It Could Happen by Stephanie Kroepfl

 

Canadian Lynx
Photo by Norbert Rosing, National Geographic

Back on December 30th, a lynx was spotted at Purgatory Ski Resort in Durango. It’s worth watching the video that exploded across social media to marvel at the gorgeous animal sauntering by dozens of stunned skiers and snowboarders. At the time, a spokesperson from Colorado Parks and Wildlife (CPW) stated that the animal may not be well since it was acting atypically. Unfortunately, last week there was an article in one of our local newspapers about how this same lynx was found dead, assumedly of natural causes. Although lynx sightings occur regularly in Southern Colorado, what are our chances of spotting one of these beautiful cats?

The shoddy reporters on the Web repeatedly state that Lynx were once EXTINCT in Colorado. I’m sure the followers of this column shook their heads knowingly. Lynx were an EXTIRPATED species, meaning they no longer lived here but still existed in the wild elsewhere. Fact: In 1999, the CPW began to reintroduce lynx in the San Juan Mountains, which is in the southwest. It is estimated that there are now between 150-250 lynx thriving across our state. The RMNP’s website shows a photo of a lynx and notes that they are found in the Park, although at present none are known to be permanent residents. So, since there is a chance of seeing a lynx—however slight—it’s always wise to get some learning under our belt.

There are four species of lynx; the aptly named Iberian (or Spanish) and Eurasian lynx are found guess where? The bobcat roams the lower 48 states, while the Canadian lynx is found in the remote northern forests of North America. The bobcat is snow-challenged since it doesn’t have fur on its soles, so don’t plan on seeing one in Grand Lake. But, our winter wonderland is perfect for the Canadian lynx since they love cold, snowy places that have a high density of their favorite meal, the snowshoe hare. They are so dependent on the hares, the lynx’s population ebbs and flows in direct correlation to an area’s snowshoe hare population, which tends to plunge every ten years. Although, if absolutely necessary, lynx will eat voles (yeah!), mice, squirrels and birds.

Canadian lynx are covered in very thick, spotted fur that is light brown in the summer and grey in the winter. They have unusually large paws that act as snowshoes, which is probably why they’re pretty bad runners. Instead, their hunting style is to hide and ambush. Their most unique traits are the black tufts on the tip of their ears and their stubby, bobbed tail (hence, how that wimpy species, the bobcat, was named). Lynx are very vocal, sounding cat-like with meows, purrs, and a method of communication that only cat lovers find endearing, hisses.

No matter your political bent, it’s been a stressful few months. Enjoy the accompanying photo; we all need a little sweetness in our lives. And, maybe just maybe, you’ll be one of the honored few who spot a Canadian lynx this frigid winter!

Originally published in The Boardwalk newspaper, Grand Lake, Colorado.

The Christmas Visitor by Stephanie Kroepfl

Mountain Lion
Photo by Joy Wilhelm

The Wilhelms, who live at the end of North Inlet Road in Grand Lake, had a visitor as wondrous as Santa this Christmas morning. A mountain lion added to their celebration by strolling across their yard, just fifteen feet from their picture window. Joy Wilhelm was quick thinking and snapped the accompanying photo, and then a neighbor friend posted it on Facebook for the rest of us to enjoy. From everyone’s reaction, it’s clear that not many have had the opportunity to see a mountain lion this close . . . without also seeing their life flash before their eyes.

I’m calling this beautiful creature a mountain lion, but this species actually goes by more names than any other animal—85 to be exact. The most common are puma, cougar, panther and catamount; the more exotic include fire cat, ghost cat, Indian devil, mountain screamer and sneak cat. Given some of their more sinister names, humans have obviously feared this animal throughout history. So, my question is: does the mountain demon (yet another of their more colorful names) deserve this reputation?

Today, mountain lions thrive in fourteen Western states, including ours. There’s also a very small and endangered population, less than a hundred, in Florida. Given their solitary and elusive manner, it’s impossible to get an accurate count, but it’s estimated that somewhere between 3,000-7,000 mountain lions call Colorado home. (Yikes! That’s waaaay more than I personally expected.)

