Mountain GoatOreamnos kennedyi

Dall sheep; rams on the Alaska Range in summer.

Sheep are subject to wolf predation, especially when the numbers are so high that part of the population must graze on hills too gentle for safety. Sheep legs are strong and sturdy but for their effective functioning steep country is needed. The steep terrain is, so to speak, part of their legs. In my studies in the park, the losses showed that it was the very old, the ailing, and the lambs in their first winter that were most vulnerable to predation. The lynx (when rabbit numbers have crashed and these animals have become scarce), wolverine, and grizzly may capture an occasional sheep but their effect is unimportant. The golden eagle may capture an occasional young lamb, but all my observations and food-habit studies indicate that any eagle predation that takes place is insignificant. If the park is large enough to support the sheep and their predators (natural conditions), we have a situation ideal for the future of the sheep.

Mountain sheep have a high esthetic appeal. In part this may be due to their setting, for we associate them with their beautiful haunts, the precipitous cliffs and ledges intermingled with green slopes spangled with flowers. This is idyllic country in which to hike and climb. Here we encounter the golden eagle who shares the ridge tops with the sheep; the wheatear, who comes all the way from Asia to nest; the gray-crowned rosy finches; the flashing black and white snowbirds nesting in rock crevices; and the surfbird that has left the ocean beaches to nest in these remote mountains. And up high, the saxifrages, delicate yellow poppies, forget-me-nots and spring beauties add color to it all.

On May 27, 1955, a goat was discovered on Igloo Mountain on the slope directly above the cabin I was occupying. It remained on the mountain for 3 weeks before wandering away. It has not been seen since. This is the only verified record for the park. But two road men reported seeing a goat cross the road at Mile 3, on August 8, 1950. I believe this to be a good record because both men are reliable observers. In the fall of 1950 a goat was shot at Cantwell, not far from the park boundary.

The nearest known goat range is about 60 miles from the park in the Talkeetna Mountains. The goats that reached the park may have been sporadic wanderers for it is not unusual for goats to occasionally wander 25 or 30 miles from their known ranges. On the other hand, it is possible that the goats are expanding their range toward the park. In 1959, I was told that a band of a dozen goats had been reported at the head of Jack River where they had not been reported before. Jack River lies between the goat range and the park.

Identification is not difficult. The goat’s horns are short, slightly curved spikes, similar to the horns of the female sheep, but shiny black and smooth rather than grayish and rugose. The goat’s chin whiskers are identifying, as is the shoulder hump, and the knee length pantaloons of long hair. Also the goat’s face is noticeably longer than that of sheep. The goat sexes are similar.

It is not unlikely that goats will continue to be occasionally seen in the park. Any lone “sheep” might turn out to be a goat.

Alaska wolf.From a color sketch by William J. Berry.

Wolves vary considerably in size and color. The average male weighs about 100 pounds and the female somewhat less, about 85 pounds. Their color may be almost white, black, gray, or brown. Most wolves in interior Alaska are either black or brownish like a coyote. The facial markings show some variation and there may occasionally be noticeable patterns over the rest of the body. A few wolves have a blackish saddle; one that I knew had a black robber-mask across the eyes. Individual disposition and behavior also varies. A handsome male had an extra touch of spirit in his gallop; a male parent had a dour expression and seemed, to my imagination, weighted with care. Wolves raised in captivity from puppyhood are extremely friendly.

For a den, the wolf considers an enlarged fox burrow both convenient and suitable. Dens have been found in a variety of situations. One was located on a wooded rock bluff, another was beyond timber near the top of a bluff bordering a river, and one was on a wooded island between old river channels. The four to six young, probably the average size of litter, are born the early part of May. The mother remains at home with the pups and the male provides the victuals.

At one den that I observed closely there were two extra males and an extra female with the pair. These wolves all fraternized in the most friendly manner. Before departing for the night hunt, the five would sometimes assemble in a close group, wag tails and frisk about, and sitting on haunches sing in chorus. Later in the season this group of five adults was joined by two additional males.

The following year the same pair returned to the den. They were accompanied by one of the extra males that had been at the den the previousyear. The extra female and one of the bachelors set up their own housekeeping farther down the river. But when their pups were large enough to travel, they all came up the river and joined the original pair. Young and old combined added up to 15 wolves. This wolf pack was composed of two pairs, an extra adult, and 10 pups. Some of the extra wolves of the previous year were not seen—they may have been trapped or poisoned beyond the park boundaries during the winter months.

