More dust storms expected as Texas drought lingers

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LUBBOCK, Texas?— The towering wall of billowing red dust roaring across the blue West Texas sky took Monroe Debusk back more than eight decades to the Dust Bowl years when he was growing up on his family’s cotton farm.

The 90-year-old farmer looked out his window Monday and saw the sky darken as a rare 1.5-mile-tall, 250-mile-long dust cloud stretched across the rain-starved land and blotted out the sun.

“I didn’t do anything — just thought back to the way it used to be,” Debusk said, recalling the massive dust storms that overwhelmed the region in the 1930s. “That’s the way they were.”

Meteorologists say people living on Texas’ parched plains could see more dust storms as a record drought tightens its grip across the Southwest. At least six sandstorms hit Phoenix this summer, with the most powerful striking on July 5 and measuring a mile high. But experts say another Dust Bowl is unlikely thanks to modern irrigation and farming techniques aimed at holding soil in place.

Dust storms form when wind whips up loose soil. They aren’t unusual in West Texas, although the size and speed of Monday’s cloud was rare. Typically, the wall of dirt climbs to only about 1,000 feet in that area, not the 8,000 feet seen with the latest storm, experts said.

The wind picked up with a drop in pressure along the edge of a fast-moving cold front, a pattern that typically happens in the fall and winter, meteorologists said. When the cloud hit Lubbock, winds speeds reached 74 mph in some places and visibility was far less than a quarter of a mile.

The wind knocked down tree limbs, which fell on utility lines, knocking out power in parts of the city of about 210,000 people. Dust lingered in the air afterward, filling people’s ears and nostrils and leaving grit in their teeth. A layer of dirt covered the pavement, cars and anything else left outside.

“The thing that is scary is this exact type of dust storm is the same type of dust storm from during the 30s,” said Tom Gill, a geology professor at the University of Texas-El Paso who has studied dust storms for years.

Burle Pettit, 77, the former editor of the Lubbock Avalanche-Journal, said the storm was the worst he’d seen since moving to the city in 1960. He didn’t realize the storm was coming and was driving to pick up dinner for himself and his wife when it hit. The dust was so thick he missed the turn for the restaurant “because I couldn’t see the stupid building.”

“I wasn’t scared” while driving, he said. “I was concerned that some idiot would come flying from behind me because you could not see.”

Once he arrived, walking the 10 feet from his car to the entrance was another ordeal. He still couldn’t see anything, and dirt filled his eyes, nose and mouth.

In hindsight, “a wise person would have turned around but I was hungry,” Pettit said, summing up the trip.

Gill believes dust storms could become more common as Texas’ drought continues. The state just finished its driest 12 months ever and was blistered by triple-digit heat until early September. This year is on track to be the driest in Texas history, with the average rainfall in the first nine months about 25 percent less than in the same period in 1956, the previous driest year, when 11.23 inches fell.

Lubbock has had just 3.16 inches of rain since Jan. 1.

“If the drought continues, and if we have powerful cold fronts barreling down the South Plains, I see no reason it couldn’t happen again,” Gill said.

But experts believe an extended period of massive dust storms like those seen in the 1930s remains unlikely. A drought in the 1950s didn’t result in any large dust storms, likely because of advances in agriculture and conservation, they said.

Farmers in eight Great Plains states now irrigate their land with water from the underground Ogallala Aquifer, so even with little rain, the soil has some moisture. Texas farmers also “sandfight” in an effort to keep soil from taking flight. A fine layer of silt forms on top of the ground as it dries out after a heavy rain. To keep it in place, farmers poke small holes in the dirt, creating small mounds, almost like ant hills, that create resistance as wind moves across the surface.

“That’s really all you can do to it because any time you touch it you’re breaking up the existing clod (of dirt),” said Kelly Attebury, a soil scientist with the U.S. Department of Agriculture’s Natural Resources Conservation Service. Loose dirt is more likely to be lifted and carried by the wind.

But two other farming techniques that help limit dust storms aren’t much of an option this year. Typically, farmers leave plants in fields after the harvest to help hold the soil in place. They also plant other crops, called cover crops, after the harvest to give the soil something to hang onto in late fall and winter. This year, there are few plants to leave in fields after farmers abandoned to the drought the cotton that’s one of the region’s major crops. And, there’s been no rain to grow cover crops.

Shawn Wade, a spokesman for a group of cotton producers in the region, said the lack of ground cover could have contributed to Monday’s storm.

“Certainly, it had some impact on the end result,” he said.

There’s also concern that other advances since the Dust Bowl could be in jeopardy. Water in the Ogallala Aquifer has been diminishing for years, causing worry in Kansas, Nebraska and other states that rely on it. And, funding for the federal Conservation Reserve Program, which pays farmers to keep land at high risk of erosion out of production, is in jeopardy as Congress looks to cut costs.

Still, Wade said he doesn’t expect big cuts to the conservation reserve program.

