Snow Stories

When a friend recently moved to Caldwell, west of Boise, his friendly new neighbors told him how they used to cross-country ski from their neighborhood to the downtown. Apparently, skiing downtown used to be something that Caldwell residents could count on in the winter.

Upon hearing this, did my friend run out and buy cross-country skis in anticipation? Is the Caldwell Chamber of Commerce promoting an annual ski derby through the downtown?

No. Of course not.

If you know Caldwell, you know significant snowfall isn’t likely anytime soon. Intuitively, you know things have changed.

Through history, stories have been humanity’s way of mapping the world. Our stories are already reflecting our earth’s changing climate—even if we don’t realize it yet.

It’s true that urbanization—as has happened to Caldwell—warms the area and influences snowfall. It’s also true that anecdotal evidence—a cold snap here, a sweltering summer there—is notoriously inaccurate, particularly when dealing with a large-scale phenomenon like the changing climate.

That’s why climate science and research remains so critical in determining what is actually happening—and what individuals and governments can change to protect our quality of life.

But decades and generations from now, it will be the stories that stick in memories. “I remember when snow used to fall here every winter” is not just nostalgia, it’s our way of mapping the way the world was.

With the changing climate, some of the stories will be of southern animals and plants moving north. What new species will future generations take for granted as Idaho residents that today are absent?

Others will be of animals disappearing. If you have read about climate change, you know that polar bears aren’t faring well, and could disappear within decades. But it’s not only Arctic wildlife. Around the West, the pika—a cute little alpine mammal that lives on mountain peaks—is in serious decline. Research suggests that as the climate warms, the pikas are forced higher up peaks—and away from other pikas. On these high mountain “islands” pikas are vulnerable and isolated, and thus their population is plummeting.

What other stories will we tell about the climate? Will Boise residents someday recall the time when you could ski on Bogus Basin? Will Baltimore orioles be absent from Baltimore? Will future generations speak of polar bears as we speak of mammoths—a fanciful creature gone from the landscape? Will our iconic cities be the stuff of legend--because they are all underwater?

These stories are yet to be told. In our actions, in our choices, we can help shape the answers. Hopefully, the stories already being told about the changing climate can influence new people to act on behalf of the economy, wildlife, our quality of life--and the world we leave to future generations. – Matt Miller

Big Trout

Big trout have been in the news a lot lately. Near the end of 2007, 16-year-old Jake Cecil landed an estimated 23-pound rainbow trout in the Boise River. If Jake hadn't gutted the fish, it would likely have been the new state record. Earlier in the year, a new Idaho state brown trout record (above), was set when Wes Case caught this 37-inch, 27.3 pound fish in the Ashton Reservoir of eastern Idaho.

The brown trout is not native to the United States. But this species was so popular among sport anglers in the U.K. and continental Europe, they couldn't resist stocking trout far and wide. That's why, today, you can catch a brown trout in Argentina, New Zealand, India, Kenya and many other places around the globe. This has undoubtedly impacted native fish, and today seems ecologically irresponsible. But the brown trout is here to stay.

And some of these trout grow huge, especially in reservoirs. Mr. Case's new record had two hatchery rainbow trout ten to twelve inches in length. Obviously such new food sources allow the long-lived brown to put on substantial weight.

But what about in an unstocked stream environment? How big can brown trout get there?

Typically, trout do not grow as large in streams. But in a stream with plenty of insects and trout to eat, browns can grow quite large indeed.

Silver Creek is not stocked, but is biologically highly productive. One has only to experience one of the stunning mayfly hatches--and the trout feeding on those insects--to see just how conducive this stream is to trout. The trout count remains one of the highest in the country.

With all this food, the trout can grow very large--and become very hard to catch. Anyone who has fished the preserve's Sullivan's Pond--also known as the "shark tank"--has seen the monstrous fish swimming by, seemingly oblivious to any fly tossed at them.

But every year, anglers do land the big ones. While no official records have been taken, the largest we've seen is this one:

Former Silver Creek intern Morgan Buchert caught this 33-inch fish in 2006. While it's known the trout was caught at night, exactly where and how have remained Morgan's secret. There may very well be larger fish in Silver Creek.

But for most of us, these huge ones are always just out of reach. You never know, though. Every time you fish Silver Creek, there is that chance for a truly big one. The fish are there. You just need to figure out how to catch one. You have five months until opening day to dream up that perfect pattern and that perfect strategy for this year. -- Matt Miller

Eagle Nation

Eagles everywhere: Iowa may be known for its cornfields, but during my holiday travels to my in-laws' farm in the northeast corner of the state, it was the bald eagles that held my interest. Literally every excursion outside yielded multiple sightings of this beautiful bird.

Just a couple of decades ago, seeing an eagle anywhere was an exciting event.
By the 1960's, the population in the contiguous United States was down to 412 breeding pairs. The recovery of the bald eagle population is yet another conservation success story, another reason for hope when faced with today's daunting environmental challenges.

