Episode Transcript
Hello, and welcome to the third episode of Snow and Salt, a podcast about the seasonal journey of water and life in Utah’s Wasatch Mountains and Great Salt Lake.
Released on the solstices and equinoxes, this podcast is intended to help curious minds tune in to seasonal changes occurring in the natural world. In this episode, we’ll look first to our celestial neighbors, the sun and moon, then move to the highest reaches of the Wasatch, follow the water down into the Salt Lake Valley, and end at the shores of Great Salt Lake. I’m your host, Ayja Bounous, award-winning author in Salt Lake City.
Today we celebrate the autumnal equinox, one of two moments in the year when light and dark are held in equal balance. From today on, the sun will favor the Southern Hemisphere, and we will begin our descent into the darker months. This morning, in northern Utah, the sun rose at 7:15 am. The sun will reach its zenith at 1:20 pm, and then set over the Oquirrh Mountains at 7:23 pm, giving us 12 hours and 8 minutes of daylight, three hours fewer than on the summer solstice.
Astronomically, the sun should shine exactly 12 hours on the equinoxes. We get those extra eight minutes for two reasons. First, the Earth’s atmosphere refracts light, bending the sun’s rays and giving us about six additional minutes. Second, we measure sunrise and sunset not by when the center of the sun crosses the horizon, but by the moment the upper edge of the disk appears or disappears.
Yesterday was the new moon, so tonight we’ll see a waxing crescent, with just 1% illumination. If you keep your eyes on the western horizon after sunset, you might spot the thinnest sliver of silver. September’s full moon, which occurred on September 7th, is called the Corn Moon, while October’s full moon is called the Hunter Moon. Because this year’s October full moon, on the 6th, is the closest to the fall equinox, it’s considered the Harvest Moon. It will also be the year’s first supermoon, appearing larger and brighter as it rises over the Wasatch peaks. Historically, farmers relied on this extra light to keep harvesting into the night. Catch this full moon on the eastern horizon as the sun is setting, and you will witness something magical. Catch it on the eastern horizon at sunset and you’ll see an amber globe climbing into the sky. If that sight fills you with awe, congratulations—you’ve just stimulated your vagus nerve.
I’d actually like to take a moment to recognize the vagus nerve. The vagus nerve is an essential part of our body, and autumn is a wonderful season to activate it. The word vagus is Latin for “wandering,” and this nerve does just that, winding through the head, neck, and abdomen. It’s part of the parasympathetic nervous system—the “rest and relax” counterpart to “fight or flight.” When stimulated, it helps regulate digestion, heart rate, respiration, immunity, and inflammation. It can even improve sleep.
The ways to trigger your vagus nerve are endless, including exercise, deep breathing, dancing, cold plunges, meditation, meaningful conversations, gratitude, kindness, and wonder. That sense of awe when you encounter something greater than yourself isn’t just enjoyable; it’s a survival instinct that helps your body function better. On the flip side, prolonged screen time can disrupt vagus nerve activity. So when you’re stressed or stuck in “fight or flight,” put down your damn phone, switch on your favorite song, and dance around your kitchen shamelessly. Gather sunflowers from the roadside and create a bouquet for your kitchen table. Cook a meal with food from your garden and savor the way soil becomes plants that nourish your body. Watch the Harvest Moon rise. Hike into the mountains and bear witness as the brilliance of summer shifts to the cool allure of autumn.
The Fall Equinox is a threshold, the moment when the bounty of summer begins to fade and life in the Northern Hemisphere prepares itself for the looming scarcity of winter. Across cultures, this balance of light and dark has been celebrated with harvest festivals and ceremonies honoring ancestors. Some believe that this is the time when the veil between the living and nonliving realms is thinnest, when we in the living realm are most likely to experience a stronger connection to the spiritual world.
As we walk through this season, we bear witness to death and decay. In the Wasatch Mountains, the growing season has officially come to a close. The wildflowers that blanketed the high basins have completed their life cycles and gone to seed. These seeds will remain dormant throughout the winter until the snow melts. Triggered by longer nights, trees stop production of chlorophyll, the green pigment in leaves responsible for photosynthesis, and move sugar into their roots for winter storage.
