pm o en línea en UPR.org
Este artículo fue escrito por Kate Hunter, directora de educación en Stokes Nature Center y una apasionada por Utah

Árbol de caoba de montaña de hoja rizada, Devil's Kitchen Trail, Nebo Loop, Utah (Mt Nebo to the right) Courtesy & Copyright Lyle Bingham, fotógrafa
Árbol de caoba de montaña de hoja rizada
Devil’s Kitchen Trail, Nebo Loop, Utah (Mt Nebo to the right)
Courtesy & Copyright Lyle Bingham, fotógrafa

Árbol de caoba de montaña de hoja rizada, Devil's Kitchen Trail, Nebo Loop, Utah Mt Nebo in the background Courtesy & Copyright Lyle Bingham, fotógrafa Árbol de caoba de montaña de hoja rizada
Devil’s Kitchen Trail, Nebo Loop, Utah
Mt Nebo in the background
Courtesy & Copyright Lyle Bingham, fotógrafa

Caoba de montaña de hoja rizada, Devil's Kitchen Trail, Nebo Loop, Utah Courtesy & Copyright Lyle Bingham, fotógrafa Caoba de montaña de hoja rizada, Devil’s Kitchen Trail, Nebo Loop, Utah
Courtesy & Copyright Lyle Bingham, fotógrafa

Me encantan todos los árboles del Bosque Nacional Cache. Pero hay uno que siempre me ha intrigado: la caoba de montaña.

Probablemente hayas visto este árbol si has caminado por las montañas del norte de Utah; solo puedo describir nuestra caoba de montaña como retorcida.

Incluso el nombre sugiere una torsión, ya que nuestra variedad más común es la caoba de hoja rizada.

Las ramas de la caoba de hoja rizada se enroscan mientras crecen hacia arriba, como los zarcillos de una planta de guisante o una enredadera que intenta encontrar algo de lo cual sujetarse.

Esa cualidad retorcida de las ramas también se encuentra en las semillas.

Estos árboles producen semillas ligeras y plumosas que se enrollan sobre sí mismas como un espiral o un sacacorchos, lo que les ayuda a perforar la tierra.

Siento afinidad con estos árboles retorcidos cada vez que subo una montaña y me encuentro con bosques de estas caobas, ya que a menudo yo también me siento igual de retorcida y alterada por la cantidad de resoplidos y jadeos que doy al encontrármelos.

Pero, a diferencia de los zarcillos de una planta de guisante, estos árboles no necesitan otros soportes; tienen una madera extremadamente densa y resistente.

La madera de la caoba de montaña de hecho se hunde en el agua. Esa densidad hace que sea difícil contar los anillos, porque están muy juntos, pero los científicos pueden usar microscopios para fechar estos árboles y han descubierto que pueden llegar a ser bastante viejos.

Se estima que la caoba de montaña más antigua medida tiene 1,350 años, lo que la convierte en una de las plantas con flores más antiguas que se conocen.

Hasta ahora, espero que hayas encontrado en este árbol el mismo interés que yo, ya sea por sus torsiones o por su capacidad para resistir el paso del tiempo.

Pero no necesariamente tienes que recorrer las laderas de nuestros bosques nacionales para conectar con este árbol; puedes encontrar a sus parientes en tu jardín.

Aunque la caoba de montaña perenne de hoja rizada podría parecer emparentada más de cerca con los enebros, los pinos o incluso con las caobas de la sabana africana, en realidad este árbol forma parte de la familia de las rosáceas, una familia de plantas que incluye rosas, manzanas, duraznos, peras y más.

La próxima vez que te encuentres entre las caobas de montaña de las laderas, espero que sientas tanta admiración por este árbol como la que siento yo.

Soy Carlos Ramos y estoy loco por Utah.

Créditos:
Versión en inglés: Kate Hunter, Education, Stokes Nature Center https://logannature.org/staff/
Versión en español: Carlos Ramos, Facilities, Stokes Nature Center https://logannature.org/staff/
Imágenes: cortesía del USU Extension y Lyle W. Bingham, fotographia
Audio destacado: Cortesía y derechos de autor J. Chase and K.W. Baldwin y Cortesía y derechos de autor Anderson, Howe, & Wakeman
Texto: Kate Hunter & Carlos Ramos, https://logannature.org/staff
Lectura adicional: Lyle Bingham, https://bridgerlandaudubon.org/

Lectura adicional:

Artículos “Wild About Utah” por Kate Hunter https://wildaboututah.org/author/kate-hunter/
Artículos “Wild About Utah” por Carlos Ramos https://wildaboututah.org/author/carlos-ramos/

