Tortoise trekking

And raven counting

I’ve spent much of this month in the Colorado Desert—a subregion of the Sonoran Desert that lies east of San Diego. My buddy Devlin¹ connected me with some researchers who needed a hand with their desert tortoise work. He guessed that it would be a fit for my interests and skillset and oh was he correct.

The gist of the project is that tortoise populations are not exactly thriving (near functional extinction, if you want to be a downer about it) and some folks² are attempting to boost those numbers. Loss of habitat and speeding cars are major culprits, but ravens are also to blame—they find the young tortoises to be a tasty treat. So, much of the initiative’s work is focused on monitoring and mitigating raven populations.

“The only difference between screwing around and science is writing it down.” -Adam Savage

Now, one could view this as an intelligent species simply succeeding on the battlefield of resources (and I kinda do), but the argument for human intervention is that it’s we humans who brought the ravens to the normally-hostile tortoise feeding grounds by subsidizing them with roadkill, dumpster snacks, water sources, and high perched nesting sites along the numerous power transmission lines that crisscross the desert.

A raven can sit at its nest atop these towers and wait to pick off every juicy little tortoise nugget that wanders from under a creosote bush. And they do. Few of the nuggets make it to adulthood.

3D printed decoy. These are anchored to the ground and monitored by camera to track raven predation.

I’m no researcher. So I can’t say how much of this is a worthwhile application of resources. Or if it’ll be effective. We are in the midst of a great extinction event and the deserts are getting dryer and hotter, so it seems like the writing might be on the wall for these little critters.

But, there are certainly worse ways for someone to spend their time than helping out a charismatic keystone species. And if that someone wants to send me on a scavenger hunt of remote desert exploration, counting birds, tortoise remains, and—god willing—tortoises, I will absolutely be their guy.

Water, food, trekking poles, Garmin, anemometer, binoculars, first aid kit, spare battery, headlamp.

The headline of the job was that I’d be traveling to randomly generated points spread across the desert. I’d drive as close as I could and hike the remaining distance. Then stand on the exact spot for ten minutes and log ravens and other birds of prey. I’d also record wind speed, weather conditions, and anthropogenic subsidies. Along the way I’d also keep an eye out to chart any raven nests, and tortoises… dead or alive.

After I met with a biologist in the western Mojave for some training I ventured off on my own to work these points a few days at a time. I’d select a batch and camp near whichever had the longest hike. Pre-dawn—to beat the heat and maximize my hours—I’d hit the trail and arrive just after sun-up for my first bird count. I’d then stitch together what points I could for the day and eventually find a campsite near the next day’s long-dog.

This mining pass washed out just over the crest. I continued a couple miles on foot and once back at the truck I reversed a long ways down to the valley below.

Using multiple maps and satellite imagery to identify the nearest semblance of accessible road was a fun game. Some paths were established and decently groomed, or wide and welcoming sandy washes. Many were old mining routes and tattered trails that had rotted away, and these produced a lot of missteps and backtracks. Pushing down routes I otherwise wouldn’t cost me a couple pieces of truck and one tire, but on the flip side, I also saw a lot of country I otherwise wouldn’t.

Tucked way back into somewhere.

Chuckwalla friend. Fittingly, spotted in the Chuckwalla Wilderness.

I was shocked to find water in the Mule Mountains. And confused by the life in it. My friend Tim identified these as a species of brine shrimp. Think of them as Sonoran Sea Monkeys.

Ocotillo in bloom.

Unexploded ordinance. No clue how old. I didn’t throw rocks at it. But also didn’t not consider throwing rocks at it.

This red-tailed hawk made it easy, but much time was spent squinting through binoculars, trying to discern if some speck a few kilometers off was possibly a raven.

Empty tortoise burrow near the top of a rocky slope. That fuzzy pellet in center frame is tortoise feces.

You may be wondering if I came across a tortoise in all this remote desert trekking. I did cover a lot of ground. Over 700 miles. And I kept my eyes peeled. I was definitely trying.

High in a narrow gully I managed to locate just this one.

It wasn’t thriving.

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1. Devlin does interesting work and stewards some special property in the Sespe Wilderness. His Instagram is an excellent source for information about what’s going on with California’s landscape, wildfires, bears, etc.

2. You should meet these folks. Molly and I just happened to show up at the Mojave tortoise preserve last year on morning of their big 50th anniversary event and that crowd of tortoise lovers was something else.