The hanging jug. Part 1

Here's a new video showing how some of our common mammals reacted to an empty plastic detergent jug suspended over a game trail near our house. 

I had a couple of reasons for doing this. One reason was to see if a harmless jug  interested the critters as much as my trail cameras. I really don't think it did, except that the jug was suspended. This imbued it with movement, depending on the breeze and how the animals treated it. Have a look.

A saga of the meat bees

The remains of the hornets nest after the skunk's first visit.

"What's wrong, Silly Boy?"

A bewildered Fred had just slinked into the garage and crawled between the table saw and work bench.  

Yellow jackets were crawling in his coat like raging ninjas, probing for dog hide with their stings.

I dragged him out from his hiding place, slapped the spiteful insects, and stomped them on the floor.

We had coexisted all summer with a nest of "meat bees" next to the house, and I had a hunch that Fred had roused them by scratching a dirt bed near their nest.

Sure enough, they were swarming, and I was their next victim.

Only by peeking around the corner of the house could I survey the ninjas safely.

There was no sign that Fred had been scraping a dirt bed.

Then the ground heaved ominously near the nest entrance.

Was a squadron of killer wasps about to erupt?

The ground lifted several more times, tracing a path away from the nest, and suddenly it dawned on me: 

I had just witnessed a rare event -- subterranean predation!

A mole had torn into the meat bee's underground fortress.

Maybe it had the sweet taste of meat bee larvae on its lips, but this mole was beating a hasty retreat from the yellow warriors.

To prove my supposition, I really should have grabbed a shovel, flipped that mole to the surface, caught it, and taken a picture while fending off the meat bees.

I might have tried it in my youth, but the codger was satisfied to marvel at the image of the mole breast-stroking through dirt with mean-assed meat bees stinging his velvet keister. 

Yes, moles are known to feed on the larvae of underground hornets. The paper mache nest is no defense to a hungry mole that scents a comb of tender wasp larvae.

Anyway, the meat bees had to go, because I wanted to see what the mole had done to the nest.

Neighbor Larry delivered some wasp spray, and the next day I donned my running shoes and zapped the nest entrance.

A few dead wasps littered the ground the morning after, but the ninjas were still coming and going. 

I gamely sprayed again, expecting to excavate the next day.

I was ready to start digging until I heard the menacing hum of meat bees underground. 

I sprayed several more days.

Finally the hive was silent, and I began to scratch away the overlying dirt. 

I found the mole's tunnel, and carefully uncovered the domed gray paper roof of the meat bees' inner sanctum. 

The caress of the rake brought them back to life again! 

It took a full week to annihilate the colony, but the coups d'grace was apparently delivered by a skunk. 

The scene looked like someone had taken a small rototiller to the nest.

I buried the remains of the nest and smoothed the surface, but the skunk dug it up again that night and the next. 

Ah, what a saga . . . Hungry mole attacks nest of meat bees, meat bees mount courageous defense, homeowner and dog become co-lateral damage.

Homeowner vainly wages chemical warfare, and a skunk finishes the job, proving that Old Stinky eradicates meat bees better than moles or the petrochemical industry. 

Big bear sniffs, Little bear rubs

With all the warm dry weather the bears have been more active than in past years.

It's much easier for codgers to get around in the woods in beautiful dry weather, but it's ominous when the insects are prematurely abundant and trees are blossoming early.

I dread thinking about wildfire this year.

But life goes on in the barranca.

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A Hollow Log

I've been scoping out the woods for hollow logs, meaning potential den sites, and the "jonah log" was an irresistible camera trap location.

I wasn't optimistic, because even the light from an infrared LED could dissuade an napper.

On the other hand, Craig and I had a gray fox take a high noon siesta in a cave where the white flash pulsed continuously, and it wasn't bothered in the least.

As you will see (and yes, I expect you to read this BEFORE looking at the video) no one took a nap.

But even so, there was a interesting selection of visitors.

Bully Skunk of the water hole

I can always count on a few clips of a local striped skunk at the water holes on the creek.

This man-skunk tanks up at the same place practically every night, which makes for rather boring viewing.

Let's face it, striped skunks have neither the flair of raccoons nor the charisma of bears.

But they are amusing when their noses get out of joint.

A Montana scat set

A cock Franklin's grouse "walks on by" the scented goodies.

"Whoa! Did you see that?"

We were buzzing down a forest service road on Carl's quad and almost missed it.

It was just another turd on the road, and it wasn't steaming, but it was fresh, and it was big, filled with hair and bone.

"This might have been left by a wolf. I'm setting a cam here."

 I've always had good luck with scat sets -- that is, a camera trap set at carnivore scat, usually on a trail.

I added a few drops of synthetic civetone to give it a little olfactory sparkle.

Set 577 was reasonably productive, but as luck would have it, the only wolves to show were of the domesticated variety.

Fred gives the scat an early morning sniff

A bobcat paused to give it a sniff, but I can get bobcats at home in California, and would have been much happier with a picture of Canada lynx.

The same for a striped skunk that checked in,

though it gave a good photo when it mosied over toward the camera.

The herbivores couldn't have cared less about the scat, but snowshoe hare and Franklin's grouse are new species for my camera trapping life list.

Our best shot of a snowshoe hare.

Snowshoe hares of course are legendary for their cyclical predator prey games with the Canada lynx, and they're dirt common in this neck of the woods.

We got a fair number of photos, and this is the best I can show. 

Franklin's grouse, a subspecies of the Spruce grouse, was more cooperative and also gives us a flavor of the north woods.

