Winter Wings Over Southern Colorado and Northern New Mexico

On cold winter mornings in southern Colorado and northern New Mexico, the sound often arrives before the sight - a distant, rhythmic honking that rolls across frozen fields and quiet river valleys. Look up, and there they are: geese, flying in long, wavering V-formations, stitching the winter sky together. For many people, migration feels like an autumn or spring event. Yet here they are in mid-winter, moving with purpose. Why?

To understand winter geese, we have to zoom out - far out.

Most of the geese passing over this region originate hundreds or even thousands of miles to the north. Canada geese, snow geese, and several subspecies spend their summers in the far reaches of the continent: Alaska, northern Canada, and the Arctic tundra. These breeding grounds offer long daylight hours and abundant summer food, ideal for raising young. But as fall arrives, frozen wetlands and buried grasses force a decision - stay and starve, or move. So they move.

Southern Colorado and northern New Mexico sit squarely within the Central Flyway, one of North America’s great aerial highways. This corridor funnels birds south from the northern plains and Canadian prairies toward warmer, food-rich wintering areas in New Mexico, Texas, and northern Mexico. Places like the San Luis Valley and wetlands near the Maxwell National Wildlife Refuge act like rest stops - open water, grain fields, and marsh grasses providing crucial fuel.

But migration isn’t a single, nonstop journey. It’s more like leapfrogging.

Winter migrations happen for several reasons. First, weather is unpredictable. A flock may settle comfortably in Colorado or northern New Mexico in December, only to be pushed onward by a sudden cold snap that freezes ponds and buries food under snow. When that happens, geese lift off again, heading south or to lower elevations where rivers remain open and agricultural fields offer leftovers from harvest.

Second, not all geese migrate the same distance. Some populations are “short-stoppers,” wintering farther north than their ancestors did decades ago. Modern agriculture has changed the landscape: corn stubble, winter wheat, and irrigated fields now provide reliable food even in cold months. As long as water stays unfrozen, many geese simply pause - sometimes for weeks - before moving again.

And then there’s instinct.

Geese migrate on a combination of daylight length, temperature, and inherited memory. Even if conditions are tolerable, the internal calendar keeps ticking. A mid-winter movement might not be about escaping cold at all, but about repositioning - lining up with traditional routes that lead toward spring breeding grounds. Think of it as shuffling pieces on a chessboard, setting up for what comes next.

Watching them in winter offers a different kind of beauty than the dramatic fall flyovers. The skies are clearer, the air sharper. The honks echo farther. Against snow-covered mesas and dormant cottonwoods, the dark lines of birds feel ancient - unchanged by highways, towns, or borders below.

So the next time you hear that familiar sound in the winter, step outside. Look up. You’re witnessing a journey that spans continents, seasons, and centuries - passing, briefly, right above your head.
Enjoy the view.

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