Happy Saturday

Happy Saturday to all of you. We are having a restful one, relaxing on the deck watching our recording of the penultimate stage of the Tour de France. Our ShyBear has learned how to live the good life in the summertime, snoozing in the sunshine on the deck.

Of course, a big part of why a young dog like her can snooze away the day is that she got a good romp in the mountains this morning.

The flowers are still glorious here. Since I know that we have a long winter with none of these bright and happy colors, I can't help but share the joy of Mother Nature.

But the animals are already preparing for winter. Golden Mantled Ground Squirrels breed as soon as they wake up in May or so. Then, they start eating non-stop to prepare for their long winter's sleep. They usually hole up underground to hibernate starting in September. Imagine sleeping for 8-9 months of the year!

The bears are doing the same thing as the ground squirrels - eating, eating, and eating. I have some more fun footage of cubs and mothers that I'll share soon. Yesterday, I almost met a bear family up close and personal when I went to check a trail camera. True to their nature, they fled and had disappeared by the time I pulled out a camera.

In this photo, you can see how skinny the mother bear is. She has been nursing her cub for a long time without substantial food available. Now that the berries are ripening, she'll go wild, piling on the pounds as fast as possible.

Serious R wishes that he were allowed to eat as much as this bear!

Happy Saturday!

Winter transformation

In honor of R's second birthday, I pulled out an old video of him, as a pudgy little puppy, playing with his big sister K. I love seeing his obvious rambunctious spirit shining through so young and seeing K's enjoyment of her new little brother.


It's interesting that their play style, with K lying down stationary and R dancing around, has changed only a little over the almost two years that R has lived with us. Perhaps play styles are set by a dog's personality very early in life or a pair develops a style that becomes set in stone.

Yesterday afternoon, as promised, the crystal clear blue sky, sun, and easy-going warmth vanished. I could see only about 50 yards, through the thick freezing fog, during our afternoon hike. I could smell the elk herd, a sharp pungent scent, nearby but I couldn't see them.
Overnight, the wet air became colder, and snow draped our world. It's beautiful, in a stark and cold way.
I pulled out my snowbike, not because it was truly necessary in 2" of snow, but because I wanted to test it out before deep snow makes it indispensible. Here, both K and my Fatback sat on Hug Hill with no Divide behind them. The mountains went on vacation!
K and I toured the easier trails in our forest, as I resurrected my snow riding skills. One aspect to traveling only on the easier trails is that we almost inevitably run into the local dog pack who storm through sometime in the morning on a run. Here, K stood stock still at an intersection where we sometimes see them. I was trying to read her body language to figure out whether it was time to disappear onto a side trail. Alas, it turned out that she was obsessed with an Abert's Squirrel, not the dog pack, who hadn't yet arrived.
K romped in the snow with abandon. Our Labs find a fresh spark of energy whenever new snow falls! In contrast, a friend told me that her dog refuses to go out when it's cold or snowy. Can you imagine that? I can't.
But, finally, we were driven inside when the soft snow flurries turned into ice pellets which streaked across K's face in this photo. They pelted my face and eyes, infiltrated the vents on my helmet, and froze me.
Despite the thin snow layer, the Fatback performed flawlessly. Just like last year, I was surprised by how light this hefty-looking bike is. It seems nimble as I negotiate snow-covered rocks, especially considering that its tires are 4" wide!

Much to my surprise, I noticed a chipmunk (left) and Golden Mantled Ground Squirrel (right) still above ground when we returned from our ride. The chipmunk usually goes underground sometime around now so he wasn't as surprising as the squirrel. Most of the Golden Mantled Ground Squirrels entered hibernation a month ago but this iconoclast has resisted. Studies show that hibernation is risky business. A large proportion of Golden Mantled Ground Squirrels (40-70%) die during hibernation. One year, 'our' entire population of chipmunks perished while underground for the winter. Perhaps our artificially supplied sunflower seeds, dropped onto the snow by the birds, have prompted this squirrel and chipmunk to try a different strategy.
In any case, a bout of winter has taken hold, perhaps for good, but probably not. It's amazing to watch our native animals adapt to the cold, trying to survive. The elk have moved down from the high alpine meadows. The lions now have an entire herd of elk to help with the search for prey. The coyotes and foxes have grown thick and luxurious coats. And, I spend an extra few minutes donning many layers of warm clothes before stepping outside. What a transformation!