The banning of DDT, stronger penalties for illegal shooting and habitat protection all benefited our national bird's recovery.

And what a beautiful bird a mature bald eagle is. It's well known that Ben Franklin opposed the eagle as the national bird--suggesting instead the wild turkey--allegedly due to the eagle's carrion eating ways. In reality, Franklin probably stated this in jest.

But it is true that the eagle is not picky in what it eats. In Iowa, for instance, it dines on white-tailed deer gut piles and road kills--inevitable with the state's absolutely exploding deer population. It will also dine on dead hogs left in the field from factory farms. For some reason, scavenging has always seemed to humans as being somehow less-than-noble, but conservationists recognize the vital role nature's clean-up crews play in any ecosystem.

Winter is a great time to see eagles in Idaho, too. Look along any open waterways, from the Boise Greenbelt to the South Fork of the Snake to Silver Creek. No matter how many times you've seen one, an eagle soaring overhead remains one of nature's most striking sights. --Matt Miller

Watch The Nature Conservancy's interactive slide show on bald eagles.

Events at Silver Creek thru the Winter!!!

Silver Creek is wonderful in the winter!!

Birding on Snowshoes- hosted by the ERC
(please call 726-4333 to sign up)
Saturday January 19, Saturday February 23, 2008 10 am- 2 pm
An adventure viewing birds in the Silver Creek area. Carpools meet at the Hailey Park and Ride at the corner of River Street and Bullion st.
Free to ERC members
Donation to ERC requested ($15) for non- members and ($25) for families of 3 or more.

Winter Walks/ Cross country ski tours/ Snowshoe walks
Every Saturday through January and February, join the Preserve manager, Dayna Gross for snowshoeing, cross country skiing or walking around the Preserve (snow dependent). Please call ahead to find out what equipment you will need (or bring it all!!).

10:00 a.m.- 11:30 a.m
Winter is a magical place at Silver Creek. Come see the beautiful scenery and wildlife. Free. Please call ahead to register, 788-7910.

Coming of Spring Walks
Saturdays thru March: 3/1, 3/8, 3/15, 3/22, 3/29 10 am- 12 pm
Discover the coming of spring with nature walks around the Silver Creek Preserve. Watch spring unfold by noticing changes in the abundant flora and fauna. Free.

10:00 a.m.-11:30 a.m.

Please call ahead to register 788-7910.

Silver Creek Visitation in 2007

Visitor on a nature walk. Looking at insects!!

We had a very busy year at Silver Creek Preserve this year! We had visitors from every state as well as international visitors from: Canada, Chile, France, Austria, Japan, Germany, the Netherlands, Israel, and the United Kingdom. We had kids from Bellevue, Hailey, and Hemingway elementary as well as middle school science classes and University of Idaho students.

Total visitor numbers were as follows:
Total people on the preserve from January 1, 2007 until December 12, 2007: 6,390
Total visitors (not including guides and their clients): 5,536
Percentage of visitors that are guides and clients: 14 % (19% in summer)
Percentage of visitors that are members: 33% (37% in 2006)
Percentage of visitors that are from out of state 53% (49% in 2006)
Percentage of:
Anglers 82%
Birders 3%
Hikers 8%
Canoers 3%

Summer Months (May 27th- August 30)
Average daily visitors: 43
Busiest Day: August 25 (85 visitors) followed by July 25 (71 visitors)
Percentage of fishers: 89%

End of Year Reflections, and a Holiday Wish

At the end of the classic holiday movie It's A Wonderful Life, George Bailey is proclaimed "the richest man in town." There are many days I feel this same way for the opportunity to live and work for conservation in Idaho.

As I take stock in another year outdoors, I'm filled with memories of day hikes and snowshoe treks, deer hunts and duck blinds, beautiful picture-perfect mountains and the seemingly endless sagebrush country. And even the occasional sandstorm:
Even in our own backyard, our wild neighbors are never far away. A chorus of coyotes, a flock of quail scratching underneath the birdfeeder, a raccoon that surprises me when I take out the compost on a recent evening. With snow coming in the high country, the deer have begun showing up, including "Bucky," as my wife Jennifer has dubbed this youngster who appears regularly for an afternoon nap.

This year, as every year in Idaho, I've spent a good deal of time at Silver Creek. If you've been there, you already know why: the moose, the sandhill cranes overhead, the deer moving into the Picabo Hills. The light. And, yes, the trout. Each year, I love to share the beautiful clear waters with family, with friends, with writers and photographers. I think they all walk away with that same feeling of awe, particularly if they've visited during the trico hatch. It's a true blizzard of mayflies, and a true feeding frenzy of trout. You fumble with tiny flies, you focus, you know you have to catch something with so many fish feeding. You cast in pod of boiling trout, and...nothing. Fish sitting in a current with perpetually open mouths will shut them to let your fly pass. Does it get any better?

