Orphaned Fisher Kits Get a Brand New Start in Yosemite

As California Director for the National Wildlife Federation, I truly do have the best job in the world. This week, I had the once-in-a-lifetime privilege of attending the release of four fisher kits into Yosemite National Park, part of a historic conservation initiative aimed at increasing the declining fisher population in the region.

Despite living outside of Yosemite and wandering in the Sierra for twenty-five years, I had never seen a fisher in the wild until I watched in awe as the kits emerged from their boxes, tentatively sniffing the air of their new home, then playfully wrestling and chasing each other over a fallen log. Described as having “the face of a weasel and the tail of a fox", the fisher also possesses the trait of being extremely secretive. Sightings of the animal are very rare.

Rachel Mazur, National Park Service, and Craig Thompson, US Forest Service, carry one of the fisher pairs to the release site. Photo by Beth Pratt

Perhaps not surprisingly given its elusive nature, the fisher prefers wild and deep forestland. Unfortunately, habitat loss from development, forest clearing and fires, along with other environmental threats, have taken its toll on the animal throughout the Sierra Nevada. Fishers have disappeared from 50% of their range in California and just two native populations survive. This small, isolated population in the Southern Sierra is listed as threatened by the state and is under consideration for federal listing.

The kits, two sets of siblings, were rescued south of the park after two radio-collared female fishers were killed by predators. Their release back into the wild is part of a four-year effort to reintroduce fishers north of the Merced River in Yosemite National Park, a cooperative effort between the National Park Service, U.S. Forest Service Pacific Southwest Research Station (PSW), Fresno-Chaffee Zoo, and the Fresno Wildlife Rehabilitation Foundation.

A fisher kit plays on a fallen log after his release into the wild. Photo by Bob Roney

Historic records show that fishers once occupied this area, but trapping and logging in the late 1800s and early 1900s likely led to their local extinction. Despite over 70 years of protection, fishers have failed to successfully recolonize the area. Biologists hope that human-assisted migration north of Yosemite Valley and across the Merced River barrier will help increase the long term viability of the population by expanding its distribution.

National Park Service and Forest Service biologists will work together to monitor these four kits. If they survive at rates similar to other juvenile fishers, the population will be augmented in the following years with additional orphans that would have otherwise died if they had not been rescued by researchers.

The fisher kits emerge from their boxes and start checking out their surroundings. Photo by Bob Roney

Craig Thompson of the US Forest Service prepares to release the fisher kits in Yosemite. Photo by Beth Pratt

As I watched one pair of fishers disappear into the woods of their new home, I knew I witnessed a miracle of wild things. I listened to the surrounding chatter of squirrels and birds, the wind rustling the leaves of the trees, the soft patter of rain drops, and knew the call of the fisher would now be restored to the soundscape of the forest. Their call is a part of the natural music that has been missing from this area for too long.

NWF has partnered with biologist Craig Thompson of the U.S. Forest Service and the Integral Ecology Research Center to help support important research and conservation initiatives for the Sierra Nevada fisher.

Donate today to help NWF continue this vital work to ensure the survival of fisher kits!

Celebrating the Return of the Wolf to California

When the wolf OR-7 crossed the state line in 2011, he became the first wolf to visit California in over 90 years. He represented hope for a future of California being able to welcome back a native species; this was truly something to celebrate. He eventually returned to Oregon to raise his family, leaving most to think that wolves taking up residence full-time in California was still years away.

Yet the photos released yesterday by California's Department of Fish and Wildlife of five wolf pups and their parents frolicking in California's Siskiyou County, not far from Mount Shasta, showed that the wolves had a quicker time frame in mind.

“This news is exciting for California,” said Charlton H. Bonham, CDFW Director. “We knew wolves would eventually return home to the state and it appears now is the time.”

My upcoming book, When Mountain Lions are Neighbors: Wildlife in Today's California, features a chapter on the return of the wolf to California and recounts OR-7's remarkable journey. Here's a special excerpt preview to celebrate California's first wolf pack in almost a century. Welcome home, Shasta Pack!

What does California remember of wolves?

Do the tule elk, scattered remnants of the wild herds once roaming California in the hundreds of thousands, recall the wolf packs that gave chase across the wide grasslands of the Central Valley? When the elk trot stiffly, arching their necks and holding their heads high, are they putting on a confident display for a predator long vanished? Do they still have a warning call reserved for wolves, unused for generations? Would they shiver if they heard a howl carried over the hills by the wind? Or have elk forgotten that haunting song?

