nature – Eyes on the Wild

How otters date?

[I’ve been watching my otters as usual, and I am fairly sure I have been peeping in on how they meet up and find a match. Many of these photos are from a long way off, but they nonetheless tell a story that I hope you will find convincing.]

Most of the winter, if I see otters together I assume they are a mother and last year’s young. They behave like puppies, rolling around, diving in, and playing, often fishing out of the same hole in the ice.

Recently their behavior has changed. I haven’t seen two otters together in a while, and when there are two they occupy separate holes and keep their distance.

A few minutes earlier, there had been only one, using the righthand hole, emerging and walking/sliding a short way off to poop. Then he dived and came up in the lefthand hole, where he stayed. Suddenly, a second otter appeared in the right hand hole. He came out and looked towards the other otter with interest.

Then he went over to where the first otter had pooped and rolled, and had a good sniff:

and a roll:

Both otters then continued to fish from their separate holes for a while. This was slightly untypical behavior, but I didn’t think much of it, till today.

At the far end of the pond, on a warm and very gloomy day, were two otters together. One went off to poop by a large rock, and on its return the other one went off to the same place and used the exact same spot. Nothing very unusual about that.

But when they got back together, things got interesting.

One of them spent some time smelling the other one’s head and neck closely:

At one point the right-hand one seemed to bite the neck of the other one, who wasn’t too pleased, but didn’t move away (no photo!). Then the left-hand one rolled over:

and cosied right up:

A little later, they put their heads together:

Time for a nap:

I am not sure I am interpreting all this right, and I will never know, because I had to leave, and now I am away for several weeks. It is the mating season for otters, so I could be right. Males do bite females’ necks during courtship, and rolling around is typical too (but they roll all the time anyway!) One slight doubt: females are about 20% smaller than males but these two don’t seem to have much size difference?

By the time I get back the ice will almost certainly have melted, and any courtship will have long since been consummated, so I end with a link to the only video I could find of river otters mating. It is very, very long, but around six minutes in you can see a commotion in the water, where clearly something is going on, and then they emerge from the water onto land, already conjoined, and making charming chirping sounds. From then on they stay on land, so you can watch and listen for a while if you want.

I have read that they mate in the water only, but other sources say it can be in the water or on land, and this video confirms that!

A Tale of Two Mouse-javelins

Minks and otters are both Mustelids, a family of long slender mammals whose name comes from the Latin for weasel, mustela, which in turn by some accounts originates from the Latin mūs + tela for “mouse-javelin”, named after their long elegant shape. They are fierce predators, and will eat anything smaller than themselves.

I watched an otter poking around near a large rock, pouncing on something invisible under a small bush, checking out the mess left by some earlier visitor, and then performing the usual bowel evacuation dance.

Usually they fish under the ice, emerge to eat their catch, perhaps defecate, and go straight back under.

I kept watching, and then a dark shape appeared in the corner of my left eye moving fast away from the rock area. I assumed the otter had surfaced at a new spot, and so I started videoing. But it was small to be the otter, and all dry, whereas the otter had been fishing, and was wet. I wondered if it was a mink?

From time to time it paused and looked backwards, but mostly it was bounding at a fair clip. There was 5″ of fresh snow on top of a much deeper base layer, so it was heavy going at times:

especially when it hits drifts near the lodge:

Seven minutes later it had run nearly 1/4 mile down the pond, stopping occasionally, and disappeared at the base of a beaver lodge. (It had started close to the lodge in the distance in the photo below, and ended up at the much closer lodge on the right.)

So I moved as close to the lodge as I could and watched. Something moved at the top:

I zoomed in, and realized I was being watched by a mink, all glossy brown and fluffy, with a white patch just visible under its chin:

So what was going on? I think the meter-long otter had scented and disturbed the half-meter long mink, which had run for its life. Otters are known to occasionally eat mink, especially if their territories overlap.

This one had found a safe vantage point, and lived to fight another day. By the next morning, it had left the beaver lodge, occasionally giving up and simply tunneling through the deep snow (my snowshoes sank in a full foot); the tunnel between the two arrows below was ten feet long.