El caoba de montaña de hoja rizada en el paisaje [Curl-leaf Mountain Mahogany in the Landscape], Cercocarpus/ledifolius, Center for Water-Efficient Landscaping, Extension, Utah State University, https://extension.usu.edu/cwel/research/curl-leaf-mountain-mahogany-in-the-landscape

Caoba de montaña de hoja rizada [Curl-leaf Mountain Mahogany], Cercocarpus/ledifolius, Natures Notebook, a project of the US NPN (National Phenology Network), https://mynpn.usanpn.org/npnapps/species/Cercocarpus/ledifolius

Caoba de montaña de hoja rizada [Curl-Leaf Mountain Mahogany], Cache Valley Native Plants, https://www.cachevalleynativeplants.com/product-page/curl-leaf-mountain-mahogany

Caoba de montaña de hoja rizada [Curl-leaf Mountain Mahogany], Native Utah Plants, Provo, UT, https://utahplants.com/products/curl-leaf-mountain-mahogany

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Milking Cows – Then and Now

Holstein Milk Cow with Calf Courtesy Pixabay, ElseMargariet, Contributor
Holstein Milk Cow with Calf
Courtesy Pixabay, ElseMargariet, Contributor

Ice Cream Cone Courtesy Pixabay, Sylvia Emilie, Contributor
Ice Cream Cone
Courtesy Pixabay, Sylvia Emilie, Contributor
When I moved to Mendon in 1980, a neighbor asked me if I’d like to go along with her to feed calves at a local dairy farm. I jumped into her car and off we went.

When the calves saw us coming, holding bottles full of warm milk, they let out what sounded to me like joyous noise. And once the calves got hold of the three-inch nipples, they sucked with so much enthusiasm that I had a hard time hanging on to the bottle.

I found the whole experience deeply satisfying, and even a bit romantic. In no time I found my own job feeding calves and doing the morning milking at a small dairy farm in Benson.

By the 1980s most dairies came equipped with vacuum-powered suction cups that imitated the squeeze of a hand milker. My job was to let in five cows on each side of what we now call the milking parlor, and tug on the rope that drops some tasty grain into each cow’s feed bowl.Then I washed the teats with the warm water hose and attached the suction cups.

All the cows had names, and I soon learned them by their udders. This made it a bit awkward later when I had to go find a cow that the vet wanted to see. I had to walk through the herd, bent over the waste, peeking under the cows until I found the right udder.

All this was over 40 years ago, so you can imagine how I perked up when I heard that some of the valley dairies were switching to robot milkers. I jumped at the chance to visit USU’s new robotic setup.

Each of the cows at the USU dairy farm was wearing an ID necklace, so when she stepped into the milking chute, the robot knew exactly who was there. Immediately, the precise amount of grain she was allotted dropped into the feed bowl.

The robot moved under her udder and went to work. With the aid of its camera the robot scrubbed each teat between its wet rotating bristle brushes. The robot then realigned itself and raised a suction cup up and attached to the teat. Three more realignments, and soon all four suction cups were attached and milking the cow.

The robot was reporting its progress on a screen diagram documenting the exact amount of milk coming out of each teat. The computer was clicking along, not only reporting the cow’s performance, but also comparing it to the previous day’s. Any unexpected measurements, and the computer shot off a message to the manager’s computer telling him he better check on that cow.

I must admit I was a bit dazzled by the efficiency of the whole set up. Looking around the milking chute, I could see five cows milling around the entrance to the chute patiently waiting their turn to get milked.

Most cows voluntarily came through the chute three times a day. The top cow was currently giving 17 gallons of milk a day.

Every Monday morning, Aggie Ice Cream sends its milk truck to the USU Dairy to pick up its weekly allotment of 9000 pounds of milk.

For those of us whose happy place is Aggie Ice Cream, we now know that the journey of milk from the cow to the ice cream cone begins out on the highway near Wellsville, where two robots are milking 45 Jerseys and 65 Holsteins.

This is Mary Hears, and I’m wild about Utah.

