Wildlife

For the last 2 weeks I’ve made it out to Barrel Roll, a popular mountain biking and hiking trail in the Santa Clara Desert Reserve. The views are great, the rolling terrain is studded with barrel cactuses , the wildflowers are in bloom, the prickly pears are on the verge of flowering, and all of the scrub is fresh with verdant spring foliage.

The most exciting thing about each ride, however, is that each has yielded a venomous reptile. Last week it was a thick, angry rattlesnake, and this week it was a gila monster. I stopped for a father and son duo of riders coming down the opposite direction on the trail, and as we passed each other, the father said, “I just saw a really big lizard, and it’s in that crevice now.” I peered in there, and found the beady lizard in its redoubt.

Besides exotic venomous reptiles and the desert foliage, this trail also offers sweeping views of the area’s rugged terrain, a tableau in vivid reds, calming tan, and deep blue.

Over the next few weeks the prickly pears will be in full bloom, and the desert tortoises should be out. It’s a great time to go.

Barrel Roll Trail, along with several other great routes for cyclists and desert lovers, takes off from the Cove Wash Trailhead in the Santa Clara Desert Reserve. To get there, take the intersection of Bluff and Sunset in Saint George, follow it for about 6 miles to a spot just before the Jacob Hamblin home in Santa Clara. To the west there’s a small bridge over the Santa Clara River. Take this bridge and follow the dirt road for a couple of rough miles to the trailhead.

For most of my life I’ve camped and hiked in Utah, and never gave bears much thought. None of us bothered with about keeping a clean camp. A few years ago, on a trip to the Olympic Peninsula, the rangers harangued us straight on the ursine issue, and we toed the line. We put our chow in bags, clipped them to pulleys and hoisted them up on systems rigged up at each campsite. In California, on the trails to Mount Whitney, same thing. We got all kinds of “scared straight” talk about bears. They’ll rip your car open. They’ll sniff bar soap and if it’s in your car, rip it open. Of course, after all the stern warnings, we never saw any.

Back in Utah, we let our guard down again. Sure, on long treks I didn’t break open the sardine tins, not wanting to be a walking infomercial for convenient snacking products, and I didn’t take anything into the tent, but I didn’t do much else. At least I didn’t rub myself down with bacon grease before turning in for the night, but my diligence didn’t go much beyond that.

For the last 2 years here in Utah, either my number is up, or there are more bars out thar than there used to be. A couple of summers ago, my brother Tom went with some scouts to the Uintas and they came across a young bear in Painter Basin. Tom said they tried to throw the bear a scout to pacify it, but it just turned up its nose at the offering, wanting something with more meat. A bear that doesn’t want to mess with people is exactly the sort you want. And you don’t want them to figure out, like their California cousins have, that campers are meals on two feet, or that minivans have better eats inside than Corollas.

In Utah there have been a few nasty incidents over the years, including the 2009 attack in Desolation Canyon, when Louis Downard, 78, was attacked by an aggressive bear while sleeping in a cot in a remote campsite. Downer fils plugged the bear with a .45, and the bear didn’t get more than half a football field away before dropping dead. (Mr. Downard is doing all right now, stitched up and apparently no worse for the gnawing.) As a young man Downard had spent spent 17 years of his life at the Rock Creek Ranch, but now in his golden years, he discovered that something had changed.

Late last summer, Tom was riding his mountain bike on a trail near the Alpine Loop, and almost ran his fat tires across the back of an ursine in repose. The bear was not happy about almost getting tread marks up its back, and voiced its vigorous disapproval. Tom, for his part, could only manage to scream like Sponge Bob, at least for a few minutes. His riding buddy soon arrived at the scene and made the screaming a duet. The bear stomped off, turning its head back towards the human interlopers to voice his disapproval a few more times.

A few months later, on a day hike back from Mount Waas (Utah High Point #4, the highest in Grand County, and one of the La Sal’s 12,000-footers), Tom looked up at a talus slope and picked out a black shape moving about there. We all stood there and looked at the critter above us, and guessed that maybe it had been flipping rocks, looking for bugs or rodents underneath. I had never seen a bear in the wild before. It was a thrill.