Shadowed by a feline?

This summer day dawned gray - mirroring my mood. Yesterday, I saw S around every corner and called our other dogs by his name. The grief process follows its own pace, with periods of almost smooth-sailing punctuated by nosedives. My mood had taken a nosedive today.

When I feel so sad, I try to do things that usually cheer me up. We went to our favorite viewpoint but found the mountains themselves looking sad with dim skies enshrouding the peaks.
Shortly later, K and I shared a densely forested hillside with a young deer who behaved very oddly. Below, he peeked at us, showing his small velvet-encased antlers.
Oddly, he didn't pronk rapidly away from us but seemed more concerned about something behind him. He moved in our direction, skirting us by descending into a shallow gully. K showed admirable restraint for how closely he passed us. I guess that something behind the deer was scarier than us.

Shortly later, I saw a tan animal moving through the pine forest about 50 yards downhill of us, using a buttery smooth gait, not a bouncy gait like a deer or elk. K responded ferociously, sprinting in his direction while snarling and barking. She returned to me as soon as I called but that event ended the peacefulness of our ride. She spent the rest of the ride obsessed with something that was downhill of the trail but not in sight. She repeatedly (and I do mean *repeatedly*) sprinted snarling in that direction. Each time, I called her and then asked her to heel because I was getting scared. Normally, she's very reliable in following my cues but whatever was downhill had her full attention and led her to bluff charge into the forest.

I have no solid evidence about what had K so worried. I have two shaky pieces of evidence - the tan animal that I saw gliding through the forest earlier and a single twig snap from downhill about 5-10 minutes later. I feared that a mountain lion was paralleling us hidden by the forest.

We came out into a wide open meadow, a place where I felt safe. So, we hung out, standing tall, in the green grass, scanning the meadow edges for a while. All was peaceful with birds singing and pretty mountain views.Unfortunately, we had to cover some of the same terrain on our way home. When we first re-entered the forest, K nearly knocked me off my bike as she streaked snarling toward a gully. After that furious display by K, we had a smooth ride home, although I scanned the forest much more than usual. It would be fair to say that the ride wasn't relaxing.

After dropping off K, I rode in the opposite direction from the 'scary zone' and finally relaxed into riding. I rode a ridge, enjoying the explosion of wildflowers. Despite my sad mood and the gloomy skies, I smiled at this scenery.Our water-soaked weather has encouraged mushrooms to pop up all over the forest floor. I'm astonished that a growing fungus has the strength to move dirt and rocks.I've never seen this type of mushroom over the many years that I've ridden and hiked in our forests. It stood about 6" tall and the cap was about 3" wide. I think that it's Caprinus comatus, an edible mushroom. But, I'd never trust my identification enough to actually eat it, especially since the book says that it can be confused with a poisonous cousin.I notice mushrooms, primarily because, as a young dog, K became obsessed with eating mushrooms. I became equally obsessed with spotting mushrooms before K did, to prevent her from eating them. Fortunately, as a mature Labrador, she now eats only one kind, and it's benign. Thank goodness that she's not in her mushroom-sampling phase now - more odd mushrooms litter the forest floor than ever before.

This living organism also pushed upward through the moist forest duff. I'm guessing that it's a fungus but I have no idea what kind. The taller one was about 4" tall and 1/2" in diameter. I'll watch it over the coming weeks for clues.When I arrived home, I surprised a baby Golden-mantled ground squirrel, who must have just recently ventured out of his den. He's about half the size of his mother but is eating on his own. I know that at least one of my readers would describe him as having "beady eyes" (NCMountainWoman) but I think that he's cute.By the end of my ride, the wonders of nature had distracted me from my internal journey, currently at a nadir, that's been underway since S died. Sometimes, a respite, in the form of a bike ride, is a good thing. Otherwise, the darkness can swallow you whole.

Here it comes!

