A blur, A Stir, A Hawk, Feathers in Flight

A blur, A hawk, Feathers in Flight

     I left the house about 4 today.  For a short hike.  Light snow was blowing under gray-skies of November.  It was melting on the road as fast as it fell.  I was overdressed and started to sweat and I was soon unzipping the 3 layers I had on.  A fleece shirt. A fleece vest.  A heavy coat.  What was I thinking to wear such heavy cloths. 
     Just over the ridge I stopped to check out the Red Tailed Hawk nest along the creek.  100 yards down the hill.   The nest was gone.  I was stunned.  The gales of November must have snapped off the tree, and tumbled the intricately constructed nest to the ground.  I peered down for a longer look and realized I made a mistake.  It was the old nest that had been toppled, which was in a snag.  A dead tree.   Last March the hawk pair built a new nest in a green tree, about 50 foot from the old one.  A smart move. Genetic imprinting perhaps; knowing to avoid homesteading on ancient branch wood.
     A Kestrel peered at me from a nearby power line.  I have seen that same Kestrel in this area dozens of time.  I like to think its the same hawk I have been seeing for a couple of years.  Maybe not.  Probably.  The sparrow hawk flew off, veering away from me, landing in a small spruce tree just down the hill.
     I continued down the road into the canyon and a movement caught my eye.  Just above the ridge line.  It was a pair of soaring hawks, about 1/4 mile from the nesting site.  Settlers hanging around the old farm?  Honyockers.  And a third.  Another hawk was flying just above the pair, but holding pattern in close proximity.  Red tails?  I looked again but didn't have my binoculars so it was impossible to tell.    Two of the hawks seemed to be flying quite close to each other, almost bumping tail fins.  Or just wings. 
     Farther up Rocky Canyon there was snowpack on the gravel.  Just a couple of inches.   Fresh and pure white.  At one bend in the road I had a good view of Cottonwood Creek.  I walked to the edge of the creek.  There was sky blue waters, tumbling over the rocks.  Not an unpleasant sound. 
     I had to get back home before dark and turned to retrace my path.  The light was rapidly waning.  The full moon was hidden in an oncoming storm, and its beams were of little use.    

Bull Snakes in the Bull Pines

     Early October.  I decided to find a quiet hiking trail on the Blacks Creek Road, and I picked out two trails on the map, but when I arrived at those locations, both parking lots were busy and abuzz with  motorcycles and all terrain vehicles (ATV's).  Dusty and noisy.  

     I wanted peace and quiet not flying dust and the racket, clamor and clatter of engines. The smell of oil and exhaust.  Scaring wildlife away for miles in every direction. 

     I continued on and down the road, heading farther back in the mountains, and found another trail head at a place called Corral Creek. A tributary of the Middle Fork of the Boise River.  A fork of the fork.  I parked my truck in an open area and readied my pack and filled my canteens.   

     There was a fence line that ran across the base of the canyon and the gate was down. Had been for some time.  That was the trail head.  There were recent cattle tracks, and no human footprints but there was a fresh set of tracks from an ATV. The sign at the gait stated "No Motorized Vehicles Allowed".   Obviously ignored. 

      The sky was halved.  A bright blue sky to the east and with low clouds scudding across the western skyline. Like flocks of cotton-puff sheep. The crickets were holding a big chirp and it was obvious they were enjoying the warm days of early fall. A Pow-Wow.  Fresh sunshine probably helped power this shindig. 

     I looked at the gate and it had obviously been on the ground for some time.  From the looks of it.  I thought about putting it back up.  Bridging the gap.  Closing the trap.  I decided to leave well enough alone.  

     I started up the trail which followed along the creek bottom and it was very sandy.  The brown, black and gray crystals of decomposed granite.   Bedrock remnants from the fringe of time.   It felt like I was walking on a bunch of pillows, which was easy on the feet but unstable. 

      The canyon bottom had the appearance of being the recipient of some large floods in the past 10 years.  A clear water creek about 6 foot wide coursed through this drainage, lined with water wallies or willows.  The willows appeared to have reestablished themselves in the past few years, in the fresh gravels of the deluge.   

      The trail left the creek bottom and contoured along the south side of the drainage.   The rushing stream gurgled and poured over rounded boulders keeping up a racket.  Natures symphony.  I stopped for a short rest and noticed the hillsides bore the sign of a large fire in the last 10 to 15 years.  I sat and listened to the waters and enjoyed the view.  There were widely scattered stands of mature Ponderosa Pine here and there. Old growth. Yellow bellies. Pumpkins.  Most of the trees killed in the fire had already fallen to the ground, obvious victims of epidemic wood rot. Waiting for the gales of November to topple them.The south side of the canyon was forested with pole size pine about 10 feet tall.  Lush and green. Progeny of the fire.

