Tag Archives: predators

Listening To The Fog

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Carl Sandburg wrote a poem about the fog saying that it crept in on little cat feet, sat on its haunches and then moved away. When you are at 14,000′ and the fog moves in you can hear the sound of those little cat feet. Sound travels magically in the fog. You can hear little hooves click on the boulders a half a mile away. You can hear the rustle of the fog moving over the lichen. There is no wind when the fog comes in, but you feel the movement of the fog as it envelopes you and goes along its way.

The inhabitants of Mt. Evans are used to the comings and goings of the fog. They are comfortable with it. Although there are few predators up this high, none the less they listen to what information the fog brings them. Mountain lions have been known to walk through this high country seeking the unwary kid and in a fog like this when you can barely see the wool in front of your eyes, the sound travels best. Even the sound of big cat feet moving silently. So you listen to the fog. And you listen close.

Midnight In The Marsh

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Deep in the backwaters of the marsh where the wild things live, strange events take place. A late feeding Roseate Spoonbill is working the edge of the reeds, sweeping its large bill back and forth along the estuaries bottom hoping for a quick meal as the moon breaks through the clouds illuminating it. This is a particularly dangerous place to be after dark. The whole marsh can be dangerous but this stretch happens to be on a channel where the slow flowing water enters from the Gulf and as such is a natural highway for the large scaly predators that glide quietly along looking its length looking for that unsuspecting meal.

There is little sound on a calm windless night here in the marsh other than the occasional call of a bird settling in for the night, or the soft susurrations of the long slender reeds rubbing together, their quietest murmuring barely breaking the silence as the sluggish water moves them to and fro.

There is one sound however that all of the wading birds learn to listen for and that is the sound of a powerful tail rippling back and forth just beneath the surface of the water propelling its owner forward in an otherwise silent glide. There is little to see in the dark water as the perfectly camouflaged predator patrols the channel. The eddies formed by the tails movement drift into the reed’s edge causing a slight rustling sound slightly louder than normal. If it weren’t for the occasional low popping sound from the bubbles formed by the rapidly swirling eddies, little whirlpools caused by the powerful tail whipping back and forth, this midnight killing machine would be totally silent.

You don’t grow up into an adult here unless you’ve mastered the skills necessary to stay alive. The spoonbill, nervous at being alone, is hyper-vigilant and at the first slight echo of anything out of the ordinary takes flight for a safer roost, its feeding done for the night. The gator pauses for a brief moment, listening to the sound of the spoonbills departure, he’s not worried about missing this one opportunity, he knows that there are other places where the birds feels safe and roost too close to the water’s edge. He’ll feed tonight. It just won’t be on Roseate Spoonbill.

The Word’s Out

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When we, and the we would be me, The Director of the World Famous Institute and any of the many staffers and interns we choose to bring along, attempt to slip into Yellowstone National Park for our annual inspection tour, we try to do it on the sly. We don’t want the usual Pomp And Circumstance, the parades, the cheering crowds, we want to be able to travel anonymously through out the park without everyone coming up for autographs and offers of sexual favors and incredible investment possibilities. We’re here to work.

But somehow and to this date I have never figured out how, the word gets out. No matter how carefully we tell people that we’re going back to the park and it’s like a secret, don’t tell anybody kind of thing, the animals, the park personnel, the wait staff at all the park restaurants, they all seem to know about it before we do. As a wildlife photographer I can only assume we have a mole in our organization.

Our advance scouts that we send in to get things scoped out for us have been sending back pictures and as you can see all the major players are aware of our impending arrival. It ‘s like when a restaurant gets advance notice that the health inspector is coming, you won’t find a cleaner kitchen. You could do surgery in that kitchen. Well it’s the same in the park. The wolves clean up their act, only killing the healthy good looking elk and not showing you the carcasses of all the little rabbits, voles, dead stuff off the highway and other disgusting things they eat. This hampers our ability to get the nitty-gritty on what’s really going on.

