Mountain Goats are found only in the mountains of western North America and the majority of them are in British Columbia.
With such a large and unusual creature in our midst, an occasional visit is in order. Indeed, the sighting of a Pygmy Owl was actually just happenstance on the jaunt to find Mountain Goats.
The fact that Mountain Goats are easiest to spot on a bare mountain face soon became evident: after only a few pictures, they all vanished from view in a snow storm.
Although the purpose of the morning’s jaunt was to look for something else, I casually commented that we should keep an eye out for Pygmy Owls—it was that time of year.
The odd thing was that I neither expected to see one—a jaunt planned around such an illusive target would surely be doomed—nor did I understand why this was the best season to hope for a sighting. Mine was a throwaway remark.
Indeed, as I drove down the road, I didn’t even suspect that the tiny ball of feathers on an overhead wire was the owl I sought. It was merely something that merited a second look.
The Northern Pygmy Owl is a permanent resident and active during the day, yet sightings of it vary greatly though the year: occasional in winter, rare otherwise. The explanation is that when nesting, this owl prefers altitudes above a thousand metres. Although humans enter its domain, low numbers and secretive behaviour make it difficult to spot. It is not until the snows come and the owl descends to the valleys that chance observations increase. With luck, I might see another over the ensuing snowy months.
A tiny ball of feathers was perched on a wire crossing a highway. Although an effective predator of rodents and other birds, the Pygmy Owl is only about the size of one’s fist.
We circled back and found that the feathers belonged to a Pygmy Owl, now hunting beside the road.
This owl is not only a predator, it is also prey. Two large eye spots on the back of its head offer a striking defence: it seems always on guard.
The owl constantly scanned the ground for delectables. At one point it dived, but failed to get breakfast.
The Pygmy Owl treated the camera as neither prey nor predator. This allowed portraiture.
Many birds take advantage of human structures and activities. This is one I hadn’t noticed before: diving waterfowl that seem to appreciate a cable ferry.
A cable ferry is an interesting watercraft: Travelling back and forth along the same track, it regularly disturbs both the water and sandy bottom as it approaches a landing. From the point of view of some diving waterfowl, it is probably the disturbed prey that are of interest. At least this seems to be the reason that I see such birds playing chicken with the Harrop cable ferry.
The birds hunt in the shallow water near the landings, often directly in the path of the ferry. The activity probably isn’t as risky for them as it would be for a dabbling bird such as a mallard. These birds merely dive just before impact. This tactic seems to work because a cable ferry has no prop to chew them up.
A mirage of the Harrop cable ferry sets the stage. The ferry’s image is sailing along through the air, well above the water, and while not very functional, certainly poses scant threat to swimming birds.
A Horned Grebe was hunting along the shore in the path of the ferry. Just as the ferry closed in, the grebe dove.
A Bufflehead Duck was also hunting in the shallow water disturbed by the ferry. Here is its last minute escape.
The Barrow’s Goldeneye is a duck of the Western Cordillera. Around the Lake, it is rarely seen in the summer but appears in the fall. This is also a time when the male moults into a striking black-and-white plumage with its distinctive white crescent on the cheek.
When some Barrow’s Goldeneye Ducks appeared, I scurried to record them.
Inclusion of the surrounding steam fog in the scene revealed a delicious recipe for steamed duck.
Elks like to wallow in mud. Why they do this seems to change with the season. In the summer, a coating of mud probably cools the animal and protects it from insects. But, why should an elk wallow in the fall? The answer is given by a Washington State website:
Probably the most easily identified elk sign is the mud wallow scented with urine and droppings. Bull elk roll in wallows to cover their bodies with scent, creating bathtub-size depressions with low walls of displaced mud ringing their perimeters. Receptive cow elk, drawn by the odor, will also roll and urinate in the wallow, indicating their willingness to mate. Elk that use these wallows may become so foul smelling that, when downwind, humans can easily detect their presence.
Doug Thorburn mounted a motion-activated infrared camera beside a local elk wallow and then waited. Finally, a bull elk visited and produced the sequence, below.
A bull elk with seven tines on each antler (an imperial bull) triggers the camera.
