Desert Changes

Snake Valley has a quiet beauty valued by many people. The life-giving force in this desert is the water that flows beneath it. When viewed by air, one is struck by the amount of surface water visible in the desert.

PHOTO BY KRISSY WILSON

Those of us who have lived in the desert for decades know better than to be fooled by the apparent largess of water. Much of the surface water is extremely shallow, fed by runoff, precipitation, and small springs. During drought years, the lack of rain dries up surface water, shrinks the springs, and destroys the surrounding vegetation. After several years of drought, old-timers can show dozens of examples of disappearing springs, dry wetlands, and dying vegetation.

Less obvious to the casual observer is the underground water system which slowly flows northward, emptying into the Great Salt Lake. Again, old-timers in the desert can point to signs of a struggling underground water system. Large patches of dead greasewood are one sign of a declining aquifer. Marshland and springs gone dry is another indisputable sign of a lowering aquifer. When native plants give way to Russian thistle (tumbleweeds) and halogeten, we know we're in trouble.


Desert animals have fascinating ways of conserving water, and some can survive on amazingly small amounts of water. Some of the most poignant examples of a desert struggling to exist are found in these animals.

PHOTO BY TOM NEDREBERG

Wild horses can range for miles in any direction, but they must have a dependable source of water. When their springs dry up due to pumping, the horses die.






The wily coyote will dig for water when his spring dries up, but he can only dig so deep.

Most frogs will migrate to new sources of water when their springs dry up, but the spotted frog refuses to leave his home. He will die when the spring dies. The spadefoot toad will sleep many months of the year in the moist ground, emerging only when awakened by pounding raindrops.

In the last decade, we have seen many springs dry up, greasewood die, and water table levels fall sharply. The ground near my home used to harbor toads. We'd hear them every night, and working in the garden, I would often be surprised by the sudden appearance of a toad hopping out of harm's way.

I love desert nights. The nighttime sky is unbelievable beautiful with its velvet background sprinkled with hundreds of thousands glittering stars. My stargazing is often accompanied by a symphony of desert sounds: the occasional nocturnal bird, the howling of coyotes, the chirping of crickets, and the bass croaking of frogs and toads. These sounds are, for me, the sounds of home, comfort, and friendship. But the extended drought is changing the symphony of night sounds. The howls of the coyote are more distant as they search for new sources of water. Many of the local springs where they once drank are now dry. The increased tempo of the crickets' chirp has a sound of desperation. Lack of rain has dried out the soil, putting the frogs and toads in peril. They are silent now in my part of the desert.

PHOTO BY GERRY CHILDS

The struggle to preserve the desert, both for ourselves and for the wildlife, is intensifying. We need to be vigilant and activist to save it.