The wolf’s food varies with the seasons and the prey species available. When voles and lemmings are plentiful, the wolves may spend hours in the grass and sedge areas pouncing on them. During the summer months the ground squirrel has at times been one of the more important food items. Occasionally an unfortunate marmot is surprised and in years when rabbits are plentiful, the snowshoe rabbit becomes a food source. I have found remains of several porcupines eaten by wolves, the spine-covered hide neatly inverted.

But the wolf also, and primarily, feeds on the ungulates—the mountain sheep, caribou, and moose. Under natural conditions the relationship between the wolf and these prey species is old and tried. There is the aphorism, “nothing in nature offends nature.” In the hunting of these animals the wolf appears to be an evolutionary force in that there is a tendency for the weaker individuals to succumb.

In spring the wolf hunts the caribou calves, which early develop surprising speed, so that when a wolf chases a group of caribou, the calves race along with the adults. But after a time a weak calf, one not up to the others in endurance, may begin to drop behind, and it is this weak individual that is overtaken, an example of the elimination of the weak, the survival of the fittest. In the winter hunting, the old and weak animals are the most susceptible. It is a struggle, a testing for all, but through the ages, the sheep, moose, and caribou have survived and come down to us adapted to their particular way of life, with the wolf as one of the environmental factors.

At McKinley we have an opportunity to preserve a northern flora and fauna. But the future of the wolf is precarious because the home range of the park wolves extends beyond park boundaries into territory where the wolf has no protection, where there is a bounty on his head. The silencing of the longdrawn call of the wolf would be a tragic loss to the human spirit.

So far as known, the coyote has always been rare out in the park. Along the Nenana River, however, I frequently have heard his song. Here he seems to find conditions more favorable for his way of life. Perhaps it is the presence of the snowshoe rabbit in this low brushy country that attracts him.

Coyote.

Red fox.

The coyote weights about 25 pounds on the average. His color is brownish with black-tipped hairs intermingled. Color variation in coyotes is so slight it is not noticeable in the field; he does not have the black, whitish and various color patterns that are present in the wolf. The muzzle is long and pointed, ears well developed, eyes sharp.

As a field biologist I have had an opportunity to observe coyotes in many regions. In Yellowstone I made a 2-year study of its relationships with other animals because it had been feared by some that he would destroy the antelope, bighorn, and deer, if not controlled. The study showed that the coyote there lived chiefly on meadow mice and pocket gophers in summer, and carrion in winter, and that he had no harmful effect on the large ungulates.

On the San Carlos Indian Reservation in Arizona the coyote was blamed for cattle losses. Here a study showed that the basic cause of losses was over-use of the range and that where grazing was good all losses were insignificant. Cattlemen are finding this true and are beginning to appreciate the usefulness of the coyote as a curbing influence on rodent depredations. In addition to a meat diet, which includes great quantities of grasshoppers in season, the coyote feeds extensively on fruit. On Isle Royale, in Lake Superior, I found it feeding on sarsaparilla berries; in Jackson Hole, Wyoming, on silverberry and quantities of haw; in Arizona, on manzanita and juniper berries, the latter being the winter staff of life.

The coyote is best known for his song, which in all its variations, symbolizes the spirit of wildness and remote country. J. Frank Dobie in hisThe Voice of the Coyoteexpresses the sentiment of many when he writes: “I confess to a sympathy for the coyote that has grown until it lives in the deepest part of my nature.”

The fabled red fox is abundant, widely distributed over the park and frequently seen. Silver, cross, and red color phases, along with some intermediate variants, are well represented, and two or three of these types frequently show up in a single litter. The prominent white tip on the tail distinguishes the fox from the coyote and wolf.

Hundreds of dens are scattered over the countryside, many more than are used in any one season. They are located indiscriminately in spruce woods and out on the open tundra miles from the nearest tree. Each pair has a selection of old dens to choose from, but often they occupy favorite sites year after year. During a season, a family sometimes moves from theirfirst choice to a den nearby. The connecting burrows of a den usually have 5 or 6 entrances and one I examined had 19.

The young are born the early part of May. By June the blackish, blue-eyed, chubby pups may be seen walking about clumsily. At this age they are nursed in the open. One mother that I often watched almost always nursed her five pups from a standing position. Only twice did I see her lying on her side to nurse. As the pups grow they become slimmer and the eyes turn brown and the coat color changes so that the different color types can be identified. Although nursing seems to cease toward the end of June, the cubs remain at the den into September.