Spring in the mountains has a fickle spirit, full of promise for basking in warm summer weather one day and back to inhospitable storms the next. Yesterday was spring-like with the warmth of the sun baking my face when I gazed upward. Robins sang from treetops, chickadees belted out their breeding calls, and woodpeckers drummed.Chipmunks, golden-mantled ground squirrels (seen poking his head out of his burrow below), Wyoming ground squirrels, and even marmots who live in boulder piles strewn on nearby meadows emerged from hibernation in the past few days. I haven't seen any more bear tracks since late March so I'm not sure that they've truly awakened yet. However, I'm not covering as much ground as I was in March because the frequent snowstorms have limited my access to the backcountry.Yesterday, we enjoyed our regular 'sunset' hike that is unintentionally becoming earlier than sunset - even though it's at the same clock time as a month ago. During our 'sunset' hike, R's escalating obsession with rodents completely distracted him at times. At one point, he stopped to excavate a rodent tunnel. His tunnel vision prevented him from noticing that we were leaving. We decided it was time to reinforce the lesson that it's his job to keep track of us when off-leash, and not vice-versa. So, four of us - two humans and two mature dogs - crested a hill and scampered behind a boulder to hide from him. I was holding onto the bells hanging from both mature dogs' collars to prevent them from ringing and revealing our hiding place. We would've looked ridiculous if another hiker had seen us!

Because we worry when R is out of sight, time seemed to slow and almost stop as we waited for him to notice our disappearance. After what felt like an eternity but was only a minute or two, he rocketed over the crest of the hill - a sleek, jet black, and muscular running machine. He passed our boulder without a hitch of hesitation. About 75 yards beyond us, he noticed that he wasn't on our scent trail and stopped. With his nose to the ground, he sprinted a few paces down one trail, realized that our scent trail wasn't there, and reversed himself. He frantically repeated the process for two other trail options.Having exhausted the trail choices, he stood stock still for a moment, appearing to weigh his options. Then, because he's savvy to this game that we played when he was a puppy, he scanned the boulder-strewn terrain around the trail and either spotted or smelled us. He zoomed to us, obviously relieved that he hadn't truly lost us.

We've played this game with all of our young dogs to teach them to stay close and watch where we go. Their attention wanders primarily during hiking - and not biking or running - because hiking is inherently much slower than a young dog's pace. We never play the game if they're actively chasing wildlife or when carnivores like coyotes might be around. Rather, we hide when our dogs are distracted and the situation seems safe. If they get truly confused, we make small noises (e.g., we toss pebbles) to prevent them from crazily sprinting the wrong way and getting lost.

Yesterday, the game seemed to rattle R - and that was our goal. Because he's in the throes of adolescent independence-testing, I suspect that we'll need to play it a few more times in the near future to keep his attention on us.

This morning barely dawned at all. As the darkness became visually penetrable, a thick and wet fog rolled over our forest. It's the forerunner of what's forecasted to be a whopper of a snowstorm, with accumulation being predicted in feet rather than inches. I have to admit, although we need to break our drought, I'm not eagerly anticipating having deep soft snow covering our trails again. Snow in the freezing cold of winter is great - it's fun for skiing and snowbiking. But, I'm tired of this slushy and melty spring stuff.

When K and I headed out on the trails, I realized that the birds had gone mute - no frenzy of the bird singing and calling greeted us like it has on recent mornings. I bet that they were focusing all of their energy on preparing for the threatening storm. Indeed, our bird feeders were covered in gorging birds. They perched on nearby branches waiting for spots to open on the feeders.

Just as we started our ride, the aerial attack commenced. It began as snow, which I don't mind having falling out of the sky while I ride, even if the visibility is nil. But, then it became snain (snow + freezing rain), which remained tolerable for a while, especially since I knew that the thirsty forest was drinking up the water.

As I started to chill, I first noticed the icicles on my bike helmet, hanging down from the brim that I use to protect my face from pelting rain, hail, or snow. Then, I noticed a layer of ice and ice drips forming on the aspen skeletons.Eventually, the freezing snain penetrated my layers, and I started coughing. Since I really don't need to exacerbate my recent illness, I headed home, cold but happy that I'd spent some time in the forest.

As I sit next to my warm crackling fire, I'm amazed by the small animals who can survive in hypothermia-inducing weather like this. I try to help some of them, the small ground-feeding birds like juncos have a hard time finding food during a snowstorm so I put seeds on our porch railings for them. The just-awakened chipmunks and golden-mantled ground squirrels look so skinny and easily chilled. I hope that they either find the seeds on the porch or snuggle back into their winter dens.

K seems impervious to the weather. Due to her malfunctioning thyroid gland, her fur is less oily and doesn't shed water as easily as a lab's fur normally does. However, she seemed to want to run all day regardless of the weather. I wish that I could be as tough as she is!