      
     The ATV tracks disappeared, a mile up the canyon.   It was obvious why the trespasser had retreated. The brush had gotten to thick and impenetrable. Fast growing shrubs are the hikers best friend and may they forever grow several feet a year and plug all access for motorized gas guzzlers, or just make their ride pure hell with branches constantly scrapping their arms and legs. Faces. Taking the paint off their gas tanks. Tearing off mirrors, gun cases, throttles and bottles. Goggles.  Revenge can be had.  In defense of ATV riders most are law abiding and follow the rules and its the minority that wrecks it for the rest.

     I heard a squirrel chirping and chattering somewhere across the canyon. A tree squirrel by the sounds of it. Somehow the squirrel is managing to eek out a survival.  With the lack of mature pines and fir trees in this area pine cones were certainly at a premium.  And pine nuts for fodder. 

     The canyon was quite beautiful and scenic, a great place to hike.  Then came the cattle.  And the cow pies or manure.  Piles and piles of it and you had to step carefully around it much of the time.  There were several angus cows that seemed quite afraid or me, and for some reason they decided they had to flee directly up the trail in front of me.  The terrain was open so it was quite irritating to have them running in front of me.  After a couple of hundred yards they finally veered off the trail to the south, and stood there looking at me.  Fearfully.  No reason to be afraid of this bipedal hominid.  At least at the moment.  Until I can find a  sharp piece of obsidian and attach it to a 4 foot dogwood stem.     A spear comes to mind.  The grass in the narrow valley had basically been chewed down to the nubbins by these bovines and they had overstayed their visit by a month or more.   To be even more perplexing the gate was open at the trail head which gave these cows a great deal of room to roam.  And make them very hard to keep track of and safe.
      I continued my hike up the trail without my hoofed escort.  The canyon narrowed and became more rocky and the creek flowed right next to the trail, with a narrow buffer of water wallies.   I jumped back when a bull snake shot across the trail in front of me, not slowing down for a minute.    I saw another object on the trail.  A long stick.  I looked at it.  It never moved.  It was another bullsnake.  Hissss hissss.  The sounds like a rattle but it was only a good impersonation.  But a beautiful snake.  A real mouse killer. 
     The day waned and I was running out of time so I headed back down the trail.  It was a great day to be out.   Corral Creek is a beautiful chunk of country, in any regard.  A place to be safeguarded and treasured.

  
     

Double Woodpounders

July in the San Juan Mountains on Cimarron Ridge, above the Cimarron River.  9,000 foot elevation.  I saw a black shape dart through the trees.  Black backed with white belly and a dangerous sharp bill.  Awl like.  Not owl like.  A spot of blood on its head.  Bright blood but not real.  I grabbed my camera and took off in pursuit.  The shadow hid behind tree after tree and winged rapidly through the stand of quaking aspen trees.  I kept up my stalk and closed in but the bird kept shifting its position to the back side of the trees it was clinging to, on the side facing away from me.   It seemed to have an uncanny ability to stay hidden.  Sneaky.  Stealthy.  A very uncooperative bird.   

I finally got close enough for a shot, and tripped the shutter several times.  I nailed a good picture of a Hairy Woodpecker.  At closer examination of my pictures I was astonished to see two woodpeckers in one of the photos.  I had no idea there were two birds in the vicinity so it was a nice surprise. 

The first documentation of a Hairy Woodpecker was in the journals of Lewis and Clark on April 8th, 1805 on the Missouri River, in what is now in North Dakota.  This bird was seen at winter camp near the Mandan Indian villages. The sighting was never confirmed but experts think it was either a Hairy Woodpecker or a Downy woodpecker, which have much the same colored plumage and differ mainly in size, with the former being larger.  The bird may have also been the Yellow Bellied Sapsucker, but there isn't enough information in the journals to make a determination.  Both the Downy and Hairy woodpeckers are year round residents of the forests along the Missouri River, in the stands of Plains Cottonwood (Populus deltoides var. occidentalis). 

