It's That Time of Year

I’m thinking about eagles, because in this area January is when the cycle of mating and nesting begins. The rule of thumb is mating near Valentine’s Day, hatching by Easter, and fledging by Father’s Day. If you want to follow the process, you can watch on Xcel's cam, although last year the eaglets near Platteville, Colorado, apparently drowned in an extreme rainstorm. (The camera still follows a pair of nesting eagles in Iowa, and also has cams focused on other birds of prey—Kestrels, Great-horned Owls, Red-tailed Hawks, and Osprey.)

Last year, I watched a nest where two hatchlings became one, the second probably a victim of siblicide, in which the stronger hatchling devours the weaker. This can happen when food is inadequate. The eagles I watch live primarily on fish from the nearby Poudre River, rodents from the few remaining pastures, and waterfowl that swim in a nearby lake.

Despite the freak rainstorm that killed the hatchlings near Platteville, last summer was a drought year, and the land couldn’t support abundance. Flora withered by mid-April, and rumors abounded about the river running dry. The main pond in a nearby natural area lacked sufficient moisture to attract wading birds that had pecked at the mud or herons that had nested by the shore in previous years. Fields turned sere. The conditions led to fewer prey—not as many waterfowl, rodents, or fish. Local raptors competed for less food, a situation akin to going to the grocery store for bread, and seeing someone grab the last loaf.

My only consolation was that the warm weather that prompted trees to leaf out prematurely provided a sheltering canopy in the Cottonwood that protected the eagles from the ridiculous heat that broke or came close to breaking records on a daily basis.

Naturalist on the Run

My husband and I were talking about our interactions with wildlife while we run. Slowing down may allow a person to see more and experience nature more deeply, but we’ve witnessed some amazing things. Or, maybe running and seeing aren’t antithetical if you run as slowly as we do…

We’ve identified owls swooping through the dusk beginning their nocturnal hunting forays. One Great Horned Owl sat on a branch and watched us as we ran under its home tree. The bird could see more clearly than we in the crepuscular light, but we discerned its shadowy outline and slow, heavy wing beats.

We’ve heard Kingfishers scolding us and noticed them perching on branches overhanging the trickling river that runs through the Fort Collins natural area path where we run. Countless hawks have watched our progress along trails, and we have distinguished countless waterfowl species that make breaks from our run a “necessity.”

We’ve watched a fox leap over a snowdrift and pounce upon a rodent it had heard beneath the surface. We could see the mammal hanging from its mouth. A fox with a full stomach is the kind of ending I like, although I also can’t help but imagine childhood stories of happy mice wearing slippers, cozy in their burrow toasting bread for tea before a fireplace.

We’ve observed a solitary beaver swimming through a containment pond. Perhaps it was a bachelor reconnoitering a place to build a new community. Another day we saw him casually, sedately gnawing on a tree by the pond’s edge.

In mid-summer at the end of our final training run for a half-marathon, a skunk in the twilight scampered across our path. My first live skunk sighting, it was much smaller than I imagined a skunk would be, or maybe it was young.

I’ve enjoyed every one of these instances, but the mink we happened upon as it foraged in the creek beside the trail—although it quickly disappeared into the grasses as we rounded the bend—was one of my favorites.

Running is arduous, even sometimes painful, but exercising in Fort Collins Natural Areas provides rewards that, if not making running carefree, at least has allowed me to see what I might not have otherwise seen.

Snowbirds

This week my friend Jessie and I snowshoed in Rocky Mountain National Park. Snow was scarce on the ground, and the wind scoured some areas bare, repeatedly forcing us to take our snowshoes off. Being too lazy to take them off and put them on every time we approached a snowdrift, we postholed (and fell) trying to navigate short but deep snow patches. Snowshoes really do work, as Jessie said. We saw many rabbit tracks as well as scat from small carnivores, but none of the animals themselves. Droppings had frozen in clumps, and urine had melted the snow, turning it into ice.

We saw birds that looked like a cross between Dark-eyed Juncos and female Mountain Bluebirds—dark heads and a small amount of blue on the wing. I might not believe my own eyes, but Jessie also saw a flash of what she called teal. The birds fed close to the ground as Juncos do and behaved boldly, not flying away as we approached. Further, Mountain Bluebirds don’t have dark heads and shouldn’t be here at this time of year, but American Robins shouldn’t be in Fargo, North Dakota, either, and there they were in December when Jessie visited her parents.

Some of my best observations come from family and friends. The Canada Goose, bane of many a golfer who has to deal with their invasion of the greens and copious amounts of droppings, constitutes, in Colorado at least, a common pest to many people, including drivers waiting for them to amble across the road and walkers subject to hisses and even attacks. (Although on a lighter side, see The Onion’s satire.) I’m among those who find them and their leavings irritating. On my behalf, the geese do signify a loss of habitat for other creatures, preferring “developed” expanses of suburban greens that include lawns and parks with open vistas, by definition areas that predators do not favor.

My husband, Greg, though, has described characteristics that may make Canada Geese more endearing to me, or at least more interesting. First, he noticed their moustaches—small bristles along their beaks. He has also noticed behavioral adaptations that can be seen in Canada Geese precisely because they are so big and so ubiquitous. Less visible birds that we don’t have as many chances to view share similar behaviors. I’m referring to the fact that the geese sit instead of standing while they graze when the temperature falls below about fifteen degrees. This makes sense in light of Dr. Roger Lederer’s assertion that birds reduce exposed surface area by sitting, which allows them to reduce body heat loss by 20-50%. When Canada Geese stand up, it’s a good day for those of us who like warmer weather!

Pirate Talk

My friend’s wire fox terrier Pirate is adorable as well as a fierce hunter of scat. On our hike through a snowy, coniferous forest in November, he sniffed out two individual piles that my terrier bypassed (although to her credit, she did scent elk that had recently passed by). I think this is red fox (Vulpes vulpes) scat. My clues are these: most importantly, red foxes exist in the subalpine zone (9,000 to 11,000 feet) where we were hiking. Appearance and size provided me with two other indications. Twisty and tapered, the scat measured about 2 inches. Finally, red foxes defecate in prominent places like the tops of rocks where Pirate located these examples. If the scat were fresh, a distinctive musky smell would have given me more information.

Walla Walla in Winter

This week I was in somebody else’s backyard, visiting my in-laws in eastern Washington. All I have to write is fog, fog, fog. I didn’t even see an inversion layer, in which fog dissipates as you drive into the sunny Blue Mountains seeking relief from the valley’s overcast sky.

I saw only a small flock (also called a flight) of pigeons, one American Crow, two Mallards, one squirrel, and a handful of songbirds. I expected more given Walla Walla’s rural location. Of course even in this small place habitat is disappearing as city councils allow housing developments and big box stores to build over wetlands.

But I’ve just remembered to add a skein of flying Canada Geese. Another skein on the country club’s golf course. Tack on a Blue Heron standing in a flock of sheep and perhaps scanning for a gopher. Waiting to board my flight, I saw a mature Bald Eagle flying slowly over the terminal, a sight that always excites me just as the experience thrilled other passengers who saw the raptor. Finally, I recall the massive number of ducks that I had no hope of identifying as my father-in-law barreled past a large lake adjoining the Columbia River. This is just a list, though, and in retrospect, I wonder what I missed because I didn’t see past the fog.