PS Mouse-javelin may well be “folk etymology”, and the real source of the word may be more pedestrian. The suffix -ella is diminutive and familiar, as in Cinderella (or indeed Nutella!) so the ending may be a version of that. If you’re curious, there’s lots of ideas out there on the interweb!

Coyote spring fever (updated)

[The earlier version of this failed to show the video; I am hoping I’ve fixed the problem).

February is when coyotes mate, and two nights ago they held a party next to my driveway. Neither me nor our beagle saw or even heard a thing, but they didn’t clear up when they left, and so the signs were clear to see.

They came out of the woods, six or eight of them:

Some of them came towards the old stone wall by the driveway:

Others headed towards the vegetable garden at the top of the photo:

where they ran around in excitement:

Then they moved a little closer to the house and seem to have stopped for a while in a group hug:

Nearer the woods there was another gathering spot:

And then they left, some went back the way they came, and some loped off across the driveway and down the hill.

I have no idea what was going on. Usually a group is an adult pair and their young, aged one or two years, for a total of at most six coyotes, but this looked like more to me. Each gathering ‘hub’ had one urine mark, which suggests territorial marking. No scat anywhere, no kills, no signs of a female in oestrus. Mating does take place at this time of year, but it usually involves just the loving couple, not a rave.

Come spring, they will be taking solitary walks through the woods, fording the streams , and looking for prey:

Very occasionally one emerges from the woods at dusk in full view when I have my camera handy. This was in August, after the field had been mowed, perhaps stirring up small prey animals.

PS Coyotes in the northeastern USA are sometimes called coywolves. They’re a hybrid of a coyote and a wolf, and much larger than the coyotes of the western USA.

Photo credit: Justin Lee Hirten from The Canadian Field-Naturalist, from the website of Jonathan Way,

Coywolves: The Coyote-Wolf Hybrids That Thrive in Northeastern North America

The only possible word is sleek

[Back to Lovell, Maine, for now.]

We had had the first proper snowfall of the winter on December 2nd, six inches of lovely fluffy stuff, so on the morning of December 3rd I snowshoed in to our beaver pond. Joy of joys, as I stood on the shoreline two young otters popped out of the ice just a few feet in front of me.

We were all a little startled, but I took a few quick photos:

and after one minute twenty seconds they slid back in:

I stayed put, and ten minutes later they returned, this time checking immediately to see if I was still there:

Since I clearly was, they didn’t hang around, only twenty seconds total this time, but then I saw a third one, on the left, further out on the ice near the beaver lodge.

This one was larger, perhaps the mother, and she was fishing successfully, three different fish over the course of fifteen minutes:

Eating one took a while:

Later, another otter joined her, but she didn’t share her fish. Watch the video here:

After a bit the youngsters appeared, sunbathing:

Looking for the others:

and sliding on the ice:

A communal slide, followed by a dip:

A perfect morning, for me and apparently for them too..

Wapiti, anyone?

[The other large mammal in Mongolia’s Hustai National Park is the wapiti. It took me some considerable time to understand what we were looking for, because our guide used the names wapiti, moose, elk, and red deer interchangeably. In Eurasia, “elk” is often used for what Americans call moose, but there are no moose in Hustai. We were, it turned out, looking for a close relative of the North American elk, Cervus canadensis, but the subspecies sibiricus. To avoid the confusion with moose, the park rangers call them by the Cree name “wapiti”. “Red deer” was in fact a red herring: it was once thought that red deer, Cervus elaphus, and elk were the same species, but that is now known to be incorrect. C. canadensis has a wider rump patch and paler-hued antlers. ]

So, let’s stick with wapiti! Hustai has around 1300 of them, and they are not endangered. Here is a handsome bull wapiti, resting from his day’s exertions. It is the mating season, so he either has a herd of twenty or more females to keep under control, or he is trying to win a herd away from another male. Either way, an exhausting job.

