Is your kitty a conservation threat?

How often have you seen a cat stalking your bird feeder? If your yard is anything like mine, it's probably a fairly frequent sight. With many songbird species in decline across North America, you may have also wondered if those cats are contributing to the loss of bird life.

Americans love their pets, and obviously nobody wants to believe their beloved cat is a conservation threat.

In truth, compared to the staggering loss of habitat throughout the Americas, cats may seem a minor concern for bird survival. Songbirds undergo lengthy migrations each year, so they need intact habitat for feeding, nesting and resting from Canada to South America. Subdivisions, clearing of forests and intesive agriculture all reduce or eliminate these places for birds.

But cats can still have a significant impact, as David Mehlman, director of The Nature Conservancy's Migratory Bird Program, reports in this month's Ask A Conservationist.

When forests, fields and other habitat exist in smaller chunks, large predators disappear. In their place, more adaptable medium-sized predators like skunks, raccoons and red foxes thrive. Plus, bird nests and roosts are easier to find in small pieces of habitat than in large landscapes. It's easy hunting for America's suburban predators.

This includes cats. Indeed, one of the most common predators in America's suburbs and farmlands are cats, whether feral or just set out to roam by home owners. As such they can kill a lot of birds: as many as several hundred million a year.

It's a significant loss of birds, and one that can be prevented quite easily. Put a bell on your cat, or better yet, keep it indoors or on a leash. Idaho's backyard birds will have one less threat if you do. (And I must note: the two cute cats that illustrate this blog, owned by my colleague Stephanie Hansen, always wear bells when outside and are no threat at all to the local bird life). --Matt Miller

Fish Dinners

Last night, I enjoyed a dinner of halibut in a white wine/tomato sauce--a belated Valentine's Day dinner. As I think about it, some of my most memorable meals over the years have involved fish or seafood. Smoked salmon, grilled trout, steamed mussels, clam chowder, sushi--all would make the short list of favorite foods. Like millions of people around the world, I love eating these meals that are both nutritious and delicious.

But eating fish and seafood is also increasingly complicated.

Our oceans are in trouble--more than 40% heavily affected by human activities. Unsustainable fisheries contribute to the damage. What was once an abundant food source has become imperiled--turning a once-pleasant trip to the seafood counter into a smorgasbord of ethical dilemmas. (Fortunately, the Monterey Bay Aquarium's Seafood Watch program can help you make the best choices on your next shopping trip).

It's not only marine fish. Our freshwater streams and rivers demonstrate that pollutants in the air and water don't follow political boundaries. Last week, The Nature Conservancy sent a letter to the Idaho Department of Environmental Quality asking to determine the source of mercury in Silver Creek. This followed a study that found some brown trout in the creek--known for its crystal-clear waters--had mercury levels as much as four times higher than what is recommended for consumption by infants and pregnant women. DEQ subsequently issued a health advisory for consumption of fish caught in Silver Creek (while the preserve is strictly a catch-and-release fishery, downstream of the preserve anglers may harvest brown trout).

While the source of the mercury is not yet known, it is likely coming from the air from sources outside Silver Creek.

Throughout southern Idaho, other waterways and rivers now have health advisories on fish consumption due to high levels of mercury.

As Mark Johnson of KTVB-NBC in Boise said during his station's newscast of the Silver Creek health advisory, Idahoans take pride in our clean, pure water. We still have those beautiful spring creeks full of rising trout, the rivers where salmon still return to spawn, the breathtaking rivers that provide so much for our lives. But even here, toxins like mercury have become a part of our watersheds.

For millenia, our rivers, streams, lakes and oceans have provided for humanity. In Idaho, incredible salmon runs once fed numerous cultures. In the eastern United States, at the time of the Revolutionary War, the Susquehanna River employed literally thousands of people who caught shad for the market (today, shad are almost extinct in the watershed). More recently, many of us have cherished memories of catching some fish for dinner.

