While we barely dipped our toes into a traditional Rocky Mountain winter this year, the transition is upon us.  Spring is beginning in earnest, and the change is upon us.

Here in the foothills, some of the earliest signs have already been spotted. The first Pasque flowers have begun showing their demure blooms.  I am also hearing a few familiar birdsongs in my willows that denote the turning towards warmer days ahead.

After my first sighting of some locally sourced photos of the mountain bluebirds returning, I headed out the next day and found my own first pair.  Often returning to the same nesting territories every year, I’m sure this cerulean couple was quite familiar with the paparazzi outside their cozy nesting box.

In my morning scroll of the socials before I dove into writing this article, I saw a post with images of a pair of ospreys returned to their nest in the southern regions of the state. Some of you know well how much I enjoy these amazing hawks and their fishing. I still hold hopes another pair decides to settle into the popularly viewed platform along the county line.

Moose antlers are shed and the new sets are already beginning to poke their nubby little heads from their pedicles.  The elk are not too far behind, with some already having lost theirs, and others getting ready to be rid of last year’s remnants.

A little PSA to the newcomers to the area, this time of year also sees an increase in moose around town.  For the next 6-8 weeks we may see them frequently in town and around our homes. They are commonly found foraging for the new, tasty shoots on the willows and aspens, as well as the sweet non-native grasses of human lawns.

As I’ve mentioned before, the mammals in general are showing that familiar “bed-head” look.  Winter coats coming off unabashedly, and the new, sleek coats of summer are starting to grow in.

Other signs are a little more concerning.  As I write, I see we are expecting weekend temperatures to hit 90 degrees down below.  That kind of sign denotes a jump completely past spring and a dive directly into the heart of summer.

The little creek that runs through the yard is running at a very moderate level.  Snowpack is at a frighteningly low level.  Where these warmer temperatures would normally bring the exuberant voice of the laughing waters through town, it seems but a murmur.

The great prognosticator of weather and the seasons, The Farmers Almanac, is calling for warmer than average temperatures extending into early fall throughout the west.  Sadly, this is coupled with lower-than-average expected rainfall.  We know all too well the potential issues that arise with these conditions.

They have been known to be wrong.  Whether it’s thoughts, prayers, or whatever it is you might do to lean energy towards a positive goal, let’s all get out there and do our part. I vote for community rain dances and whatever else it might take to convince Mother Nature to send some loving moisture our way.

For now, I look forward to more signs of the seasons.  We are incredibly blessed to enjoy first-hand many of these transitions.  From wildlife to wildflowers, our little slice of paradise is putting on a beautiful show you don’t want to miss!

Originally published in The Mountain-Ear

The post Signs of the Seasons appeared first on James DeWalt Photography.

Emerging from winter is often symbolized by a scruffy and unkempt look due to being pent up in the cabin for months. So too does our wildlife carry a similar raggedy look as they transition from winter to summer coats. One species that tends to gain the most attention is our moose, sometimes seen with alarmingly whitened and patchy fur.

No, this is not a normal stage of their shed, nor is it mange or disease. It is also not a cause for a call to CPW to come check on the health and well-being of the animal. It is the result of a long winter of dealing with a nasty parasite known as the winter tick.

While these ticks can affect several different species of critters, moose tend to be the most common host. This is likely due to their size and ability to maintain a food source for the entire winter.

Many different types of ticks tend to utilize multiple hosts for each stage of their life cycle. Winter ticks differ in that they remain on the same host animal for their entire feeding existence.

Eggs begin hatching in the late summer and early fall, with larvae climbing vegetation in search of a passing host.  Once found, they will transition throughout winter to their nymph (mid-life) stage, and then into adulthood.  By early spring they maximize their feeding just before dropping off.  They will then return to the leaf litter and pine duff to lay their eggs for the next fall before dieing.

Infestations can number into the tens of thousands on a single moose. As we know well, a tick’s food is blood. The older they get, the more they consume, which can be extremely detrimental to the life of the moose. 

Massive blood loss is commonly followed by malnutrition and weight loss. At the same time the ticks are feeding the most in the late winter to prepare for egg laying, the moose’s forage has its lowest nutritional value.  This adds a much more difficult hurdle to recovery and can often spell the demise of younger animals.

Once the body runs out of fat stores, it turns to muscle mass for sustenance.  Calves with larger infestations can lose up to 30% of their body weight, and by spring can reach mortality levels of loss. Adults tend to fare better, with greater weight and muscle mass from which the ticks and body can feed on.