The mountains of the Cimarron are perfect habitat for foraging woodpeckers, with lots of old growth forest and many snags to feed and nest in.   The high peaks above the valleys are jagged rock with pointy crags and towers like columns.  Like ancient fortress walls.   Its a great place for birds.  Even bears. And naturalists and campers who can run through the woods for no obvious purpose or reason.  Crashing the aspen.

Chirps in the Granite Tors

Golden-mantled ground squirrel, Citellus lateralis

Golden-mantled ground squirrel

Least chipmunk, Eutamias minimus

Least Chipmunk

Columbian ground squirrel, Citellus columbianus

The mountain snows lingered on the high ridges but the valley bottoms were open and dry.  The first signs of spring were there with a few flowers and grasses making a stubborn show of green.    We were on a hike up the narrow canyon cut by Warm Springs Creek.  One of the creeks that feeds the South Fork of the Payette River.  The ridges and peaks were snow covered, where the clutch of winter held tightly.  

The mountain meadows were alive with the sounds and movement of chipmunks and ground squirrels, as they scurried about and chirped, whistled and squealed.  The Golden-mantled ground squirrels and Least chipmunks stayed near the large rocks.   Their gray granite dens, forts, and bastions of safety.  The Colombian ground squirrels stayed in the open grassy areas, near their underground tunnels, and they kept up a lively conversation compared to their other cousins.          

I spotted the three species of squirrels, all within a small area, and it was easy to identity with the help of a handbook on mammals.  The Lewis and Clark Expedition didn't have such a book, but they did have the pleasure making the discovery of many mammals and birds that were unknown to science at that time.    

One of the first references to a ground squirrel, in the Lewis and Clark journals, was noted by Meriwether Lewis at the Great Falls of the Missouri River, in what is now the State of Montana, on July 8th, 1805.  A member of the Lewis and Clark Expedition captured a ground squirrel, which turned out to be an unknown species.   

Meriwether Lewis colorfully describes that squirrel as follows: 

"the men also brought me a living ground squirrel which is something larger than those of the U' States or those of that kind which are also common here.  this is a much hadsomer anamal. like the other of it's principal colour is a redish brown but is marked longitudinally with a much greater number of black or dark brown stripes; the spaces between which is marked by ranges of pure white circular spots, about the size of a brister blue shot.  these colours imbrace the head neck back and sides; the tail is flat, or the long hair projecting horizontally  from two sides of it only gives it that appearance.  the belly and breast are of much lighter brown or nearly white.  this is an inhabitant of the open plain altogether, wher it burrows and resides; nor is it like the other found among clifts of rocks or in the woodlands."

The animal Meriwether described was the 13 lined ground squirrel, Spermophilus, tridecemlineatus.  In the Lewis and Clark journals there is no mention or description of any squirrel similar to the Least chipmunk or Golden-mantled ground squirrel, but they surely must have encountered them in Montana, Idaho or North Dakota.   Perhaps they did spot these types of squirrels but didn't take note of them for some reason.   I didn't see any 13 lined ground squirrels that day, because they aren't found in the mountains but on the open prairie of the central United States.   

The chipmunks and squirrels bring a certain liveliness to mountains with their running about, their calls and sounds and antics, and they are like your partners on the trail.  Compadres. Hombres. Comrades.   As the afternoon moved on, shadows from the tall trees wedged across the canyon and we hiked back out to the trail head, and loaded our gear in the truck.   We had an easy trip ahead of us, compared to what Lewis and Clark had to endure, traveling thousands of miles on foot, sometimes on horseback or pulling canoes upstream in frigid arctic cold rivers.   

Red-Tailed Hawk Update

 Photo Credit:  Alan Wilson, http://naturespicsonline.com/

Red-Tailed Hawk update:  Early this week the two young hawks on Cottonwood Creek, were spotted at various times, in the nest or perched in trees.  During some stormy weather earlier in the week I spotted the two youngsters in the old nest, side by side.  Yesterday I saw one of the adults flying towards the nest area with a mouse dangling from its beak.  I did spot one of the young birds about 200 feet away, perched in a cottonwood tree, surrounded by a squadron of smaller birds including Western Tanagers. I am not positive it was a hawk and it could have been an owl.