Aldo Loepold began A Sand County Almanac with "There are some who can live without wild things and some who cannot. These essays are the delights and dilemmas of one who cannot." Me too. What would Idaho be without racing pronghorns, bugling elk, raptors soaring over the Snake River Canyon, strutting sage grouse...

Our wildlife encounters are free for everyone to enjoy on Idaho's vast public lands. You might be lucky to see a moose or a pine marten, a Lewis' woodpecker or a rattlesnake. You never know. One minute you can be just walking along, and the next minute you're face to face with a badger, as happened to me this fall.

And then there was the encounter with a much larger predator, far, far away from Idaho in Brazil's Pantanal. It's the stuff of dreams, and always humbling to be so close to one of the large carnivores. The big critters with fangs and claws remind us that it's still a big world out there.

These are a few of my favorite things. It's what keeps me going as a conservationist. As I reflect back upon the year, I feel incredibly lucky to experience the beauty of the natural world and to encounter the many dedicated and talented people who care enough about their home and their fellow creatures to want to protect them for the future.

Edward Abbey once wrote "It is not enough to fight for the land; it is even more important to enjoy it. While you can. While it's still here. So get out there and hunt and fish and mess around with your friends, ramble out yonder and explore the forests, encounter the grizz, climb the mountains, bag the peaks, run the rivers, breathe deep of that yet sweet and lucid air, sit quietly for a while and contemplate that precious stillness, that lovely, mysterious and awesome space."

I hope the new year affords you many opportunities to do just that.

Happy holidays from all of us at The Nature Conservancy.

--Matt Miller

Photo credits: Bruneau Sand Dunes by Phares Book, trico hatch by Kathleen Cameron, sage grouse by Robert Griffith. Other photos by Matt and Jennifer Miller.

Rudolph Versus Bambi

Rudolph-the-Red-Nosed Reindeer versus Bambi: It sounds like a bad episode of Celebrity Deathmatch, a warped holiday special pitting the world's two most famous antlered creatures. Fortunately, trademarks and licensing agreements will prevent this spectacle from ever being aired.

Unfortunately, a struggle between the real-life counterparts of Rudolph (caribou) and Bambi (white-tailed deer) is playing out right now in North Idaho. How will it be resolved?

The Rudolph of the popular song and television special is a particularly resourceful individual--overcoming his friends' disrespect and (in the tv show) the formidable Abominable Snowmonster to lead Santa's sleigh and rescue misfit toys. But Rudolph's wild counterparts--the caribou--are facing problems much more serious than red noses. Or, for that matter, snowmonsters.

Caribou are specialists. They thrive on the tundra, eating lichen and migrating long distances to access the best grazing. Climate change is tough on caribou, as are roads that criss-cross the country for oil drilling. But the tundra caribou's life is still a holiday party compared to the southern Selkirk herd of woodland caribou.

This herd roams into the northern Idaho Panhandle (as well as eastern Washington and British Columbia). Tundra is in short supply here, but the woodland caribou here eats lichens off old-growth trees. It's a specialized niche--and one that has left the caribou vulnerable.

With logging of old-growth trees and associated roads, the caribou has lost a lot of habitat. Estimates vary, but as few as 35 may survive in this herd. Even less--as low as three in some years--still roam into Idaho. It's by far the rarest large mammal in the "lower 48."

The future for caribou is not rosy. In fact, it's been even less so since the explosion of another member of the deer family.

We all know what mayhem ensues for Bambi and friends when it's announced, ominously, that "man has entered the forest." But for the real "Bambi"--white-tailed deer-- fires and hunting have been something less than scary. True, for a time, with unregulated hunting and rapid habitat loss, white-tail deer populations did indeed plummet. Then came hunting regulations. Suddenly "Bambi" found a whole new world--a world that, from a deer's perspective, resembles paradise. Plenty of edge habitat, new-growth forests, woodlots, yards, farms and suburbs--all provided the perfect food and cover for the wary, adaptable whitetail. Being close to humans proved no worry given the plentiful supply of corn, grass and cover.

So whitetails have prospered. And prospered. Today, there are more than 35 million whitetails--a number certainly higher than what existed when Columbus landed in the New World. In many eastern forests, they have done so well, they have stripped the forests of habitat for songbirds and other species. The damage to agriculture-and to automobiles--is considerable.

And the white-tailed deer is on the march, expanding its range across the country.

This species has long been a part of the Idaho Panhandle, but at much lower numbers. The logging and habitat change that has impacted the caribou has proven a boon for whitetails. The brushy undergrowth that springs up is perfect for deer.

Like elsewhere, they have thrived. And here's where things get worse for the caribou. With the explosion of whitetails has come a marked increase in mountain lions. Caribou prefer open country--tundra, or the more open forest of old-growth--where they can see predators at a distance. The brushy habitat where lions lurk for deer thus makes the caribou vulnerable to ambush. The lion finds the remaining caribou easy pickings.