This is a group of females:

Their lord and master rounds them up:

and moves them higher up the hill to a safer spot:

If he senses another male nearby, he may bellow, or rather “bugle”, an eerie sound. He stretches out his neck, and lowers his larynx to make his voice deeper and thus make himself seem bigger.

There was a larger male somewhere off to the left, but there was also a very young male right next to him, a so-called “spike” male (bottom left), whose antlers have not yet branched; eventually, the dominant male will throw him out of the herd.

The male bugled frequently, but best of all was one morning at dawn when we had gone to look for wolves, and we heard wapiti bugling intermingled with wolves howling. Magical.

The herd moved down towards us to drink from a tiny stream.

The male kept a very close eye on both them and us:

When some of them headed across the stream his displeasure was clear:

and they thought better of it:

After all this effort, his reward is near: the tongue licking the air is scenting an enticing female:

A man’s job is never done.

Saiga and other ungulates

There are several different species of antelope and gazelle in the parts of Mongolia we visited. Of these, the Saiga antelope was top of our list, for three reasons. First, this antelope has grazed the steppes since the last Ice Age, alongside the Woolly Mammoth and the Siberian Tiger. Second, it is a bizarre-looking creature, with the older ones developing an extraordinary proboscis-like nose. Third, it almost disappeared from the steppes of Central Asia in the early 2000’s, being classified as Critically Endangered. It has since recovered remarkably, and is now classified as Near Threatened.

The rugged mountains where the snow leopards live are separated by wide valleys of steppe grasslands. This is Saiga territory. They are skittish, so we never got very close, but we saw a herd of around 30 animals sharing the vast flats with sheep and goats (right in background):

and cattle:

They hold their heads low, even when running:

They have Roman noses and a lugubrious face:

Another day we saw a single doe:

walking all alone and solitary across the plains :

What we didn’t see, sadly, was a mature male with a fully developed proboscis, so here is a photo from National Geographic:

The reasons for the saiga’s precipitous decline were many. After the Soviet Union broke up illegal hunting increased dramatically, driven mainly by demand from China for the horns for traditional medicine. The Pasteurella multocida bacterium caused mass deaths in 2015, and the Peste des Petits Ruminants Virus (PPRV) spread from livestock in 2017 and killed nearly 80%. It gets worse. A 2021 study showed that Foot-and-Mouth Disease has also spread into the saiga herds, with a mortality rate of 34%.

The rebound in population is extremely encouraging, but they are not out of danger yet.

PS We also saw Goitred Gazelle in the Altai, and Mongolian Gazelle in the west of the country, but too far away to photograph usefully. Here are some Mongolian Gazelle, grazing alongside a herd of horses:

They’re not endangered at all, I am delighted to say, despite being hunted for centuries: “a passage in the 13th-century Secret History of the Mongols tells how a young Shigi Qutuqu managed to round up a herd of gazelles in a winter blizzard.” (Wikipedia)

Snow Leopard Quest: the nuts and bolts

[In pale imitation of the BBC’s documentaries which always include a section on “Making Planet Earth”, this post is more about ‘how we saw it’ than about the nature itself, so it may not interest you. Back to proper nature next time.]

To penetrate the mountain fastness where the elusive snow leopard lives takes planning, time, and the skill of a lot of wonderful people.

This is what we went to see, up to 59″long plus 41″ tail, 120lbs of predatory grace (photo from the World Wildlife Fund website):

They live in Central Asia and the Himalayas, and we saw them in the Altai area of Mongolia. We flew to Khovd, 2 hours west of the capital Ulaanbaatar

then drove from Khovd, top left, another 2 hours or so to our base camp at 1500m high, bottom right.

The leopards live in the Jargalant mountains, snow-topped on the map.