Credits:

Images Courtesy Pixabay, https://pixabay.com/photos/ice-cream-summer-cornet-cone-scoop-770994/
https://pixabay.com/photos/calf-cow-moederzorg-cows-meadow-5047986/
Featured Audio: Courtesy & Copyright © Freesound, https://freesound.org/people/spurioustransients/sounds/513565/?#comments & Anderson, Howe & Wakeman,
Text: Mary Heers, https://cca.usu.edu/files/awards/art-and-mary-heers-citation.pdf
Additional Reading: Lyle Bingham, https://bridgerlandaudubon.org/

Additional Reading

Wild About Utah, Mary Heers’ Postings

Aggie Ice Cream, https://www.usu.edu/aggieicecream/

Teichert, Bronson, Dairy Robotics and Economics: New Milking Barn at USU Changes More Than Equipment,S.J. & Jessie E. Quinney College of Agriculture & Natural Resources, Utah State University, https://qanr.usu.edu/cultivate/spring18/dairy-robotics

From Cow to Cone: Utah State University, Holstein Association USA, Inc.

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Birds calling in the night

Birds calling in the night: Yellow-breasted Chat, (Icteria virens), South Fork, Ogden River, Weber County, Utah, 12 May 2013, Courtesy & Copyright Paul Higgins, Photographer
Yellow-breasted Chat, (Icteria virens)
South Fork, Ogden River, Weber County, Utah, May 12, 2013
Courtesy & Copyright Paul Higgins, Photographer
I have the distinct privilege of working part-time at the Canyonlands Research Center, operated by The Nature Conservancy in Utah’s southeast corner. I live in northern Utah, so when I’m down there in the warmer months, I usually camp alongside some cottonwood trees that line the stream course of Indian Creek. The trees and shrubs create a green oasis amidst the surrounding desert of Bears Ears National Monument. Birds love it there, and I love to watch and listen to them.

This time of year, sunrise brings a raucous symphony of sound as a couple dozen species of birds raise their respective voices to attract mates and stake out territories. Nights are much quieter, of course, as most songbirds doze off in the darkness, conserving energy and avoiding nocturnal predators like snakes and raccoons. But in May, the midnight stillness on Indian Creek is broken by the loud calls of a unique songbird, the yellow-breasted chat.

Yellow-breasted Chat, (Icteria virens), Courtesy US FWS
Yellow-breasted Chat,
(Icteria virens)
Courtesy US FWS

Black-crowned Night Heron, Courtesy US FWS, Lee Karney, Photographer Black-crowned Night Heron
(Nycticorax nycticorax)
Courtesy US FWS, Lee Karney, Photographer

Great Horned Owl and Chick Courtesy US FWS George Gentry, Photographer Great Horned Owl and Chick
(Bubo virginianus)
Courtesy US FWS
George Gentry, Photographer

Western Screech Owl Courtesy & Copyright Lu Giddings Western Screech Owl
(Megascops kennicottii)
Courtesy & Copyright Lu Giddings

Now, it’s not unheard of for birds to be active in the nighttime. But most nocturnal birds are not songbirds. The best-known, of course, are the owls. We have at least 12 species of owl in Utah, selecting different habitats from deserts to mountains to valleys and even towns. In the winter months, when I walk the streets of my small town before dawn, I occasionally hear great horned owls calling to each other. And a couple of summers ago, a pair of Western screech-owls raised two youngsters in the backyard.

Other Utah birds that are active at night include the aptly named black-crowned night heron. It may be seen in marshy areas at dawn or dusk, waiting by water’s edge to ambush prey animals such as fish, frogs, worms, mice and snakes. They can sometimes be seen during daylight hours – for example, at the Bear River Migratory Bird Refuge – but they tend to spend their days resting in dense bushes or trees.

Another nocturnal bird is the common poorwill, which breeds on dry, rocky slopes. You may never see one, as they blend in well with the ground they nest on, but you might hear the distinctive “poor-willip” call of the males, especially on a warm night at moonrise.

One songbird that sometimes sings at night is the Northern Mockingbird, famous for its mimicry and variety of songs. These striking gray birds are more common in southern Utah, but they’ve been found on Antelope Island, and my wife and I have seen a pair of mockingbirds at the very tip of Promontory Point, near where the railroad causeway heads west across the Great Salt Lake.

Then there’s the yellow-breasted chat. As the name suggests, chats boast a conspicuous deep-yellow breast, along with a long tail, and a greenish head with white spectacles, eyebrows and mustache. For many years, the chat was thought to be the largest warbler in North America – weighing twice as much as other common Utah warblers like the yellow warbler or the yellow-rumped warbler. But recent genetic analysis suggests that this species is actually quite unique – in fact, the only member of its own family.

Chats can be hard to see, as they tend to skulk in dense foliage. But they definitely can be heard. Their wide vocal repertoire includes whistling and cackling, meowing and cawing, chuckling and rattling, squawking, gurgling, and popping. Like the mockingbird, some chats may even mimic other songbirds.

