Endangered Species Act listing for American Pika?

Pika are the spirit of the high country. Especially in the "ice cream cone" (high, rocky, icy) wilderness areas of Montana, they are the very essence of wilderness. Here's a pic of one from the Pintler:

The Center for Biological Diversity (CBD) calls the American pika (Ochotona princeps) a "canary in the coal mine" when it comes to global warming. Typically found on scree and talus slopes in alpine areas above treeline, this little (Guinea pig size) tail-less Lagomorph (member of the rabbit family) is often called the rock rabbit, cony, and mouse hare.

Anyone who has spent a little time hiking or backpacking in the Rockies knows the pika. They dart in and out of the boulders, cut grasses and forbs in the meadows and carry it back to their haypiles, and chirp out their alarm call when you come too close. If you sit down and remain quiet for 15 minutes or so, they will resume their business and come within a few feet of you.

The CBD has sued the US Fish & Wildlife Service to list the pika under the Endangered Species Act. This is a new legal approach, and would force the government to deal with the challenge of global warming. Global warming harms pika in several ways: (1) they are very temperature sensitive, and cannot survive at temperatures above 75 to 80 deg F; (2) on a warm day in the high country, they must retreat into their dens, and have less time to gather food; (3) the heavy snows of winter insulate them from harsh, cold temperatures; (4) the forbs and grasses they eat are very sensitive to hot, dry weather.

Over the past decade or so, many populations of pika have already winked out, and the survivors have moved higher and higher up the mountain slopes. Because pika live as island populations in high peaks areas, they also seem to have evolved into a large number of genetically distinct subspecies (map from CBD):


Sources:
Center for Biological Diversity press releases, http://www.biologicaldiversity.org/swcbd/press/american-pika-08-21-2007.html and http://www.biologicaldiversity.org/swcbd/search.html.
Denver Post article, http://www.denverpost.com/breakingnews/ci_7963405 .
Entry for American Pika on Wikipedia, http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/American_Pika .

West Goat Peak: Peak Bagging in the Pintler Wilderness

West Goat Peak is my very favorite regular summer trek. At about 10,800 feet, it's the tallest peak in the Pintler Wilderness and plainly visible due west of Butte. All year long, even on my worst days, I can look over to West Goat from my home in Walkerville or from the Montana Tech campus, recall sweet moments, and affirm all that makes life worth living.

This year, I was fortunate to make the hike with my Tech colleague Don Stierle. A chem prof, he also assists his Renaissance wife Andrea is pursuits such as finding cures for cancer from fungi that grow on yew trees or from microbes in Butte's infamous Berkeley Pit. With Don came Chooka The Dog, a 4-month old Golden Retriever:

Though the weather has been seasonal of late with 80 deg F days and 40 deg F nights at 6,000 feet elevation in Butte, we still opted for an early morning start. It's not a long (c. 8 miles) nor especially steep (c. 2500 foot elevation gain) hike, but it is nice to travel in the cool of the day. While stashing a few beers in the creek near the Fishtrap Creek trailhead for the ride home, I discovered this Pine Marten set constructed by some fur trapper:
Mornings are also active critter time, and we busted some elk from where the trail crosses a big wet meadow, and the dogs nosed into several spruce grouse (aka fool hens, for their habit of sitting in a tree just a few feet away). The grouse were feeding on grouse whortleberry and grasshoppers--both are numerous this year:We also came across a lot of "doodlebug" or antlion pits, including this exceptional colony:
If I were an ant living in this area, I'd want to be named Daniel. Even in the wilderness, there are some historical tracks of a working landscape, such as this irrigation ditch that moves water many miles from the headwater diversion:Our first day in, we rested through the heat of the afternoon and then hiked above treeline to Lost Lakes where Don spotted a group of 6 or 7 goats working their way along the ridge to the left of the lower lake, and we took in the fantastic view:
The area's height and location help in capturing a lot of snow. Even in the driest and hottest of summers, the big snow cornice along Saddle Ridge lasts all summer long, as does the glacier along the upper lake. Yes, it is a true glacier, and the only one in the Pintler, according to Don Nyquist, a National Weather Service observer, meteorologist, and Anaconda resident. Don says a key characteristic that makes this a glacier is the formation of firn--"the metamorphic layer of dense, granular snow between the accumulation area (new snow) and glacial land ice." Here's a photo of the upper lake and its glacier (West Goat Peak is on the far right of the snow cornice just below the ridge):The approach to West Goat Peak is very pleasant with very little scree (as Pintler peak bagging goes). Here's Don picking his way along the ridge, with the fantastic vertical goat cliffs on his right:
Chooka and RTD did a lot of goat- & pika-sniffing on the way up, and once on the summit they were content to rest. Here's the pup, with Warren Peak in the background (easily bagged from Edith Lake):The morning haze from our numerous local forest fires thickened throughout the day. With clear air, the distant views from W Goat are tremendous, but even the "close" view of the alpine meadow leading down to Lost Lakes is pretty sweet:Just as we finished supper that evening, a big thunderstorm swept through. This is why I prefer to camp down in the timber, and not on the barren ground around Lost Lakes. As RTD and I lay in the tent watching through the vestibule door as lightning flashed and crashed, I took a moment to appreciate the difference between Pink Mountain Heath (Phyllodoce empetriformis):
And Merten's Mountain Heather (Cassiope mertensiana):
These lovely evergreen species carpet much of the Pintler high country, along with other familiar species such as Alpine Gentians (Gentiana calycosa), the leaves of which make a tasty and mildly psychotropic tonic:
Though the flowers have faded, I also like the Elk Thistle (Cirsium foliosum):

