 The beating of wings, the squawks, the whistling with the signal of autumn in each note. Hello, I'm Andrew Duggan and these are the sound of migrating water fowl. To listen is to remember seasonal rhythms. Modern man has mostly taught himself to ignore. To look up to see strings of ducks and geese threading toward the southern horizon is to be called back to a world you might have thought lost. November marks the peak of water fowl migration throughout the Pacific flyway. One of four such aerial interstates in North America. In all, perhaps 15 million ducks, geese and swans make their annual passages from their northern nests in Alaska to warmer winter homes to nest and breed. Along the way, they will rest at more than 40 national wildlife refuges and countless state refuges, marshes, estuaries and sloughs, all known as wetlands, even to an age jaded by jet travel. The distance these birds fly is impressive. While many fly short hops of a hundred miles or less, snow geese and Canadian honkers journey from Wrangel Island in Siberia to California's Central Valley, a distance of 3,000 miles. But today the birds find far fewer resting and nesting areas than they did a century ago. These wetlands are an ecological middle ground, places caught between water and land, places caught between wildness and human development. California once had 5 million acres in wetlands. Today it has less than 500,000 acres. What happened to them? Where did they go? I'm standing on what was once part of the largest coastal wetland in California, the San Francisco Bay. Today it's the financial heart of one of the world's most beautiful seaport cities. In less than 100 years, California lost 90% of these meeting places for the masses. America has witnessed the loss of over 60% of its wetlands in this century. This land heritage was turned over by the plow for crops, blanketed by asphalt and concrete for highways, subdivisions, converted to dump sites, filled for urban sprawl, and sucked dry for irrigation water. Some speculate that land development has caused a 50% loss in California's waterfowl populations. George Studensky, a forest service biologist, is concerned. When we realized the extent of wetland losses in this state, we had to look for ways to reverse the trend on the public lands we administer. We have some areas where the water just runs off and is lost. The problem was to figure out how to trap the water economically and hold it through the nesting season. Then we could attract waterfowl and maybe they would produce young. It's like giving nature a shot in the arm, restoring a natural legacy. George Studensky is the coordinator of the Wetlands Project on the MoDoc National Forest. When this project started in 1965, no one would have guessed that today this district would be supporting over 50,000 ducks and geese during spring migration. We found an area here on the Devil's Garden Plateau that had wetland potential. It lies in the path of the flyway, so it was a natural. Even though this is high desert, the old-timers who farmed here raised hay for cattle. The area contains old irrigation projects that didn't work, weren't used, or were simply abandoned. Our plan was to refurbish those old structures and store spring runoff. Basically, we were just complimenting what was already here. The next step was to build devices that would attract the birds to nest. These tubs were made from oil drums. They were the first nesting devices built for Canada geese. It's amazing what can be done with a little money and a lot of ingenuity. We've replaced the tubs with islands. These artificial islands made of dirt and rock are ideal nesting sites for Canada geese. Ducks like them, too, especially when they're covered with dense, tall grasses and forbs. While these initial efforts were successful, they barely scratched the surface of what could be done if more money were available. So the Forest Service took their ideas to Dan Chapin, resource coordinator for the California Waterfowl Association. The association gave the service $1,000 for this test program and also approached the Dean Witter Foundation for $1,000 in matching funds to get it off the ground. Until 1974, Canada goose production on this reservoir averaged about 25 young from 15 breeding pairs. With improvements, the results were impressive. The reservoir now produces 200 young from 70 nesting pairs each year. The initial program was a success. It was clear that we had the potential for a major program. But more money was needed. It came from several sources. A significant contributor is the California duck hunter. Hunters pay a fee for the privilege of hunting on the public lands. They purchase a duck stamp. Until 1977, almost all of that money went to improve wetlands in Canada, a major nesting area. Here again, the CWA went to work. They convinced the California legislature to