Our waters can still provide. But as a society we have to make clean air, clean water and healthy streams, rivers and oceans a priority. Our waters can still sustain large populations of fish, and in turn provide those healthy, nutritious, memorable meals. But only if we care. Working together, we can find solutions to these daunting challenges, so that a fish dinner and clean water remain not a luxury, but a part of our human heritage. --Matt Miller

Cardinals, Idaho and Winter

This coming weekend is the Great Backyard Bird Count, where people can count birds in their backyards (or other favorite areas) , creating a real-time snapshot of what birds are across the continent. Such "citizen science" can play an important role in bird conservation--providing indicators of species declines or range expansion. You only need 15 minutes. Learn how to participate.

If you're counting in your Idaho backyard, if past years were any indication, you'll likely see juncos, house finches and American goldfinches. You probably won't see the northern cardinal pictured above. The cardinal is currently not found here.

But will backyard birders some day regularly record cardinals? That is actually an open question.
Growing up in Pennsylvania, a welcome winter sight was several male cardinals sitting on a snow-covered pine branch. The bright reds, greens and whites created a beautiful contrast--a fact not lost on the holiday card industry.

But the cardinal is not a bird of winter. In fact, it much prefers mild temperatures, and prolonged winters once served to limit the cardinal's northern range.

Over the holidays, on jaunts around my in-laws' farm in northeast Iowa, I saw dozens of cardinals. Fifty years ago, cardinals were not found in the Midwest farther north than Missouri.

Why is this? Certainly milder winters have played a role, encouraging cardinals to check out areas farther to the north. But winters can still be tough in places like Iowa and Maine--states that now have year-round cardinal populations. As the cardinal's range expanded, it found hedgerows, small fields and backyard birdfeeders--all sources of seed that the cardinal needs to survive. The milder winters encouraged cardinal movement, but the new habitat is why they stayed.

The cardinal still does not like the cold, though. My mom told me just last evening of cardinals sitting hunched up, covering their legs with their wings, due to the blustery cold Pennsylvania is experiencing.

Will the cardinal spread to Idaho? Other birds have spread here, either naturally or with human help--house finches and valley quail will feature prominently in this weekend's backyard bird counts, but were not originally found in the state. Cardinals are found in southern Arizona, so it is conceivable--although the desert country and mountains would seem to serve as a barrier.

Ornithologists can't be everywhere, so your own observations can genuinely help track changes--like a bird species moving north. Join the Great Backyard Bird Count this weekend, and make a difference for our feathered friends. --Matt Miller

Photo courtesy of Tom Grey.

The Sport of Emperors in Eastern Idaho

In addition to pursuing one of the world's oldest sports, falconers have been responsible for some of the greatest wildlife conservation success stories. Recently, The Nature Conservancy's Sus Danner joined falconers in eastern Idaho for a day afield. This is her report:

Recently I visited eastern Idaho with Jan Peppler, our Director of Philanthropy, to tag along with some friends on a hunting trip. This wasn’t your usual hunting trip, though: our hosts brought neither rifle nor bow – they brought birds. We were near the town of Dubois in eastern Idaho to meet up with Keith and Hubert, two friends of the Conservancy who practice the art and sport of falconry. Eastern Idaho is a stronghold for sage grouse, and it is this game bird we seek.

The Nature Conservancy in Idaho has made conservation of sage grouse habitat a priority, but we can’t do it alone. We are fortunate to live in a state that has so many conservation-minded hunters and fishermen working alongside scientists to protect wildlife habitat here. There is perhaps no better example of this partnership than that of falconers and conservationists.

According to the Peregrine Fund, people have been flying hawks in the Americas since the 16th century. Because falconers hunt wild game with their birds, unfragmented habitat has always been critical to the sport. Falconers support conservation of wildlife habitat as well as the protection of birds of prey in the wild. In fact, falconers were instrumental in recovering the peregrine falcon from near extinction in the 1970s and 1980s. In areas where power lines, roads, and other types of disturbance infringe on wildlife habitat, falconry becomes less feasible. Here in Idaho, above-ground power lines especially pose a hazard to sage grouse, as the birds fly high enough to hit the lines. Not long ago, an above-ground power line was proposed near Medicine Lodge Creek, along a key sage grouse migration route. It was local falconers who called attention to the threat the line posed to wildlife, and local falconers who succeeded in getting that line buried underground.