Does the condor, itself nearly vanished into legend, imagine wolves loping on the hillsides as it soars overhead, its magnificent wings casting moving shadows on the land like clouds do? As it glides on the rising thermals of air scouting for carrion, does it remember the bounty wolves brought to its kind, when it could follow the hunt from above, watching the wolves conquer an elk or deer and be assured of the leftovers? Does each generation of condor pass along renewed hope of finding a wolf in their travels?

Do the coyotes, now the dominant canine in all corners of California, celebrate the banishment of its one-time nemesis—the wolf no longer being around to keep it in check has assured its recent reign. Does the coyote remember a time when it had to abandon a carcass when wolves appeared, dashing away at full speed, when the price of a meal in wolf territory could mean death?

Do the timid kit foxes, suffering from the unrestricted harassment of the coyote, long for a time when the wolves return to end the unbalanced regime? Do the wise and long-lived ravens, as they feast on a road kill brush rabbit or the half eaten remains of a hamburger bun, remember a time of plenty when they led wolves to the elk herds and were rewarded with rich scraps from their kills?

And do the willows and cottonwoods and oaks snuggled by the riverbeds or the grasses and wildflowers coloring the meadows in spring or the blackbird feasting at the elderberry tree or the red-legged frog resting in a vernal pool retain a collective memory of an almost forgotten world shaped by wolves?

Do wolves remember California?

Do they remember the bellowing of the tule elk resonating across an almost limitless playground of the San Joaquin Valley, where they could lope for miles over the rippled hills and rest in the shade of the riparian oak woodlands? Do they remember hunting under the watch of the tall redwood forests, or splashing about in the marshes near the shores of the San Francisco Bay, relishing the abundance of prey in this bountiful land, thick with herds of pronghorn, elk, and deer? Do they remember the moonlight glinting on the polished granite of Sierra Nevada peaks or having to relinquish the hard earned kill of a mule deer to a grizzly in a mountain forest? Do they remember the dense, salty smell of the ocean or the sharp, arid air of the desert?
Whether the wolves have forgotten the scent of the Golden State or the condors and coyotes and elk of California have forgotten the music of the wolf, it doesn’t matter. A landscape is regaining its memory.

The wolf has returned.

Celebrating 150 Years of Yosemite and Its Remarkable Wildlife

It is a truth universally acknowledged among national park visitors that you visit Yellowstone for the magnificent wildlife and Yosemite for the breathtaking scenery. Having worked in both parks, I feel somewhat qualified to pass judgment on this unofficial pronouncement. Yes, Yellowstone deserves to be crowned champion of the charismatic mega-fauna, as during my time there I dodged elk herds to get to the post office, and claim a personal record of seeing eight grizzly bears in a single day. Characterizing Yosemite as a wildlife wasteland because of a lack of bison herds, however, misses the ‘story behind the scenery’ so to speak, and omits a rich part of the experience.

Like countless others, I became instantly captivated by this awe-inspiring cathedral of granite on my first visit. And I am still filled with a surge of joy when the mighty rock sentinels greet me as I drive through Yosemite Valley. As Muir remarked, “this grand show is eternal,” and I never become weary of Yosemite’s charms. I live near its west entrance and spend most of my free time losing myself in the comforting embrace of its backcountry.

During my first visit to Yosemite in 1992, I encountered a friendly coyote on a winter day in Yosemite Valley. Photo by Beth Pratt.

And in my over twenty years of wandering in the park, I’ve been lucky enough to encounter many of the remarkable wildlife that call Yosemite home, beginning with my first trip in 1991. I had driven into Yosemite Valley during a major snowstorm and almost had the place to myself as the road had been closed behind me. I took full advantage of the gift of Yosemite as a private winter playground, and enjoyed making snow angels and constructing a snowman in El Capitan Meadow, all while a lone coyote regarded me curiously. Snowflakes speckled his luxuriant winter coat and his tracks made their own snow art alongside mine. For over an hour we seemed like the only two living things in Yosemite Valley until he finally trotted away and disappeared into the storm.

From that first coyote encounter, all my memories of granite and water also vibrate with the living world of the park.

A wonderful rite of spring in Yosemite is the annual love song of the Yosemite toad in the high country. Photo by Beth Pratt.

For instance, each year the Gaylor Lakes basin comes alive with a chorus of amphibian song. I recall first hearing the symphony—and being a bit baffled at the noise— as I strolled down to Lower Gaylor Lake and caught the sonorous trilling of one creature in particular, a song rising above even the boisterous shouting of the Clark’s nutcracker. After consulting the guidebook, I reckoned this was my introduction to the Yosemite toad. Once the snow melts—or even before as the critter has been observed tiptoeing over snowfields to reach their breeding grounds—the males emerge from hibernation and start singing for a mate. Their distinctive “love song” can be heard up to 100 yards away, and as the naturalists Grinnell and Storer noted in 1924, “its mellow notes are pleasing additions to the chorus of bird songs just after the snow leaves.”