Turning to enter the wallow, he calls, a frequent activity during rutting season.
It seems that just before entering the wallow, the elk bumped the camera, which is now tipped.
The time has come for a good soak in that lovely aromatic mud.
His underside now coated with…er…eau de toilette, he departs on a date. We wish him every success.
Doug Thorburn’s pictures are used with permission.
Yesterday dawned clear and cold. The rain had stopped; the stratus was gone. The day offered many delights, a few of which are below.
Birds improve their insulation by fluffing feathers. This heron has fluffed the feathers on its breast and belly.
Cold air over the (warmer) water causes vertical temperature gradients that result in both mirages and convection. The strange structure near the centre of the picture is a portion of the cable ferry at Harrop. Most of the hull has vanished; the bridge is seen right way up and inverted; the whole thing appears to be floating above the surface of the water. Turbulence from the convection has further garbled its image.
As the Sun sets in the west, an eastern ridge provides a backdrop for both shadow and reddened sunlight.
The backdrop for the transition from shadow to reddened sunlight is now the atmosphere, itself. The dark lower region is the Earth’s shadow. The pinkish upper region is called the anti-twilight arch. Although Sphinx Mountain is no longer in direct sunlight, it nevertheless also appears coloured. This is the alpenglow: the snow is illuminated by the pinkish skylight.
A heron visited in the rain and pre-dawn light. It sat for an hour without catching anything and then moved on.
It isn’t much fun to go birding in the rain, and alas, there has been considerable rain over the last week. So unlike the migrants of the last posting, these not-so-special birds were shot during fleeting moments between showers. They are presented in the order taken.
Bufflehead Ducks are back on the Lake for the winter. The female is on the lower left and the male is on the right.
It is striking how many Dippers can be seen on local creeks, and even along the lakeshore, at this time of year. This one is peering under the water for comestibles.
Mallards abound year round. Judging by the lollygagging, their lives must not be all that difficult.
Another omnipresent bird is the Song Sparrow. This one is feasting on Rose Hips.
Finally, one normally identifies a bird by its shape and plumage. Alas, that would prove difficult for this diving Dipper.
Birds that breed to the north and winter to the south, migrate past the Lake at this time of year. Tuesday, I was watching two swans feasting in the shallows off of Kokanee Creek Park, when a flock of Snow Buntings landed between the swans and me. Neither species will be here for long. And then there were the mergansers.
As we get visits from both Tundra and Trumpeter Swans, it is always a game to try to figure out the species of one seen in the distance. This one looks like a Trumpeter to me.
Although, its partner (left) looks more like a Tundra. So, I just don’t know.
[Correspondents unanimously say that these are Trumpeter Swans.]
While I was watching the swans, a large flock of small whitish birds flew in.
It was a flock of over four-dozen Snow Buntings that landed to feed on the beach during migration.
Having exhausted one spot, the flock would abruptly take off and fly along the beach to another.
In the midst of all of this, a flock of Common Mergansers flew by. While many mergansers are permanent residents, these were probably migrants passing through from farther north.
An unusual songbird, the dipper is a bird of the western cordillera that tirelessly forages in the cold waters of the fast moving creeks that flow into the Lake. It eats aquatic insect larvae, fish eggs, and even fry. I see it peer into the stream; I see it dive and walk along the bottom; I see it surface again. Yet, I only rarely spot it catch anything. The bird consumes its captured food so quickly, that I usually miss the action.
Dippers are a favourite topic of this blog. Some of the previous postings are:
• Dipper dipping close views of a dipper dipping;
• Dipper comestible dipper about to consume an unfertilized Kokanee egg;
• Iconoclastic dipper dipper capturing a small fish in the Lake;
• Best bird last dipper with a (?) larva;
• Dipper’s rainbow dipper trying to eat the fry of a Rainbow Trout;
• Dipper’s nest dipper’s nest (on the same creek).
Today, I watched a dipper find and consume the egg of a Kokanee salmon. First it was seen scanning the bottom of the creek for anything edible. 
It dove and surfaced with a small sphere in its bill: an egg. The transparency of the sphere suggests that this is the fertilized egg of a Kokanee. If it had been unfertilized, it would have appeared milky white.