While the male travels far to hunt, the vixen remains at home to watch over the pups. Most of the time she is curled up at the den or perhaps a hundred yards away on a prominence. When she wishes to nurse the pups or give them food, she puts her head in the mouth of a burrow and calls softly “mmmmm,” “mmmmm.” If they do not come forth, she may go to another entrance and call. But usually they respond at once. A sharp, guttural “klung” has the opposite meaning; when the pups hear this warning they scurry into a burrow. This command is often given after the pups have nursed and the mother wants to go off a short distance to lie down.

The female exhibits extreme friendliness toward her mate. When he returns to the den after an absence she greets him with tail-wagging, face-licking and much wriggling of her body. He is less demonstrative and acts tired, which he probably is after several hours of hunting. She picks up his offerings—usually mice or ground squirrels—eats her fill or, if not hungry, carries the booty to the burrows and calls to the young. He moves off to one side to rest. She sometimes watches for his return from various points. One evening a vixen impatiently moved from one lookout to another for over 2 hours before the male arrived and received her warm welcome.

Mice and lemmings are the staple all-year food, but in summer the ground squirrel may make up about half the diet. When snowshoe hares and ptarmigan are plentiful, they become prominent in the diet. Carrion is especially attractive in winter, and the fox attends carcasses and curls up on the snow to wait until the wolves and wolverine have eaten. He robs wolf and wolverine caches, and he sometimes has his own caches robbed.

In the latter part of July the foxes go berrying, for they are fond of fruit. Blueberries and crowberries are everywhere available for the picking. The berries are also eaten in winter sometimes, it is said, quite extensively when mice are scarce.

Foxes appear to be well able to take care of themselves. They can outrun the grizzly, wolf, and wolverine. When the golden eagle swoops at him he stands on watch with his bushy tail erect and straight as a ramrod. The eagle dares not strike.

The lynx manner is one of independence, confidence and complacency. He walks through the woods with dignity, looking neither right nor left. Of course, he is not as oblivious as he appears to be. He may even stop to watch you, but only briefly, and then he continues sedately on his way.

His long legs are thicker than seem necessary to support the lean body, but they are no doubt valuable for long jumps and pouncing. The large, widespreading feet serve him well as snowshoes, and strong, curved claws enable him to scramble readily up a tree. The eyes are startlingly big and yellow and the throat ruff gives to the face a squarish look. Long, glistening black tassels adorn the ears. The stub tail, about 4 inches long and tipped with black, serves to register emotions. The winter fur is soft and grayish, with few markings except for the facial pattern; the summer coat is more tawny.

Nature has bestowed on the lynx a snowshoe fixation so that he spends his nights and days thinking and dreaming of rabbit dinners. So dependent has he become on the rabbit for his main course that his numbers flourish and wane in the wake of rabbit statistics.

During the period between 1954 and 1956, when lynx were abundant in the park, I made a study of their food habits by analyzing several hundred lynx scats. In addition to rabbits, the lynx had fed considerably on ptarmigan and in summer on ground squirrels. This part of the diet increased as the rabbits decreased. But with the decline of the rabbits, the supplemental foods did not suffice to maintain the population, and the lynx became scarce.

Lynx.

In the winter of 1907-08, Charles Sheldon noted two instances of lynx preying on sheep. The rabbit population had crashed and the lynx had turned to other sources for survival. One lynx that made its attack on a sheep from ambush found the prey rather large, for in the ensuing struggle he received some severe bruises. He apparently was driven to hunting animals out of his class. About 2 years after rabbits disappeared in the Kuskokwim River region a number of years ago, lynx did some preying on reindeer in winter by leaping on their backs and biting the neck. The lynx were said to have attacked the reindeer only that one winter. During periods of food scarcity, lynx have also been observed to prey on each other.

The young are born in May in a cave, or perhaps more often, under a windfall. The gestation period is about 60 days.

In early June, 1955, I saw a lynx in the spruce woods near Savage River. As I stood watching I heard crying sounds up in the woods. The lynx disappeared in the direction of the crying. I followed and saw the parent under a windfall as it was departing with a baby in its mouth, the last of a litter it was moving. Snow and rain had fallen and the mother was carrying her family, one by one, from under an inadequate windfall to another about 250 yards away. The new home was under a brushy spruce that provided a dry shelter in any kind of weather. So well hidden and secure did the mother feel that she barely opened her sleepy eyes even when approached within 20 feet.

