Pika cries “eep!”

 

Pikas live in talus, usually near the treeline.

The talus visited two days ago was near neither road nor trail. The pikas that lived there would likely be unfamiliar with humans, as even access from below was impeded by a bog.

However, a pika saw a human that day, and after consideration, it issued an alarm of “eep”. Consequently, all the pikas vanished into the talus. But, for how long?

A pika is a herbivore that is hunted by coyotes, bobcats, weasels, and raptors, none of which look or move like a lumbering human. Is this new interloper a predator? This pika was low on the talus, seemingly positioned to guard the approach. To assess the danger, the pika popped up at various places around the interloper. As the pika is prey, it has eyes on the sides of its head to give it a wide field of view. It is watching sideways. 

The pika took its time before adopting the route of caution. Here it is facing its colleagues on the upper portion of the talus and crying, “eep”. It and all other pikas then vanished among the rocks.

Nothing stirred for about twenty minutes, but then, assuming that danger had passed, a few pikas emerged and began foraging among the rocks for lichen. 

Some adventurous ones even left the talus to forage for greens on adjacent slopes. Despite their rather large ears, these pikas did not seem aware of the incessant camera clicks.

“Eep, I told you, eep! Do you want to end up being gawked at on someone’s blog? Shame on you!”

 

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Headless fish flying

 

Unexpectedly, many of the fish flying around our skies are headless.

That fish fly is courtesy of the good graces of ospreys. Yet, it is striking that many of these flying fish lack a head. After catching a fish, an osprey often will stop somewhere and devour the head (brains are tasty) before carrying the rest of it back to the nest.

A female Osprey packs a headless fish (a sucker).

 

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Caught mid-gronk

 

The Great Blue Heron is fairly visible — yet it is listed as locally vulnerable. It is almost always silent — yet it was photographed mid-gronk.

In one’s imagination, the raspy gronk of the heron is atavistic: the call of the pterodactyl.

The Great Blue Heron gronks as it flies past.

 

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Kisses

 

Marmots are playful and affectionate.

We have two species around the Lake: the smaller, Yellow-bellied Marmots, live in the valleys; the larger, Hoary Marmots, live high in the mountains.

These Hoary Marmots were seen at about 1600 metres elevation. The mating period is likely over, and the juveniles are not yet out, so these are probably merely friendly adults.

“Let’s fool around.”

“Shall we dance?”

“Why not just make out?”

Smack!

“And another one.” 

“Don’t mind me, I just like to watch.” 

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Sub-alpine delights

 

There are delights in the high country that are unknown, or uncommon, in the valleys. Items, below, were seen a few days ago at an elevation of about 1600 metres.

This is the Western Anemone (Pulsatilla occidentalis). Another term for the plant, the old man of the mountain, makes no sense until one sees what it looks like after it has gone to seed. The name, anenome, comes from the Greek and while it just means windflower, it translates literally as the daughter of the wind (from anemos for wind), apparently so named because the flowers open only when the wind blows.

The Olive-sided Flycatcher breeds in the high country where it is usually found perched in wildfire-damaged openings as it hunts for insects.

Does the chipmunk qualify for this group? I have seen it at the bottom of valleys, but the usual place I see one is above 1000 metres.

The Red-tailed Hawk is an altitudinal migrant. It is found in the valleys in the cold weather, but in the warm season it moves to the high country, a vast space where it is more difficult to find.

The high country can sometimes even provide a view of the trees around one’s home in the valley.

An even more interesting sub-alpine resident will appear in a forthcoming posting.

 

Posted in birds, mammals, wildflowers | 2 Comments

Heron’s low yield

 

Being a Great Blue Heron is hard work: Repeated attempts at fishing produced rather little.

Over a period of twenty minutes, a wading heron made 37 lightning thrusts into the water as it tried to capture various fish it had spotted.

On only one occasion did it come up with a fish, and it was tiny. It did catch two at once, but one was dropped before it could be swallowed. Behind, the heron, another small fish jumps. 

At the end, the heron fluffed out its feathers as if trying to shake off a bad experience.

It is time to try elsewhere.

 

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Chimeric hymenopteran

 

The insect that alighted on a leaf near me had the look of a chimera, a mythical beast assembled from the parts of other animals. It had a wasp’s head, a bee’s hairy body; and a butterfly’s clubbed antennae.

I was mystified.

It was a sawfly. 

Sawflies belong to Hymenoptera, the same order that contains ants, bees, and wasps. The common name, sawfly, comes from the saw-like ovipositor with which a female makes a slit in a plant to deposit eggs. The ensuing larvae then feed on the plant. Adults only live for about a week, so this sighting was serendipitous.

A Cimbicid Sawfly (Trichiosoma triangulum) has landed on a leaf in the forest and then lowered its abdomen to deposit eggs.

 

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Juvenile feeds itself

 

Robins in the spring follow a pattern.

Early on, the adults hunt for worms or moths, capture them, and then pause before taking their prize back to the nest to feed the chicks. Photographing an adult with such a bounty is relatively easy because the food is not consumed instantly, but held to be delivered to the chick.

When the (fledged) juvenile Robin starts hunting on its own, pictures of it with a prey become more difficult for the capture is swallowed instantly.

A few days ago, a male adult Robin paused on the lawn with a worm for its chick.

A juvenile Robin (speckled breast) hunts on its own. The captured ant is downed promptly.

 

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Bear colour

 

Black Bears are so called because all are apparently black on the east side of the continent where they were named. 

However around here, Black Bears come in a remarkable range of hues: black, chocolate, cinnamon, beige, cream, and white. These variations result from colour morphs, not from being subspecies. Indeed, various colours can be seen within one family (rather like hair colour in humans).

Below are two Black Bears, each of which was a first-of-the-season observation.

Karen Pidcock saw this handsome cinnamon bear strolling through her yard two days ago.

This black bear was seen munching on greens in the high country yesterday.

Karen Pidcock’s picture is used with permission.

 

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Dead Duck Day

 

A month ago, I posted a story, Mallard’s #metoo, about the gang rape of a mommy mallard. At the time, I did not relate my observations to a TED Talk, How a dead duck changed my life, I had watched some years earlier. But, the two events came together, today, on Dead Duck Day.

The Mallard has been characterized as the ubiqui-duck. Observing one does not come close to constituting an exciting sighting. Birders hardly find it worthy of much mention.

So, how did today, June 5th, come to be known as Dead Duck Day — a day which honours a mallard in Holland that died while being accosted? It is now a day when mallard fans gather at restaurants and feast on duck.

The story is told at Today I Found Out, but the circumstances prompting it turns out to be the proclivity towards rape by the male Mallard.

So, my posting, the TED talk, and the article about Dead Duck Day, all came together.

A scene from my posting about mallard rape.

 

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