 The wolves are the smartest ones of the bunch and they post watchers around the most likely spots we’ll hit, like this one at the Cascade Creek area near Canyon. We’ve seen this guy before and he is a world-class blabbermouth. If he’s seen our scouts and you can be sure he has, he’s looking right at one, we might as well abandon any hope of getting an accurate picture of park activities. This will not keep us from making our annual inspection however. We’ll be there but this time we have a surprise in store for them. This time we’re going in disguised.

That’s right. We have created costumes for some of our intern volunteers to wear, such as a badger, a cottontail, an elk calf with a damaged leg, things that the wolves wouldn’t touch if they knew we were coming in to inspect. This will hopefully allow us to get close enough to the wolves and other predators so we can photograph them and the conditions they’re living in. Now, we’re sharing this information with you, our loyal readers, so you’re aware of how we get some of the incredible exposes, not to mention world class photos that we’re famous for, but you’ve got to keep this quiet, otherwise it is not going to work and if you’ve blabbed there’s a good chance we could lose some or even all of our interns.

OK then. That’s it. We’ll be off real soon for the Spring inspection at Yellowstone National Park and we’ll do our best to bring you first hand accounts of everything that transpires. So stay tuned and watch this space for further developments.

P.S. we are always looking for bright young volunteers to fill our intern ranks. Send name and working phone number to the Director, % The institute and please be able to write your name as we need it for the Release of Liability form our lawyers require of all new workers.

Hiding In Plain Sight

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Mountain goats aren’t really known for being stealthy. They don’t have a lot of need to be. There aren’t that many predators up here at the top of the world at over 14,000′ to get them so they usually just hang out not caring very much about who sees them.

Yet Nature, who is in charge of animal protection here in this world, has chosen to give them life saving camouflage anyway. When you enlarge this image by clicking on it, and you know you should, you’ll see that even with them standing out in plain sight your eyes will drift right over them and you’ll often miss seeing them. This effect is even more pronounced when the herd is scattered out and the individuals take on the coloring and look of the boulder field they like to forage in.

Occasionally a coyote and on the rarest of occasions a mountain lion will find its way up here in the hopes of catching a lamb or a sick billy-goat but they’re usually so whacked out by the lack of oxygen up here that their efforts are half-hearted at best. Still the camouflage is there in case they need it.

This is Mt. Evans by the way, and it is 14,264′ up in the air. It is also one of the tallest of our national parks with all kinds of neat facts that you can read elsewhere about how cool it is. The road up here is not for the squeamish and will often involve some or all of the passengers in your vehicle crouching on the floor to avoid the sheer terror of the incredible drop offs just inches away from your tires. Drivers Pay Attention! Gravity is not your friend up here.

For those of you who are going to ask “Is that blue real?” the answer is no. It’s actually bluer than that. I had to tone it down in Photoshop from the real color because it is SO blue, and that is the famous Colorado blue you hear about, that my staffers walking by catching a glimpse of it on the monitor would be frozen in their tracks, stunned into immobility, so totally hypnotized by it blueness, that they would be paralyzed and fall over in what we call the Blue Coma. Since some of you may be viewing this on portable devices and doing things like walking or chewing gum I thought it best, in the interest of your safety, to bring it down into a more tolerable color.

Soon and that is in a couple of weeks, the ewes will start having their lambs and the tourists will start arriving to see them. The park opens later in the year than most other parks because this geography and weather up here are similar to arctic conditions. There’s tundra scattered around everywhere with arctic plants growing and biting winds and fast-moving storms that race in just to catch everyone unaware, so they, the people in charge of these places, want to give the inquisitive tourists every chance of making it up and back down alive. Plus the roads are mostly snowed shut until sometime in mid June. But life is an adventure and you’re alive or should be so jump in the old Celica and get on up to the top of the world. There’s views, and vistas, and far-reaching sights that will make you say “oh Wow” or even “Holy Moley” and you can see the Mountain goats hiding in plain sight. It’s worth it.