Our base camp had eight gers, each with painted doors, wooden beds and a pot-bellied stove. :

The camp was owned and run by a family. The pater familias was Soronzon, (who we nicknamed Big Daddy):

plus his wife and daughter (our excellent cooks, not just dinner at camp but a hot lunch in the field every day):

And then his two sons, who were a driver and a scout respectively, as well as being of necessity resourceful mechanics:

even if they eventually needed reinforcements:

The scouts live in an isolated ger, scanning for snow leopards; theirs was on top of the mountain, and I’ve lost my photo, but the different one shown by the arrow below shows you how they are dwarfed by this landscape:

The grand-daughter came along one day too:

And of course the excellent Istvan, our Hungarian guide, whose photo you saw in the last post, and a translator called Eta, the daughter of herders.

All these photos were taken on our first full day of searching, us sitting on the rocky ground with our binoculars, the guides using their scopes. We were at about 3300m, nearly 11,000 feet (5000 feet higher than Mt Washington, the highest peak east of the Mississippi).

The vistas are wild and open and stark:

But no amount of scanning rustled up a leopard that day.

The next day it rained, and we were also told the leopards had probably descended to lower altitudes, following their prey, so we too stayed low down and looked for other animals.

The following day the mountains were covered in cloud, and the rain of the lower altitudes had been snow up there, so we stayed lower during the morning, but after lunch we were told the clouds were starting to lift, so we set off, into a whiteout. The intrepid scouts, who live high in the mountains all summer, emerged from the mist:

and scanned the hillsides whenever there was a break in the clouds.

As predicted, the clouds lifted, slowly, and for hours we scanned in the cold, retreating to the vehicles when we couldn’t take it any more.

But Istvan and the scouts stayed there throughout.

Unsurprisingly we saw nothing, but the views were extraordinary:

The next day was our last day, and the skies cleared. The team decided to search lower down on the other side of the mountain range, and you know what happened next… (from my last post).

A former producer for one of the BBC’s nature shows said that snow leopards were for her “a bit too hard core for the reward”. For me, it was worth it. She also said that it “needs the most expensive cameras on the planet”! True, and sadly, I didn’t have one.

PS On our last evening in camp, two musicians from the local village of Chandman played for us. One was a throat singer, listen and watch here. The last portion is the Q&A in which he demonstrates his techniques. (Thanks to Stephen and Kerstin for the videos).

Ghost of the Mountains

I have just got back from Mongolia, and this will be the first of several posts. But the biggest hope was to see a Snow Leopard, Panthera uncia, and we did, and so I’m going to start with the day it happened. In later posts if you are interested you can read more about the prior four days of searching, and many other Mongolian delights.

We were in the Altai, in the west of Mongolia. Snow leopards live in these mountains, which rise to nearly 4000m. But it was cold, and our hosts told us the leopard’s prey had moved lower and so had the leopards, and they doubted we would see one. Discouraging. On day four, we went round to a new side of the Jargalant Mt range, and drove up the valley. Here is the ‘road’, and a shot of the glorious scenery:

We paused for a rest, looking out across the distant valley at some tiny dots that were Argali sheep. In front of us was an oboo, a stone cairn surrounded by a stone circle that marks the ancestors and their bonds with nature, lined up precisely with a gap in the hillside.

We drove higher:

and stopped for lunch, at about 2600m. The snowline was around 3300m. The scouts on their dirt bikes arrived to join us.

At the bottom of the valley in the photo below is a tiny dot, in the centre of the photo. That is a dirt bike, so you can absorb the scale of this landscape. .

We settled down,

Istvan our guide scanning the hillsides:

No sign of a leopard, just some distant yaks and an ibex.

This was our last day in the mountains, and at 1.30pm we started to get into the vehicles, when there was radio crackle, and excited chatter in Mongolian from our guides. Unbelievably the scouts (who had finished lunch and gone back to search) had seen a leopard. We hiked across a steep hillside for about 10 minutes, and looked down into another valley. One scout materialized, and looked through the scope.

The leopard is here, 800m or 1/2 a mile away across the valley:

Look closer:

My camera is not up to BBC David Attenborough standards, so my photo is unimpressive, but it is indeed a snow leopard, asleep on a ledge, 1/2 mile away:

Only the tail gives it away. There was a dead ibex nearby, so it had eaten and was now guarding its prey and taking a nap. It may stay with its prey for a week, and kill every 10-15 days. How the scout had seen it was beyond us. He said it had slightly shifted to get more comfortable, and the movement had given it away. What skill, and what eyesight.