“The program has proven to be very successful in reducing soil erosion throughout the High Plains of Texas and the Great Plains,” he said, “and this week’s happening shows how important these types of programs are when conditions such as the current drought set in.”

Copyright 2011 The Associated Press. All rights reserved. This material may not be published, broadcast, rewritten or redistributed.

Texas forest a ‘moonscape’ after fires

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BASTROP, Texas?— Todd McClanahan surveys the fire-blackened tree trunks poking out of a thick carpet of ash, a normally green world turned black and gray.

“You should have seen it in color,” says McClanahan, superintendent of Bastrop State Park, mentioning a phrase repeated in Jamey Johnson’s award-winning country song “In Color.”

The park, one of the most popular in Texas, was ravaged when wind-whipped wildfires scorched 50 square miles east of Austin last month, destroying more than 1,500 homes and torching swaths of the park’s signature “Lost Pines” forest that may never fully recover. Rather than a lush green brush under a canopy of towering pines, McClanahan says much of the 5,900-acre park has become “moonscape” — in some spots, for as far as the eye can see.

“It’s really kind of depressing,” McClanahan says as he evaluates the park’s remains from his pickup truck.

More than a month after the inferno, the extent of the damage is still being determined, but McClanahan estimates about 70 percent of the trees in the park were lost.

Texas Parks and Wildlife Department crews are clearing burned tree trunks away from roads and campsites and hiking trails so when the park reopens — tentatively set for December — the threat of falling trees in areas frequented by visitors will be minimized.

“This park is still a significant place,” McClanahan says. “It’s just going to look different. It’s going to feel different.

“In some areas, it’s going to take a really long time … and it may not ever return to what it was.”

There are some small signs of recovery. A couple weeks ago, McClanahan was “out in the middle of the black,” as he calls it. “There was nothing around except dead standing snags, and I looked down and there was an oak tree that’s re-sprouting, almost 18 inches tall,” he says.

“But this is the ‘Lost Pines.’ And that’s what’s kind of uncertain.”

The park’s signature forest, a draw for the 160,000 people who visit Bastrop each year, was a unique stand of loblolly pines related to but genetically different from the great East Texas pine forest that extends into the Southeastern United States. The loss of those trees is particularly painful.

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“A significant part of ‘Lost Pines’ is lost,” McClanahan said. “And that’s a fact.”

The “Lost Pines,” according to the Texas State Historical Association, are believed part of an ancient forest that shrank during or after the Ice Age. Spanish explorers described it in 1691, and the area that is now the state park was part of the original 1832 land grant to Stephen F. Austin’s first colony.

Extensive logging took place in the later 1800s and when land for the park was acquired, the Civilian Conservation Corps built cabins and other park facilities during the Great Depression that are still used today.

Volunteers and private companies with water trucks saved all 13 cabins during the wildfires that began Labor Day weekend, leaving a kind of green oasis in the middle of the park. The fire burning away thick undergrowth revealed features like retaining walls, old latrines and water fountains that no one knew existed.

“You can walk out and see things you’ve never seen before,” McClanahan said. “I don’t want to sound morbid … but there’s a beauty in this, in its own strange way. You see things. It’s just different. It provides a different opportunity to see the forest in ways you’ve never seen before.”

Some people with good intentions already are pushing to plant pine seedlings to rebuild the burned forest, he said, but a pine tree isn’t necessarily a “lost pine” tree. A Texas Forest Service seed farm is the only large-scale source for the trees specific to Bastrop State Park, and trees in the numbers that would be necessary are only in seed form.

“At best, we’re looking at 15 months out to have a seedling-size tree to plant,” McClanahan said. “And even if we had an abundance of seedlings right now, I’m not sure this is the best time to be planting, based on dry conditions.”

In 2008, more than 50,000 such seedlings were planted in the park. Abundant moisture and prescribed burns provided ideal conditions for growth.

“After that fall, it started drying up,” he said. “It just didn’t rain any more.

“We lost every one of those seedlings.”

Troyanne Bush of the Bastrop Chamber of Commerce expects the damage to the park will also bring an economic loss to the area, at least for a while.

“As far as long-term effects, there’s really no way to gauge right now,” she said. “Traffic hasn’t been lighter, but you have to understand we’ve had a lot of people help with rebuilding efforts. We’ve got tons of volunteers. The activity is different. If anything, it’s greater, but it’s a different crowd.”

Copyright 2011 The Associated Press. All rights reserved. This material may not be published, broadcast, rewritten or redistributed.

Fewer babies for Texas wildlife amid drought

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HOUSTON?— In a 30-mile area of the Texas Panhandle, biologists found 76 white-tailed deer — but zero babies. Not far away, they located only three quail on a stretch of road where they would see 15 in a normal year. In South Texas, a biologist reports a lack of water on some ranches is “killing deer like flies” and says he discovered more than 20 dead adult deer on one ranch.