The Great Quail Migration

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When going through our archives the other day we stumbled across a treasure-trove of forgotten images. Deep in the hidden recesses of The Institutes’ storage shed we found photographic evidence of one of Nature’s most incredible stories, The Great Quail Migration.

Many of you I’m sure, have never heard of the Great Quail Migration as it happened way before the internet. But back in the latter half of the last century there was a great drought in the high plateaus of the desert Southwest. Plants dried up and died. Insects disappeared and the Quail were faced with imminent starvation. The elders of the flock knew something drastic had to be done and hearing that the government was giving away land up along the Snake river in Idaho to any quail brave enough to make the journey they decided to attempt the long dangerous trail North.

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Gathering the flock together they started northward. At first there were just a few hardy souls determined to find a better life, but as word spread of the possibility of a land of plenty just laying there for the taking, others joined in.

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Soon there were dozens then thousands until the earth was dark with mottled bodies of quail heading North.

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The journey was long and arduous with many of the original flock falling by the wayside. but their determination never wavered. They steadily kept to their dream of tall grass, abundant insects and safe havens. Young were born along the way to replace those that had fallen, prey to the many predators who shadowed the migration.

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When the journey seemed to be at its darkest point and it looked as if they would never reach that magical land, the miracle finally happened. They reached the border the government had erected to set aside the land that was to be the home of the quail for as long as the sun would shine and the grass would grow. That was the land that was to be given to any quail that could reach it, for now and forever. Tired, hungry, footsore, feathers dusty with travel they entered one by one into the promised land and safety.

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The patriarch who had led the flock those hundreds of miles, who had evaded predators and sickness, who had kept hope alive and guided them unerringly to the final spot where they could begin new lives, was the last to enter.

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Realizing what they had left behind, and the price they had paid for it, he took one last look back at the past. Standing at the border that represented safety and a new beginning for his flock he seemed satisfied with what they had accomplished. They had completed the Great Quail Migration.

Today his descendants can still be found living peacefully along the riverside in the Snake River Raptor Rehabilitation Area, a testament to the quails determination and bravery that still is prevalent today.

As always we are proud to be able to bring you the stories of these amazing and often heroic events, many of which never happened, and to share with you the incredible but unbelievable tales that have been captured on film and more recently pixels. We do this so that you too can share in Nature’s glory. No there’s no need to thank us, it’s just part of our job.

Buffalo Spawn

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Boy oh boy oh boy are we here at *The Institute excited. It’s Spring and time for one of the greatest, if not the most unlikely, spectacles ever to occur in Nature. We’re talking about the Buffalo Spawn that happens every April along the Firehole river in Yellowstone National Park. This phenomenon was first discovered several years ago by one of our free range wildlife photographers working on a separate project in Yellowstone and we have been fortunate to document this amazing process ever since.

The Institute, as has been noted many times in the past, has many ongoing projects underway at all times and the one our photographer was working on at the time this spawning phenomenon was noted, was a study on why river banks are just wide enough to accommodate the water that flowed through them and no wider, when he noticed strange behavior in the buffalo herds. The buffalo began gathering at the riverside jostling and shoving each other until they began to frantically enter the water and begin moving up-stream. Sometimes singly or in pairs, cows and bulls alike struggled upstream against the current in a single-minded desire to reach the shallows at the headwaters of the river to begin their spawning.

No obstacle was too great to keep them from moving ever upstream, clamoring over rocks and boulders, leaping mightily up water falls, their coats and horns glistening in the sun as they swam exhaustedly against the raging current, struggling until they reached that final tributary where they had been created many years ago. There under the light of a full moon the cows released their eggs and the bulls their sperm and as the river slowly allowed fertilization the eggs containing the new buffalos began to tumble downstream through rapids and wide gentle bends until catching up against a snag lying across the  stream, or a pebble bed where they could sink into safety amongst the stones and germinate, the eggs rested, began to grow, and thereby begin a new generation of buffalo.