Had we left 30 minutes earlier we would never have seen a snow leopard. There is something about knowing that you have brushed up against the world of such a mythical beast that fills your heart with joy. Sometimes the stars align.

PS Mongolia probably has a population of around 1000 snow leopards spread across around 100,000 square kilometers. Each solitary animal can range over around 500Km2.

https://globalsnowleopard.org/paws-preliminary-estimates-of-mongolias-snow-leopard-population-released

There are around 4000-6500 worldwide. The IUCN classifies them as Vulnerable, and no longer as Endangered (which indicates less than 2500 left worldwide), but this is controversial. Much of their isolated habitat is not explored. If you are interested, a very good summary of their behavior and status can be found here:

The Snow Leopard

A Fluffy Lion

Yesterday morning I saw a small piece of fluff on an oak leaf.

In nature, anomalies catch the eye, so I looked more closely. It moved! So I picked it up. A minute tail and a couple of legs poked out.

The whole thing was about 1/3″long. I tried to turn it over to see the bug underneath, but it righted itself in a microsecond. But when I put it on my thumb it tried to escape, walking steadily along my thumb looking for an off-ramp:

And when I put it back on the leaf, it beat a retreat over the edge of the leaf to safety:

Here is a video:

It is the larva of a Stripe-horned Lacewing. Here is a Golden-eyed Lacewing adult, a close relative:

Some species of lacewing larvae, like mine, load detritus on their backs as camouflage to fool birds, and very effective it probably is too, though it didn’t fool me for long.

They feed on aphids, and are sometimes described as alligator-like, both for their body shape and their bite: here is the larva of a Red-tipped Green Lacewing, showing those ferocious jaws:

The Missouri Department of Conservation has a graphic description: “The larvae, sometimes called ‘aphid lions’, are insatiable predators of other insects, especially aphids. A lacewing larva grasps the aphid with its grooved, caliper-shaped jaws, often lifts it up in the air, then drinks the fluids in the aphid’s body. A single lacewing larva can eat an aphid a minute, for hours, and not slow down. ” As a result they are sometimes sold as a natural form of aphid control.

Just shows you can be small but scary, more elegantly put by Shakespeare in Midsummer Night’s Dream “Though she be but little, she is fierce “

The Dangerous Phase

As summer reaches its peak, the nesting season is more or less over, but like teenagers the baby birds are not yet independent. They have mostly left their nests, and sit on branches cheeping urgently for food deliveries. Soon they will have to fend for themselves, and then migrate. Mortality is high in this interlude betwixt the parental home and true adulthood.

These are some I have seen in the last few weeks. In my big hickory tree, two Hairy Woodpecker chicks hopped around:

The House Wren fledglings are still being fed, three days after leaving the nest, and several trees away:

A White-breasted Nuthatch seemed to have only a single chick:

A chickadee had ended up on the ground, but it clambered back up to a low branch shortly after I took the photo.

Black-capped Chickadee fledgling on ground by beaver pond.

The next shot is a food delivery by a Common Yellowthroat mother, right:

Common Yellowthroat fledgling, left, and mother, right

She then pokes it down the fledgling’s throat:

A hummingbird posing on my garden trellis:

The scaly head feathers are distinctive for juveniles. At this age, you can’t reliably tell if it is male or female; the male’s ruby throat only develops later. However, male fledglings usually have streaks on the throat. so the pure white throat of this bird suggests it is female…

On the water, the ducklings are becoming more independent too. This Wood Duck duckling was nowhere near any adults, with just one sibling.

This Hooded Merganser is further along:

The loon chicks are still being fed, either with (quite large) fish:

or crayfish:

You can see that their downy plumage is being shed as the serious feathers underneath take their place.

Watching a new generation flutter out into the world is a special privilege. Cross your fingers and hope for the best.

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