The expansive sagebrush steppe of Idaho is where sage grouse thrive. Unlike many other birds, sage grouse cannot digest hard foods like seeds. Sage grouse are totally dependant upon sage steppe, as the birds subsist almost exclusively on sagebrush leaves during winter. The sagebrush steppe is critical habitat for sage grouse, the quarry for our hunter friends.

In the shade of the snow-blanketed mountains, the temperature was 1º F. In the sun, the temperature hovered around 32º F. “It’s a heat wave,” grinned Keith. Jan and I got into our warmest coats, snow boots and mittens. I brought along a Russian hat with earflaps, which was so warm it was worth the requisite teasing. We crunched out to the trucks to watch the falconers prepare for our day out in the sagebrush steppe. Below us on the Snake River plain, the giant stacks of hay bales looked like battleships and oil tankers on a bay.

Truck inventory: Four English pointer dogs, two gyrfalcons, one gyrfalcon/peregrine hybrid, one prairie falcon, one crate of homing pigeons, and one crate of pheasants. The falcons balanced comfortably on their Astroturf perches, even as the truck bounced along the rough dirt roads.

Usually the dogs are responsible for finding and pointing the grouse, but we didn’t use them at all this time; there were so many sage grouse that we could find them ourselves. Keith and Hubert taught me how to glass the sagebrush for the telltale gray and white shape of the grouse as they fed on sagebrush leaves. For an amateur, the grouse are difficult to spot, but the falconers could pick them out even at a distance.

Sage grouse are the largest grouse in North America, about the size of a domestic chicken. Their large size means they present a real challenge to the falconer, because a very large falcon must be used to hunt them. Keith and Hubert are experienced falconers, and use the largest falcon in the world, the gyrfalcon, when hunting sage grouse.

Once the falconers found the grouse, Keith exited the truck, moving slowly and quietly. Through my binoculars I could see the grouse looking cautiously at the truck as Keith opened the camper shell and released his falcon. “Once the falcon is up, the grouse will lie down,” Hubert told me, and as I watched, the grouse did just that: flattened themselves to the snowy ground and became as still as statues. The white gyrfalcon ascended until it was a tiny kite-like shape in the blue sky. It flew in broad Lissajous curves in the distance as Hubert and Keith walked through the deep snow towards the immobile grouse.

When the men got close, the grouse flushed, their wings clattering. Keith yelled, “Hey!”, and the gyrfalcon immediately tucked its wings and went into a stoop, aiming for a flying grouse at the bottom of the dive. The movement was so swift I could barely focus my eyes on it. At the last moment, the grouse dodged to the side, and the falcon swept up in an arc above the sagebrush. Keith held out a dead quail on his gloved fist, and the gyrfalcon flew lightly to it. Once on Keith’s fist, the gyrfalcon mantled the quail and devoured it, right down to the feet and primary feathers.

The falconers flew all four birds over the next few hours, and the exhilaration of watching each bird hunt did not wane as the day went on. Each bird had its own style and personality, especially Hubert’s gyrfalcon. When its stoop didn’t result in success, it pursued the grouse like an aerial greyhound, low along the ground and out of sight behind the mountains. Luckily, falconers use radio telemetry equipment to track their birds. Each falcon wears a radio transmitter with a dangling antenna around their neck.

The men were concerned that the falcon would fly too far from us and be lost. We drove quickly through the sagebrush, on rutted roads between deep snowdrifts that threatened to bog down even the high clearance pickup truck. We drove across a highway and into a system of rural roads through farm fields, always following the beeping of the radio receiver. As we drove, the beeping got more insistent. Blessedly, we saw a large silhouette on a power pole next to a lonely farmhouse. Hubert got out of the truck, used a lure to draw the falcon down to the snowy ground, and gently coaxed the falcon onto his gloved hand. We all breathed a sigh of relief as our day of hawking came to a cheerful end. Below, the happy reunion. --Sus Danner

Powerline/sage grouse photo by Hubert Quade; all other photos by Sus Danner.