Yellow-breasted Chat

Yellow-breasted Chat (Icteria virens)

Spotted on Cottonwood Creek in Idaho on 5/24/2010, singing vigorously

Hawks Return

The Red-tailed hawks (Buteo jamaicensis), on Cottonwood Creek had a successful neslting this year.  Two chicks, in their whitish feathers were spotted several weeks ago.  They grew quickly and by the second week of May they had lost all of their white baby feathers and had turned mostly brown, with white spots on their heads, and were almost as big as the adult birds.  It was amazing how fast they grew.  Four days ago I noted that the two nestlings were out of the nest and perched in a nearby snag.   The two young hawks seem to be moving from one tree to the next, under close supervision of the adult birds,but I have yet to see them winging it.  Yesterday I saw two hawks soaring close together high above a ridge a mile from the nest, but the nesting area was hawkless.   A hour later I spotted one of the adult birds perched near the nest but there were no other hawks visible.  The youngsters must be getting really close to being able to purchase full flight.

Swoop of the Swifts

The outback of the Snake River Valley. The big dry. It's about as rugged a country as you can find. Remote. Waterless.  For the most part. A big dry desert. The spring flowers were out and they dotted the flat prairie, like so many little dabs of colorful paint, of red, yellow, pink and blue.  The ground was hard gravel with not a hint of soil,  yet indefatigable wildflowers, silver sage and bunch grasses seemed to thrive. Two antelope raced across the savanna, and contoured up a steep hill, before they stopped to observe the two-legged intruders.  The pronghorns were spooked but nothing was chasing them, at least that we could see.  

Greg, Steve, Soni and I were out exploring, the deserts of the Owyhee Mountains.  Greg was elected the leader of our expedition, because of his familiarity with this area, and because he had conducted a geologic study of these mountains.  We stopped at a vantage point on the sloping plains, less than half a mile from the Owyhee Mountains.  Or at least the foothills. Greg explained the topography in detail and definition was brought to suspect terrain.  He pointed out a fault line that he had discovered during his studies.  This line ran along the base of the Owyhee Mountains, where plains meet argillite and even more basalt.  The big fracture where uplifted ground left a scarp. A slip of the fault line.  Tectonic forces ripped soil from rock and stone was stretched skyward, a few feet here, a few feet there, and 10-20 feet in other locations. Imprecise uplifting deforming perfectly good rock formations.      

We hiked to a high bluff, a promontory with canyon on two sides of us.  A perfect lunch spot where we lingered under scudding clouds and drifting silent shadows of turkey vultures.  A line of green several hundred feet below marked a narrow water course, lined with grasses and willows.  Our discussion during lunch was lively as we talked about the geology of this canyon country and the merits of folk and rock bands we had recently encountered.   

Just below the rim of the canyon White-throated Swifts darted back and forth like miniature jet fighters, feeding on insects and gathering bugs in their throat pouch, to carry back to the young, hidden safely in deep crevices in the cliff walls. A group of swifts are collectively known as a "swoop" of swifts. Swoop and swift, indeed.   The Swifts remind me of the a Prairie Falcon, in their quickness and the shape of their body and wings.  Only a smaller version.   The White-Throated Swift has long straight wings and narrow tail, white markings on throat and belly, white tips on secondaries, and they roost at night with hundreds of other birds, usually in secret caves and crevasses in cliffs.  Their daily ritual includes an evening aerial gathering above the roost, where they ascend beyond view then descend as a swoop, entering the cavity several abreast.

We stopped at another location in a sage-deep canyon, to search for unique rocks and fossils, only to be interrupted by a bounding jackrabbit.  The rabbit raced through the brush and was soon out of sight.  I tried to recall the last time I had seen a jackrabbit as they used to be so common.  I couldn't remember.  Steve found a chunk of fossil bone that we thought might be of an ancient camel, but I had envisioned something more dramatic like a cave bear, or a saber toothed tiger.  We found small pieces of white chert scattered everywhere which appeared to be the work of careless neolithic craftsman.  A lizard was discovered and he thoughtfully posed for my camera.


The day was waning and we headed for home, and encountered another jackrabbit, running at full gait, through dense sagebrush.  I tucked away a rucksack of memories, about our geologic excursion, and great conversation with friends.   It was a good day in all regards.  Made even better by the appearance of a couple of jackrabbits.  Perhaps they have returned.

Dispatch from the South Fork Payette River

Spring in the Rocky Mountains. Snow packed peaks wedged into jet blue skies, and the sun actually felt warm. The snow pack is retreating very fast, and the valleys are snow free for the most part. There were lots of elk on the south Fork of the Payette River of Idaho, last week. They seemed to be in herds of 6-12 animals, and they looked good; a bit shaggy with their winter coats but otherwise they faired well this winter. The elk seemed to be everywhere I looked and you didn't need to look to hard. In the middle of the day there were herds along the river, in the lower and upper meadows, on the steep slopes. In the woods.