The bear didn’t act menacing, but just sat there and looked at us, and we just stood there and looked back at it. My brother Bill got out his bear spray, just in case it decided to come down and rumble. Tom unholstered his 357 Magnum lead-based bear repellent dispenser, a recent acquisition since the previous encounter, as a precaution. There was no fracas, just a little mutual ogling between the quadruped and the bipeds. It was a great way to end a fine October day. I’d hate to be sleeping up there with a bag full of food in my tent though, and even if the grub is outside, I don’t want the bear to get it.

I decided then that if I ever camp in the backcountry in the La Sals, I’m going to take something to keep Señor Oso away from camp. What about the old Boy Scout idea of tying your chow bag up in a tree? Too much bother, and I think most of these improvisations won’t work anyway. Bears can climb trees and yank on cords.

So, what piece of gear will I pick up for the next trip? There’s a great article in Wired about bear gear, and the testers devised an excellent test: fill the products full of tasty grub and throw them in the bear enclosure at the local zoo. All four products they tested survived both attacks from bears, and for good measure, an enclosure full of rowdy orangutans. None of these critters, even the ones with opposable thumbs, could break into the chow.

The thing I think I want to add to my gear collection is the BearVault BV500 Food Container, shown below. 700 cubic inches makes for enough room for the chow. Bears can’t get it open, and tire of trying. It’s tough, and they can’t smash the contents while they’re trying. I think a con is that it will take up lots of room in the backpack, but it still seems the best choice.

Honorary Mention, for backpackers at least,  goes to the Ursack S29, a tough sack that critters can’t tear open. Sacks are nice because they’re easier to deal with inside the pack. The problem with it is that you have to stake it down or the bear will just take it away. If it is staked, the bear can still chomp on the bag and turn the contents into a blob of goo.

What about car camping? There’s something for that as well: the Yeti Tundra 45-quart cooler.

So, besides the usual bear safety rules, what’s the best extra thing to do? I’m going to add the BearVault to my gear checklist.

As far as anyone knows, there are no Canadian Lynxes (Lynx canadensis) in Utah, but in 2004, 2 cats wandered over from Colorado for a brief visit. Wildlife workers were able to track these felines because they had been introduced into Colorado in 1999, and still have radio collars.

The Salt Lake Tribune reports that for the next few months wildlife officials will be checking around the Uintas to see if they can find any more of these endangered felines. Teams on the ground will look for live Lynx or paw prints in the snow, and air crews, one assumes, will cover greater areas looking for wandering cats.

It’s hard to count Lynx, so population estimates might not be any more accurate than IPCC predictions. By one of these estimates, however, there are only a few hundred individuals in all of the contiguous 48 states. Lynx are listed as Threatened.

What’s the cost? Just $15,000 for the whole study.

Years ago, a group of us took a hike up Mount Elbert (14,433′, 4,402 m) in Colorado. Most of the hike was above timberline, and a member of the group told us that he kept seeing little furry creatures with tiny rabbit ears. By the time we got to the summit, we all got a chance to see some. Since then, over the years I’ve seen them in talus slopes all over. We found out later that they’re Pikas, also called “rock rabbits,” and their scientific name is Ochotona princeps. Years later, on Nevada’s Wheeler Peak (13,065′, 3,982 m) we ran into a botanist who showed us Acomastylis rossii, a low, touch plant with yellow flowers, and a member of the rose family. He told us that the Pikas stockpile the plant matter from these tough plants under the rocks, so they have something to eat up on those high peaks in the winter, under a layer of snow. He also did an excellent imitation of Pikas squeaking to defend their stockpile of alpine forage.

This botanist also told us that the prevailing sentiment about these plants — they’re delicate and hikers should never step on them — was not based in science. He said that A rossii is a resilient plant that pushed out new branches each year with vigor. They had to be this way to handle the Pika browsing.

