Tag Archives: eagle

The Trackers

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Back in the days before people had apps on their phones to find somebody you had to use a large portion of the gray matter between your ears to locate them. The less folks wanted to be found the more gray matter you had to use. There were times when all the gray matter you had was in use and it still wasn’t enough to find them. That’s when you called in The Trackers.

Trackers were guys that had extra gray matter in their heads dedicated solely to finding other guys or animals whether they wanted to be found or not. It’s unknown how they got this extra gray matter but they had it so just accept it and lets move along. There weren’t a lot of female Mountain men, but if there were it was pretty certain they’d be good trackers too, but history doesn’t relate much about them.

Tracking is the ability to use information gleaned from the surroundings, such as the imprint from the foot of the trackee, or a bent piece of grass, or a note found on the ground saying, “Hey I’m down here by that tree. Follow the stream until you get to that rock then bear left until you see me standing there holding my gun.” Although obvious sounding it was a form of tracking that was usually quite productive. If you could read that is.

Some trackers were like savants. They could look at a track and tell you what it belonged to. They would be able to tell you if it was ham, Ram, Billy goat, Baboon or Bear and how much it weighed, what it planned on doing when it got where it was going, what religious affiliation it had if any, whether it would be friendly when you found it, whether it planned on eating you if it got the chance, and a host of other things to numerous to mention. It was said that they could track an Eagle to its eyrie by the faint imprint of its shadow across the ground. These guys were good.

These abilities were all beneficial skills to have. These fellows lived in a time where if they accidentally stumbled into a pack of unfriendlies they could lose body parts and have a very bad day. So it was a pure survival skill to be able to see an unknown guys footprints and know which tribe they were from, whether or not they might enjoy your company, or if they carried big sharp knives. Well that last one was a given because everyone carried a big sharp knife. It was what they planned to do with it that was important.

The Trackers you see above both had the extra gray matter between their ears and weren’t afraid to use it. There was no physical indication of this extra lump of brain tissue in their outward appearance as it was just packed tight in there inside their heads with the rest of the gray matter and you just could tell they had it by how good they were at tracking. If you’ve ever tried to peel a grape you know how tight that grape is packed inside its skin. That’s the way the inside of the trackers heads were. Tight, packed full. As a team they had followed many a set of tracks and were comfortable with their ability to track a track until they found the maker. They had just come across a fresh set that they believed belonged to a friendly but deranged person and they were going to follow him and see what he was up to. This was often done because they didn’t have that much to do otherwise and it filled up the day.

Trackers played a very important part in the life of the early days of the West by discovering what’s what in the mountains and elsewhere. A lot of stuff would never been discovered without them and as such they were a proud breed, eager to show off their skills for fun or profit and make the West a better place. We salute them.

A Glimpse Of The Past

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Spring has sprung, the grass has riz, I wonder where the eagles is. They is right there in Yellowstone in the Eagle tree off of Madison Junction road. Well at least they were until a big wind storm blew the nest down taking the tree with it. These eagle nests can get extraordinarily heavy. There was a nest down in Florida that was recorded at nearly 3 tons, that’s slightly more than a Cadillac Escalade balanced up there on those spindly little branches.

When the wind came through it caused the entire tree with it’s top-heavy nest to fall over and that was that for close up bald eagle viewing on a nest. The nest had been there in that tree in continual use, for the entire 12 years I had photographed in Yellowstone. It would often be my first stop as I entered the park from West Yellowstone, Montana in the morning, which is when I caught one of parents above shoving Gobbets of something freshly killed down juniors throat.

The eagles are still there in Yellowstone, they’re still building nests and filling them with eaglets, they’re just not doing it along side the road where you could stop and watch every aspect of their lives anymore. There were folks that would camp out at the 100 yard perimeter that the park naturalists put in place to protect the eagle viewing area from people approaching to close to the tree and disturbing the birds. They’d be there from early morning to the last light of sunset for days at a time to observe and learn bald eagle behavior.

This is nature at work, the tree was blown down, the eagles had to move on and build another nest somewhere else, and that part of the eagles exposure to bird lovers was done. Nobody’s fault. I’m just thankful I got to take as many photos as I did over the years. I still miss the nest not being there though.

Caught In A Murder

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Many dastardly deeds are done in Bosque del Apache under the cover of darkness. But some are done even in bright sunlight. Drugs and violence and the arrival of gangs never before seen in the refuge are now common place. It’s gotten much worse since the advent of the internet and being able to get restricted bad seed and other prescription only drugs from Canada with nothing but a fake prescription and a fax machine. Consequently gangs have formed to take advantage of this situation and have infiltrated nearly every level of society in the Refuge.