Another mortality factor is due to the incessant itchiness of it all. The irritation of the ticks causes the moose to scratch, sometimes incessantly.  This begins the process of hair loss, which can prove fatal in the winter.  By spring, the loss is such that they can rub down to bare skin, and white fur is the resulting broken and dead underlayer laid bare from endless scratching.

Thankfully, most adults seen at this stage will recover.  The ticks will soon fall off and they will finally be able to begin their recovery, usually returning to normal health. By early summer they are showing off their shiny new summer coat.

Here in Colorado, infestations are common, but thankfully nowhere near as detrimental to the overall population.  In New England, the infestations have caused mortality rates in calves to reach levels as high as 70-90%, decimating their numbers.  The sight of these white, semi-hairless and greatly emaciated creatures has born the name “Ghost Moose”.

If you see them here, have heart knowing they will likely be just fine and survive without much issue.  It is also comforting to know that these ticks do not carry disease, and they do not affect humans (or our pets) in any way.  Know that we can all safely share space (from a safe distance, of course) and show off our raggedy spring selves in all its glory!


Originally published in The Mountain-Ear

Source:
https://www.wildlife.nh.gov/sites/g/files/ehbemt746/files/documents/winter-ticks.pdf

The post Itching For Spring appeared first on James DeWalt Photography.

It has been said that at one time “the plains were black and appeared to be moving”.  This referred to a creature that today almost seems mythical in its history here in North America.  I am speaking of our national mammal, the American Bison.

It is theorized that bison arrived in North America via the Bering land bridge during the Pleistocene Era, somewhere between 330,000 and 130,000 years ago.  Currently ranked as the largest mammal in North America at up to 6 feet in height, over 10 feet in length and weighing over 2,000 lbs, it is said that the ancestors who crossed the land bridge were far larger. 

Fossil records show that what we now know as the American Bison first appeared around 5,000 years ago.  Their territory prior to European settlement ranged from middle Alaska all the way to the middle of Mexico, and from the Pacific to the Atlantic in numbers estimated between 30-60 million.  There are few places they didn’t live, even venturing above timberline in the mountains.

While they had already begun to dwindle prior to the 1800’s, it was the “great western expansion” and the building of the railroads that sealed the fate of these stunning animals.  Overhunting and indiscriminate killings brought the wild population to a staggeringly low number of an estimated 1,000.  Here in Colorado, there were assumed to be around 20 wild bison in 1889, and by the end of the century there were none. 

Currently there are still no truly wild herds native to the state.  Occasionally part of the Utah Book Cliffs herd wanders across state lines, but to date, only private livestock and a couple of conservation herds exist.  These herds are only “partially wild”, as while they are protected and not harvested, they live in vast enclosures.

On May 9^th, 2016 the National Bison Legacy Act was signed into law, designating them as the official national mammal.  It is estimated that their numbers are still only around 10,000, with slightly over half being part of the Yellowstone herd.  The Hayden and Lamar valleys in the park are the last places where bison have continuously lived since prehistoric times.

In November of 2025, the Colorado Parks and Wildlife Commission unanimously approved regulations regarding guidelines set out by the 2025 Protect Wild Bison Act (SB25-053).  As of January 1^st, 2026, bison now enjoy dual legal classifications of both livestock as well as wildlife.  This provides the wild animals with the same protection afforded to all big game animals in the state.

What this status holds in the way of the return of wild bison to the state remains unclear.  The immense changes of land use from the days when wild herds roamed free dramatically limits their potential.  The new regulations simply allow for a structure of management for the animals like any big game, were any herds to be brought to the state for re-introduction. 

For now, those protections cover those who wander across state lines.  Pawnee National Grasslands could be a viable reintroduction area at over 190,000 acres. That said, arranged as a sort of “checkerboard” interspersed with private and other state lands, it is hard to say how a wild population would be handled.

Currently one can visit any of the three conservancy herds in the state.  Zapata Ranch in the San Luis Valley as well as the Genessee Park Conservancy allow limited visits and observation opportunities. 

Rocky Mountain Arsenal National Wildlife Refuge near DIA offers the best year-round opportunities, with a maintained road passing through the enclosure.  However, due to the vast size of the land area, sightings can be hit-or-miss.  The most important regulation of the RMANWR enclosure is that you must always remain in your vehicle.  As we have learned from far too many not very smart individuals in recent years, it is not a good idea to try to pet the “fluffy cows”.

Originally published in The Mountain-Ear

The post North American Legend appeared first on James DeWalt Photography.

While winter activity in the wild might seem to hunker down for the season, life still goes on.  Animals still need to forage, sometimes nests and dens need repairs after big storms (especially if the “W” is involved, as we all know well), and existence itself needs to be perpetuated.  As we are currently “in the season”, this week’s article looks at our furry red fox neighbors and their winter mating season habits.