The elk herds in this region seem very healthy and plentiful. The wolves have done them good, by culling out the weak animals, keeping the herds of elk healthy. The elk are plentiful because of good management practices by the Idaho Fish and Game Department, and because the range is in very good shape. There are no domestic cattle to compete with the elk. They have a good winter range on the south slopes of the South Fork. There are few roads or trails in this region which promotes higher elk populations, because the elk like their isolation especially during calving.

I noticed several small stands of aspen in one canyon, each having 10-20 mature trees. These mature trees were probably 30 foot tall and they were surrounded by new aspen trees or shoots. There were hundreds of them, and they were all about 4 to 6 feet high. Most likely the wolves have kept the elk on the move which has kept them from overgrazing the aspen shoots which they so dearly love. The aspen appear to be thriving which is good for other wildlife, and it provides feed for the elk during the winter when the snow is deep.

I see no evidence of any sort that wolves are decimating elk herds. In fact it's quite the opposite. A robust population of wolves will allow other critters to thrive and protect the range from being overgrazed by elk. Diseased and injured elk are quickly removed from the herd by wolves which makes the rest of the herd stronger.

This could easily have been some location in Yellowstone Park. And how lucky to have this virtually in my back yard.

Lewis and Clark at Whitehouse Pond

Whitehouse Pond

Lochsa River

My wife Louise and I were on the way to Missoula and decided to take the route across the Bitterroot Mountains. Through the big gap called LoLo Pass. Winter seemed to be waning, and the road along the Lochsa River would probably be snow free. Maybe. I expected the pavement to be bare with lots of snow on the peaks and ridges.

The Nez Perce and Lewis and Clark trails traversed this region, mostly along the main ridge line just to the north of the Lochsa River. Travel was much easier along the ridges, rather than following along the narrow, rocky, log strewn, river bottom. The Nez Perce used this trail to travel east to buffalo country, and the Lewis and Clark Expedition came that way in 1805, led by an Indian scout; following the ancient footpath of moccasins and Indian horses, on a trace 3,000 feet higher in elevation than the river below.

There didn't seem to be much snow in the mountains and the ice was gone from the river, except where ice jams had pushed thick slabs high onto the banks. The Western Larch trees didn't have any needles and it looked like they were dead, but they are just dormant waiting out the colder weather. And a bit of warm sunshine. Some of the larch trees, or tamaracks, towered over the nearby fir timber, by 40 feet or more. Those huge tamaracks are survivors of past forest fires; the fires of 1910 and other large conflagrations in the 1930's.

I took some pictures at Whitehouse Pond and there was a foot of snow around it but the pond itself was melted. On Sept. 15th, 1805 Private Whitehouse, of the Lewis and Clark Expedition, wrote in his journal about this pond, and it bears his name to this day.

The Lewis and Clark Expedition, on their way west in 1805, crossed over LoLo pass and traveled down Pack Creek, to the headwaters of the Lochsa River. They left the Lochsa River near the present day Wendover Campground, at a point near Whitehouse Pond and climbed to the north along Wendover Ridge and rejoined the LoLo trail.

Sept 15, 1805: Clark Writes: "...here the road leaves the river to the left and assends a mountain winding in every direction to get up the Steep assents & to pass the emence quantity of falling timber which had falling from dift. causes i e. fire & wind and has deprived the Greater part of the Southerly Sides of this mountain of its gren timber...". "....Several horses Slipped and roled down Steep hills which hurt them verry much. The one which Carried my desk & Small trunk Turned over & roled down a mountain for 40 yards & lodged against a tree, broke the Desk the horse escaped and appeared but little hurt. From this mountain I could observe high ruged mountains in every direction as far as I could See."

There were a couple of pair of ducks on Whitehouse pond and they quickly paddled away from me as I approached to take a picture. A few miles up the road I spotted a small herd of elk, in a meadow near another small pond. That was a rare sight for Lewis and Clark as they saw no elk during the crossing over the Bitterroot Mountains and very few deer. They basically went with little or no food for several days. Other than a few grouse, some thin soup, and a one of their own horses they were forced to kill and eat.

My trip across the Lolo country was easy by comparison. The road is windy and narrow but at least it's paved and there was no ice on the pavement. And it's a beautiful drive. You can drive in 3 or 4 hour what it took the Lewis and Clark over a week, with no crawling over huge logs, climbing steep brush infested mountains or rescuing falling pack horses that have fallen down steep ravines. Or hiking through snow drifts in thin leather moccasins and freezing half to death.