Here we see a murder of Crows swarm a lone Eagle, a peace officer who had accidentally stumbled on them distributing bags of hallucinogenic seed. This was a shipment of treated Bulgar seed that had just arrived on the refuge disguised as medical supplies and food for indigent migratory birds.

Undeterred by his unexpected presence they brazenly rose up in a swarm to surround him and to force him to the ground where they in their superior numbers could do him in, thereby fulfilling their designation as a “Murder of Crows”, the most ruthless gang in the refuge. Filled with crows from Columbia and other South American countries they will stop at nothing to defend their territory and protect their profits. These are very bad crows.

Fortunately for the eagle the crows had been distracted by the business of cutting the seed with cheaper non-hallucinatory wild bird seed available in bulk from any of the big box stores. This is done to allow them to maximize their profits even more. One 50lb. bag when cut to street tolerances will provide enough seed for several thousand birds. It takes more and more seed per bird to get high, so the sales, and of course profits, go high-sky. Due to their being occupied with this process he was able to fly the through the crime site before most of the crows even noticed he was there. This didn’t stop the crows from rising up to confront him however and soon he was surrounded. The eagle was able to gain enough altitude to avoid the crows tactic of flying over him and pecking at his back with their needle sharp bills, causing him to fly lower and lower until he was grounded and then swarmed and pecked to death.

Due to surprising the crows and his superior ability to gain altitude quickly from the use of his powerful wings, our eagle was able to make his escape and return to headquarters. There a task force of Eagles and a few of the larger hawks were able to return to the sight of the crime to try and catch the perps in the act. Unfortunately the crows were able to make their escape by eating as much of the seed as they could carry and still get off the ground. The rest they pushed into the pond hoping to retrieve it later.

The peace eagle didn’t make the bust that he wanted to, but at least he foiled the Murder of Crows from creating one more victim. The crows will be back though, the possibility of making this much profit is too compelling for them to be run off by one lone eagle. And once the other birds get hooked they’ll be back in business again. The good news is our eagle didn’t get caught in a murder. His. He did cause one more drug center to be closed and for that we’re all thankful.

Move Along – Nothing To See Here

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Lots of times you’re in the heat of the action and you look up and there is something so different from what you are presently doing that you have to stop and just stare at it. Such was the case this September afternoon on the Madison river in Yellowstone National Park.

We had been shooting Otters as they swam back and forth in the river, hunting, catching big fat trout, there are many big fat trout in the Madison river, the young otters playing, bickering amongst themselves, making up, otters can’t stay mad for very long and generally just displaying all the behavior that makes otters, otters.

There are many animals in the park and usually everyone is focused on the big exciting ones. The grizzlies, wolves, bull elk fighting and they tend to lose sight of some of the more elusive, but equaling exciting species like the otters. And when you do see them it is normally just a glimpse as they flash by, barely giving you time to lift your camera for a grab shot. Which is why when you get to spend some quality time with them it is very special indeed.

But this day was different, the otters decided to stay around and hunt the area known as the log jam, a wide place in the river that catches all the logs and trees floating downstream and once one log is caught it catches another and so on until you have a large collection of logs and other debris stretching halfway across the river. Trout love log jams, there’s shade, plenty to eat, and places to hide when they need to. Otters love log jams for exactly the same reasons.

 Unbelievably we had the opportunity to stay with this family of otters for several hours, moving with them as they traveled up and down the river. Around noon they’d eaten enough, fooled around enough and it was time for a nap. They climbed in the middle of a particularly dense group of logs and became invisible once they were asleep. It was a cloudless day and the sun had been very hot making the noon-day light very contrasty, washing out the color of the water, even washing out the color of the dark reddish-brown of the otter’s fur. This made for poor shooting so looking for a shady spot to wait out our sleeping subjects we found a large pine to sit under and wait for their reemergence.

Whenever you set up your equipment, which consists of a large camera and telephoto lens on a big tripod you become a subject of interest for those passing by, an indicator that something important must be going on. “What do you see?” is the first question, then “What’s out there? I don’t see anything?”  or ” What a ya just sitting there for?” You try and answer their questions, explaining that there were otters here just a little while ago and they’re gone now but soon you get tired of answering the questions and dealing with their irritation that they missed something cool and somehow it’s your fault, and you begin giving short answers like “Nothing.” or “Scenery.” They hate that answer, the scenery one, because you have robbed them of seeing something really cool, like a wolf crossing the river, or an osprey in the act of catching a fish, and therefore have tricked them into stopping and wasted their time when you were only looking at scenery.