The relatively monochromatic green carpet across the mountains fades, and the hills ignite with a spice-colored patchwork—from groves of turmeric and mustard, to swaths of cayenne and cinnamon.
Yellow and orange leaves, locally found in aspen and oak trees, are due to carotenoids, the same pigment that gives carrots, pumpkins, corn, and even salmon their coloring. The vibrant reds iconic in maples result from the production of anthocyanins, which are believed to help protect the plant.
Unfortunately, an exceptionally dry summer, like the one we just had in Utah, can impact the vibrancy of fall colors. Drought-related stress causes many trees to shut down chlorophyll early, muting the colors or skipping them altogether. Lower elevations are already showing dull reds and browns, while higher aspens are just beginning to glow yellow. If you have been delaying visiting the Wasatch to see the trees, I’d recommend going sooner rather than later, as this autumn's color peak might be short-lived and unpredictable.
If you do hike in the Wasatch, keep your eye out for piles of grass drying on top of sun-exposed rocks and boulders. These piles are created by our pika neighbors. The end of the summer is peak pika foraging season. Pikas collect wildflowers and grasses that they will store in their dens for the winter. Since they don’t hibernate, the vegetation that pikas collect during this time of year is crucial to their survival, providing both a source of nourishment through the winter months and insulation for their dens. A single pika can collect up to 65lbs of vegetation in one summer.
These clever critters lay their vegetation out on sun-baked rocks to dry it out before bringing it into their dens, a process called “haying.” This drying process prevents mold from developing in their dens overwinter. If you notice a pika haystack, take a moment to sit and observe. You will likely see one scurrying over the boulders, little bouquets of grasses and flowers in its mouth. Pikas are territorial, and if you sit long enough, you might hear their high-pitched call as they reinforce their little rocky kingdoms.
Here is a sound bite of a pika, courtesy of Navarre’s Wild Shots:
As you continue your hike, notice changes in the vegetation you pass. You might see lanky-looking trees with clusters of red berries, framed by the oblong leaves of the American Mountainash, whose bark has been used as a n anti-malarial medicine. Closer to the ground, keep an eye out for rosehips—red, teardrop-shaped nuggets about the size of a fingernail. These are the mature fruits of the wild Woods and Nootka roses, whose bubblegum pink petals you may have noticed on a summer hike a few weeks ago. Rosehips have long been used for medicinal purposes when brewed as a tea. Rosehips can also be collected and made into a delicious syrup when heated with water and sugar. If you do forage for wild rosehips, make sure you can correctly identify them first.
Meanwhile, in the valley, gardens are transitioning to their autumn phase. Some flowers that went dormant during the hottest weeks are reawakening and gifting us with a final hurrah of blooms before the first frost arrives. In my cactus garden, prickly pear fruits turn a dark burgundy and begin to fall off the paddles. These can be harvested and, using the utmost care, made into an electric pink juice or syrup, which I enjoy adding to cocktails. September is also the month for roadside sunflowers, a favorite of birds, whose resilient root systems can grow in shallow and poor-quality soil, making them abundant along highways and in disturbed areas.
In backyard vegetable gardens, vines and trees are hanging heavy with fruit. Brightly colored tomatoes, hot peppers, and corn are all ripe for the picking and are perfect for creating a raw corn salad or salsa. If you have peach and pear trees, now is the time to harvest before the birds and squirrels take their cut. Harvest potatoes when their vines shrivel and turn brown, but wait to harvest sweet potatoes until the end of October. You can still sow seeds like carrots, parsnips, and radishes for a fall harvest, just so long as we don’t receive an early hard frost.
Many people focus more on curating their spring gardens than they do their fall gardens, but in my nonprofessional opinion, fall gardens are more beautiful and equally important to wildlife as spring gardens. Fall gardens are often full of textured grasses that haven’t started growing in the spring, and as we proceed into the winter months, these grasses, when left uncut, will provide valuable habitat for small critters and insects. While early spring flowers are usually low to the ground, flowers planted for fall blooms can reach towering heights thanks to a long growing season. Fall gardens brimming with burgundy pops of rosehips and berries not only add visual intrigue, but they also provide important sustenance for birds beginning their migrations south.