As such, caribou are suffering high mortality due to lion predation. And it's all because the lions have ample white-tailed deer to support a high population.

I've noticed with the whitetail population boom has come an almost predictable disgust with the species. I've seen them referred to in print as white-tailed rats and land carp. But is that fair? After all, the whitetail has merely adapted to humanity's habitat changes. Shouldn't we be happy that some wildlife species can survive in our cities, our suburbs, our agriculture landscapes?

Species like white-tailed deer--and Canada geese, red fox, cockroaches, coyotes, pigeons--merely take advantage of new habitats we have created. Since these new habitats--the small woodlands, the city parks, the suburban yards--are not going away, we should find a way to appreciate and live with these creatures.

For conservationists, the real question is this: Do we want a world that is only populated by the most adaptable creatures--a world of whitetails and pigeons? In such a world, we would have skunks and squirrels, but no grizzlies, no pronghorns, no pine martens, no sage grouse. And no caribou. Such a world seems incredibly lonely, and bleak.

If we indeed value wildlife like the caribou--beyond cartoon caricatures--we need to find ways to protect their habitat, to preserve their unique places, to conserve the big spaces where wildness and the full range of natural processes still can occur.

The white-tailed deer is here to stay on humanity's future journey. But the time is now to decide if that journey will also include animals like the caribou. --Matt Miller

The Untamed Shrew

Idaho is known for its predatory animals. The state still has all of its original large predators, including wolves, grizzly and black bears, wolverines, mountain lions and more.

But perhaps the most ferocious predator in the state is not the one you think. As a matter of fact, it's probably darting around your backyard right now.

Shrews are among the most common mammals on the continent. They are found in nearly all habitats including suburbia. Six species are found in Idaho, out of 376 found around the world.

These little gray creatures may look like rodents, but they are actually members of their own family--and what a bizarre family it is!

The pygmy shrew is the smallest mammal in Idaho. According to Idaho Department of Fish and Game's excellent narrative on the shrew (which helped me verify a lot of this information from a memorable but distant college mammalogy class), the pygmy shrew weighs about as much as a pencil.

The water shrew has stiff hairs on its feet that apparently allows it to scamper across the surface of the water. Its stiff fur also traps air bubbles, allowing it to stay underwater for a long time. Theodore Roosevelt, on a hunting trip to the Selkirks of Idaho, was lucky enough to see one of these amazing critters. He watched it catch and devour a minnow, an account you can read in Roosevelt's book, The Wilderness Hunter.

Some shrews have the ability to echolocate--emitting sounds to produce sonar that helps them navigate their world. And find prey. The sound waves bounce back and tell shrews where their next target might be.

And shrews need to find a lot of prey. The reason you don't see many shrews, despite their abundance, is because they are always on the move--darting in the underbrush and down burrows so rapidly as to be undetected by predators. And, yes, prey. All this movement requires a lot of energy and an incredible metabolism--a typical shrew's heart beats 700-1000 times a minute.

So the shrew hunts, and eats. A lot. Some species must eat their own body weight in prey each day, or else starve. Most species eat insects, and many also eat mice--some twice as large as the shrew.

Of course, hunting is never a guarantee for even the most skillful of predators. To have to do so every day would seem to be a particularly risky evolutionary gamble.

That's why shrew species have some eating habitats that, to our human sensibilities, seem a bit, ummm, unsavory.

Some shrews are venomous (although none found in Idaho). These species bite their prey as they find it, paralyzing it. For the mouse (or large insect), this will be the beginning of a very bad day indeed. The shrew then urinates on its unfortunate victim, so it can easily locate by scent the decapacitated critter later. When it returns, its prey is still quite alive, if not well. The shrew can thus stash fresh, healthy meals throughout its range. Shrews have a thing for fresh food.

In Idaho, shrews aren't venomous, but will chew off the prey's legs, and crush its skull. The shrew does so in a way so the animal stays alive, but can't get away. The shrew then stows its extremely unlucky quarry in its den, to be devoured when the hunting isn't so productive.

The next time you see a little, long-nosed, darting gray form in your yard--or on a trout stream, in a forest, in a farm field--don't just assume it's a mouse. Take a closer look, and you may be rewarded with a glimpse of the untamed shrew. And be glad it is not larger!--Matt Miller

Volunteer for Sagebrush Country

This past Saturday, Governor Butch Otter (pictured above) and more than 100 volunteers donned warm clothes, braved chilly temperatures, picked up hoops and headed into the sagebrush. The reason? To help the Idaho Department of Fish and Game (IDFG) collect sagebrush seeds to restore sagebrush habitat in burned areas around southern Idaho. This year, IDFG needs a lot of volunteer effort to collect the seeds, due to the devastating fires that swept through the Owyhees this summer. While fire often has very positive effects on forests, sagebrush is not adapted to frequent fires. These fires can lead to infestations by non-native weeds and a loss of wildlife habitat. This year's fires burned sage grouse display grounds, big game winter range and other important wildlife habitat. Reseeding these areas with sagebrush seeds is critical for wildlife.
This week's collection site was across the road from the Hilltop Cafe, along Highway 21 in the Boise Foothills. This area, coincidentally, was once slated for a housing development. The Nature Conservancy purchased this property--great mule deer and elk winter range--and transferred it to the Bureau of Land Management. The seeds from this project will now help restore sagebrush well beyond the Foothills.