So why sing at night? The advantage is that there’s less noise competition. Night-calling males in search of a mate can cut through the auditory chaos of springtime, with songs that carry far from their perch and increase the chance that they’ll be heard by a male-seeking female. The disadvantage, of course, is that predators can hear them, too.

It’s a tradeoff that the chat has evolved to make, and one that has enriched my nights, camping under the cottonwoods.

I’m Mark Brunson, and I’m wild about Utah both day and night.

Credits:

Images: Courtesy US FWS, https://www.fws.gov/media/yellow-breasted-chat-felsenthal-nwr
Courtesy US FWS, Lee Karney, Photographer, https://www.fws.gov/media/black-crowned-night-heron-13
Great Horned Owl and Chick, (Bubo virginianus), Courtesy US FWS, George Gentry, Photographer
Western Screech Owl, (Megascops kennicottii), Courtesy & Copyright Lu Giddings
Featured Audio: Courtesy & © Kevin Colver https://wildstore.wildsanctuary.com/, J. Chase and K.W. Baldwin as well as Friend Weller, https://upr.org/
Text: Mark Brunson, https://www.usu.edu/experts/profile/mark-brunson/
Additional Reading: Mark Brunson, https://www.usu.edu/experts/profile/mark-brunson/ & Lyle Bingham, Bridgerland Audubon Society

Additional Reading

Mark Brunson’s archive: https://wildaboututah.org/?s=brunson

Cook, Horace P. 1935. The song of the yellow-breasted chat. Wilson Bulletin 47(4):21. https://digitalcommons.usf.edu/cgi/viewcontent.cgi?article=4191&context=wilson_bulletin

Cornell Lab of Ornithology. Yellow-breasted chat. All About Birds. https://www.allaboutbirds.org/guide/Yellow-breasted_Chat/overview

Cornell Lab of Ornithology. 2011. Birding by Night. All About Birds. https://www.allaboutbirds.org/news/birding-by-night/

National Audubon Society. Black-crowned night heron. https://www.audubon.org/field-guide/bird/black-crowned-night-heron

Utah Birds. Northern Mockingbird. http://www.utahbirds.org/birdsofutah/ProfilesL-R/NorthernMockingbird.htm

Ward, M. P., Alessi, M., Benson, T. J., & Chiavacci, S. J. (2014). The active nightlife of diurnal birds: extraterritorial forays and nocturnal activity patterns. Animal Behaviour, 88: 175-184.
https://www.sciencedirect.com/science/article/abs/pii/S0003347213005320?via%3Dihub

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The Land of 10,000 Lakes

Eric views rapids Courtesy & Copyright Eric Newell
Nate Newell views rapids
Courtesy & Copyright Eric Newell

Nate Newell pulling in front of canoe Courtesy & Copyright Eric Newell
Nate Newell pulling in front of canoe
Courtesy & Copyright Eric Newell

Nate pulls canoe on shore Courtesy & Copyright Eric Newell Nate pulls canoe on shore
Courtesy & Copyright Eric Newell

Nate takes a break Courtesy & Copyright Eric Newell Nate takes a break
Courtesy & Copyright Eric Newell

Nate Newell with Eric Newell providing rudder Courtesy & Copyright Eric Newell Nate Newell with Eric Newell providing rudder
Courtesy & Copyright Eric Newell

Portaging Path Courtesy & Copyright Eric Newell Portaging Path
Courtesy & Copyright Eric Newell

Eric and Nate Newell portage canoe Courtesy & Copyright Eric Newell Eric and Nate Newell portage canoe
Courtesy & Copyright Eric Newell

Portaging the Canoe & Contents Courtesy & Copyright Eric Newell Portaging the Canoe & Contents
Courtesy & Copyright Eric Newell

Eric portaging the Canoe Courtesy & Copyright Eric Newell Eric portaging the Canoe
Courtesy & Copyright Eric Newell

Nate in Front Courtesy & Copyright Eric Newell Nate in Front
Courtesy & Copyright Eric Newell

Minnesota, in the Dakota language (mnisota or mní sóta) translates to “sky-tinted water.”

A year ago, my alarm blared in the pitch-darkness of the bunkhouse at Packsack Canoe Trips on the edge of the Boundary Waters Canoe Area Wilderness.

5 AM comes fast.

I turned off the alarm, swung my legs out of my sleeping bag, and planted my bare feet on the cold plywood floor. I turned on the light. My adult son, Nate, squinted at me from the adjacent bunk. Flashing a groggy grin, he muttered, “That was a short night.”