The fall ruts of our ruminants (the deer, sheep and goat families) tend to see the most “popularity” in terms of observation.  That said, many other animals take their pleasures throughout the next few months.  Shorter gestation periods combined with a need to maximize reproductive success dictates mating throughout the long mountain winter.

It bears noting that statistically, humans are no different. It has long been understood that winter, and its accompanying storms, produce a plethora of late-summer birthdays throughout temperate or colder regions of the earth.  The joke being, one’s got to have something to do to stave off that cabin fever or get through that power outage… While we tend to forget, we too are simply another animal on this planet. 

As foxes tend to inhabit places near or among humans, their mating activities may be more noticeable to us than other species.  This is not to say you should expect to see rampant explicit activity throughout your day-to-day living, but you might notice a slight uptick in sightings or other signs. 

A common tell is an increase in nightly calls to mates in the way of yips, screams and barks.  For those new to the area and unfamiliar with fox behavior, know that some of these calls are commonly mis-identified as the scream of a mountain lion.  While it can be an eerie sound in the dark, what you hear is nowhere near as chilling as the feline variant.  As one who has had many night-time experiences with both creatures, trust me, once you’ve experienced a cat screaming nearby you will forever know the difference.

 As foxes often don’t den unless expecting a litter, you may also notice them taking an interest in your shed or burrowing under your home.  While they do sometimes make their own dens, it is quite common for them to use another animal’s space.  This includes humans if a home or out-building has access to space under the structure.  It is also common for foxes to re-use a den from year to year if they deem it to be safe.

This habit of denning around humans may also find you observing more hunting activity near you.  Throughout winter, hunting tends to take place during the day, as prey (typically rodents) is far more likely to be inactive at night than during the warmer months. 

Please know that if you see this activity, understand that they are in no way “starving” and do not need any “help” in the way of feeding.  Foxes are incredibly adept at hunting in the snow.  Utilizing superb hearing, they can pinpoint prey under feet of snow with deadly accuracy.

In my 30 years here, it astounds me how many times I’ve had people casually tell me they feed their fox visitors.  Not only are you putting their survival at risk, but you are also inviting FAR more pests to your area.  Simply put, a fed fox will hunt less.  It is always ironic to hear some of these same folks complain about the voles in their yards and gardens…

If you happen to notice any of this activity near your own home, know that you might have some entertainment coming your way in a handful of months.  Fox kits are incredibly delightful to watch as they frolic about their dens.  I’ll also mention I am always happy to get invitations to photograph their fun from respectful distances (I also generally provide a free print or two if anything good comes from the sessions, *wink* *wink*).

For now, sleep well through the barks and yips.  Enjoy the free entertainment and pest control if they are hunting your rodents.  Give them space to live their lives and savor the gifts of nature we have the opportunity to observe in out little slice of paradise.

Originally published in The Mountain-Ear

The post Shackin’ Up In the Winter appeared first on James DeWalt Photography.

Light snow falls from the sky into the woodland clearing as the day’s remaining sun makes its way through the somber, gray clouds slowly drifting over the peaks above.  A frigid breeze gently blows across the treetops, causing the creak of lower trunks and branches rubbing together to create a rhythmic tune.  In the distance a lone woodpecker drums its cadence in search of a meal, and the cry of a gray jay makes for a lone lyric in the collective music of nature as it heads back to its nesting shelter for the night.

As this subtle symphony carries through the forest, the sound of a snapping twig breaks the mesmerizing enchantment, then another, and then once more.  A slow but steady crunch of snow is discerned, just barely audible through the music.  Not the heavy step of a booted foot, but the patient, methodical movement of beings who have intimately known this forest as home for time eternal.  One by one, a small band of bull elk enters the snow-blanketed glade and spreads out for a late afternoon meal that will carry them through the long night ahead.

Winter living in the mountains is no easy task, even for a creature seemingly well accustomed to it such as our majestic elk.  While herds often tend to migrate to lower elevations for the season, some prefer to keep to the higher country above the foothills.  This is more often the case for the small bachelor herds that break off from the main group after the fall rut.

Migrations tend to be spurned by a need for ample food supplies more than a general escape from the harsher climates higher up. If there is ample food available, there isn’t as much of a need to head down the mountain. 

When the smaller summer herds of females, babies and yearlings gather for the rut, they tend to remain in that larger group throughout the winter along with the herd bulls.  This larger grouping can sometimes hold numbers in the hundreds.  With a population of that size, mountain living becomes far less sustainable, ultimately forcing a move that can sometimes take them to the very base of the foothills and the far less snowy grasslands at the edge of the plains.