Summer in February

The sun shone so brightly that K couldn't keep her eyes open when we sat on an exposed peak.It feels like May. It reached 50 degrees up here at 8200'. I rode my mountain bike with no balaclava, no neck gaiter, and no chemical handwarmers. My tires rolled over some pure dirt trails. I wished for my Safire during one wickedly steep and rocky climb but, alas, I actually needed the studded tires on my Stumpjumper as I churned through some sunlight-bathed snowy areas. The snowy trail to the right traverses an old burn and has baby aspen trees sprouting all over the hillside. The dead trees stood like gnarled skeletons against the snow and sun while the aspens glowed with hope for the future. What a ride.

Today, I rode over the solid snow up to Hug Hill. I lingered on the top to hug K in the warm sun. The view to the west encompassed snowy mountains and the view to the east was dominated by crowded flat plains.
Fortunately, few people know how amazing it is to live in the mountains. Or, perhaps they don't want to live here, an unimaginable state of mind to me. Sure, driving up 3000' to get home can be nerve-wracking in the snow and ice. All of us mountain people have terrifying memories of sliding backward on black ice as we attempted to drive up the hill or sliding off the road while navigating hairpin turns on the steepest downhills. But, that's a small price to pay to live in nature. To have bobcats, coyotes, elk, and even mountain lions outside the door. To have Abert's squirrels peering in the windows like we people are the exotic animals in the zoo. To have only forest in sight. It's my dream life.As I drive home from the city below, I pass a sign that says 'Pavement Ends', and very shortly later, I see a beautiful panorama like the one above. At that point, I transition from city-mindset to mountain-mindset, a drastic change. In the city, I move faster, trying to efficiently 'get things done' and paying little attention to the concrete world around me. In the mountains, I slow down and notice the details of nature. If I wore a blood pressure cuff all day, I'm sure that the reading would drop precipitously when I crest the hill on my way home and see a panorama like the one above.

Today, I had a sweet and mellow mountain bike ride. I enjoyed K's company and then went out to explore on my own. A warm wind blew strongly out of the west. It made holding my line on the open ridges sketchy as the wind actually blew me sideways periodically. But, I didn't mind in the least. I just love the mountains. I rode through some dense pine forests and was shocked by the number of trees infected with pine beetle. In one stand that I passed, more than half the trees harbor beetles. It scares me to think of the brown wastelands that these hillsides might become in a few years. On the hopeful side, I noticed a Douglas Fir understory - and Pine Beetles don't attack Douglas Firs. Perhaps they'll shoot up very rapidly after the death of the pines.

The photo to the right shows a pitch tube on a Lodgepole Pine infected with beetles. When a beetle bores into the tree, the tree produces resin that pours out around the beetle's tunnel. If this defense works, you might see a dead beetle in the dried resin of the pitch tube. I've never seen that yet.

As I rode along the spine of a ridge, I thought of the cinnamon-colored mother bear and her two cubs who foraged there last summer. I imagined them curled up together sleeping through the winter somewhere nearby. Bears don't go into true hibernation. In true hibernation, the body becomes very cold. In contrast, bears maintain a body temperature only a bit lower than normal during winter denning. Consequently, they awaken easily during the winter and sometimes even leave the den. Although I watched for them, I didn't see any bears today despite the summer-like temperatures.

But, I did see another hibernator venturing out into the summer-like world. When I arrived home, I was shocked to see a Golden Mantled Ground Squirrel eating seeds under our bird feeder. These squirrels are champion hibernators who disappear at the end of September and don't reappear until late April. They sleep for more than half of the year! They literally go into suspended animation, and their bodies consume less than 10% of the calories per day than during summer. As 'true hibernators', they let their body temperature fall until it's only slightly warmer than the air surrounding them, and it usually takes them a long time to fully wake up. I've never before seen a Golden Mantled Ground Squirrel emerge during the winter. The little guy who was up and about today might not have stored enough fat to fuel him for a half year of hibernation. He was stuffing his cheeks with seeds and squirreling them away in his burrow. I kept thinking that he must be a restless sleeper - maybe he needs some Ambien.

After riding, I sat quietly with my three Labradors. All of them seemed content and happy. As the sunlight faded, they started to follow my every movement in anticipation of our sunset hike.