The day before we drove from Minneapolis to Ely, Minnesota. After a late start and a dinner stop, we drove the last couple hours in the dark, down State Highway 1—the Voyageur Highway—a narrow two-lane strip of asphalt, with no shoulder, and crowded in on either side by endless forests.

Our forecast was for highs in the 40’s, a stiff wind, and scattered rain showers. If I didn’t live 1400 miles away, I would have been happy to wait to paddle for another day, but this was the window of time we had. And, as the Eagles sang so profoundly, “We may lose and we may win, but we may never be here again.”

Most canoe trips into the Boundary Waters are days to weeks long, but you can get a good sampling in a long day on the water.

By 7 AM we were at the Fall Lake boat ramp where our rented Kevlar canoe was waiting for us, as promised. All our good paddling gear was back in Utah, so we placed our day packs in garbage bags to keep them dry, and pushed off into a headwind, which also meant no mosquitos.

Traditionally the homelands of the Anishinaabe people—also known as the Ojibwe or Chippewa, the Boundary Waters Canoe Area Wilderness includes more than 1,000 interconnected lakes, extends for 150 miles along the US/Canadian border, and adjoins Canada’s Quetico Provincial Park. Combined with Voyageur National Park, the three areas create nearly 2.5 million acres of internationally protected land, lakes, forests, and waterways that connect to Hudson Bay and the Arctic Ocean. In April, a twenty-year mining ban in the vicinity was overturned that poses a risk to the pristine waters.

The Boundary Waters is the most visited Wilderness Area in the United States, but not on a day like this. Nate and I zipped our jackets up, put our heads down, and paddled towards an island ahead that provided some refuge from the wind and a chance to rest. We continued picking our route this way, finding the sheltered coves and shorelines when possible and powering into the wind when we had to.

We portaged Newton Falls in a drizzle, then worked our way across Newton Lake, and portaged Pipestone Falls to Pipestone Bay on Basswood Lake. We paddled to an obscure portage route that led us to Azion Lake—a small lake 150 vertical feet above Basswood Lake. We ate lunch on the shore in light rain. The wind died down and we paddled a lap around this double-lobed lake on glassy water with several loons.

For our return voyage we had a light tailwind or no wind. The portages were long enough that we were grateful we paid extra for the Kevlar canoe rental. All in all, we paddled twelve miles, made six portages (three each way), paddled on four lakes, and I plucked three ticks off my pants. Nate seemed unbothered that they liked me more than him.

Though we were a bit soggy, both of us were smiling as we finished out, just a father and son paddling in sync, moving across the dark glassy water, tinted by a gray sky overhead.

I am Eric Newell and I am wild about wild lands in Utah and beyond.

Credits:
Images: Courtesy & Copyright Eric Newell, Photographer
Featured Audio: Courtesy & Copyright J. Chase and K.W. Baldwin and Anderson, Howe, and Wakeman.
Text: Eric Newell, Edith Bowen Laboratory School, Utah State University
Additional Reading: Eric Newell

Additional Reading

Wild About Utah Pieces by Eric Newell

Boundary Waters Canoe Trips & Log Cabins In Ely, Minnesota, PackSack Canoe Trips and Log Cabins by Nicholas Ott, https://www.packsackcanoetrips.com/

Boundary Waters Canoe Area Wilderness, 2026 Explore Minnesota Tourism, MN.gov,
https://www.exploreminnesota.com/destinations/boundary-waters

Explore Boundary Waters Canoe Area, Friends of the Boundary Waters Wilderness,
https://www.friends-bwca.org/explore/

Quetico Provincial Park, Camp Quetico, Atikokan, Ontario, https://queticoprovincialpark.com/

Voyageurs National Park-Minnesota, US National Park System, US Department of the Interior, https://www.nps.gov/voya/index.htm

Save the Boundary Waters , SavetheBoundaryWaters.org, Northeastern Minnesotans for Wilderness (NMW), https://www.savetheboundarywaters.org/

Lawrence, Beatrice, Why mining in Minnesota’s Boundary Waters matters to Wisconsin, Wisconsin Public Radio, April 30, 2026, https://www.wpr.org/news/why-mining-minnesotas-boundary-waters-matters-wisconsin

Kraker, Dan, Trump ends ban on mining near the Boundary Waters, Minnesota Public Radio News, April 27, 2026, https://www.mprnews.org/story/2026/04/27/trump-ends-ban-on-mining-near-the-boundary-waters