If you’ve ever hiked, I’m sure it’s crossed your mind that a mountain lion kills by jumping down from a tree, landing on the unsuspecting person’s back, and then clamping onto the base of the skull and breaking the neck with their seriously huge chompers. I’m not advocating blowing off this potential danger, but according to the Colorado Division of Wildlife, there have been less than a dozen fatalities as a result of mountain lion attacks in North America in more than one hundred years. Two took place in Colorado, with unfortunately one of those occurring in the Rocky Mountain National Park back in July 1997. There are an average of five non-fatal attacks across the U.S. and Canada each year. The last non-fatal attack in Colorado was in June 2016, just northwest of Aspen. Bottom line: mountain lions are definitely responsible for bad things, but probably not as often as any of us imagine.

Should you ever encounter a mountain lion without a protective pane of glass separating you from it, here’s what to do. First, do NOT run; it triggers their chase instinct. Maintain eye contact and never turn your back. Yell, wave your arms and try to look big. If that doesn’t work, fight back and do not play dead. Most importantly, protect your neck and try to remain standing.

The Wilhelms may not get another chance to view their king cat because a male’s territory is 100 miles and a female will regularly roam between 30-60 square miles. Their maybe-once-in-a-lifetime encounter was, luckily, filled with awe and wonder, just like Christmas morning should be.

Originally published in The Boardwalk newspaper, Grand Lake, Colorado.

Brrrrr/Tweeeeet by Stephanie Kroepfl

Fluffed-up blue jay in winter.
Fluffed-up blue jay. Photo by Bee Haven Acres

I’m now timing my walks with my dog Gage to coincide with the highest temperature of the day—or at least I try (I don’t need to explain to any local that our weather reports are probably created using a magic eight ball). Gage is “big boned,” weighing in at eighty pounds, and has a gorgeous, thick coat that I just may need to repurpose when she no longer needs it. Bears and marmots hibernate and hummingbirds migrate, but what happens to those brave birds that choose to winter here instead of Lake Havasu?

In the RMNP, over 270 species of birds have been documented. Once I got the idea for this article, I’ve been paying more attention, and I’m frankly astounded by all the different kinds of birds that are still around. But how do they manage to survive the winter? Birds aren’t exactly chunky; a large blue jay weighs 3.8 ounces and a chickadee tips the scale at just 0.44 ounces. How did their tiny, stick legs not freeze during our recent -20+ degree nights?

In reality, a bird’s legs and feet are covered in scales, not living tissue. And they have an adaption in their circulatory system where blood is circulated between colder outer areas and warmer inner areas, which is why a duck’s feet don’t turn into popsicles when they paddle the icy lakes. When roosting, birds will either stand on one leg and tuck the other in, or they crouch down and cover both legs. Birds produce more feathers in the winter, and they fluff them out to create air pockets for additional insulation. When they’re cold, they shiver to raise their metabolic rate. They also have oil producing glands which are used to coat their feathers as a waterproofer. At night, birds like crows gather in large flocks and crowd together in a small, tight space so they can share body heat.

And how do they find food? Chickadees, crows and jays have spent all fall hiding caches of berries, nuts and dead insects. These little geniuses can remember literally a thousand locations, whereas I can’t ever remember where I left my one phone. The term “bird brain” shouldn’t be an insult, it should be synonymous with Einstein. On very cold nights, a chickadee will stuff itself, adding 10% more body weight, and then go into a stupor and slowly digest the food to provide enough energy to survive until morning.

The biggest thing we can to do help our feathered friends is to put out food and water so they don’t have to use up their precious energy searching. I’ve never had bird feeders because, call me crazy, I’m not into daily bear visits. But now that the bears are busy dreaming of unlocked garbage dumpsters, I’m going to put out bird food. Try suet, which is like bird peanut butter, or seeds that are high in fat. And when you’re outside, look up and appreciate who is keeping you company this winter.

Originally published in The Boardwalk newspaper, Grand Lake, Colorado.