Natural World

The photos above give new meaning to the phrase: “He has eyes in the back of his head.”
That’s a typical (life-sized) view of the northern pygmy owl, Glaucidium gnoma, smallest of the Oregon owls, but a giant-killer, in spite of its size. It is not uncommon to witness this robin-sized owl go after – and successfully kill – starlings, rodents of all sizes (except a marmot or beaver) and even mountain and Valley Quail, the latter of which is almost twice the size of the tiny owl.
Driving from Sisters to Eugene over McKenzie Pass one summer a few years back, I came round a corner just below Scott Lake and almost ran over a pygmy owl dragging a pine squirrel across the road. I did a fancy dance with my Chevy S-10 and got stopped just in time to see the little owl vanish into the shrubbery alongside the road, still dragging the dead squirrel.

An animal being shot by a lead projectile is one thing, and a creature eating lead is another, but usually the outcome is the same, the animal dies. That’s what’s facing our eagles all too often.
Recently, Jeff Cooney, a local raptor rehabilitation expert, and his sidekick, Jeannette Bonomo, were out near Millican driving on Highway 20, near the Fox Butte/Sand Springs junction when they saw two eagles perched on the cross-arms of power poles. Dr. Cooney, a noted expert on eagle physiology, was out in the area doing field research on eagle electrocution.

Eddy Cartaya is a caver with a strong sense of responsibility who wants to see our local lava caves protected. And he's in a unique position to do that as the Deschutes National Forest's law enforcement and investigations officer. When Cartaya introduced himself to the Oregon High Desert Grotto of the National Speleological Society, the local chapter of the national cave exploration and protection group, a light went on among several grotto members. They had heard rumors about someone taking formations from the Lavacicle Cave. This was not only illegal, but directly opposed to the NSS philosophy: “Leave nothing behind but footprints, and take nothing out but photographs.”
Officer Cartaya’s ears pricked up and he wanted to know more about Lavacicle. The more he listened, the straighter he sat in his chair, especially when he learned the cave is known worldwide for its unique lava formations. Discovered in 1959 by firefighter Max Stenkamp, Lavacicle revealed itself with a strong draft of air that ascended through the smoke of the Aspen Flat Fire. Stenkamp and his men followed the draft, but went only as far as the lavacicles and came out dazzled by the spectacle.

Mary Smith, photographer, quilter and president of the Sisters Camera Club, lives about four miles from me, as the goldfinch flies, and each of has had goldfinches on our respective feeders throughout winter. To me, this is somewhat remarkable, as I tend to think of goldfinches as summer residents.
Many people, from Bend to Sisters, have created butterfly and bird habitat by planting bird-friendly plants. My wife, Sue, has modified the sagebrush, rabbit brush, juniper and bunchgrass habitat around our place dramatically with her native butterfly-friendly plantings, and Mary has done likewise. All it takes is heat and water – which reminds me of a framed sign I saw on the rotting floor of an old homesteader’s cabin:

No matter what you think about individual wind generators, or so-called, “wind farms,” one overwhelming fact cannot be denied: they’re all bad news for wildlife, especially birds and bats.
Yes, the original idea was a good one: cheap electricity from a renewable resource and a way to generate power while weaning us from fossil fuels. But in the final analysis, all that wind coming from government agencies – and the industry – about how much we need the power, and how little the industry is destroying wildlife populations, is a bunch of hot air. The bottom line now is profit for the investors, not cheap power or concern over wildlife.

Winter is a tough time for many forms of wildlife. Every day, mule deer, for example, must dig out their winter fare of bitterbrush and tiny plants buried in snow. They also must have thermal cover every night to ward off those nighttime temperatures that can sometimes plummet to below zero.
Similarly, there is a group of hawks that have it tough: the accipiters, otherwise known as “bird hawks.” True, like most birds in our latitudes, their downy underwear keeps them warm, and their winter food: small birds – flocking together in winter for protection, food and warmth – are dependable prey, but let’s not forget Darwin’s theories about how animals adapt to change.

This fall, while eating supper on the back deck, my wife, Sue said, “Listen,” which to a person like me who’s deaf as a post, means nothing. What she saw when she looked toward the sound were hundreds of white-fronted Geese heading south, which is a reminder that waterfowl hunting season is just around the corner, and I recall all too well the last time I got going on hunting at Hatfield Lake.

Sometimes I get calls from folks all in a dither: “Oh, Jim. There's a huge spider in a web above the horse's stall… and there's another behind the barn door… and my son just came in and told me there's another one near the porch light… are they dangerous?”
The answer is a flat, “no.” For there, in the flesh, so to speak, in all her egg-laden glory – is our dear old friend from E.B. White's beautiful classic, Charlotte, of Charlotte's Web. And to make you feel even better, I don't believe Charlotte could bite you even if she wanted to. However, if you're a fly, she'll wrap you up in her silken cloak of death and you're toast.

This may be the year of the scorpion. They seem to be popping up everywhere around Central Oregon – bedrooms, kitchens, garages, backyards, woodpiles and gardens. The concerned mother who found one in her children's bedroom and brought it to me to identify is typical of how most people react when they encounter scorpions and spiders: innate fear that it will harm them or their family.

A couple of weeks back, my good friend (and geologist) Al Waibel gave me a call.
“Hey, Jim, how about joining a few friends and me Wednesday? We’re going out to Newberry Monument and then Derrick Cave.” Would I?
If these people were friends of Al’s, they were already friends of mine – we all just didn’t know it. So, at the assigned time and place, we all met, shook hands and carpooled off to Newberry Monument, south of Bend.