Bachelor herds typically consist of far lower numbers, usually around a dozen or so, but occasionally gathering as many as 20-30 or more bulls of varying age.  I’ve had the pleasure of spending time with some larger groups as they wintered around the ranch pastures on the outskirts of Estes Park.  Locally, I have only seen the smaller groupings, and those sightings tend to be rare.

Those that stay don’t tend to wander far in a given day.  Survival in the wild is reliant upon conservation of energy.  With winter food sources being scarce, long-distance travel would consume far too much of the energy necessary to stay alive.

These herds can often be found near larger mountain meadows in valleys or smaller glades in the higher slopes.  If the snow is not too deep, they will use their antlers to dig down to the grass below.  While not rich in nutrients like the lush growth of spring and summer, anything helps.  When grass is unreachable, they will turn to pine needles and twigs and even bark for sustenance.

The clearings of meadows and glades also provide a source of warmth during the daylight hours, a place to soak in whatever sunlight they may as they graze.  If conditions are good enough, they might even enjoy an afternoon bed for an hour or so. If snow is deep, they will remain close to the forest edge, as a trudge too far out into a larger meadow may consume too much energy.  They also tend to keep the forest close, retreating to the trees as the cover provides shelter from the oft brutal nightly winter winds.

When I spend time with these beautiful creatures any time of the year, I am always in humble awe at their fortitude, knowing the conditions they endure to live in this mountain kingdom.  I am often reminded of a quote about them from one of my favorite naturalist authors, Craig Childs, in his book The Animal Dialogues:

“The elk that you glimpse in the summer, those at the forest edge, are survivors of winter, only the strongest. You see one just before dusk that summer, standing at the perimeter of the meadow so it can step back to the forest and vanish. You can’t help imagining the still, frozen nights behind it, so cold that the slightest motion is monumental. I have found their bodies, half drifted over in snow, no sign of animal attack or injury. Just toppled over one night with ice working into their lungs. You wouldn’t want to stand outside for more than a few minutes in that kind of weather. If you lived through only one of those winters the way this elk has, you would write books about it. You would become a shaman. You would be forever changed. That elk from the winter stands there on the summer evening, watching from beside the forest. It keeps its story to itself.”

Originally published in The Mountain-Ear

The post Lords of Winter appeared first on James DeWalt Photography.

While we haven’t really felt it much outside of the “W”, winter has arrived here in the foothills.  Typically, summer and fall find me spending much of my photography time in the high country with the larger of our 4-legged’s.  As the seasons shift, so do my own migration patterns, and I head eastward in search of life on the wing.

Living in an area that sees such a long winter, common sense might allude to the notion that migrations move wildlife away to warmer climes.  When it comes to my specific winter quarry, the raptors, this is not always the case.  While we bid farewell to our Osprey, Swainson’s Hawks and others in autumn, winter sees the arrival of more bald eagles escaping harsher winters in the north, as well as the subject of this week’s article, the beautiful Ferruginous Hawks.

Ferruginous hawks are the largest hawk found in North America.  They come in at an average length of 24 inches with a wingspan of nearly 5 feet.  By comparison, Red Tailed hawks, the next closest in size and most common in North America, average about 18 inches in length with a wingspan of about 4 feet.

If one is attempting to identify them, the most striking differences from their red tailed cousins outside of size are coloration, leg feathers and cere (the fleshy area at the base of a bird’s beak) colors.  These beauties have a mottled brown top of their body, with a strikingly white underbody with few markings other than mottled brown on their legs and under the wings.  As to their leg feathers, they are the only hawk in North America other than Rough Legged’s to “wear pants”.  That is to say, their leg feathers reach all the way to their talons.  As to the cere, it is a brilliant yellow, similar to that of a Golden Eagle.

I mention coloring, but it should be noted that like many species of hawks, they tend to display a light and dark morph.  The darker morph ferruginous are just that, having a significantly darker full body coloring, and only white on the outer half of their wing bottoms.  Morphing occurs as an adaptation in the way of confusing prey.  While an animal might become accustomed to seeing a certain shape and color combination that identifies their predator, morphing allows the predator to better camouflage its presence.  This can certainly make identification a bit trickier for both the prey as well as human observers.

Ferrugs (as they are commonly called) prefer life on the prairie.  While Colorado is home to nesting pairs that live here year-round in the easternmost regions of the state, most tend to head north for the summer.  Like most hawks, their preferred diet is rodents along with snakes and occasionally smaller reptiles.  While they can take on something as large as a jackrabbit, much of their diet consists of ground squirrels and prairie dogs.