Silver Creek Internships offer exploration in conservation

Silver Creek Crawford and Blumenstein internships available for 2008. Silver Creek offers two internships during the summer months. Both of these internships were established in the hopes of providing an, “experience that could be instrumental in influencing the professional path of a student, or for whom such an experience might spark a life-long interest in the environment and conservation."

The Blumenstein internship is open to Colorado College students; the Crawford internship is open to the public. Full job descriptions are available on The Nature Conservancy’s Careers page.

The Crawford internship was established by Gordon and Dona Crawford whose son fished Silver Creek often and fell in love with the place through his teen years. The Crawford’s internship endowment has grown in the past years and now also sponsors the Silver Creek preserve assistant. The endowment allows us to fully staff the preserve and keeps it looking and functioning well.

The Blumentstein family has created a Silver Creek’s Water and Wildlife Conservation Internship through Colorado College. This internship is a tribute to Charlie Blumenstein who fell in love with Silver Creek and spent many hours along its banks, much like the interns today. Both internships provide us with qualified staff for the Preserve and make the Preserve a place of learning, growing, and excitement during the summer months. We are so grateful to both families for leaving such a tangible and meaningful conservation legacy.

Avery Mackenzie, the 20o7 recipient of this internship, recently took some time to share some of her thoughts on this internship.

From Avery’s 2007 Report:

I headed into my internship for the summer of 2007 feeling a little differently than had many of my predecessors. Their reports used words like 'apprehensive', and 'excited tempered with nervousness'. Truthfully, I headed to Picabo, ID with one clear and unwavering emotion: Desire. It was the desire to catch huge trout!!! I had never been to Idaho before and all I knew about Idaho was potatoes, trout, and Hemingway. And Silver Creek Preserve has close ties to two of the three items (though I did eat vast quantities of the famous potatoes throughout the summer—including some delicious roasted red ones with the Blumensteins). I headed into the summer figuring that I would gauge my success by the pound weight of fish I caught, but in the end I realized that it was what I learned about conservation, successful administration of a non-profit and the hard work that it takes to make it happen that defined this as a successful summer. And the fishing wasn’t too bad either!

Water quality, habitat and biological monitoring: Successful management of a nature preserve requires attention to minute details and a good historical record of changes. Collecting data to update these records were a large part of my job. Measuring water quality on Silver Creek happened twice monthly at 5 different locations on the creek and its tributaries. Flow rates, depth and width measurements were taken to determine discharge. Turbidity, temperature, pH, dissolved oxygen, concentrations of nitrates, and phosphates were also measured to portray an in depth view of stream health.

USGS (US Geological Survey) and Idaho Fish and Game conduct fish monitoring on Silver Creek every three years and 2007 was in the cycle. This meant two weeks of an electroshocking “mark and recapture study”, some of which occurred in the middle of the night. Electrofishing may have been my favorite job requirement. Netting the floating fish was fun and wet and measuring and weighing the fish gave a good view of what fish were in the creek. As a huge proponent of “catch and release”, I was torn when they asked me to kill a portion of the fish we caught. Ultimately, I understood the importance of getting an accurate age for the fish (by measuring the layers on its ear bones) to look at survival rates for different brood year [USGS also took fish tissue samples at this point to measure mercury concentrations].

The last area of monitoring involved invertebrate sampling. Dayna, the Preserve’s manager had each intern write a goal for the summer at the beginning of the internship. My goal focused on learning about the macro-invertibrates found n in Silver Creek so as to help me better understand the diversity of aquatic life, hatch cycles, and ultimately make me a better at flyfishing. So invertebrate sampling interested me a great deal. I liked scrubbing the insects off the rocks and picking through the algae. The samples had to be sent off for identification by professionals, but the folks from USGS helped me with basic identification of family and genus.