raise the duck stamp fee and commit a million dollars a year to support the MoDoc wetlands and other federal waterfowl projects in the state. More funding help came from individuals like Joseph Long, owner and president of the Long's drugstore chain. Long's interest in the project led to his personal donation of $35,000 to develop two reservoirs for Canada goose nesting. Pond's M and N. A few years later, Long purchased the 19,000-acre Triangle Ranch, a private tract in the project area. His purchase kept the ranch out of the hands of private developers. Later, he transferred the property to the Forest Service for Development as waterfowl habitat. I bought the Triangle Ranch because of my great belief in the preservation of wetlands. I have seen thousands of acres of wetlands turned over to farms and seen the pollution of the number of waterfowl and other wild species that exist in wetlands. If you could go out on any slew up to the northern California and shoot a bunch of ducks, that's what I lived on, didn't have anything else to eat. I lived on deer meat and ducks. What is it about this high desert that lends itself so aptly to a wetland, a meeting place for the masses? The answer to that question was 30 million years in the making. When the earth was already old, so old we cannot imagine. The land that lay between what would become the southern Cascades and the northern Sierra erupted with the violence difficult to comprehend. Geologic idelinks of 800 to 1,000 years when life returned. But the land would only erupt again, burying 4,000 square miles in the agonies of a birth. The birth repeated over thousands of years. The land was wretched, compressed, eroded, and savagely destroyed, leaving the birthmarks of cataclysmic forces when life returned. Upon it would be built the 10,000-foot Warner Mountains. Across it would wander the rivers. In today's geologic moment, the land rests. It is known as the Modog Plateau. A remote corner of the plateau is called the Devil's Garden. This forbidding landscape sprawls over 700 square miles and receives a meager, 13 inches of precipitation each year. Rather than a flat plain, it is a rocky combination of basins, uplands, and rim rock cliffs. It is a land abused by the elements, cracked by summer sun and winter ice. Sagebrush, juniper, and other survivors cling to life with a tenacity characteristic of the high desert flora. But in spring, the desert holds a surprise. Wetlands and waterfowl by the thousands. The key to these temporary oases lies in the soil. Here the soil is made of hard pan and heavy clays. Snowmelt and spring rains run off the uplands only to be trapped in the basins, turning them into lush, verdant wetlands. By early summer, the desert wetlands evaporate. With them go the waterfowl, shorebirds, insects, the grasses and shrubs that provide food and shelter. And so too, there's a chain of life that is linked to them. If the water could be held, the abundance that marked spring might be carried through summer. The addition of the Triangle Ranch set the stage for one of the most ambitious wetland development projects the Forest Service had ever undertaken. But while the acquisition was applauded by sportsmen statewide, it wasn't as popular with the local community. Cecil Pierce, a past Modoc County Farm Advisor, reflects. In a county like this, our revenue comes from property taxes mainly, and we're kind of a poor county. You know, we don't have a lot of industry to pay revenue into the county to keep it operating. And whenever you take a chunk of ground off of the tax roll that bothers the supervisors, this was one of the reasons that, of course, that they objected to it. Manuel Silva, a past county supervisor, comments. Their feeling at that time was a mistrust of what Forest Service was up to. The county is about 68% federally owned lands. The greatest fear that board of supervisors had was the loss of revenue to the county by taking private lands off the Modoc County tax roll. That loss would be your property tax. Grazing was another concern. Livestock is king in Modoc County, and anything that threatens grass worries cattlemen. They viewed waterfowl development as a threat to sorely needed grass. Cattlemen were quick to brand the Forest Service as just another duck-and-goose outfit. This was taking a productive branch, turning it over to the federal government. They felt that the Forest Service might be taking it out of production as far as livestock grazing is concerned because they were talking about waterfowl habitat. In the beginning, people didn't realize that there would still be a lot of grazing there. So this was a conflict on the start, too. The Triangle Ranch has the capability of growing feed for over 1,600 head of cattle for four summer months. This kind of range value created the opportunity for forest managers to blend waterfowl objectives