While these hawks do hunt from the air like most raptors, they also have been observed hunting on the ground.  Having found an active den, they will sometimes simply land and stand near an entrance out of sight from the inside and wait for their quarry to emerge.  Even more unique in their ground-hunting tactics, they have been known to gather in groups of 5-10 birds at a prairie dog colony.  A taken prey tends to cause a competitive feeding frenzy, with the birds hopping around and flapping their wings to display dominance.  This can sometimes attract more hawks, and occasionally even Golden and Bald Eagles, to the fracas.

This co-habitation with other hawks is also common in their roosting habits.  Unlike many raptors who tend to stay solitary or in pairs, ferrugs sometimes gather in flocks of as many as 100 hawks and have even been known to include Golden Eagles as well.

If you happen to find yourself making your way about the pasture-land and plains east of the mountains, keep your eyes peeled for these striking birds.  Like most other prairie raptors, their hunting from elevated positions tends to have them spotted on telephone poles and high-tension power line towers due to the scarcity of trees.  Their bright white bellies (if not a dark morph) will be an easy giveaway to enjoying the company of this grandly large and majestic hawk!

Sources:
https://www.allaboutbirds.org/guide/Ferruginous_Hawk/overview
https://ornithology.com/avian-color-morphs/ 

Originally published in The Mountain-Ear

The post Winter’s Winged Majesty appeared first on James DeWalt Photography.

Well, here we are once again, bidding farewell to one year and preparing to enter the next!  2025 has been another wild and wooly (and feathered) year in nature here in the mountains, and it’s been great to share some of my adventures, images and knowledge with you all!

We covered a lot of ground in this year’s articles, from our favorite ungulates (bighorn sheep, elk and moose) to all manner of birds and the science behind their behavior.   We also delved into philosophical ramblings about our stunning topography and geology as well as the big and small scientific realities of all life the higher one lives in our grand mountains.

We’ve also enjoyed some impressive displays of nature not covered in the articles.  This year we had another spectacular showing of the aurora borealis, which was even better than last year’s appearance.  We’ve also more recently been enduring some nature we’re not always happy with in the way of some VERY intense “W” events.  I am writing this very article a few days in advance to meet the publishing deadline with an expected shutdown of power due to said natural phenomenon.

In fact, the image accompanying this week’s article features one of the rewards that come from those ever-so-blustery days.  Sunsets painted on the stunning altocumulus standing lenticularis cloud walls that occasionally decorate our fall and winter skies are some of the grandest (and most psychedelic) displays we get to enjoy along the front range.  These clouds are formed specifically due to “W” events, and their wild beauty is quite a spectacular gift in exchange for the extreme intensity of the events themselves.  Alas, I wished for a bit more snow in the image, but nature has had different plans for this year’s winter so far.

Know that while I’ve gained a lot of knowledge over my years regarding nature and wildlife that I love to share in these articles, I am also often learning and sharing my own newly gained knowledge as well.  In any genre of photography, it is important to study one’s subject(s) to best know how to photograph them.  Using wildlife as an example, studying behavior provides the knowledge necessary to predict just how an animal will react in a given situation, thus being able to position oneself better and know the best moments to click that shutter.

When it comes to the articles, much of the information I convey has come from years of gathering that knowledge.  That said, when I am researching my article subjects, I often discover things that are completely new to me, often giving me cause to completely change direction in my writings.  As I’ve mentioned in a few of my articles, there is so very much of our natural world that we have yet to understand the “why’s and how’s” of.  The scientific knowledge discovered and theories being postulated provide not only stunning insight into potential answers to the mysteries, but also open doors to new questions and new mysteries, and so we travel down the road of learning and growing.

I say this so that you may know that I am just as much on the journey of learning and appreciating the knowledge, insights and inspirations our natural world provides as all of you are in reading about them.  Nature is a gift, the greatest gift, and we are incredibly blessed to call this beautiful mystery we call a planet our home. 

As we move into 2026, I look forward to not only learning more but also sharing those discoveries with you all.  I also urge you, as always, to get out there, enjoy our natural surroundings, and make discoveries of your own as much as you can.  Even be it simple, short walks in our neighborhoods, keeping eyes and ears open to the happenings of life outside the human realms can be not just rewarding in their insights, but also healing if needed.