There is still at least one week to help, with sagebrush volunteers needed for this weekend, on Saturday, December 8. There will be seed collecting in both Treasure and Magic valleys. To sign up, phone IDFG at 208-327-7095 (Treasure Valley) and 208-324-4359 (Magic Valley Region). Volunteer, and do your part to help restore sagebrush habitat.

Red Fox

My friend and fellow outdoor enthusiast Phares Book sent me this great photo of a red fox he took along the Boise River.

Red fox are not an uncommon sight at this time of year: patrolling for mice along the Boise Greenbelt, trotting through downtown Ketchum, darting along the edges of farm fields across the state.

This wasn't always the case.

The red fox (Vulpes vulpes) has the widest range of any terrestrial carnivore on earth, being found in North Africa, across North America (including Alaska and Canada) and throughout much of Europe and Asia. Red fox were also introduced to Australia, where they quickly spread, devastating native marsupials and birds.

A common belief is that the red fox is not native to Idaho, and there are some who maintain it is not even native to the United States. This idea stems from the fact that English emigrants did import foxes for the British sport of fox hunting. And foxes don't seem to appear in natural history accounts of early explorers.

However, archaeological digs in Idaho have found red fox bones that are thousands of years old, predating European settlement by a long shot.

What is certain, though, is this: The red fox was never a very common animal in pre-Columbian North America. It was a rare species, perhaps clinging precariously to existence on a continent dominated by wolves and other large predators.

Doubtless the stocking of foxes by Europeans helped speed their spread. So too did fox escapes from fur farms over the years. And the red fox is one of those animals that thrives with civilization. Farms, woodlots and suburbs provide the perfect habitat for them.

The red fox is a frequent character in myths, stories and fables--often playing the part of a sly trickster. As with so many animals of legend, there's a lot of truth in the fictional fox. Indeed, it takes a wily predator to survive the bewildering maze of roads, pets and other hazards that many a red fox negotiates every day. --Matt Miller

Gobble Gobble

Turkeys an endangered species? Such a notion, as millions of us sit down to enjoy our Thanksgiving dinner, seems preposterous.

But for the wild turkey, it was once the reality. Unregulated hunting and habitat loss had reduced the nationwide wild turkey population to an estimated 30,000. What was once one of the continent's most common birds--with large flocks roosting in forests, along river bottoms and on prairie edges--was barely hanging on in pockets of habitat.

A gambling man of the time would have likely been considered a fool to bet on the turkey's long-term prospects.

In fact, conventional wisdom at the time assumed that many wildlife species were doomed, with no hope of recovery.

Theodore Roosevelt is well known for his conservation policies. What many don't realize is that in the late 1800's, Roosevelt and his contemporaries advocated for record-keeping of big game animals. The reason? Because they wanted accurate representations of these animals in museums, so future generations could know what elk and deer and pronghorn antelope looked like.

People had written these animals off. Given them no hope.

But we don't have to go to the museum to see an elk or a pronghorn today. When Roosevelt had the opportunity, he acted with vision and courage--to pass game laws, to protect special natural areas, to establish wildlife refuges. Think of that the next time you hear an elk bugling in the fall, thrill to a herd of pronghorns racing across the sage.

Or see a wild turkey. Turkeys benefited greatly by hunting regulations. They increased steadily throughout the 20th century. Hatchery programs were tried, but pen-raised birds were poor survivors--they couldn't elude predators or hunters, and were susceptible disease.

In the 1970's, wildlife managers found that trapping wild birds from abundant populations and transferring them to suitable habitat could speed the recovery. Turkeys found, literally, a new world: a world of woodlots and fields and regenerated forest. It was a good time to be a turkey.

I still remember seeing my first flock moving through the woods--scratching noisily at the forest floor, then ghosting quietly away over the ridge. It was in the early 80's on family ground. Many people did not believe that my dad and I had actually seen them.

But soon turkeys became a common sight in this area--and many others. Turkeys prospered.

Today, 7 million wild turkeys roam North America, occupying almost all suitable habitat and expanding even beyond their original range (including an introduced population in Idaho).

Emily Dickinson famously wrote that "Hope is the thing with feathers." The turkey's story is indeed one of hope, a story to be remembered when today's many environmental problems seem daunting, insurmountable, hopeless. It's something to be thankful for.

