Melting Marmots

Day 288: Even the marmots are melting. I took this photo before the hot spell settled in and drove the mercury above 90 degrees, but daytime highs have been there for three days running now, and several more are on the roster. We may break daily records here in western Washington, and I find myself empathizing with the marmots whose cooling snow patches are disappearing fast. That said, the marmots' thick fur coat actually insulates the animal from summer heat as well as protecting it from cold in winter. Still, marmots seem to have figured out that by chilling the insulation down occasionally, they're less likely to succumb to overheating. I rather suspect that there is a bit more physics going on here than is covered in that very basic explanation, but it will have to do for now because I'm too hot, and I don't have a snowbank to flop on.

Sectional Marmot

Day 330: Marmots (Marmota caligata) are common in the subalpine zone and are quite acclimatized to hikers, so I wasn't the least bit surprised when one sitting on the left side of the trail allowed me to approach to within a few feet before moving. It crossed the trail directly in front of me and dove into a burrow, and I expected it to continue out of sight, but it stopped with its tail and part of its hindquarters sticking out. Seeing a photo opportunity, I moved in a little closer and snapped several pictures using flash, but I was so focused on the tail that I didn't immediately notice that the head was only a foot away, looking back at me as if to ask what I found so compelling. The "burrow" wasn't a tunnel; it was a bridge about a foot in width, and I was afforded both north-facing and south-facing views of a northbound animal, its center section concealed beneath meadow flowers and earth. Mr. Marmot was obviously well-acclimatized to human presence, and seemed to want nothing more than to doze off while I made a portrait of his sunnier end. The sectional marmot!

Morris Marmots

Day 273: Some photos just beg for captions. With roughly twenty marmots engaged in social activities on a scree slope smaller than a postage-stamp city lot, it was hard to decide where to aim the camera. These two were just hangin' out, possibly intent on the bear in the meadow below them, but to me, they seemed to be just two best buds, too lazy to get up out of their chairs during halftime.

Marmota caligata is the Pacific Northwest's answer to eastern groundhogs. Classified as a ground squirrel, they are the largest member of the group and healthy adults may achieve weights of 15-20 pounds before entering hibernation. They are burrowing mammals, and a marmot den may extend up to 11 feet from its opening. These tunnels are often hidden by grasses and other forbs, as I once discovered painfully while my attention was focused on an aggressive goat. In one step, my forward motion ceased when I dropped thigh-deep into a marmot burrow which had been hidden by vegetation. The "thunk" of my upper body smacking the ground startled the goat into flight, but the technique is not one I'd recommend.

In Your Face, Ranger Lady!

Day 337: When I arrived at the Stevens-VanTrump monument near the top of my MeadoWatch hike, I noticed a man eating a sandwich and a marmot on the ground about a yard away from his feet. I figured I was going to have to speak to him about feeding the animals, but then I realized he wasn't feeding the critter. As I watched, the marmot brazenly moved closer until it was just inches away from the visitor's legs. Then it hunkered down like a cat getting ready to pounce, its hindquarters wiggling in a way any cat owner would recognize. At that point, I saw that a rapid intervention was needed to keep the animal from jumping into the man's lap, so I shooed it off, but it moved reluctantly and only went a few feet to stand its ground at the edge of the trees. I chased it a little more vigorously, but as soon as I turned my back on it, it came right back to where the man was sitting.

After I had hazed the animal several more times, the hiker got up and walked over to the stone bench to eat his sandwich standing up. The marmot followed, got up on the high back of the bench, and appeared to be preparing to leap onto the man's shoulder. By then, several other visitors had gathered around. The marmot went up to several of them, contacting their shoes or pantlegs with its nose.

In all, I spent about 45 minutes chasing the marmot back toward its den. Invariably, it returned as soon as I stepped away. I even pushed it with my trekking pole (rather forcibly, but not abruptly or sharply). I figured this stand-off might well go on all day, so after instructing all visitors present that they should not approach or feed or in any way encourage the marmot, I went off to complete my hike. When I came back down, marmot was still there with a new set of visitors and being just as insistent as before. For the record, I have never seen such assertive behaviour in a marmot, but after all, they are just enormous squirrels.

Marmot Jr.