There is a well-known Lakota proverb that states “When a man moves away from nature, his heart becomes hard.”  Society now more than ever could use a softening of the heart, and experiencing nature firsthand is a beautiful way to help make that happen.  I will accompany the last quote with another, “If you listen close at night, you will hear the creatures of the dark-the owls, the crickets, the night birds-and you will hear beautiful songs, songs you’ve never heard before.  Listen with your heart.  Never stop listening.” ~Henry Quick Bear, Lakota.

I hope you can walk into 2026 with even just a little more knowledge of our stunning home here in the Rocky Mountains. Even if your only gain from these articles is a story and a picture that brings a smile, I am heartened to know that nature has brought a little light, a little insight and sometimes a little humor to your heart.  Walk into the new year with that open heart (and mind) and never stop listening with it. 

See you all next year!

(note for those readers new to the area or not living in the area at all as I also post these to my website and am now also being published in Florida, the “W” I refer to is wind.  We locals just try not to say the actual word, thus invoking its fury…)

Originally published in The Mountain-Ear

The post A Year of Growing and Knowing appeared first on James DeWalt Photography.

Our first significant snowfall of the season is gently drifting down outside my window as I write.  The aroma of a hardy stew on the stove is wafting up from the kitchen and the music selections in my background edge their way towards holiday themes.  Winter is finally making its way to the area, and outside there is a notable call from the feeders that always seems to signify the seasonal transition for me, the familiar “Chicka-dee-dee-dee”!

Chickadees are not migratory birds, and we enjoy them year-round. That said, I have always felt like they tend to shift their territories when the traveling bird species arrive and thus seem less prevalent in the warmer months of the year.  When I lived on “Hummingbird Hill” years ago, winters found a great plethora of chickadees and other birds foraging the yard.  Once the hummingbirds arrived in larger numbers they tended to take over (being the quite bullies I wrote about earlier this summer).

Winter living for any animal can be quite harsh here in the mountains, but these little ones persevere quite hardily.  They typically spend their foraging in mixed flocks, often joining Juncos and Nuthatches for better protection from predation.  The chickadees are generally found performing “guard duty” as they tend to keep to the outer branches of trees while the nuthatches scurry about the trunks and the juncos often keep to the ground.  The familiar namesake call is the bird’s alarm and will vocalize more “Dee Dee Dee’s” in their song if a perceived threat is near.

While chickadees frequent feeders, only a small portion of their diet comes from our hand-outs.  Much of their food consists of insects, spiders and even carrion.  We have them to thank for putting in diligent work trying to control our pine beetles.  During outbreaks, they are quite happy fattening up on the caterpillars that will later turn into the infamously destructive invaders.  When an outbreak of lodgepole needle miners took place in Arizona, one bird alone was found to have 275 caterpillars in its stomach!

Not only do the birds eat while they forage, but these cunning creatures are also quite adept at stashing food for later eating.  At a feeder, the birds will crack open the hull to pick out the seed then flit off with their tasty morsel to a hiding spot to be buried until a later date. Stashing behavior is not uncommon for many animals, but the process chickadees utilize in finding the food later is quite astonishing.  Studies have shown that they can locate a stash within a centimeter’s distance of accuracy. 

One group of scientists performed a ground-breaking experiment placing extremely lightweight headgear on the birds to study brain activity as they foraged. When I initially came across this bit of information, I must admit I imagined a flock of little chickadees hopping about the forest floor all looking like Doc Brown in Back to the Future donning ridiculous little helmets with wires and electrodes protruding willy-nilly from their heads. 

Brain impulses detected by the headgear showed that when a seed was stashed, the birds created a sort of mental “barcode” of the exact spatial location in a specific small set of neurons of the hippocampus, the brain’s memory center.  When the birds returned to eat their stash, a similar wave of brain activity was seen in those same neurons.  When different seeds were found, it was noted that different sets of neurons fired the “memory” of that specific seed site.  This signified a completely different barcode being triggered, even if the stashes were in the same immediate area.

This astounding discovery showed that the birds were not only showing an incredible memory capacity in general but were also able to spatially separate the memories into individual packets of information.  This brought about the neural barcode concept. 

Using the retail barcodes metaphor, they are unique for not just a type of product, but also an individual iteration of said product.  They store vast amounts of information from price to item details to actual location in the store.  Without a barcode, finding a specific item would be akin to searching an aisle of a grocery store when all the brand options had no labels. 

This neural barcode created by the chickadees packs all of the data in one miniscule packet of memory data, separate from every other stashed seed memory.  Quite a shocking and amazing discovery!  It is assumed that other food-stashing birds may well have similar neural abilities, but this has not yet been proven.  It is further possible that mammals also take advantage of a similar neural process, but it would be difficult to detect if one didn’t know exactly when and where to look for it. 