Remembering Hal Malde

The cheerful voice on the other end of the phone asked me to meet him at his vehicle in the parking lot in an hour. "How will I know which vehicle is yours?" I asked.

"Oh, you'll know," the man replied. "It's the van with the large Nature Conservancy logo on the side. You can't miss it."

Harold "Hal" Malde considered himself an ambassador for The Nature Conservancy, an ambassador who could make his best contributions through photography. During my tenure with the Conservancy, I don't believe I have met a more enthusiastic support of our organization and our mission.

Hal passed away on November 4 at the age of 84.

He began his volunteer work for the Conservancy twenty years ago, when he visited a preserve in Minnesota. Inspired, he embarked on a two-decade journey to document preserves around the country through photographs. He logged as many as 14,000 miles a year, on his own expense, visiting 650 preserves in the process--more than any other person, including paid staff. View a slide show featuring Malde's images.

I met Hal when he was 81--fresh from driving through the Owyhees solo, part of a several-month traverse of the Western states to visit new preserves and projects.

Hal's photos have been used by the Conservancy in countless publications, web sites and interpretive signs. Many offices have framed pictures of his images.

He loved going afield with staff. He had a deep knowledge of geology, biology and land conservation issues, and a genuine curiosity about the places he visited.

As Conservancy directly of photography Mark Godfrey writes, "Harold Malde was more then just a remarkable Conservancy volunteer. He was also a special hero to those of us who have also dedicated our lives to the cause of conservation. "

All photos by Harold Malde

Silver Creek Silos

The Silos from Stocker Creek Road

The first time I came down to Silver Creek, I was with a friend. The second time, I came alone. Luckily I remembered the Picabo hills and a group of silos. I could see the silos as I headed south from Ketchum and they guided me in—much like sighting with a compass. I wonder how many other people have been guided by the four silos that sat upon the bench above Stalker Creek? Well, if you ever come in ‘the back way’ to Silver Creek Preserve, you know what I am talking about and you may feel that slight and kind of confusing sense of loss that I felt today as they tore down those four silos.

The attachment is not too hard to understand, I suppose. To me, the silos symbolized the ‘ruralness’ of the area, the entrance to Silver Creek, and coming home. I also really liked saying, ‘take a left at the silos’ when directing people to my house. To a lot of people out there, I imagine they probably marked the start of a great fishing adventure or peaceful morning walk. Or maybe they marked the exit from Silver Creek- the symbolic division of Silver Creek and the rest of the world.

Well, today there were no significant natural changes on the creek that I know of, but a pretty significant change to the human elements we tend to get just as attached to—the silos are gone. They lost to a better view, to less clutter, to being of better use somewhere else. Goodbye silos, we’ll miss you!!

-- Dayna, Silver Creek Preserve Manager

Far Afield: Brazil's Pantanal, Land of the Jaguar

I wanted to see a capybara.

That was my main hope on a recent trip to the Pantanal. I've always had a strange fascination with capybaras--something about a rodent the size of a Labrador retriever that roams in herds had captured my imagination since I was a kid. On two previous trips to South America in areas reputed to be capybara habitat, I had never seen one of the world's largest rodent.

Julinho Monteiro, our local guide for the trip, responded to my request, "You usually can't guarantee wildlife sightings, but I'll guarantee you'll see lots of capybaras. Lots of caimans, and lots capybaras."

My wife Jennifer and I were in Brazil's Pantanal, the world's largest wetland located in western Brazil. The Nature Conservancy recognizes it for its incredible wildlife diversity, and is working on unique collaborative partnerships to protect it. This huge area--which includes parts of Brazil, Paraguay and Bolivia--is not a national park, but is rather covered in cattle ranches. Each year, rivers flowing through this grassland flood their banks, and then recede, concentrating birds, reptiles and mammals around the ponds that remain.

I knew it was biologically important, but that fact doesn't really capture the spirit and beauty of the Pantanal. Within minutes of entering onto the Transpanteneira, a dirt roadway that dead ends in the middle of the Pantanal, we were seeing birds of every size, color and description. And caimans. Thousands of caimans.

What about the capybaras? Oh yes. Herds--yes, herds--were constantly appearing around each bend of the river. All the capybaras I could want to see, observe and photograph, and then some more. Although most South American natural areas are not known for their mammal viewing opportunities, here we saw a tremendous number and variety of strange and wonderful creatures--giant anteater, tapir, howler and capuchin monkey, peccary, swamp deer, armadillo, giant otter, crab-eating fox.
And then: Deep into the Pantanal, camping on the front yard of a family that lived 8 hours by boat and car from the nearest town. In this area, we were looking for that most elusive of Pantanal animals: the jaguar.

The first appears like a ghost sitting in grass along the riverbank. The jaguar appears indifferent about the encounter. I am not. This is stepping into the dream world of my youth: the world brought to me by Ranger Rick and Marlin Perkins and mountains of library books filled with travel and adventure.