The rock-dwelling pika definitely rank as Yosemite's cutest critter. Photo by Beth Pratt.

Another musically inclined animal of Yosemite, the almost unbearably adorable pika, emits an unmistakable high-pitched chirping. For me, watching the pika scurry over talus fields is as essential to the beauty and character of Yosemite’s alpine landscape as the towering peaks. Pikas can be elusive, and more often seen than heard, so imagine my astonishment in meeting not one, but several very social pika ambassadors over the years. Once while stopping for a water break, a scampering over my boot startled me and I looked down just in time to see a pika dashing up the slope, perhaps thinking me just another rock in the rockpile. And on another excursion I shared a picnic with a friendly pika. As I took my meal break near Mt Dana, the little critter remained with me for an hour, dashing back and forth to gather a nice alpine salad of lupine stalks. Pikas do not hibernate, but dry vegetation in the sun to create a “haystack” for winter consumption. The mischievous pikas have also been known to loot their neighbors’ haystacks, but this one made no move to try and steal my Clif bar.

I'm always delighted to see one of Yosemite's black bears on my hikes. Photo by Beth Pratt

The animal with an infamous reputation for looting in Yosemite—black bears—hold a special place in my reminiscences, as I worked on a project aimed at curbing their appetite for human food and their propensity to destroy cars in pursuit of said tasty cuisine. The Yosemite Conservancy teamed up with the NPS to create the Keep Bears Wild campaign and even enlisted the help of the late Phil Frank, who had penned many a cartoon in homage to the bears’ insatiable appetites (bear incidents remain greatly reduced to this day as a result of the successful project). Although I prefer my wild bear encounters, my most entertaining bear story involves a lone youngster surprising a staff person in the Conservancy’s offices. Lou Carter, a longtime El Portal resident, called me frantically one morning to the copy room. I just assumed the copier had broken down yet again, so did not expect to see a bear emerge. Just another day in the office in Yosemite!

The rare and remarkable great gray owl in Yosemite. Photo by Joe Medley / U.S. Forest Service.

One of park's most remarkable--and rarest--inhabitants are the Yosemite great grey owls. Joe Medley, a UC Davis PhD candidate and researcher affiliated with the USFS has studied the owl for years remarked, “This is an amazing bird. They have a very specialized sensory system and can detect and catch prey under a foot of snow from sound alone.” Early biologists who visited Yosemite also noticed the uniqueness of the bird, including Joseph Grinnell and Tracy Storer in their 1924 book, Animal Life in the Yosemite: “The discovery of the Great Gray Owl in the Yosemite section was one of the notable events in our field experience." And just as notable for me was a chance sighting of a great grey owl during one of my forest hikes. I gazed up into a tall ponderosa pine and caught a glance of the distinctive facial discs encircling the distinct yellow eyes and counted myself very lucky to be in the presence of this seldom seen guardian of the forest.

I could add so many other wildlife moments, like discovering the tracks of a mountain lion with ranger Dick Ewart on the Granite Divide, or hearing the soft patter of a bobcat trailing me on the boardwalk near Happy Isles, or relaxing by the Tuolumne River one evening as a great blue heron swooped out of the dusk to catch a fish.

Climbers on El Capitan have reported Pacific chorus frogs hanging out on the rocky cliffs. Photo by Beth Pratt.

Yet my favorite Yosemite wildlife tale comes from rockclimbers scaling El Capitan who report seeing tiny Pacific chorus frogs hanging out on the cliffs. Perhaps even the smallest of creatures aren’t immune to seeking out a good vista point. People will always flock to Yosemite for the scenery, to feel the spray of Yosemite Falls, or peer down from the dizzying heights of Glacier Point. Certainly let us cherish and enjoy the grandeur of the landscape, but we should not neglect the wonderful array of life that calls this “noble park” home.

A version of this story was featured in the new book, Inspiring Generations: 150 Years, 150 Stories in Yosemite.

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A sad, almost dry Yosemite Falls and mosquitoes in January

A sad, almost dry Yosemite Falls today. (Photo by Beth Pratt)Yosemite Falls on January 27, 2012 (photo by Beth Pratt)Yosemite Falls on February 16, 2010 (Photo by Beth Pratt)Yosemite Falls, January 25, 2007 (photo by Beth Pratt)December 29, 2005 (Photo by Beth Pratt)

To paraphrase a line from one of my favorite shows, winter is never coming. Even I am getting nervous, and I usually celebrate a short winter not being particularly fond of the season. And I earned the right to living in the land of California sunshine, having grown up in New England and surviving through three of Yellowstone's sub zero endless winters.