Life is never a sure thing here in Yellowstone and the eggs were at constant risk of being found and devoured by predators. Wolves hungry as only wolves can be searched constantly along the riverbanks looking for egg clusters that had attached to rocks or plants along the shore and finding them, greedily devoured them for the protein that future young buffalo calves could provide them while in their embryonic state.

 Grizzlies could be seen out in the middle of the river casually turning over great snags, the remains of giant trees that had fallen into the river to float downstream until they lodged themselves in the shallows and found a permanent home. Ripping the snags apart with their tremendously strong forearms and sharp claws, the egg clusters of the new buffalo generation were easy pickings for the mammoth beasts to find and consume.

But life always finds a way. And many of the eggs escaped detection and over time developed into their next phase of development which of course is the ‘buffpole’ stage where they began to grow their little hooves and tails and assume the shape we recognize as ‘Buffalo’. By now they had been fed steadily by the nutrients in the river and were beginning to break free from the egg sack that had enveloped them. If the light was just right these small fry could be seen forming little groups or herds, galloping from one place of safety in the water to another, gaining strength and nimbleness needed to leave the confines of the river and move on to land to begin their new lives as the Giants of the Plains, the buffalo.

Once established on land the new young buffalo, now known as ‘calves’, would be adopted by an adult female or ‘cow’ and be nursed and shown how to graze. They grew rapidly and were now totally independent of the river from which they formed. Yet you can still see some remnants of the behavior established in their early stages, such as when they gather in large groups or ‘herds’ and run thundering from one place to another for no apparent reason. This is a hold over from their schooling behavior when they were freshly formed fry in the river, and now it has become established as part of their genetic behavior on the land.

If you want to observe this spawning behavior of the buffalo you must hurry to Yellowstone because it doesn’t last long. Once it starts the buffalo are tireless in their obsession to get upstream and complete the spawning process that ensures that the new herd will be replenished. It is often over before you arrive, in fact if you are reading this now in May, you’ve already missed it. Sorry, but we can assure you that it does happen as proven by the huge number of buffalo seen grazing in the vast meadows of Yellowstone National park. After all where else could they have come from.

* Note: For those of you unfamiliar with The Institute and what it does, please see the page labeled The Institute on the Menu Bar above. That should explain everything. You shouldn’t have one single question remaining regarding The Institute after reading it. None. For those of you favored few who already know about the Institute, Nevermind. Return to your daily activities. Thank you for your support.

Whoa Dude, Are We Cool Or What

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Regardless of whether you agree or not it is now officially Spring. In fact we’re four days into it. That means spring babies. Black bears, grizzly bears, foxes, elk, wolves. Bighorn sheep, the list goes on.

Some of the newest youngsters take a more elitist view of their arrival like these two black bear cubs, although twins they are not identical. We shall call them Solenoid and Nodule. These may not be traditional bear names like, Fang and Claw and Leroy, but then we live in different times and the naming nomenclature has changed somewhat from what you may be used to. They are some of the first among equals as far as their stature in the park is determined.

Being one of the big three predators in Yellowstone brings some pretty cool perks and these two are already discovering one of the biggest, which is all the attention they’ll get from now on. As superstars on the list of what the tourist come to see they are some of the privileged few and they take full advantage of it. Having just finished a prolonged session of goofing off in the cutest way they can come up with, they’re not above a bit of self-congratulation.

Mom, whom you’ve met before and know as Rosie the Queen of Mt. Washburn, is just out of sight behind a large tree and is keeping a watchful eye on the two. When they get completely out of hand she’ll appear, give one disgusted grunt and they’ll be up a tree so fast it’ll make their heads swim. Cubs, no matter  how cute, do not disobey Rosie.

Right now however, they got it made and they know it. They’re still little enough that school hasn’t started yet. Once that starts much of the goofiness will be toned down because it’s serious business being a bear, and there are lots of tough lessons ahead. Right now though they get to say “Hey Are we Cool or what”. And they are.