Don and Andrea (or "DnA") are naturlists, too. For years, I have simply taken Sky Pilot (Polemonium viscosum) as another pretty alpine flower. Don demonstrated why it has the nickname "Skunkweed," and explained how he and Andrea once tried to extract the essential oil that gives it this odor:

From home today, I took a morning walk to Big Butte before spending a few hours laying rock on the new retaining wall in the backyard. The smoke was not too bad, and I could just make out East Goat Peak, Saddle Mountain, and West Goat Peak through the fire haze. Already, the good memory of West Goat Peak is getting me through another year.

Note: You will hear some folks refer to the "Anaconda-Pintler." This is sure way to mark yourself as one from "away." For locals, it's simply "The Pintler." Even this name mystifies me, as the area's namesake -- the rancher/homesteader Charles Pintler -- lived in the area just one winter, and moved because he and his family found the climate too harsh.

Dragging Elk and the Food Chain

It is a perverse joy, I suppose, but one reason I like hunting elk in remote areas far from roads is that you have to bust your ass to get the dead elk from the kill site to your truck. This can involve using a wheeled game cart along old logging roads, dragging elk or elk-on-sled through snow, and boning out meat to carry in a backpack.

This year, I killed my elk up a little valley along the Continental Divide from where I was parked--and easy 2-mile drag through a fairly open and gently sloping downhill valley. Better yet, there was 6 or 8 inches of new snow to ease the sled's travel. Best yet, my wife had found a dog sled harness at GoodWill and so my pal RolyTheDog was able to help.

On some of the downhills, RTD could move the 1/2 elk on her own. Good dog!

An elk kill is a big shot into the food chain. Of course, I always hope to retrieve my elk before it is found by coyotes, wolves, or bears that have not yet gone into hibernation. So far, I've been lucky in this respect. Moving the field dressed carcass well away from the kill site (entrails and other cast off parts) helps, as does covering the carcass with branches, pissing at several nearby spots to mark your turf, and hanging a neckerchief or other article of clothing nearby.

This year, I was surprised to find a weasel (ermine, when they are dressed in winter white) on my carcass. To be more exact, it was under the carcass. Initially I thought, "Oh great. The little bugger has chewed through the hide and eaten into the meat, and probably marked it to boot." (Weasels make a seriously bad odor when they mark.) But no, to my joy, the weasel seemed to have merely made a sleeping spot under the warm, well insulated hide. Tracks showed that it had been feeding on the rich fat surrounding some of the entrails. As I loaded the carcass onto my sled, the weasel watched intently, tunneling under the snow and poking its head up here and there. Too bad RTD scared it off. You can see the weasel in the pic if you look for the black tip of its tail and its two eyes.

As RTD and I approached the kill site, we also got a lesson in bird dominance order. The ravens had been on the gut pile, and they circled overhead and croaked their complaints at our approach. Immediately, though, the whiskey jacks (gray jays) moved in, feeding both on the gut pile and on the body cavity fat that I had hung in a tree for them. When I moved up to the gut pile to gather more fat to hang in the tree, the whiskey jacks moved away but a flock of chickadees came in to feed. They pecked away at the scraps even as I was hanging more in tree. Little vultures, them chicadee-dee-dee--dees.