Work at Silver Creek Preserve was incredibly varied, which kept it interesting for me. No days were the same and I appreciated the diverstity and breadth of things I learned. This summer has not necessarily changed my career plans (I still send in my Medical School application), but it has made me appreciate the hard work and dedication that goes into the preservation of the “last great places on Earth.” Read Avery's full report.

Winter Range

In the past 24 hours, 18 inches of snow has fallen in the Wood River Valley. The power is out at Silver Creek Preserve due to blasting wind and drifting snow. In North Idaho, 14 new inches of powder covers the ground, and East Idaho is experiencing a white-out. Even those of us who live in Boise were greeted by snow and ice this morning.

Chances are, if you’re in Idaho today, you’re experiencing a bit of winter weather.

For us, all this might be an inconvenience. But for mule deer and other big game, it's a matter of life and death.

Our big game herds need places where they can escape this heavy snow, places where they can find nutritious forage and save energy to get them through this harsh weather.

The valleys—once covered in farms and ranches—offer the best hope for big game. But as those farms and ranches are developed deer have to deal with new hazards—roads, dogs, less native plants, more people disturbing them.

That’s why protecting winter range is so important. And you can help, too. Whether it’s driving slower or helping plant bitterbrush, there are many ways you can help make winter easier on big game animals. Read more on how you can lend a "helping hoof." -- Matt Miller

Knowledge, Assumption and Conservation

Is a whale a fish? Every school child knows the answer to this one. It’s common knowledge, right? A whale is not a fish; it’s a mammal.

However, in the early 1800’s this was a hotly contested question, as recounted in science historian D. Graham Burnett’s recently published book, Trying Leviathan. In New York City, in fact, this question was put to trial.

A law requiring all barrels of fish oil in New York to be inspected resulted in a fine being levied against a merchant selling whale oil. When he protested that a whale was not a fish, it set the stage for a court trial in which this question was what was to be decided.

For most New Yorkers, this was one of the most ridiculous questions they had ever heard. Of course the whale was a fish. Based on the taxonomy of the day, and biblical interpretation, how could a whale be anything but? This was considered common sense, common knowledge.

A prominent biologist testified that a whale was emphatically not a fish. But he was widely ridiculed in the popular press and on the street. Whalers and whale product merchants also took the stand, providing testimony based on their observations.

In the end, it took the jury fifteen minutes to decide that a whale was indeed a fish. As one newspaper reported, this “settled the matter once and for all.”

Or not. Taxonomy and biology were on the cusp of a significant revolution. Today, it's true the matter is “settled once and for all,” but not quite the way New Yorkers of 1818 would have imagined.

What does this have to do with conservation? As a scientific endeavor, and one that concerns a wide variety of people, conservation can benefit greatly from a review of science history.

For one, there are likely many opinions we consider “common sense” and “true” that will be proven false in time. This has happened to every generation in history; there’s no reason to believe ours will be different. This should be cause for humility as we move forward, in conservation and in other endeavors.

But it’s also true that knowledge builds on itself. While we are certainly wrong on many things, we will not suddenly go back to thinking that a whale is a fish. That question is settled.

Figuring out what is this genuine knowledge and what is incorrect assumption is the work of many lifetimes.

Conservation science, compared to taxonomy, is relatively new. Taxonomy experienced many fits and starts, as well as trendy ideas that proved to be way off base and resistance to untrendy new ideas that proved to be quite basic. Taxonomic debates continue today but our knowledge in this field is significantly greater than it was in 1818.

Conservation science will likewise experience many fits and starts. And since conservation deals with human values, the issues will be even more complicated. What people want for their world matters a great deal for conservation. And that is not solely a scientific inquiry.

The goal of conserving the diversity of wildlife, clean water and air and a healthy human habitat will only happen with the engagement of many different people from many different backgrounds. There is so much that remains to be answered as to how best to accomplish such hopeful goals—which makes conservation one of humanity’s great undertakings. But as we move forward, we must always remember the past, proceeding with the best information available, and always with a large helping of humility. -- Matt Miller

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