Pika, Ochotona Princeps

Day 231: After completing a photo shoot at Longmire, I started back home planning to make one small side trip up the Kautz Creek trail. "Just as far as the bridge," I said to myself, a mile each way on relatively flat ground. Now I must admit that occasionally I go off ill-prepared for a backcountry hike even though I know better. Today, I had neither water nor food, nor even a daypack. I carried only my camera and identification. Of course, I was only planning to go a mile in.

Where the trail turns and debouches from young forest onto the brutally scoured riverbed, the path passes through jumbled boulders ranging in size from grapefruit to bathtub, interlaced with fallen trees and other debris remanent from the floods of 2006. It is a harsh environment, and yet if you wait patiently, you may see signs of life. As I was clambering up a small ladder of rocks, a movement to the side caught my eye. As is my usual response, I froze. Slowly, I turned my head and spotted this American Pika peeking out of a tiny cave between two rocks. Cautiously, I unclipped the lens cap from the camera and turned it on, cursing myself for leaving the sound unmuted. Pika didn't seem to mind. In fact, he sat very still for several minutes before darting into cover. But he was a brave soul, this one. Out he came again and perched on the rock, watching me. Two or three times, he startled and ran back into the shadows, only to emerge again for his photo debut. I tried to edge closer (not that I needed to, since he was barely three feet from me), but that was the final straw. Off he went, and I had my photos in the bag.

The Pika is a fairly reclusive little fellow normally. A relative of hares and rabbits, their common name of "rock rabbit" is one most backpackers in the Pacific Northwest will recognize.

My hike culminated an additional 2.5 miles later when the snow became too deep to follow the trail.