Day 305: The Berkeley bears didn't make an appearance during my hike to Lodi Creek making this the first time in several years that I haven't had an encounter with either a sow or a cub. Two years ago, I faced off with a rather bold cubbie for five or ten minutes until we agreed on the proper comfort zone for two-way traffic. This time, only Marmot Jr. and his mom shared the trail with me. Junior was slightly bigger than half-grown, still very curious about those two-legged creatures who passed through his meadow but wary enough to keep his distance. I'd first spotted him as he ran downslope and across the trail twenty feet ahead of me to duck into a small grouping of short subalpine firs. As I passed, he popped his head out to watch me, and then once he felt it was safe, he took up this classic pose on a sun-warmed rock. Roughly two hundred feet further on, mom scurried across the track, possibly wondering where her offspring had gone.

Marmota Caligata, Hoary Marmot

Day 302: The Hoary Marmot is one of more than a dozen species of Marmot which occur worldwide. Six species are known to occur in the US, narrowing down to three in Washington, one of which (Olympic Marmot, M. olympus) is endemic to the Olympic Peninsula and does not occur outside that range.

Visitors to Mount Rainier National Park may see either of the two remaining species, although Hoary Marmot (Marmota caligata, above) is the most common and may be found in the subalpine meadows around Paradise and Sunrise and up to 8200' in elevation. Yellow-bellied Marmot (M. flaviventris) is generally only found above 6500', and where the ranges of the two species overlap, they do not interbreed. Hoary Marmot is the larger of the two, sometimes attaining weights of 20 pounds or more as opposed to the smaller Yellow-bellied Marmot who tilts the scale at a mere 11 pounds as a full-grown adult. True to their common names, the Hoary Marmot's body fur is grizzled in colour, and the darker Yellow-bellied Marmot's golden yellow tummy will easily set it apart when it sits up on its haunches as Marmots often do. Both species' call is a shrill whistle. Marmots are vegetarian, and dine on a wide variety of forbs as they fatten themselves up for winter hibernation.

Hoary Marmot

Day 258: Even seasoned photographers can't resist taking pictures of the Park's most commonly observed mammal. Hoary Marmots are natural "models," ready to strike a pose or hold perfectly still. Marmota caligata is a member of the family Sciuridae, i.e., a squirrel on steroids. A full-grown marmot may weight up to 30 pounds! They live in dens dug as deeply as six feet into the ground and subsist on a variety of herbaceous plants. Hikers in the high country often see them with mouthsful of wildflowers, or sitting up on their haunches surveying their surroundings, but marmots are not exclusive to the subalpine areas. Although generally seen near tree-line, they have been reported at elevations near sea level. Their call is distinctive: a high-pitched whistle which gives rise to their nickname of "whistle pig."

Whistle-pig

Day 260: You'd think Hoary Marmots didn't have a care in the world, lounging around on the rocks in the "Sound-of-Music" setting which characterizes the subalpine areas surrounding Mount Rainier. Also colloquially called "whistle-pigs" for their high-pitched call, these large rodents are members of the same family (Sciuridae) as squirrels and chipmunks. Their nonchalance is misleading, however. During the few months when vegetation is available, Marmots must consume large quantities of food in order to put on the body fat which sustains them through a long hibernation. This handsome paradigm of the species was simply taking a break between snacks, one of several Marmots I observed during a short hike above Paradise.

Whistle-Pig

Day 338: If ever a critter could be said to be iconic of a National Park, the Hoary Marmot would surely take first prize at Mount Rainier. You cannot hike alongside a talus slope or through a boulder field without seeing marmots perched on rocks, often sitting bolt-upright on their haunches. You'll hear them as well, giving the high-pitched, double-toned pipe which supplies their nickname, "whistle-pig." Able to dart away in less time than it takes to say "Wauhaukaupauken Falls," marmots often allow hikers to come within a few feet of their resting places, but please, don't approach the wildlife. They have long, sharp teeth and needle-like claws and, like other members of the squirrel family, are not as cute and cuddly as people might like to believe.

A mature Hoary Marmot may weigh up to 25 pounds. Some larger individuals have been reported. Unlike Pikas (another denizen of talus fields), marmots "bulk up" through the summer in order to hibernate through the winter months when their normal forage is covered by snow. Young are born in the spring. The photo, taken above Summerland in Mount Rainier National Park, shows a first-year juvenile.