How empty the woods and willow patches become with the decline of the rabbits and the departure of the lynx. It is like an empty stage after the actors have finished their play and departed. Scattered through the quiet woods are their signs of life and activity, but the action has stopped. On the tall willows, 6 feet from the ground, is the gnawed white rabbit-line, where rabbits had sat on the snow and gnawed the bark within reach. In places the ground is littered with severed twigs, many of them partially gnawed. And everywhere one encounters tufts of rabbit fur and hind legs, left on the green moss, signifying rabbit tragedies and lynx banquets. But the rabbits will return again to dance in the moonlight, and the lynx will be back in his rich domain walking with stately and regal step.

The fabulous wolverine is a powerful and picturesque member of the weasel tribe weighing up to 35 pounds or more. Because of his stocky build and long hair, he resembles a small bear. Frequently the large hoary marmot is mistaken for him—there is considerable similarity. Butthe broad yellowish-tan stripe on the sides of the body is distinctive. A whitish collar, not always visible, extends across the throat. The tail is short and bushy; the sharp, well-developed claws are whitish. His range is circumpolar and extends southward in the mountains to Colorado and California, but he is now scarce south of Canada.

The wolverine in late years seems to have become more plentiful in the park; nevertheless, it is always considered something special to see one. They range from river bottom to ridge top, are found in the woods or in open country miles beyond timber. Perhaps because of the open view, he is frequently seen on the low passes, especially on Sable Pass.

In winter the track of the far-wandering wolverine is frequently seen. In his usual gait he bounces along with back arched. Each jump usually leaves a set of three imprints; the one in front is made by a hind foot; the middle imprint is made by a hind foot falling in the track of a front foot; the rear imprint is made by the other front foot. As in the tracks of a hopping rabbit, the hind feet tend to be brought up ahead of the front feet.

The wolverine readily climbs trees. One winter, near a moose carcass, tracks in the snow showed that a wolf had chased a wolverine up a tree on two or three occasions. If the two had met in the open the threatening posture of the wolverine would, no doubt, be sufficient to discourage attack. When attacked by a dog, a wolverine has been seen to lie on its back in a defensive attitude, a position that was effective. Powerful ripping claws and jaws face the attack.

Not much quantitative information has been gathered on his food habits. I have watched him pouncing on mice and suspect that mice (voles) and lemmings are the most important items in his diet. In summer he captures ground squirrels, sometimes by doing some digging. Once I noted that he had dug out a wasp nest hidden in the ground. The calves of caribou and moose, when very young, are no doubt potential victims. But observations indicate that even a caribou can ward off an attack on the young calves. Such items would, of course, be unimportant in the wolverine’s total economy. His wide wanderings in winter would seem to be helpful in finding carrion. In rich wild country, considerable carrion probably comes his way. I have found the wolverine attending a frozen moose carcass for a number of days. When a carcass is not frozen, he carries away what he can to cache for later use.

The gestation period is said to be about 9 months. The breeding apparently takes place in summer. The fertilized eggs, after brief development, lie unattached and dormant in the uterus for several months. Some time in midwinter the eggs become attached to the wall of the uterus and the more usual development takes place. (The marten and short-tailed weasel have a similar breeding history.) Females have been found in a nursing condition in early April. Along Igloo Creek, Mr. and Mrs. Edwin C. Park watched a mother nurse two young at least two-thirds grown.

Wolverine.

According to Peter Krott, in his fascinating book about the wolverine in Europe, this fierce animal makes a friendly pet. The author, in the beginning, made a business of acquiring young wolverines for sale to zoos. Because the animal was rare and intriguing, the demand was great and the prices remunerative. But Mr. Krott and his wife became fond of the wolverines and found it ever harder to dispose of them. Soon they ceased selling them, and, instead, kept them as pets and allowed them to roam freely over wild country. Studies were made of their habits. Their wolverines might wander far and stay away for several days, but they would return at intervals.

The wolverine is at home in the McKinley wilderness. Here we have the rare opportunity of seeing him in his natural environment.

The marten is long and lithe, and its graceful activity is conspicuous. The usual color is a rich brown, shading to blackish on the feet and tail. The face is grayish with a short, dark line extending upward from the inner corner of each eye. A large orange throat and breast patch is very striking in most individuals. The fur is soft and long, the tail is long and well-furred, and serves to register various emotions. The marten is alert to sounds and this is indicated by its well-developed, broad ears.

The body is 16 to 17 inches long, and the tail, including hair at tips, 8 or 9 inches. A large male may weigh up to 2½ pounds. The female is somewhat smaller than the male.