with those for cattle. The key to making the system work was the regulation of grazing. The ranch was divided into four management units. In one, the wettest pastures would become wetlands. They were fenced to keep livestock out. In another, the sagebrush was removed. It was seeded with grass for livestock. Other areas provided both benefits. Islands for nesting birds were built and fenced, leaving the rest of the wetland open to cattle. The groundwork for this dual-objective plan began in 1979. Sometimes it took an unusual form. 60 craters, 6 feet deep and 30 feet wide, were blasted to create a complex of potholes, ideal habitat for nesting ducks. On the Fairchild Unit, more conventional methods were used to develop 400 acres of habitat. The earth was bulldozed into mounds, then seeded with grasses and shrubs, nesting cover for geese and ducks. Moats were constructed around the mounds and were linked to the main canal by a system of feeders. The moats protect the island vegetation and the birds. The water is held through the dry season, providing brood water for fledglings. The result? Nesting habitat, where none existed before. The Fairchild Basin will contain 400 islands when completed. A similar development, completed in the Antelope Plains, contains a moat and dyke surrounding a 55-acre wetland. The moat discourages predators. By 1989, the target completion date, 2,800 acres of wetlands will have been created and enhanced on the Triangle Ranch. Wetlands able to produce about 3,000 ducks and 1,400 geese a year. The value of these wetlands goes beyond numbers of waterfowl and cattle. A wider array of species is concentrated in this area. Morn populations are on the rise already. Mule deer find the area attractive. And several bald eagles make the reservoirs their wintering and nesting grounds. And so too have literally hundreds of non-game birds and animals that rely on wetlands. The development of the Modak Wetlands represents a social decision. A decision and with the people of the land. The benefits extend beyond local administrative and political boundaries and filter into the surrounding community. I have seen a terrific change in attitudes. It's a project that the county can be proud of. One of our major sources of income in this county is tourism. And the more waterfowl we can develop, the more hunters we're going to have, and this place is the people on Main Street. There are still some unresolved issues. Issues that cause some forest managers to speak about the project with a ton of men who know that they must constantly keep bailing to keep the ship afloat. The most serious of these issues involves the project's lifeblood. Water. Like the rest of the arid west, water rights presents the question of who gets how much and when. The area's water is used among several irrigation districts, counties, state and federal agencies, for a variety of needs. It would seem the birds have only a small corner of the resource. Because of this watery conflict, development plans sometimes have to be altered and even curtailed. Given time, these problems can be solved. Meanwhile, the Forest Service forges ahead, and public cooperation continues. In 1982, Rob Flournoy, a local rancher businessman, transferred his 3,000 acre Willow Creek Ranch to the Forest Service. It will be developed much like the Triangle Ranch. While the acquisition of these ranches represents major contributions, they are only part of the Forest Total Wetland Program. In all 26 areas have been developed, and 21 more are scheduled. While this project is relatively small, it plays a key role in the Pacific Flyway and is a significant contribution to the nation's wetland needs. It's a man-made environment. There's no doubt about that. It's a very manipulated environment, but that's the way it has to be because we're using excess water. We're down to about 50% of the historic waterfowl populations in the flyway and a 10% of our original wetland heritage. So we hate to lose another acre of wetlands anywhere. The wetlands that remain represent contemporary portraits of the historical wild. The restoration of a legacy perhaps best described by Stuart Edward White in his saga of Andy Burnett. White recounts what Andy came upon in California in the autumn of 1832. They covered the surface of the small lakes so thickly that Andy could discern but a gleam of water here and there. On a sudden impulse, he extended the long rifle and fired it into the air. An instant of silence followed, broken a half second later by the crash of a mighty waterfall as the birds took wing. It seemed as if dark earth were lifting to expose the hidden silver of the lake. The air was full of hurtling bodies, but a great roar. Successive peels of thunder rolled across the man's astonishment. The very sky was darkened, high silence made up of the thin whistlings of thousands of wings.