Either way, this is yet another stunning example of not only how much we are learning but also have yet to learn from our natural world and the life that we share space with on our grand planet home.


Sources:
https://www.allaboutbirds.org/guide/Mountain_Chickadee/overview
https://www.scientificamerican.com/article/chickadees-use-brain-cell-barcodes-to-remember-where-they-stashed-their/

Originally published in The Mountain-Ear

The post Where Did I Put That Seed? appeared first on James DeWalt Photography.

A favorite fall nature adventure for me-spurned by the activity of their rut season-is seeking out the state animal, the Rocky Mountain Bighorn Sheep.  Every year I head out for walks into a few select canyons known for winter herd residency, with camera ready and ears peeled for the iconic and incredibly loud bang of a head-butt echoing off the granite walls.

Bighorn ancestors migrated across the Bering land bridge an estimated 100,000 years ago from the deserts of Eurasia.  These early arrivals were not what we see now, as the initial species evolved into two genetically distinct animals, the North American Thinhorns and Bighorns.  As Bighorns spread out in their vast new home of North America, they also evolved into three distinct sub-species, the Desert Bighorns, Sierra Nevada Bighorns (currently on the federal endangered list), and our very own Rocky Mountain Bighorns.

Opting to live in harsh and dangerous terrain as a means of survival from predation, they tend to spend much of their lives in the high country.  Like the mountain goats, they prefer steep cliffs and rocky terrain and have evolved to be incredibly adept and agile in navigating this extreme landscape.  Unlike the goats, having a short-haired coat requires the sheep to move to lower elevations as winter sets in, which provides for better chances of finding and spending time with them.

Along with greater chances of encounters, our Colorado sheep also enter their rut season in early to mid-November.  Most of the year the rams keep to themselves in small bachelor herds, and the ewes and yearlings stay in larger groups tending to the lambs.  The rut finds the herds rejoined for courtship rituals and mating, which in turn offers more subjects to photograph.

 Like the other wild ungulate species here in the mountains (deer, elk and moose), part of the ritual involves dominance displays between the males as they vie for the acceptance of a female.  Like the members of the deer family, this sometimes develops into a “battle” of sorts, resulting in the spectacular butting of heads.  Head-butting (like sparring among the deer family) is performed to establish and maintain dominance in the bachelor herds, and can take place at any time of year, but generally increases during the rut due to the competition for the right to mate.

Often, the head-butt is a singular action done as a quick reprimand to a subordinate by an elder, or brief spat between “equals” over food or personal space.  The ritual observed during the rut tends to be a bit more intricate.  Two rams will come together side-by-side in opposition (nose to butts), sniffing one another, often with the more dominant kicking the opponent in the side or genitals.  They will then walk apart as far as 15 feet or more, like two men in a pistol duel, and turn to face one another.  Simultaneously, they rear up on their hind legs and walk towards each other as they drop back to the ground, meeting in a bone-jarring clash of their massive horns.  After the hit, they stand staring at one another (or off into space) for a bit, seeming to need a moment to recover their wits, then part and repeat the ritual. 

While I have only had the opportunity to observe this personally a couple times, and those in poor light or at too great a distance for decent photos, it is a stunning display to witness.  In those experiences, the two rams were grazing a decent distance from one another, and from some unspoken trigger, stopped eating and squared off with their opponent.  After the hit, both returned to the same spots and resumed grazing, only to repeat the clash minutes later.  This ritual can last for a couple hits or stretch out for up to 45 minutes or more until one of the pair cedes his attempts to dominate.

General rut activity is quite similar to most male mammals’ behavior (including humans).  It involves lots of over-eager pursuit of unwilling females, sniffing of butts, and comical-appearing flehmen responses and sticking-out of tongues to test the air for the pheromones of a female in estrus.  The headbutt ritual, like the biggest clashes of elk fighting, is not extremely common. 

The rams featured in the image were spending some time assessing the herd, seeming to exchange opinions on possible willing females.  Unlike the elk, there is no “herd ram” keeping a harem of sorts.  Adult males intermingle freely with one another, each giving his best shot at a chance to woo a partner.  That said, it is ultimately always the female who chooses who she mates with.

If you have the opportunity to do so, I highly recommend heading to bighorn country for some amazing autumnal nature!  Remember, the sheep prefer steep terrain, so canyons will be your best bet.  Mid-afternoon often finds them low along waterways, drinking and grazing before returning to the treacherous canyon walls for safety before nightfall.  We are incredibly blessed to be able to enjoy such “National Geographic-esque” wildlife encounters at all, and with any luck, you may even get to enjoy the unforgettable and iconic clashes of these stunning animals!