The marten is found in the forested parts of the park along the northern and eastern boundary. In winter, I have noted a few tracks in the big spruce woods south of Wonder Lake. In Wyoming, I have found martensin rock slides beyond timber, the rock crevasses furnishing the desired protection.

Marten.

At one time the marten was thought to depend on the red squirrel for his daily fare, but recent studies indicate that ordinarily relatively few red squirrels are eaten. A food-habits study made at Castle Rocks near the northwest corner of the park showed that the martens there were living primarily on meadow voles and the red-backed mouse. Blueberries were eaten in winter as well as in summer. In Wyoming, I have found martens feeding extensively on blueberry, rhamnus, haw, and mountain ashberries by choice at a time when voles and other foods were plentiful. Like the fox and coyote, they have a strong predilection for berries. In slide rock, they manage to capture an occasional pika.

The marten breeds in July and August, but the young are not born until 9 months later. The long gestation period for such a small animal is due to the delayed attachment of the fertilized egg to the uterus. Except for the period when the female is followed by young, and during the breeding period, martens travel alone.

In Grand Teton Park, Wyoming, where I had much opportunity to observe martens, I found that, although they seldom captured a red squirrel, in their vagabond life over their home area, they did use red squirrel homes for sleeping. The marten might spend a few days resting in a squirrel’s spare nest, then move on to another squirrel domicile for a few days. The squirrels suffered only the inconvenience of an unwanted guest, and perhaps the temporary loss of a favorite bed.

The mink is the amphibious member of the weasel family. He lives along rivers and lakes and probably forages more in the water than on land. Fish, frogs, insects, snails, crayfish, rabbits, muskrats, and mice all appear on his bill of fare. In the country between the mouth of the Yukon and the Kuskokwim River, the mink is said to subsist largely on Alaskablackfish (Dallia pectoralis). So abundant were the mink in the area that the Eskimo were called “mink people.” The muddy waters in this watery region apparently supported enough blackfish for both the mink and the natives. This fish is said to have been the chief food of the natives. It is very tenacious of life. Kegs of live fish, packed densely, were kept for food in the dwellings. A steady slow rotary movement of the mass of fish brought each fish to the surface at intervals for a gulp of air. When a frozen blackfish is thawed, it is said to become as lively as ever.

Mink tracks have been noted along the Nenana River, but over most of the eastern half of the park the mink is rare.

The otter is rare in the park. It was reported present in Wonder Lake some years ago and tracks in the snow were reported at Savage River. It probably occurs in the Nenana River, along the eastern park boundary.

The otter, a member of the weasel family, has become adapted to life in the water. His body is about 3 feet long, and his long muscular tail is over a foot long. His cousin, the sea otter, plentiful in the Aleutian Islands, is much larger and more specialized for an aquatic life.

I have watched a family of otters in Grand Teton Park fishing for an hour or longer. They kept diving steadily, and occasionally one would come up with a small fish which he would proceed to eat, beginning at the head. Larger fish are taken ashore. Trout, chubs, and suckers were available but numerous droppings showed that the otter were feeding chiefly on the chubs and suckers. The fish taken were no doubt those most easily captured. A few crayfish were also eaten. This particular family was living in a large beaver house also occupied by beavers. They entered their chamber by land and apparently lived upstairs above the beaver’s part of the house with its underwater entrance.

In winter the otter frequently travels over the snow from one piece of water to another. In these travels he slides on his belly down all slopes and sometimes even on the level. In play, a family may repeatedly climb a mudbank or a snowbank to course down a slide leading into water.

Two species of weasel occur in the park. The larger one with a black-tipped tail is called the short-tailed weasel, and the smaller one with an extremely short and all-white tail is the least weasel.

Both weasels are brown in summer and white in winter, a protective coloration no doubt useful in escaping detection. In some southern parts of their ranges these weasels remain brown all year, and in intermediate areas part of the population turns white in winter and part of it remains brown. It is apparent that climate has an effect on coat color, the specific factor being the presence or absence of snow on the ground.

It has been pointed out that the short-tailed weasel is much larger in the north than in the southern part of the range. In Wyoming and Colorado, where the tiny least weasel is absent, the short-tailed weasel approaches the least weasel in size and probably fills that weasel’s niche in the environment.

The food of the short-tailed weasel probably consists chiefly of various species of meadow mice and lemmings. Observations indicate that ground squirrels and rabbits may occasionally be captured. Shrews no doubt are also on the menu.