Pikas are in the news this week. Part of their makeup is that these little rodents can’t handle the heat, and given the talk about climate change, the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service might add them to the Endangered Species List. They’re supposed to make their pronouncement tomorrow, February 5, 2010. Whatever your take on climate change might be, it seems strange to add an animal to the list because it might get hotter. Given how complex weather is, it’s hard to know what’s going to happen in the future. For the last decade, for example, global temperatures have remained stable. Some scientists argue that the heat is just going into the ocean, and will come back into the air with the next “El Niño” with a vengeance. The UN IPCC publishes estimates that have air temperatures rising a few degrees in the next century. Others think the heat is dissipating out to space. Global Warming is a serious, complex issue, and we should all be informed.

The question is, what science is there behind putting these furry guys on the list? Is this decision based on merits or something else? Also, what does it mean to have Pikas listed? There’s not much development above treeline, and most of this property is already in federal hands. What will be different next Monday if they get special protection?

The Utah DWR is always busy moving critters around, with the goal of boosting populations. Helicopters are always one part of the activity, and everyone has seen animals suspended from slings. This is the first time I’ve ever seen five ungulates dangling from a cable, however.

These Desert Bighorn Sheep (Ovis canadensis nelsonii) are being moved to Utah’s remote Desolation Canyon. This transfer took place in January 2009. I’m sure the experts say this is fine, but I’m sure the sheep don’t think this is a good time.

One big problem with Utah’s herds is a lung parasite that spreads from hobby herds of sheep . The same month that sheep were moved, volunteers went to the same area to monitor sheep health. We’ll see how Utah’s sheep do over the next few years.

In 1941, some people in Utah’s Department of Fish and Game decided the state needed a herd of wild bison in south central Utah, so they trucked 3 bulls and 15 cows from Yellowstone to the a ranch on the Dirty Devil River, in the San Rafael Desert. The next year they added 5 more bulls. About 20 years later the bison made their way to the Henry Mountains and have been there since. By 2007 the herd numbered 340. Today the Henry Mountain herd still has about 300 head, which makes it big enough to seed other areas.

Utah’s bison moving crew is at it again, but this time they’re working on building a herd in the Book Cliffs area. On January 15 and 16, state employees captured 40 bison from the Henry herd, to add to the other 50 head placed in the Book Cliffs area in 2008 (30 of those also came from the Henrys; the Ute Tribe of Utah donated 14, and 11 calves have been born there.) The new bison will join the small herd on January 20th. DWR officials hope to see the Book Cliffs herd grow to about 450 individuals.

Utah, one of the few states with free-roaming herds of wild bison, as three herds. The Henry herd, the new Book Cliffs group, and the herd on Antelope Island.

Unlike their domestic bovine cousins, bison aren’t easy to herd. To make it safer for workers, only cows, calves and male yearlings will be transported.  Even so, the specimens can weigh between 300 an 800 pounds, but adult males can weigh in at 2,000 pounds. It’s a labor-intensive operation, and must be expensive. To catch a single bison, a spotting crew flies over the area in an airplane, looking for the herd. When they find it, they call a capture crew, which flies out in a helicopter, singles out the individual to be transported, and drops a net onto it. The helicopter then drops down to let “muggers” out, who blindfold and hobble the animal.

The helicopter takes the animal to a nearby land crew, where it is loaded up in a sturdy horse trailer. The crew does the requisite health checks and takes blood samples at this time. Before going on to the Book Cliffs, the humpback critters have to go to Antelope Island for quarantine until they’re certified as healthy (the biggest threat is brucellosis, a bacterial infection that lowers birth rates and causes other problems).

If the bison are deemed healthy, they’ll go the Book Cliffs on January 25, 2010.

The Utah DWR is hosting its annual eagle-watching events on two different saturdays in February. Find out more here.

February 6

• Fountain Green Fish Hatchery, east of Nephi. There will be a sign about 1 mile east of the town of Fountain Green, on UT-132. At the hatchery, state employees will hand out area maps showing the best places in Sanpete valley to see the raptors.
• Rush Lake Ranch,  (UT-130), 12 miles north of
  Cedar City

February 13

• Salt Creek Waterfowl Management Area (Compton’s Knoll), near the Great Salt Lake.
• Farmington Bay.
• Split Mountain, on the Green River, north of Jensen.

Take your binoculars!

