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A cactus mouse hides in the rocks, a strategy that helps many small desert mammals stay cool. JACK DAYNES
In a warming world, it’s better to be a small mammal than a bird
Feb. 4, 2021 , 2:00 PM
In the early 1900s, Joseph Grinnell traversed the wilds of California in his Ford Model T truck, meticulously surveying its fauna. Along the Californian coast, he trapped pocket mice and watched condors soar; in the Mojave Desert, his team chronicled American kestrels swooping for insects and caught cactus mice hiding among rocks.
Now, by comparing Grinnell’s data with modern surveys, ecologists have shown that climate change has not been an equal opportunity stressor. As the Mojave warmed by about 2°C over the past century, bird numbers and diversity declined dramatically, but small mammals like little pocket mice are holding their own. The survivors’ secret seems to be a nocturnal lifestyle and an ability to escape the heat by burrowing, the team reports today in
E-Mail
IMAGE: A sage thrasher perches on a shrub near Kelleys Well in Inyo County, California. The Mojave Desert s bird populations have been hit hard by climate change, but a new study. view more
Credit: Chelsea Hofmeier photo
Berkeley In the arid Mojave Desert, small burrowing mammals like the cactus mouse, the kangaroo rat and the white-tailed antelope squirrel are weathering the hotter, drier conditions triggered by climate change much better than their winged counterparts, finds a new study published today in
Science.
Over the past century, climate change has continuously nudged the Mojave s searing summer temperatures ever higher, and the blazing heat has taken its toll on the desert s birds. Researchers have documented a collapse in the region s bird populations, likely resulting from many bird species inability to withstand these new hotter temperatures
I discovered Ernest E. Thompson’s
The Birds of Manitoba four or five years ago in a secondhand bookstore in Saskatoon, Saskatchewan, where I live. Though I had picked up this book on several previous visits to this store, I resisted purchasing it.
The Birds of Manitoba was first published in 1891 by the Smithsonian Institution and printed by Washington’s ‘government printing office.’ I don’t know how similar my copy, a second edition published in Winnipeg in 1975, is to the original; it has a cover with as much appeal as a manila file folder that’s been dropped in a puddle and dried out, unadorned, mottled with age and, by its smell, cigarette smoke. Someone’s felt-tipped handwriting in the corner now worn to an illegible smear. If this book were edible, it would have bad mouthfeel.