In winter, weasel tracks form an odd pattern. Their jumps are alternately long and short, and often they make an erratic trail. Frequently the tracks show that the weasel disappears and travels beneath the surface for a stretch before reappearing.

Even though weasels are not very palatable because of their well-developed musk glands, they nevertheless are often preyed upon. It is a case of coyote or fox capturing any small animal that moves and examining the victim afterwards. Weasels are often left uneaten.

Short-tailed weasel.

The range of the least weasel is circumpolar. In North America it is found over most of Alaska and Canada, and southward to Montana, Kansas, North Carolina. It is widely dispersed but apparently nowhere abundant. This tiny weasel is only 6 to 6½ inches long with a maximum tail length of 1½ inches. It is the smallest living member of the carnivores and weighs no more than a meadow mouse. The tail is pure white, lacking the black tip present in other weasels.

I have a record of four specimens from the park. One captured in a mousetrap was 5½ inches long, the tail measuring less than 1 inch. I found a dead one at an eagle perch on a ridge top, and remains of two others on gravel bars, apparently discarded after being captured.

A sourdough on the Koyokuk River with whom my brother and I stayed one night, had a least weasel spending the winter with him. It had the run of the cabin and was very tame.

Apparently the chief food of the least weasel is mice, some of them about as large as himself.

Like the ptarmigan and the northern weasel, the snowshoe rabbit, or varying hare, each autumn changes from a dominantly brown summer coat to a white winter ensemble. (In Washington where snow is scarce in its habitat, the snowshoe rabbit remains brown the year round.) His coat color blends at all seasons with his background, so all he need do to be fairly sure of escaping visual detection is to have confidence in his camouflage and sit motionless. The fur is so long, thick, and warm that he can sit all day in fifty below zero weather without freezing. His large hind legs are equipped with snowshoe feet, an obvious advantage in snow country.

The most favorable rabbit habitat is the brushy country along the east and north boundaries. Here a few may always be found. Out in the park they are quite scarce except in those years when the population is at or near a peak.

In winter, the rabbits feed on bark gnawed from various shrubs and saplings. Willow, dwarf birch and alder, because of their high palatability and abundance, are especially important winter foods. In years of rabbit abundance, I have seen patches of willow and dwarf birch trimmed tothe snow line. At such times large willow brush may show a white band 2 feet wide where the rabbits have gnawed the bark within reach of the snow line. As the snow deepens, some foods are buried but the change of level brings new food supplies within reach. A variety of other shrubs are also eaten at this season. Spruce bark is relished. Porcupines, and also red squirrels, feeding in a spruce tree inadvertently add to the rabbit menu many dropped spruce twigs. In summer, the rabbits turn to a variety of fresh green foods.

The young of the snowshoe rabbit are furred and active when born and apparently there is no real nest provided. (In the cottontail branch of the family the young are born hairless, helpless and in a warm nest.) The litters may vary from one to six. The gestation period is about 36 days. The young are weaned (in captivity) when about 4 weeks old. The females breed again soon after a litter is born. It seems likely that a female may have as many as three or four litters during a summer. A male is apparently with a female for only a short time.

A number of animals are subject to cycles of extreme abundance and scarcity. The pendulum swings from one extreme to the other. A population, in spite of enemies of all kinds, increases until the numbers become so large that they threaten the food supply or, because of congestion, are drastically reduced by diseases. The length of cycle in a species depends upon annual losses and the rate of increase. Cycles are relatively short in voles and lemmings which breed at an early age (a few weeks), breed often, and have large litters. In these small rodents the cycle may cover a span of about 4 years. In larger species, the cycles are longer.

The snowshoe hare is one of the more obvious examples of a cyclic species. From acute scarcity the population in about 10 years pyramids until the country is full of rabbits. The woods are alive with a variety of activity. Enterprise, lovemaking, and tragedy are at their peak. Not only have the rabbits multiplied, but their enemies have flourished, and the lynx, fox, wolverine and birds of prey have all prospered, and certain enemies such as the lynx, become especially abundant.

During the high rabbit population peak, between 1953 and 1955, a few dead rabbits began to appear in the summer of 1954. In early August a group of tourists on a short walk noted three dead rabbits in the hotel area. But the rabbits were still numerous in the spring of 1955 and I anticipated the woods alive with young rabbits the following months. Instead, they decreased. By July, along Igloo Creek, they had become scarce. The so-called rabbit crash had taken place.