And this is only the first glimpse at the harm one of the worst droughts in Texas history is causing to the state’s wildlife. Rain last week helped ease the dryness when 3/4 inch to more than 7 inches of rain were recorded from central Texas northward through Kansas. Still, much more rain is needed to even approach normal conditions, climatologists said.

Some areas remain more than a foot short of normal rainfall.

The Associated Press obtained preliminary data from the Texas Parks and Wildlife Department that comes from statewide wildlife surveys the agency performs annually of deer, prong-horned antelope, quail, turkey and other animals. The data has not yet been compiled into a statewide overview, but so far confirms scientists’ suspicions that the drought has hampered wildlife reproduction.

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“It’s having a major impact on a lot of the critters,” said Trey Barron, a regulatory biologist in Amarillo for the parks and wildlife department. “If the drought continues for much longer, we will start seeing impacts on the adult population.”

Deer, antelope and quail historically bounce back after severe weather, but the longer it lasts the more difficult that becomes.

And the Lone Star State no longer has the millions of acres of undisturbed habitat it once did, biologists say. Today, cities, towns, ranches, farms, electrical lines, fences, highways and other human interventions have fragmented the landscape, making it more difficult for animals to recover from a devastating drought.

Take bobwhite quail — a round, 10-inch long game bird. Their numbers are down in nearly every part of the state, except for one stretch of South Texas where Gulf Coast humidity provided enough moisture for them to forage and nest.

But in the northeastern Panhandle and north-central Texas, the quail numbers are at record lows, with only five counted in some areas, compared to 21 usually. In the Hill Country, surveyors found one quail in a 20-mile radius, compared to an average of more than five. And scaled quail in far West Texas — the Trans Pecos region — are down to six compared to an average of more than 16.

“We’re seeing a total lack of reproduction by quail,” said Robert Perez, the game bird program leader for Texas Parks and Wildlife.

Quail are generally resilient, Perez said, and reproduce quickly. The species has recovered from previous droughts, including the historic dry spell that swept through the state in the 1950s and has been the benchmark since then for drought and water issues.

Perez notes, however, that quail no longer have as many wide-open spaces to call home as they did in the mid-20th century. Now, a drought can completely wipe out the bird in some places, such as around Dallas and Houston where the population has been declining for decades.

The drought could be especially devastating for antelope. In the Trans-Pecos area, the animals have been struggling with a parasite that has significantly reduced their reproduction and survival for several years, biologists said. The drought could be a harsh blow to that population.

Barron said antelopes in his northeastern Panhandle region were surveyed in June and July. Of 100 does, researchers are only seeing about 16 fawns — compared to an average of 35 during the past five years. He now fears for the adult antelope, deer and mule deer.

“Bucks … use large amounts of energy during the rut — breeding season — and require an adequate food supply in order for them to recover after the rut is over,” Barron said in an email. “Some bucks may not recover this year if it remains dry. The does are already in survival mode and that is why we have the poor fawn crops. If the drought continues, some will likely not survive through next summer.”

Alan Cain, the agency’s white-tailed deer program leader, gathers and analyzes statewide information to get an idea of how the 4 million deer are faring. Even before seeing all the data, he knows reproduction is down, though deer on ranches where the land has been properly managed and there is adequate surface water are doing better.

In some parts of the state, such as the Hill Country, even ash juniper — a drought resistant brush — is dying, so deer are struggling to find food. An email Cain received from a biologist in South Texas says that in some areas “deer are dying left and right,” and on ranches where surface water has disappeared the lack of water is “killing deer like flies.”

In a chunk of Southeast and Central Texas, fawn crops are down to about a 27 percent reproduction rate, with only 66 fawns counted for 244 does.

Cain believes the deer will recover eventually, though he expects there will be fewer bucks in about five or six years due to the low reproduction during the drought.

Right now, the bigger concern is adult bucks and does dying.

“It’s probably going to happen and then if it continues dry through next spring … animal production quality is going to be down,” Cain said, explaining that does may miscarry or fail to produce enough milk to feed their fawns. In the worst cases, they may abandon their young.

John Baccus, a retired wildlife biologist at Texas State University in San Marcos, believes this is already happening. He noted that shortly after the birthing season, he saw some does with twins. But within days, they returned to his backyard with either one or no fawns, a sign of high mortality.

“It’s such a convoluted, complex situation that we’re looking at here: climate and the physiology of animals and the change in the food sources and water resources and then human interference,” Baccus said. “It may be a few years before we know what this drought has caused.”

Texas so far has suffered more than $5 billion in agricultural losses, and more than 23,000 separate wildfires have destroyed 3.8 million acres in the state’s longest one-year period on record.

According to Thursday’s report, about 92 percent of the state was considered in extreme or exceptional drought, the highest levels reported. But that was down from 97 percent a week earlier. And the worst level of drought, exceptional drought, fell to 73.13 percent of Texas from 87.99 percent of the state.

The Associated Press and Reuters contributed to this report.