But this jaguar is just the beginning. Within an hour, we see three more. Julinho Monteiro, an independent guide who started his own company, Pantanal Trackers, has an almost supernatural ability to find the spotted cats.

The next day, we see another: a mature female that falls asleep with us watching. We take photos and watch it, and then it's time to drift away, on to see what else the Pantanal has in store.--Matt Miller

To the Cauliflower Cave

Fellow Conservancy staffer Marilynne Manguba and I recently took a trip to The Nature Conservancy’s Formation Springs Preserve, located near the town of Soda Springs in southeastern Idaho. Before we embarked, Marilynne advised me not to forget my flashlight. Since we were headed to a part of Idaho known for its expansive mountain views and open sagebrush steppe habitat, I was puzzled by the need for a flashlight. The preserve is a manageable 195 acres – surely it wouldn’t take all the daylight hours to see the entire place!

We pulled into the dusty parking lot over a ghostly white road made of the calcium-rich soil unique to the area. As we walked up the trail into the preserve, I could see wind-sculpted juniper trees against the Aspen Mountains. The trees looked as though a whimsical gardener had been at work on them with hedge-trimmers.
It’s peaceful and quiet at Formation Springs – the breeze carries the sweet smell of sage, and many species of wildlife find shelter here among the junipers and willows. We saw deer tracks and heard songbirds rustling through the water birch trees. These springs are an oasis for wildlife, and attract throngs of ducks in the summer – I made a mental note to return then to do some birdwatching. Over thousands of years, the springs have created travertine terraces; travertine is a white crystalline rock formed from calcium carbonate. If you’ve ever seen Mammoth Hot Springs in Yellowstone National Park, you were looking at travertine minerals.

Thinking of that scalding spring, I bent down from the boardwalk path to feel this spring water with my hand – it was shockingly cold. The frigid temperature of the springs reminded me that the water flowing from them dates from the end of the last ice age – this water fell as rain before the invention of agriculture! Using isotopes to age the water, scientists have found it to be around 13,000 years old. The springs have deep pools where the color of the water looks glacial: it’s a turquoise blue against white rock.
As we followed the trail past the ribbon of trees and flowers along the spring, we came to a bowl-shaped area with some non-descript white boulders along the edge. Marilynne knew just where to look, and I finally realized what the flashlights were for. The white rock obscured a cave entrance, just big enough for a person to scramble through. As we entered the cave, the sound became muffled, and the darkness became profound.

I switched on my flashlight. Immediately I could see the cave roof was not made up of the stalactites I had expected, but rather a calcium carbonate surface that, Marilynne mused, looks just like cauliflower. The cave stretches for several hundred feet, and has a few wings, but with a flashlight we couldn’t get lost. Plus, every fifty feet or so, I’d come upon a small porthole to the outside world, which let in welcome fresh air and a little beacon of light. I emerged, blinking, into the bright Idaho sun, feeling lucky to have spent my day in such an amazing part of Idaho’s natural world. Next time I visit, I will be sure to bring my binoculars for the birds and my flashlight for the cauliflower cave. --Sus Danner, protection program manager

In the News

Interesting reading on the Conservancy around the web:

Hemingway House: Read the recent Associated Press story on the Conservancy's Hemingway House and Preserve.

Idaho Statesman: Dan Popkey on the Idaho Ranch, Farm and Forest Protection Act

Sego Lily: We appreciate the kind words from this great Idaho blog that includes great landscape shots, informative posts on sustainability and a lot of natural history.

"Nasty, Fast and as Big as a Car": Conservancy lead scientist Sanjayan reflects on his encounter with a black rhino in Namibia.

BOO!: Send free Halloween e-cards from The Nature Conservancy.

Rare Bird Sighting at Silver Creek

Last Thursday, two volunteers who were out doing the monthly bird count for Idaho Fish and Game at Silver Creek Preserve, saw a white throated sparrow on the Preserve! This bird often migrates with the white crowned sparrow, a more common sight at Silver Creek, but is rarely seen in Idaho and this may be the first sighting of one at Silver Creek Preserve ever!

This time of the year is a great time to come birding at Silver Creek. The birds are on the move and while there are always a lot of birds to see, occasionally there are special treats like this one. Stop by the visitor center for Silver Creek Preserve bird list.

Photo by Kathleen Cameron, Magestic Feathers

Rocky Barker to Keynote Silver Creek Event

Idaho Statesman environmental reporter Rocky Barker will deliver the keynote address at next week's Watershed Event: A Symposium on Silver Creek and the Big Wood River. Tickets are still available for the day-long event, to be held 9 am - 6 pm Saturday, October 27 at the Sun Valley Inn's Continental Room.