But this is a bit extreme. We have wildfires burning in Southern California and the Sierra Nevada. The deer in my yard are starving. Some of my native plants have died. My house lacks any form of heating except for a woodstove, and I have lit only few fires this winter. I went for a walk yesterday along the Merced River and thought about taking a dip. Is this really January? 

Being attacked by mosquitoes today at the base of Yosemite Falls, however, ranked as the most stark reminder of the severity of the drough. As I stood gazing at the sad, almost dry Yosemite Falls, a swarm of mosquitoes surrounded me. At first, I was utterly disoriented. "It can't be mosquitoes because it's January, wait no, these are mosquitoes biting me." Investment tip: put your money in bug repellent as we're going to need it year round here. 

Mosquitoes in January in the Sierra Nevada? WTF? (Photo by Beth Pratt)

James Franco lends his artistic voice to Yosemite

What did the fox say? I still don’t know, but James Franco gave it his best interpretation on New Year’s Eve in Yosemite while wearing a sparkly mask and dancing at the Ahwahnee Hotel.

This week the multi-talented James and his artistic posse visited Yosemite and my hometown of Midpines and Mariposa to film a segment of his upcoming movie, “Palo Alto Stories.”  Franco sightings raced across social media, from him stopping at the Pizza Factory to filming at the intersection of Triangle and 140 (literally in the middle of nowhere), to hiking the Mirror Lake Trail.

#sadfranco

I had always considered James more of a cool city hipster than someone likely to don fleece and check out the stars in the Ahwahnee Meadow. It just shows you how much I know (nothing). As someone who writes about Yosemite and wildlife both professionally and personally, this summer I stumbled upon the notice for an Indiegogo campaign set up by James for his film. I was intrigued: James Franco-Yosemite-mountain lions-bears? I knew James as a gifted actor, but had no idea he also had penned a book or two (or three or four).

I ordered the short story collection the film is based on not knowing what to expect, but soon placed James on the bookshelf next to my Raymond Carver volumes, one of my favorite short fiction writers. He possesses his same lyrical quality, and a compassionate yet distant eye. The work is also one of the best testaments I’ve read about growing up in California, it both dispels and enhances the mythical life of plenty in the Golden State. I highly recommend the book and his others.

In September, I was lucky enough to meet Mr. Franco at a showing of his film “Sal” in Los Angeles, and became even more admiring of his artistic range. In directing a film about the last day of the actor Sal Mineo, James penned a brilliant ode to the extraordinariness of the ordinariness of life, elevating the mundane to the scared in the context of a person’s last moments.

What does the mountain lion say? Meeting James Franco in LA.

Being my usual goofy self, I started the conversation off with nothing intellectually profound, but told James about P22, the mountain lion living in Los Angeles (he was lucky to escape without hearing my frog stories). We then chatted about how he weaves the natural world in his work. In Palo Alto Stories, wildlife and nature possess a sort of remembrance of things past quality as development has already started overtaking California and the teenagers in his stories seem to long for wildness without quite being able to articulate it. In his story Wasting, one character rediscovers the animal themed children’s books of Bill Peet, and wistfully thinks, “It was good to read those books again, all those feelings came back to me.”

The short story Yosemite, one that the film will be based on, deals with a father and his two sons driving to the park—James plays his father in the movie. The boys discuss the shooting they witness of a ‘friendly’ bear with their dad, which causes one of them to consider his own mortality: “The bear had ribs like I had ribs. Underneath had been lungs, and a stomach and a heart and they all got burned away.”  In another sequence of the film, teenagers deal with “the threat of a killer mountain lion looming over the community.”

James is a welcome modern voice to what I consider the tired writings about Yosemite and nature that place the natural world on the pedestal of untouchable paradise that can only be described in religious terms of perfection. I’m more interested in new interpretations of what the park and wildlife mean in the internal lives of people. Nowhere in his stories do the words “glorious” or “magnificent” appear in relation to Yosemite (my apologies to John Muir—I think him a great man—but enough flowery prose already) as his style is more Charles Bukowski than Aldo Leopold.

I consider this a virtue.

Yosemite is my favorite place on earth, my spiritual center and I work to tirelessly to protect wildlife. But Nature needs a new song—the old record is worn out.

James might not know what the fox says (does anyone?), but I am looking forward to hearing more what he says about Yosemite, nature and wildlife. And of course Bound #4.