You might have already noticed the “V” formations of Canada Geese, those iconic harbingers of fall, as they head south to their winter homes. They bring with them cooler breezes and a ping of nostalgia as they pass through our valley. Another migratory bird that we are saying goodbye to is the hummingbird. Though tiny in size, hummingbirds are some of the most impressive migrating birds in the world. The Calliope hummingbird is just 3 inches long and weighs a mere 0.1 ounces, the same weight as a copper penny. Yet the Calliope hummingbird can migrate over 5,000 miles in a year, a journey they tackle solo. So if you see a hummingbird pass through your garden this time of year, wish it well on its impressive journey south.
As waterfowl and fishermen alike will tell you, autumn is prime fishing season in Utah. Cooler temperatures and insect hatches coax fish out of the deep centers of lakes, where they spend the summers, and into the shallows, making shore fishing possible. Brown trout are especially active this time of year as they approach their spawning season, making them a common catch for eager anglers in September. Kokanee salmon, introduced into many of Utah’s reservoirs, turn a brilliant red in their final year of life and return to their birthplace to spawn and die. You can see these remarkable animals at locations like Strawberry Reservoir and the segment of the Provo River west of Francis. Their crimson bodies shimmering in the shallows is a beautiful tribute to the cycles of life and death.
If you spend time along waterways this autumn, just be aware of toxic algal blooms. Utah has already documented 19 harmful algal blooms this September. High air temperatures, low water levels, pollution, and runoff create conditions where algae thrive, endangering ecosystems downstream.
At the bottom of our watershed, conditions at Great Salt Lake continue to be dismal. Today it measures 4,191 feet at the Saltair Boat Harbor—two feet lower than on the summer solstice and four feet below the seasonal median. Because the lake is so shallow, each foot lower in elevation has significant adverse effects, threatening wildlife and exposing the lakebed. This summer, Utah experienced multiple dust storms caused by the drying of the lake.
Now is a great time to see the estimated 4-5 million eared grebes that arrive at Great Salt Lake in the fall. These small water birds are easily identifiable by their distinctive red eyes. During breeding, the males develop a fan of ochre-colored feathers behind their eyes and on their flanks. They molt while here in the fall, and each bird will feed exclusively on about 25-30,000 brine shrimp a day. When brine shrimp populations are scarce, Eared Grebes can starve mid-molt, when they are unable to fly. Fortunately, relief for the lake will come in the near future from a planned release of 10,000 acres of water from Utah Lake, which will flow down the Jordan River and bolster lake levels this fall.
October 1st marks the start of Utah’s brine shrimp harvest, which is a multimillion-dollar industry. Great Salt Lake produces about 45% of the world’s brine shrimp, whose dormant eggs, otherwise known as cysts, are used for aquaculture feed. The Utah Division of Wildlife Resources has been conducting research on brine shrimp populations for decades, closely monitoring populations during harvest to ensure sufficient cysts are left for a fruitful hatch in March. If you would like to learn more about this fascinating and little-known industry, I’d recommend listening to Episode 15 of “Wild”—Utah’s Division of Wildlife Resources Podcast.
For now, the lake’s condition will likely hold steady until winter storms arrive. Moisture will be a blessing after this dry summer, but we don’t want the snow to appear on the peaks too soon. Early snow that lingers on north-facing slopes can create unstable avalanche layers for the whole season. So hold off on doing your snow dances just yet—we’ve still got a few weeks to go before we want any lasting snowfall in the Wasatch!
I hope you’ve enjoyed this episode of Snow and Salt. In future episodes, I hope to bring in naturalists, gardeners, and activists to talk about wild spaces, backyard gardens, and water policy. If you, or someone you know, might be interested in a future collaboration, I would love to hear from you. My resources are in the episode notes.
Thank you for listening. See you on the solstice.