Sometimes, if you are a grumpy photographer and they are particularly obnoxious you reply with something like “Oh, you should have been here a few minutes ago. A mountain lion was crossing the river with a wolf pup in her mouth and an eagle swooped down and stole it from her. There was a hell of a fight.” We always throw “the hell of a fight” in there as that makes them really mad that they missed it. However if we’re feeling in a really peckish mood we often just say “Move along people. Nothing to see here.” this in a curt voice that doesn’t leave much room for other conversation.

In the mean time, while we have been feverishly shooting the otter family in this bad light, disgusted that we have to settle for what we know are going to be marginal shots that will be hell to deal with in Photoshop, yet ecstatic that we’ve had this time with these otters, you need a moment of decompression time to process all that you’ve seen. You need to find that shady spot and take in what else is going on around you. The spot we picked to wait for the otters just happened to be near a bend in the river where some large pines blocked the sun. The shadows and dappled sunshine produced this intense area of bright emerald light on the river’s surface in the midst’s of the deep shadows. The illumination of the trees reflected in the water produced a calming almost zen-like experience. It put everything back into perspective and perversely made us wish for the otters to take a little longer nap.

It wasn’t long before a new group of those visitors wanting to you to do their work for them by finding the next cool sight came up and the questions began again. The answer this time to “What do you see?” was “Nothing much, just some scenery.” It wasn’t long before we were alone again just watching the river.

Father’s Day

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When I was a young bird,  I was an eagle flying high in the sky, I was a flamingo, a peacock arrayed in all of my finery, I was the strongest, the wisest, a Peregrine falcon the fleetest of wings,  a Tundra  swan able to travel thousands of miles unerringly every year to brave the cold and survive any hardship.

Then came mates, nests, eggs, dozens and dozens of them over the years.

I realized I was no longer the high-flying eagle, the one with the finest plumage, or fleet or strong, I was a dad. Nothing more, nothing less. It was enough. I wouldn’t trade any of it for any amount of treasure. I see my offspring occasionally now. Some are still being eagles, some have mates and eggs of their own. This gives me pleasure. I look at them and I see a part of me flying up there. It makes me happy and a little sad. Life changes, we change but one thing stays the same, we’re still fathers and always will be. It’s enough.

I may Be A Pig But I Love You

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“I may be a pig, but I love you”. That’s what we heard, that and other porcine endearments that were floating in the air at Bosque del Apache wildlife refuge as these two Javelina displayed their affection for each other in open courtship. It was a surprise to find them at the refuge as Bosque del Apache is primarily known for birds. Snow geese, Ross’ goose, Sandhill cranes and the occasional Tundra swan, not to mention every variety of Hawk and eagle, egret and duck, owls, pigeons, goatsuckers and songbird you can imagine.

But not Javelinas. Especially not Javelinas in love. It was unmistakable, they were unabashedly involved with each other, rubbing their flat little pink snouts together, snuffling, standing side by side and stroking each others back with their necks, giggling and muttering little piggy names to each other as they made plans for Javelina trysts.

As we watched they continued as if we were not there, oblivious to everything but each other. When their passion reached a fever pitch they would discretely move off into the brush to be alone then come back out trying to act as if nothing had happened. Yeah, right, we knew. They couldn’t hide it. Like we couldn’t tell that they were Javelinas in love. Occasionally they would stop and watch us for a moment or two, pose for pictures, then become enraptured with each other again and head for the brush. Finally it just became embarrassing and we left.

Spring is slowly coming and with it signs of love are everywhere. If you go south from Colorado in a straight line you will eventually encounter Spring. It will be a solid line that stretches roughly east to west. On one side of it, usually the south side, you will see flowers, and bees messing around, and song birds making suggestive sounds to each other, and lots of love, and on the other side, normally the north side, you will find snow and cold and brown grass, grumpy people and very little love. Right now that line is about twenty miles north of the Mexican border, however each and every day it moves north a little bit. But soon, uh huh, soon it will make its way north toward us and maybe you even, and it will be bringing you-know-what with it. That’s right, Pigs in Love.

Now before you get the wrong idea, it’s not just pigs that get in love, it ‘s everything. Name a creature and when spring hits it, it’s in love. You have to be careful your very own self when you go outside in spring because it doesn’t play favorites, if you’re in the way it’s going to hit you, and before you know it, Whammo Sammo you’re in love and probably out in the bushes somewhere. You’ve been warned, if it can get pigs it can get you. So watch out.