But on the other hand. If I had lived in that era I would have jumped at the chance to join the expedition!

Falcons duel the sky

The Snake River Birds of Prey, in Idaho, were alive last week with ground squirrels and diving Prairie Falcons, Ravens and Red-Tailed Hawks. I hiking along the cliff edge, where hawks were riding the updrafts, and the Prairie Falcons were out in force. The Falcons seemed to fly just along the edge of the cliff, turning, banking and diving and racing back and forth. Lunging and plunging. Flying for the pure joy of it, it would seem.

The cliffs, of dark basalt, dropped precipitously 500 feet to the narrow winding Snake River. The Snake River Birds of prey support the densest population of ground squirrels ever recorded, and a high population of badgers. And a large concentration of falcons, which is no wonder.

The Piute ground squirrels, (Spermophilus mollis), were out and about, whistling, running and perching on their mounds keeping a sharp lookout for hawks and falcons. They were extremely alert and hard to approach and I was unable to get closer than about 50 yards, to any one of them. No wonder, with Prairie Falcons skulking about, that cruise at 45 miles per hour and can accelerate much beyond that, when closing on prey.

The Piute ground squirrels are a brownish color with short ears. They feed on a variety of plants and eat the stems, leaves, seeds and flowers, and will also feed on insects and carrion. They are marvelously adapted to desert life, and they hibernate in the heat of summer, deep in underground tunnels. They can only be spotted in the spring and fall. Their coloration makes them blend quite well into their surroundings. They are dig tunnels in the ground, with several entrances.

There were also Ravens, cruising on the updrafts, with their deep-black feathers, and I spotted them several times landing on rocky ledges, perhaps looking for a nesting place. The ravens paid no heed to the falcons, as they are no threat, to this large bird.

The wind was hard and cold and hoods and stocking caps were a necessity. Every time I decided to retreat back to the vehicle, another falcon would come swooping by and up came binoculars and camera's. After and hour we fled back to the truck, our own cozy burrow. We drove away, and silence returned to the high desert prairie, to the whistling of ground squirrels, and the screech of hawks, and the occasional joyous howls of coyotes.

Cross Bill's on the Sawtooth Range

On a recent ice fishing trip to the Sawtooth Mountains of Idaho, I encountered a flock of birds, that were feeding on salt on the pavement of the road. Or perhaps getting a sip of water from the melting ice. This was near the top of Banner Summit at nearly 7,000 feet in elevation. The birds turned out to be the Red Crossbill (Loxia curvirostra), which have a body length of about 6 inches and a wing span of 11 inches.

They feed primarily on conifer cones, of spruce, pine and fir, but also eat the buds from trees. The Red Crossbill pries seeds from the cones using its highly adapted thick curved bill that is uniquely crossed. The perfect multi-tool. There are apparently 9 discrete populations of the Red Crossbill, which may be different species, and each type differs slightly in their voice or song or the size of their bills. Each type feeds prefers to feed on a select type of conifer tree, and they often mingle with other types.

There were about 12 birds in the flock I was watching. This area of the Sawtooths is heavily forested with conifer trees, mostly lodgepole pine, with spruce and subalpine fir along the creek bottoms. The ice fishing was poor that day, but the views of the mountains were spectacular. I am amazed how the Crossbill's can survive at such high altitudes in the winter, but the pine cones, are found high in the tree canopy well above the snow, and the seeds are there for the taking. Especially for the Red Crossbill with the perfect set of cone cracking mandibles. It sounds like a much easier way to obtain a meal than drilling through 3 feet of ice to find some wily trout.

The whisteling squerel of the Rocky Mountains

Above: Photo Credit: Martin Pot
http://martybugs.net

The shrill whistling sound rings across the mountain meadow, as the lookout sounds the alarm. The colony scurries for cover. I am the intruder, in this hilly glade. The predator, hunter, pillager, raider. Or at least the burrowers of the earth think I am. The Columbian ground squirrel or as the Lewis and Clark Expedition called them, the “whisteling squerel”.

The Columbian ground squirrel (gopher) has kept me company, on many of my hikes, especially where there are meadows, along the forest edges. Often they can be seen sitting up on their hind legs, on top of the mounds that they construct during their excavations of the underground tunnels.