Nature steps into all situations, and one control or another automatically appears. Food shortage, disease, predation or competition enter the picture. Adjusting is a continuous process. Many people are talking and writing about the human population explosion in our midst, fearing that space for ourselves and nature is disappearing alarmingly. Perhaps we should consider the snowshoe rabbit.

Snowshoe rabbit, or varying hare.

The pika, cony, or rock rabbit, as he is variously called, makes his home in rock slides. His way of life, and his physical attributes, are such, that he would have difficulty surviving away from the labyrinth of passages in his slide rock home.

The pika is in the same order (different family) as hares and rabbits. Like rabbits, they have two pairs of upper incisors; back of the grooved anterior incisors is a pair of very small incisors. The feet are furred; the ears are not long but are rounded and prominent. Something has happened to the external tail for there is none. The tail vertebrae lie under the body skin. The plump body is about 6 or 7 inches long as the cony sits on a rock; the color is gray.

Collared pika (cony, rock rabbit)

The call is a single nasal “yank,” usually uttered while perched on a rock where he can look around. He may be difficult to locate, but a movement as he disappears in a crevice and reappears on the same rock or one nearby will reveal him. Usually other calls from various parts of the rock field will indicate the location of other pikas.

The pika is known for his hay making in preparation for the long winter. During much of the summer he is busy carrying grass, herbs, and twigs to his many caches located in cavities protected from the weather. The vegetation is usually added slowly enough to the various caches so that it all cures properly. Only occasionally is a cache moldy. I have noted a few caches composed of the broad, heavy coltsfoot leaves that had failed to dry properly; possibly these slow-drying leaves were harvested in wet weather. Nearly all plants within range of his rocky habitat are used. Willow, rose, grass, sedge, horsetail, various saxifrages, fireweed, coltsfoot, fruiticose and even crustose lichens are some of the many plants that have been found in the caches. Some books say that the hay is spread over rocks to dry and then stored. The pika’s technique is superior to such quick drying, and results in more nutritious and greener hay.

The sheep, moose and caribou often seek mineral licks consisting of clay which can be readily eaten. Ground squirrels and marmot feed on pebbles or fine dust in their craving for minerals. On one occasion I watched a pika gnawing a rock. A niche showed that a considerableamount of it had been eaten. I carried the rock away as a sample of rock-eating but later thought better of it and returned it to the pika. Perhaps in the future I may be able to check the rock again.

Along the road, the first good place to look for pikas is in the jumble of rocks above the Savage River bridge, an accumulation that has fallen away from a rocky point, part of which is still in place. On Polychrome Pass are several rock fields where many pikas are living. Another pika place along the road is a mile or two beyond Camp Eilson. A pretty picture is a pika carrying a bouquet of flowers, neatly arranged, as though he were going a-courting.

Hoary marmot mother and young.

The hoary marmot is an amplified version of the eastern woodchuck. It is roughly bicolor, being gray over the shoulder region and light brown over the hips. The black patch across the nose enhances its facial aspect somewhat, and the jet-black feet add a little contrast to its appearance.He has a bushy tail that he jerks about a good deal, especially when he travels. Occasionally, he is mistaken for a wolverine. His soft color pattern is an excellent example of camouflage and of this he apparently is aware as he flattens himself on a rock to escape detection.

His voice is exceptional. One day, some years ago, I walked down Savage Canyon with two companions. One of them, who stopped to photograph some flowers, was left far behind. When he finally overtook us he said that he had heard us whistling and had hurried as best he could. We said we had not whistled, but he was still sure he had heard us. Then it dawned on me that he had been hearing the loud piercing, prolonged warning whistles of the marmots that make their homes in the canyon. This whistle is one of the familiar sounds in marmot country. The approach of a fox, grizzly bear or golden eagle is announced by loud whistling which alerts everyone, including ground squirrels and mountain sheep, to be on their guard.

One day three of us watched a youngish marmot high on a sheep ridge. He was apprehensive and for a time whistled at intervals. When one of my companions whistled in the same key, the marmot answered. But if the imitation were off key there was no reply. The marmot responded as long as our patience held. This instance may have been exceptional for I have had no opportunity as yet to make additional observations.

The marmot has learned to seek a home in a rock fortress as a safeguard against being excavated by a grizzly. Whenever possible the dens are dug in rocky areas, or at rock outcrops. One den on a steep slope that I observed for several years was enlarged and renovated each year. The small rocks encountered in the digging were carried out in the mouth and dropped on the edge of the mound. In late summer, mouthfuls of dry grass are carried in for the winter hibernating nest. One look at the broad, fat marmot suggests that he could sleep a long time without food. When he retires, he may plug the entrance with rocks and mud.

