Summer's heat and low water have collided across the mainstem. Streamflow has…
June 29, 2026
Summer's heat and low water have collided across the mainstem. Streamflow has dropped to 22 cubic feet per second — less than a quarter of the 90-day peak — while temperatures have climbed to 20°C, far above the cool baseline of recent weeks. This is the annual squeeze, and cutthroat trout reach chronic stress right at this threshold.What makes this year different is the trend: this thermal and hydrologic crisis arrives earlier each decade. The stream is already formally listed as impaired under federal water quality standards, a status that reflects decades of cumulative pressure. For the native trout that depend on cold, flowing water, the window for refuge grows narrower with each passing season.
Hummingbirds and mountain goldenbean in summer
June 13, 2026
The high meadows around Gunnison hold the longest light of the year. At eight thousand feet, the sun lingers past eight in the evening, and the mountain goldenbean stands tall in the brightness, its yellow flower spikes catching the late rays. If you are walking here now, you are stepping into the peak of the mountain summer, when nectar flows most freely and the air hums with wings.The broad-tailed hummingbird works these flowers with methodical precision. The male hovers at each bloom cluster, his throat flashing ruby when the light hits it right. Mountain goldenbean grows in dense stands, sometimes covering entire slopes, and each plant sends up multiple flower spikes that open from bottom to top over several weeks. The hummingbird follows this progression, returning to the same plants as new flowers open higher on the stem. His wings beat fifty times per second, creating the high metallic trill that gives him his name. That sound is not a call but the air moving through his specialized outer wing feathers.This partnership runs deeper than a simple exchange of nectar for pollination. Mountain goldenbean blooms precisely when broad-tailed hummingbirds are feeding their second broods of the season. The female builds her nest in late June, lays two white eggs the size of navy beans, and incubates them for sixteen days while the male defends his territory. The chicks hatch blind and featherless, requiring constant feeding for three weeks. During this intensive period, the mountain goldenbean reaches full bloom, providing a reliable nectar source within the male's defended territory. The plant produces nectar most abundantly in early morning and late afternoon, matching the hummingbird's feeding schedule around the heat of midday. Each flower spike can support a hummingbird for several minutes of feeding, long enough for the bird to transfer pollen between plants as it moves through the meadow.The mountain goldenbean depends on this relationship as much as the hummingbird does. The plant's flowers are perfectly sized for the hummingbird's bill and positioned to dust pollen onto the bird's head and throat as it feeds. Other pollinators visit these flowers, including bees and butterflies, but the hummingbird's constant movement between widely scattered plants ensures genetic mixing across the meadow. The seeds that result from this cross-pollination will germinate after the snowmelt next spring, when the cycle begins again. Listen now for that metallic wing trill in the distance. The broad-tailed hummingbird may be working a patch of goldenbean just upslope from where you stand, following the nectar from flower to flower in the long mountain light.
Cliff swallows build their mud colonies
May 29, 2026
The cliff faces above Gunnison catch the morning light, their red sandstone warming as the valley shakes off the last of the night's chill. Against this backdrop, cliff swallows dart and wheel, their white foreheads flashing as they bank toward the rock walls where their mud nests cluster like a small city built into the stone.Cliff swallows return to these same colony sites each late spring, drawn by the combination of vertical surfaces for nesting and the rich insect life that rises from the valley's wetlands and meadows. Each bird carries a small pellet of mud in its beak, gathered from puddles and stream edges, then shaped and pressed into place with remarkable precision. The nests take form as enclosed gourds with narrow entrance holes, dozens or sometimes hundreds attached to a single cliff face. The work requires hundreds of trips. A single nest demands more than a thousand individual mud pellets, each one rolled and shaped in the bird's bill before being fitted into the growing structure.Violet-green swallows nest here too, but they work differently. While cliff swallows build their elaborate mud apartments in dense colonies, violet-green swallows seek out cracks and crevices in the same rock faces, lining natural cavities with grass and feathers. The two species hunt the same insects but rarely compete directly. Cliff swallows specialize in catching prey at higher altitudes, often working together in loose flocks that sweep through clouds of flying ants or midges. Violet-green swallows hunt closer to the ground, their metallic backs catching sunlight as they snap up insects near the cliff base and over the nearby sagebrush. Both species time their nesting to coincide with late spring's surge of insect activity. The warming season brings mayflies from the streams, beetles from the meadows, and flying ants from their underground colonies. This abundance feeds not just the adult swallows but the growing chicks that will soon fill the mud nests with their constant calling.The colony system offers protection through numbers. With dozens of pairs nesting within a few yards of each other, there are always birds arriving and departing, always eyes watching for the hawks and ravens that hunt along these cliffs. The constant activity creates a natural early warning system. When one bird spots danger, the alarm spreads quickly through the colony, sending the entire group into defensive flight. The nests themselves, built with entrance holes just wide enough for their makers, keep out most predators that might raid eggs or nestlings.As the sun climbs higher, the swallows' hunting intensifies. They stream out over the valley in long, sweeping arcs, their flight patterns following the thermals that lift insects from the warming earth. The cliff face echoes with their chattering calls, a sound that speaks of successful colonies and abundant food. If you stand quietly below these nesting cliffs, you can hear the soft scratching of bills against stone as the birds continue their ancient work of building homes from mud and persistence.
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