The ground squirrels keep up a constant chatter as they whistle throughout the day, and they keep a sharp eye out for hawks, fox and coyotes and other predators. The tone of the whistle sometimes changes, as the squirrels chitchat back and forth. If you sneak up on them they spook, and the whistle becomes real high pitched, almost a squeal, as they scurry down into the safety of their dens. Their burrow fortress.

The Columbian Ground Squirrel (Spermophilus columbianus) is found in the Rocky Mountains from central British Columbia and Alberta south to Idaho and eastern Oregon. They have a distinctive coloration, of brick red on its nose, neck and legs with the rest of the body a grayish brownish color . They are the largest ground squirrel found in the western United States with a body that is 10 to 12 inches in length. The tail itself is relatively large at 3 to 5 inches long and is quite bushy. They feed on grass, forbs, bulbs, seeds and fruit. Meriwether Lewis aptly describes the tail of the Columbian, in a journal entry of May 27^th, 1806: “ The hair of the tail tho' thickly inserted on every part rispects the two sides only. This gives it a flat appearance and a long ovol form. “

The first observation of the Columbian ground squirrel, other than by the native Americans, was by the Lewis and Clark expedition, on the Clearwater River of Idaho. In total Lewis and Clark made seven journal entries where they discussed the squirrel, and also preserved several skins and transported them back to St. Louis. On May 23^rd, 1806 William Clark writes in his journal: “Labiech also brought a whisteling squerel which he had killed on it's hole in the high plains. This squerel differs from those on the Missouri in their Colour, Size, food and the length of tal and from those found near the falls of the Columbia.”

The Columbian ground squirrels are very inquisitive and curious, yet cautious around people. The whistling is a comforting sound, that makes the meadow come alive, especially when you see the squirrels running back and forth and perched on mounds. The mountains wouldn't be the same without their song resonating across the glades.

A white wolf, a crown jewel, aerial gunners and a heap of trouble

The wolf, made a futile sprint for freedom, and the blood dripped from gunshot wounds, spattering the fresh snow. She was the alpha female of the Basin Butte wolf pack. She ran through the thick forest but the radio collar around her neck betrayed her every movement. The aircraft quickly closed in, and a hail of gunfire ended her life, near the edge of an alpine meadow.

In November of 2009, Wildlife Services (WS) killed seven wolves, of the well known Basin Butte Wolf Pack, because of wolf depredations on livestock. 10 wolves were identified for removal by the Idaho Fish and Game, but WS made the determination to remove 8. (Idaho Press Tribune, December 4th, 2009). There were an estimated 10-13 wolves in the pack. Wildlife managers used a helicopter and a fixed wing airplane to shoot the animals from the air but some of the pack escaped. Two pups were initially shot and killed. The initial wolf shootings were done near the town of Stanley, Idaho. When the gunfire erupted, many residents of Stanley had no idea what was happening and some rushed to locate their children to make sure they were out of harms way

The Basin Butte wolf pack roamed the Sawtooth National Recreation Area (SNRA), which encompasses 778,000 acres of federal lands. Within the boundary of the SNRA there are also 25,000 acres of widely scattered private lands, mostly found in narrow strips along the creek and river bottoms. The SNRA, is located in central Idaho, and is one of the crown jewels of the national system, with scenic mountain peaks and clear rushing rivers. There are an estimated 1,000 lakes and several rivers that have their headwaters within the SNRA, and a multitude of wildlife including elk, deer, black bear, wolverine, bighorn sheep, and wolves. There are even wild salmon, chinook and sockeye, that make the 800 mile trip from the Pacific Ocean. The SNRA is buffered by National Forest lands on all sides, and private land holdings are few and very far between.

The US Fish and Wildlife Services addressed the issue of chronic depredating wolves in their 1994 10j rule [at 50 CFR 17.84(i)(3)(vii)] with this specific language: "All chronic problem wolves will be removed from the wild. Significantly, this language did not specify that chronic depredating wolves “may” be removed from the wild, but that they “will” be removed from the wild. Removal of chronic depredating wolves had been required under the 10j rule since 1994. The WS had little choice but to follow the 10 j rule, however they basically targeted almost the entire Basin Butte Pack, instead of individual wolves that were involved in the depredations.

The elimination of most of the Basin Butte Wolf pack, was a mistake in many ways. This has created a public relations fiasco for the State of Idaho, where tourism is ranked number 1 in revenues, and is a 3.4 billion dollar industry, ahead of all other business's in the State, including agriculture. Public opinions do matter because even a minor decrease in visitation could have a serious impact on local economies. The wildlife of Idaho is a huge natural and economic asset to this State, and we should be promoting wild Idaho, instead of needlessly destroying this resource.