Barker's most recent book, Scorched Earth: How the Fires in Yellowstone Changed America was critically acclaimed and inspired a television movie. The book argues that fire policy has been shaped by Yellowstone from the time General Phil Sheridan first rode into the park to protect it from poachers. Noted conservationists like Theodore Roosevelt, Gifford Pinchot, Aldo Leopold and many others also had their conservation opinions shaped by Yellowstone and its fires. Barker tells these colorful stories, weaving many elements--biology, policy, environmental history, current events--into one of the most readable and thoughtful accounts of Yellowstone's history.

Barker is also the author of a book on endangered species policy, Saving all the Parts, and co-authored two outdoor guidebooks, the Flyfisher's Guide to Idaho and the Wingshooter's Guide to Idaho.

The symposium will focus on the Silver Creek and Big Wood River watershed, featuring a day of informative speakers, and the chance for your opinions to be heard on the future of these beloved waters.

Download your registration form today.

Badger Encounter

Driving along a dirt road on the Camas Prairie recently, I noticed a squat, muscular creature trotting along a field edge: a badger. Getting out of the car, I quietly trailed it, to snap some photos as it moved towards some brush.

When it noticed me, it quickly found a mound, and backed into some brush: a common badger defense. This way, it could meet any danger head on. Badgers have a reputation for being aggressive and downright ornery, and as I crept closer I thought it might charge.

But this badger was just indifferent, judging me as not much of a threat.

Badgers are a member of the Mustelidae Family, which also includes weasels, minks, martens, fishers, wolverines, otters and other predatory creatures. While many of the mustelids are known for being sleek and stream-lined, the badger is noticeably squat, round and muscular. It has to be, as it hunts its favored prey--ground squirrels--by digging after them. Some biologists report badgers that will dig into a ground squirrel hole and wait in the excavation for its prey to return. Badgers also sleep in burrows they dig, usually a different one each night.

Due to this tendency to dig lots of big holes, the badger has never been a favorite animal of those who raise livestock. But the badger has thrived in the West despite this. Idaho can lay claim to the largest population of badgers in the world, in the Snake River Birds of Prey National Conservation Area. The Owyhee Backcountry Byway, the Camas Prairie and other open areas are also good places to see one.

Although badgers are common in Idaho and are unprotected by game laws, they do face familiar threats. My colleague Sus Danner tells me that badgers fare poorly when busy highways intersect their range. In California, their populations are in decline due to this fact. And on my drive home, I couldn't help but notice several dead ones along I-84 between Boise and Mountain Home. Hopefully, research can be conducted to monitor our state's badger populations. Even more important, with Idaho's rapid growth, conservationists need to think about wildlife-friendly roads--not only for badgers, but also for barn owls, mule deer, elk and a whole host of other species.

For now, though, the badger remains a common if seldom seen creature in many parts of the state. Keep an eye out the next time you're on Idaho's backroads; you might just be rewarded with your own badger encounter. -- Matt Miller

Silver Creek Moose

On a mid-afternoon canoe float this week, TNC staff and friends were suprised when they came around a tight corner and almost ran into an enormous bull moose and his lady friend. Unfortunately, the canoes were exactly where the moose wanted to be, so the canoers had to get out of the boats and pull the canoes upstream and onto the bank in order to portage around the moose. This time of the year, as the moose pair off and begin their mating rituals, encounters like this one can be quite dangerous as the males are more protective and aggressive than usual. Be careful out there, but enjoy!!

Kokanee in Ball Creek

On a recent trip to Ball Creek Ranch in the heart of the Kootenai Valley in Idaho's Panhandle, I was anticipating seeing many of the same species that regular come into view through my binoculars. While I did glass across the fields and wetlands to see whitetail and waterfowl, it was a splash in the creek and a pink streak moving up Ball Creek that inspired awe.

Justin Petty, Inland Northwest land steward recently discovered kokanee salmon spawning in the creek that runs through the yard of the ranch house. This is Justin’s third fall living on the ranch and the first time he’s seen kokanee, a landlocked sockeye salmon, spawning in the creek. As one can imagine, Justin was very excited to see the fish and made it a habit of checking the fish as they fan out their nest or “redds” to lay their eggs in the gravel creek bottom.

On one such visit to the creek, Justin ran into the neighboring farmer who was beside himself at the sight of the fish. The farmer, who has lived in the valley his entire life, didn’t remember the last time he saw kokanee in the creek. The farmer then went on to speak to Justin about how important he feels it is to restore and protect habitat in the valley for kokanee and other native species.

The Kootenai River kokanee that historically spawned in tributaries like Ball and Trout creeks (the southern and northern boundaries of the ranch) spend their adult life in the southern arm of Kootenay Lake in British Columbia. Yet just twenty years ago a report from the Kootenai Tribe of Idaho noted kokanee runs in these creeks were thought to be “functionally extinct.” However, recent habitat improvement projects in the creeks appear to be creating the desired conditions to host the return of salmon spawning. Time and the continuing restoration and habitat protection efforts of the Conservancy and its partners, like the neighboring farmer, will tell. --Steve Grourke