Originally published in The Mountain-Ear

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I try to get in some nature when and where I can. A recent errand run below found me at a favorite wetland “go-to”, the Walden and Sawhill Ponds open space trails.  I was on my way out when I happened upon this juvenile (as noted by the dappled feather pattern of its neck) great blue heron standing at the edge of the reeds.  Not having seen much photo-worthy activity on my walk, I decided to try and capture a few quick portraits in the fading light before calling it a night.  What happened next was both impressive and quite comical to observe.

Great blue herons are predatory birds who live exclusively around water.  While their diet is generally pescatarian (fish eating), they also hunt all kinds of animals from snakes, reptiles and lizards to rodents and even other small birds.  They spend up to 90% of their waking hours patiently waiting for or stalking prey. While this youngster was seemingly providing an idyllic pose in evening light, it was intent on a mission to find some dinner before dark.

As I crouched on the bank of the pond taking photos and trying not to startle the bird and cause it to depart, it turned sharply from its pose and went into an alert state.  These birds have stunning eyesight capabilities, considered about 3 times more effectively detailed than humans.  Their eyes function like a telephoto lens allowing them to visually “zoom in” on a target and determine distance even through the distortions of water.  Dinner was lurking just below the surface, and this bird was on a mission.

This alert state of hunting often has them very slowly wading towards their prey, with head often cocked at an angle to aid them in avoiding light glare on the water’s surface.  While their moves are typically cautious and calculated, this bird wasn’t wasting any time (ah, the impatience of youth…).  It very quickly (in a relative way) made its way from its initial peaceful perch over to a better position near its quarry.  With only a very brief hesitation to calculate its attack, it seized the opportunity and plunged its head in for the kill.

While smaller prey might have herons utilizing a “catching” technique, larger animals require a more brutal approach in the way of using their bills to stab.  This allows them to more effectively disable their meal, as wings are no help when it comes to managing and maneuvering a meal for devouring.  Without the ability to “peck at” their food like a smaller-billed bird might do, they must swallow their prey whole, and a larger catch should ideally be mostly immobile. 

When the heron finally drew its head out of the water from its attacking plunge, I was astounded at its prize.  A carp that was larger than the bird’s head was apparently too distracted by its meal of pond vegetation and hadn’t noticed the rapid moves of its hunter.  As seen in the image, the stabbing technique was absolutely necessary (the end of the lower bill seen protruding from the fish’s head).

Typically, a meal will be devoured quite rapidly after a catch, but this youngster seemed to display both great pride at its catch, as well as a bit of confusion as to how it should proceed.  It spent the first few post-kill minutes strutting about the water as if showing off the prize to whomever might be watching.  A few times it dipped the fish back into the water and I chuckled at the thought that maybe the kid was trying to keep it alive so as to be able to show it off longer.

Eventually the heron carried the fresh-water “whale” over to a rocky shoal near the shore and placed it on the rocks.  It then proceeded to pace back and forth, coming at the fish from various angles, looking to be quite confused as to how it might undertake eating such a massive catch.  Often these birds will pick up and flip around their prey to position it head-first for ease of swallowing.  It appeared as though the flipping around part was far too big of an undertaking with the giant catch, and the poor bird just didn’t know how it would make that head-first swallow happen from the ground.

For the next 10 minutes or so the bird struggled to work out its culinary puzzle.  A few times the youngster picked the fish up and carried it back into the water, my thought being that it might be easier to gain the head if the fish was floating.  These attempts were to no avail, and after carrying the catch back to the shoal I wondered if it might just quit and go find another fish.  Not wanting him to give up, I quietly cheered the youth on with its attempts, laughing at the comical drama.

After nearly 20 minutes it finally committed. Sadly, I wasn’t provided with a view of the initial swallow as its back was turned to me in the rapidly fading light. It did turn before the final gulp, displaying a grotesquely engorged and carp-shaped neck.  I gave it a hardy huzzah, then clamored my way up to the trail and back to the car with many thanks and giggles at the performance.

The next day I had to return to the same area and, with a little bit more light left than the previous evening, decided to go back with hopes of more action.  After enjoying another heron’s successful hunts, I came upon my young friend out in the middle of the same pond where it had been victorious the night before.  It didn’t appear to be in any mood to hunt, and I wondered if it had even made any attempts to fly.  Herons consume 1-2 pounds of fish per day (20-40% of their own weight), and I imagine the previous evening’s meal was holding it over quite well.  Before continuing my walk, I gave it a brief greeting and short prayer for a quick recovery from its inevitable indigestion.

Originally published in The Mountain-Ear

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