Migratory birds flock to this salt marsh in Central Kansas.
Yes, there is a salt marsh in the middle of Kansas. Subterranean salt deposits are close enough to the surface in this region to affect the groundwater, salinizing streams, and allowing the formation of a rare inland salt marsh. There are two salt marsh pools in the reserve, creatively named Little Salt Marsh and Big Salt Marsh. These marshes are located in the midst of sand prairies, where grass has covered inactive sand dunes. Further diversifying the flora and fauna, the reserve is located at the junction of eastern and western prairie systems. A mixture of both can be found.
Given how unique and diverse this reserve is, it is not surprising that a large percent of migratory birds that head through North America stop in this prairie region. The Quivira salt marsh is a particular favorite for shore birds. The endangered whooping cranes we spotted in Aransas NWR in December almost certainly were the same ones spotted in Quivira NWR in April. We’re slowpokes and didn’t make it through until June.
Approaching the reserve by car looks kind of like you’d expect for central Kansas—wheat field, wheat field, cows, wheat field, marsh, wheat field, wheat field…. Make sure to get your Americana Instagram of children frolicking in amber waves of grain! If you took that statement seriously, what you just heard was the collective groan of wheat farmers, and people over 40.
The reserve has a small trail system, and a look-out tower that allows you to view some of the 7,000 acres of salt marsh. Unfortunately, when we went, Kansas was trying real hard to become a new ocean. There was some pretty intense flooding. Most of the trails were out of commission. The park was worth a visit just to know it exists, though. So even if the trails are underwater, or you don’t have time to do much hiking, you should go. Plus, the visitor’s center is great for kids. It has a number of auditory and tactile exhibits guaranteed to get your attention. Prepare to hear a lot of birds and frogs at once. Bonus: it’s small so you can learn something and move on before your button-punching children drive you nuts.
After the visitor’s center, head to the look-out tower to cleanse your auditory palate. It might be noisier in the spring, but in the summer the predominant sound is the wind softly blowing over the water. This blends beautifully with the sound of the baby elephants you spawned now running up the tower’s metal stairs. It’s OK. The birds that were close by took off when you got out of the car. Bring binoculars if you want to see any birdy details.
We took a very short hike out to the edge of the water. While there were not thousands of birds visible, there were plenty of biting flies. These sluggish cattle flies took their leisure piercing you with their 20-gauge probisci. The bastards hurt. The fact that you could reliably do them bodily harm in return was little consolation. At any rate, said flies precipitated a rapid march out to the marsh and back without a stop in the bird blind. Dress in thick clothes, or kevlar, if your family has set their sights on an Audubon-worthy viewing of a snowy egret. Mostly we saw birds that were red and black—I’m going with red-winged blackbirds—so nothing terribly uncommon.
Get out, and out-run the flies.
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