The State of Idaho wolf management program doesn't appear to have to comply with federal environmental and safety requirements, even though most of this operation took place on Forest Service lands within the boundaries of the Sawtooth National Recreation Area (SNRA).

The reaction to the killing of the Basin Butte wolves was swift. Even some groups that supported the delisting of the gray wolf, decided the State of Idaho had gone to far. The Wolf Recovery Foundation and the Western Watersheds Project filed lawsuit, on December 31st, 2009 against the Forest Service and Wildlife Services, over the killing of wolves in the SNRA. This lawsuit was the result of the control actions taken against the Basin Butte pack and the eradication of several other wolf packs that used to roam the SNRA. The lawsuit contends that the Forest Service and Wildlife Service violated the SNRA Organic Act, the Wilderness Act and other federal statutes in these wolf-related actions,

On Feb, 18th, 2010 the Western Watersheds Project and the Idaho Conservation League won a major victory in their efforts to protect Idaho's wolf populations. The court ruled that the 1972 act that established the SNRA gives wolves and other wildlife precedence over livestock, and requires that the Forest complete a National Environmental Protection Act (NEPA) analysis on grazing allotments. The impact of that ruling remains to be seen, but in the long run it should provide more protection for wolf populations.

The bottom line is that the removal of wolves from the SNRA is biologically, and economically a mistake. Ranchers that lose livestock to wolf depredation need to be reimbursed for those loses, which they are, for the most part. That system is not perfect, however grazing fees on federal lands are much lower than on private lands, which benefits livestock owners.

Tourism dominates the economy of Idaho especially in the mountainous regions and maintaining the wolf packs can increase visitation. Targeting entire wolf packs for elimination does not follow the established rules, and doesn't make any sense. Helicopter use in wilderness areas and the SNRA should also not be allowed, except in emergencies.

Gray Fog Under

Early January 2010; it was an extremely foggy day, and I felt restless, fidgety and wanted to get out of the house, escape into the foothills, bad weather or not. I loaded up my camera and put on cold weather gear and hiked up Cottonwood Creek. The fog seemed to get thicker as the sun slinked unseen above the horizon, leaving no telltale traces, covering everything in a soft white blanket. It was so thick that you couldn't even turn a shadow. The shroud seemed to magnify the sounds in the canyon, especially the rushing waters of Cottonwood Creek. It was the kind of day I didn't expect to see much bird or animal life.

The fog made the landscape appear much brighter, than it would have normally, like a gaggle of colors on a white canvas. The willows or water wallys stood out in reds and yellows and the rose hips on the wild rose shrubs looked like brilliant red fire brands showering from the sky. One small patch of bright red willows extended up slope, from under a stand of cottonwoods along the creek, looking like a wild fire that was ready to run up the ridge.

I spotted the old red-tailed hawk nest, biding time for spring occupants, and to my surprise sitting 15 feet above the nest was a large hawk with a whitish breast. I was startled by a sudden noise off to my right, as another hawk came winging over the low hill in low level fight, screaming his eerie, ghostly song, making a bee line for timeworn nest. The hawk-screech knifed through the bulky, thick air and the intruder landing a branch away, from the resting buteo. Finches, juncos and sparrows darted amongst the shrubs keeping low to the ground or hidden in the thick brush, perhaps aware that predators were out and about.

I continued my walk and within minutes a pack of coyotes erupted in song on the ridge above me, just out of sight behind curtains of fog. There must have been several canines and they yipped, barked, yelped, yodeled, yapped, squeaked, howled and wailed in a delightful chorus
of joyous tunes. I stopped and listened to them for some time half expecting to see the pack appear out of the fog, but the shindig soon ended.

Near the end of my hike the trail wedged up near a stand of black locust trees, where I spotted a great horned owl perched on a branch about 6 feet off the ground and just behind it was another owl, that was larger. The smaller bird may have been a yearling and perhaps the bigger one was a full sized adult. The owls were somewhat hidden in the branches and well camouflaged in their gray mottled feathers, with yellow piercing eyes that fixed on mine and their ear-tufts that made them appear quite catlike. The owls had a mystical, supernatural presence, sitting on their black locust thrones in the mist, not making a peep and keeping very still.

It was time to head back, and getting colder so I cinched my jacket up tighter around my neck. The day belonged to the owls, hawks, finches and sparrows, and besides a warm pellet stove waited at home.