The home life of the marmots has not been carefully studied but they seem to live in colonies, all using a number of dens distributed as much as 200 yards or more apart. I have seen several adults in a colony and watched them move from one den to another. In traveling between some of the dens the marmots are highly vulnerable if surprised by one of their enemies. The attractive black-eyed young require two or more years to gain the dimensions and weight of their elders.

Two excellent places to find marmots along the highway are the jumbled boulders on the east end of the Savage River bridge and in Polychrome Pass, especially on a gray, lichen-covered rock below the road and the rocky ridge across the ravine from it. If not active, the marmots may generally be seen flattened out on a rock, basking in the sunshine.

Some of the marmots in these places and also in remote areas are quite tame. I walked practically alongside one big marmot as it fed in a patch of mertensia. It gobbled up dozens of the big leaves and chewed them down lustily and noisily, scarcely regarding my presence. Accustomed toharmless mountain sheep and caribou, they sometimes apparently place humans in the same category.

Arctic ground squirrel at alert.

The most neighborly animals in the park are the ground squirrels. They quickly become tame at cabins and campgrounds and eagerly stuff their cheek pouches with hotcakes until their gulps become ludicrouswith excessive efforts to make room for one more mouthful. Leave a cabin door ajar and the bread supply is soon being appropriated.

Ground squirrels are always standing erect shouting worried warnings of danger. Much of the time the cries seem to be only an outlet for accumulated nervousness. But one learns to differentiate these cries from those delivered in dead earnest. When extreme anxiety is unmistakable, it pays to become alert. Their cries have often served to call my attention to passing grizzlies, wolves, foxes, lynx and low-flying eagles. And the whole wildlife community similarly benefits. The message is relayed in all directions by ground squirrels in a sort of chain reaction, but emphasis in delivery gradually decreases until the message is lost. The cheery calls and sharp warnings of the ground squirrels are for many of us, closely associated with the general flavor and enchantment of the north country.

The winter months are spent hibernating in a burrow, curled up in a grass nest. A few squirrels remain active until the middle of October or even later. In the spring some come forth in April. Where deep snowfields cover the dens and it seems unlikely that much temperature change could penetrate to the squirrels, they nevertheless awaken as though provided with alarm clocks and tunnel to the surface. Their muddy tracks radiate from each den over the snow as the squirrels seek exposed forage.

General observations indicate that the female has only one litter each breeding season. The young do not reach adult size by the first autumn. Year after year, the ground squirrel population in the park is high. Yet no indication of cyclic behavior has been observed. Possibly their many enemies prevent them from becoming superabundant and, therefore, subject to epidemic disease.

Ground squirrels are an important factor in the park ecology. They furnish about 90 percent of the golden eagle’s diet, and in some localities they are the chief food of the gyrfalcon. The wolf at times feeds extensively on them, and they contribute heavily, sometimes 50 percent, to the fox diet. The information available indicates that the wolverine often captures them, and with the disappearance of the rabbits, the lynx deigns to hunt them for a season. For the grizzly they furnish his most dependable taste of meat. The bears spend many hours excavating for ground squirrels.

The noisy red squirrel, with his churring, chattering, and “sic-sic-ing,” lends a touch of the familiar to the northern woods. He has followed the spruces along the rivers to timberline, and I saw one a half-mile beyondtimber, living perhaps temporarily, among the pikas in tumbled rocks. They are generally plentiful, but in 1956 I found them extremely scarce. A catastrophic die-off had apparently occurred in the park, and that year the squirrels were also reported scarce in other parts of Alaska.

These northern squirrels have a spruce cone economy. Even before the middle of August they are frantically harvesting spruce cones (chiefly white spruce in the park). One afternoon a squirrel worked steadily in a group of spruces for almost 3 hours, cutting cones and giving them a flip with his mouth or paws. Hundreds were scattered about under the trees, and still they continued to rain and strike the ground with dull thuds. Occasionally the squirrel seemed to get his wires crossed and, instead of dropping a cone, would run all the way down the trunk with it.

Sometimes twigs bearing a cluster of cones are nipped off. In two or three sizeable caches all the cones were in clusters still attached to twigs. Perhaps this rather efficient method of handling cones is at times accentuated by certain individuals.

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