Before 1967 the consensus in Utah was that cougars (Puma concolor) were vermin to be killed on sight. An attitude adjustment came that year when the state legislature deemed the big cats to be protected wildlife. It took another 32 years before the state DWR came up with an explicit management plan that would encourage the growth of a healthy population — something wildlife lovers and hunters want — while protecting the interests of residents and ranchers. The first plan ran for 10 years and expired just last year.

The state has created a new plan that should be in effect until 2021. One lever the DWR can use to manage the population is the number of hunting permits they issue, and another control is to manage where the hunting can take place. More cougars mean fewer ungulates — bighorn sheep, mountain goats, deer — so in areas where those herds are too small, the DWR issues more permits. Another element of the plan is a system for dealing with nuisance cats that end up killing livestock or hanging out in suburban garages and window wells. In 2008-09 the state issued 323 permits. Since 1989 the state has made 8,604 permits available.

How many cats are there in the state? Under the direction of one Dr. Michael Wolfe, from Utah State, researchers extrapolate from data sets to come up with an estimate. The state has 92,696 square kilometers, or 35,790 square miles of suitable big cat habitat, with some attrition from urban growth, and within this area (see map) the researchers came up with 2,927 cougars.

As a hiker, your chance of coming across one of those 3,000 big cats is low, but you just might. In the last 2 decades that I’ve hiked in Utah, I’ve never seen one, but I have seen prints. Most hikers probably hope to see a cougar at a safe distance. What does the DWR tell us to do when we cross paths with these tawny felines? You can read their posting here, but here’s a summary:

1. Don’t run, because it will think the chase is on. Gather your children and don’t let them run
2. Try to look intimidating by looking bigger — raise your arms, open your jacket — and being loud
3. Prison rules: no eyeballing the big cats
4. Don’t turn your back on the cat
5. Cougars usually don’t bother groups
6. Keep your pets on a leash

There have been a few cougar attacks across the U.S. over the past decade, and a handful of fatal attacks in California, but a quick Web search didn’t reveal any deaths or attacks in Utah. I found one report of a couple visiting from New York State that had one come into their camp. They threw a shoe at it, and it took the shoe and fled.

Have fun on the backcountry trails, and maybe some day you’ll see a cougar at a safe distance.

Everyone loves wilderness encounters with some charismatic megafauna, and mountain goats have charisma in spades: muscular bodies covered with thick hair, blockish heads with serene jet-black eyes, and awe-inspiring agility. They’re cute.

In 1967 Utah’s erstwhile Fish and Game department released a herd of mountain goats (Oreamnos americanus) into Little Cottonwood Canyon. Although there was no history of mountain goats in the state, their reasoning was that with our high mountains, there should be some here. Since then, additional goats have been placed in the Wasatch, Uinta and Tushar Mountains. You can find an older plan for the animals here.

Where can you go to find these big charmers? The state now has 9 stable or growing herds in the following places:

• Lone Peak — 200, introduced in 1967
• Timpanogos — 100, 1981
• Tushar Mountains — 60, 1986
• Box Elder Peak — 40, 1967
• Uintas Bald Mountain — 30, 1987
• Uintas White Rocks — 25, 1988
• Provo Peak — 25, 1989
• Mount Olympus — 20, 1981
• Willard Peak — 6 were introduced in 1994, and in 2009 the herd had at least a dozen

The dated wildlife plan mentioned above suggests some additional releases on Mount Nebo, the La Sals, Naomi Peak in the Bear River Mountains, and Monroe Mountain in the Sevier Plateau, but it appears this idea never became a reality.

If you’d like to see goats, these 9 places are good candidates. If you don’t want to invest the several hours of exertion, you can catch them in the winter and spring on the west slopes of Lone Peak, at the mouth of Little Cotttonwood Canyon. There’s a viewing area there. They’re also easy to spot from the LDS Temple quarry on the other side of the highway. Take a pair of binoculars.

View Larger Map

This is the Willard Peak herd, enjoying a late summer evening on the east slope of Ben Lomond Peak. A sign at the base of Ben Lomond says that researchers from Utah State have been marking members of the herd with paint ball guns and red paint balls, and we saw some red splotches on the crags of Willard Peak. The goats are a little skittish, probably by nature, and also because they’ve learned that two-footed creatures shoot them with paint balls, but even so they came within about 100 yards of us.