And of course there were white-tailed deer and chickarees, which you've already seen.

One studly skunk

The Man-skunk of Badger Head Gulch is a fit welterweight, well-groomed, and in the prime of life.

His equipment is in good working order, he carries his banner high, and he deports himself with confidence.

He's a regular stud-muffin.

With 15 appearances totaling 44 images over a 40-day period Studly was seen anytime between 7 PM and 3:30 AM, and was the most photographed carnivore at set 392.

When Studly discovered the bait on the 3rd night several woodrats, cottontails, and deer mice had already passed or examined it.

There's a can of cat food under those rocks.

Studly tackled it with determination.

Heave! (1:23:17)

Ho! (1:23:37)

Voila! (1:23:58)

In 41 seconds he defeated the rocks and carried the can to the saltbush.

He was only a skunk, but we hadn't seen a skunk in 15 months of camera trapping.

August and September were good to us -- we got Stinkarella and Studly-- the skunk slam.

There are only two carnivores to go -- ringtail and long-tailed weasel. 

Latecomers

When I let Fred out for his morning constitutional about a month ago he bee-lined to something near the driveway.

It was a fresh jackrabbit carcass.

There was hair all over the place -- something had plucked it, and chewed at it with small jaws.

Maybe a domestic cat, I thought.

When I went to set a camera trap later in the day I found that it had been dragged down the hill.

 Ravens and vultures had pretty much finished it off.

The carcass was gone the next day and there were no pictures on the camera, but I left the camera there and forgot about it.

Yesterday I remembered the cam and pulled it.

There was still some hair on the ground a couple weeks later when a gray fox and a striped skunk visited and sniffed the area.

It's not a surprise.

When a mountain lion peed on a mossy rock a few years ago, it killed the moss.

It also continued to attract passersby for several weeks.

A skinned skunk

[Skin, skull, and spinal column of the striped skunk. 

Leg bones with feet attached were nearby.] 

It's not often that you find a skinned skunk on the trail, but there it was.

Fred was sniffing it intensely. 

Whatever ate it, it dined fastidiously. 

The inverted hide is what you get when a predator pulls flesh from the torso and limbs while standing on the hide. 

Its hard to say what killed this skunk, assuming that it didn't die of other causes.

In this area, gray foxes, coyotes, bobcats, mountain lions, and great horned owls are the common predators reported to eat skunk, usually when quite hungry. 

I'd rule out mountain lion, because a large cat would have eaten the backbone. The same for a coyote.

A bobcat or a gray fox, on the other hand, would nip and shear the meat away from the backbone.   

My hunch? . . . we're looking at the table scraps of a bobcat or gray fox. 

The rimrock path

THIS is the place, I thought.

A sandstone arcade where ringtails, foxes, bears, and pumas stroll. And maybe an occasional hog-nosed skunk. Perhaps even a coyote now and then.

The kind of place where local wildlife might surprise an edible neighbor.

A long low recess at the foot of the rimrock, clear of rubble, protected from above, but only a few leaps from escape in the boulders and thickets below.

An intimate place and a camera trapper's haven.

I sprinkled a few drops of fermented fish oil on the rock, and it worked.

But not on bears or pumas.



Providence rewarded me my usual allotment of wood rats and gray fox. Wherever I go they are waiting to give me their pictures.



I'm not complaining, because sooner or later something unusal happens, like the monogamous pair in the same picture.



Or a meeting of fox and skunk, both drawn to that delightfully smelly smudge of fish oil.

Though the skunk is partially hidden, its flag is up, ready to about-face and lay the fox low with a blast of hideous gas.



Br'er fox is not about to be skunked. His flag is also raised, but for the moment he's avoiding eye contact with the little bully. Or maybe his gaze is on the camera.

Either way, I suspect he's been skunked before.

Back on the mountain -- part 3

This is NOT where I had aimed the third camera.

This camera was attached to a short length of steel fence post, aimed at a gap in a large fir that had fallen across the trail. I'm afraid I had set the camera a little too low. I was trying to cover as much foreground as possible.

Something had pulled it down. It was undamaged and pointed at the ground. Since then the camera had taken 31 pictures of hot air puffs on the ground.

We checked the pictures.

The first travelers were a skunk and a wood rat, but . . .



on the third day a bear ambled by at 9:20 in the morning. It was about to pass through the gap when it noticed the camera.



It turned around, approached it, and then went away.



Two nights later the bear was back, and the camera took three closeups.



Then the bear pulled the camera over.

I told Rich we were lucky. It only pushed the camera down. The bear guard had worked.

(2 cameras to go. Coming soon: "Back on the mountain -- part 4")

Strangers in the night

Action on the skunk singles scene is picking up.

These photos from two cameras were taken an hour and 35 minutes apart on a rainy night. I suspect they are the same two animals, a pair, and that this is not business as usual. As flawed as they are, the pictures tell us that the striped skunk breeding season is underway.

In the eastern US and upper midwest skunks den together in winter. (I am not sure it's the same in mild parts of California.) Researchers most commonly encounter female slumber parties, but single males often join the group (and all male sleeping groups are found more rarely). This is a good arrangement from the standpoint of energy conservation, but not for orgies.

While the sleeping arrangement looks suspiciously like a seraglio, it is not. The male has no command over the ladies, and there is no evidence of the dormitory effect or synchronized estrous cycles in skunks.

When the temperature rises and the wind lets up bedmates forage independently, and as in many other solitary mammals, males pursue carnal knowledge one female at a time.

I have a hunch that these strangers in the night are a'courtin'. If true, he's following her because she is in the proceptive phase of her estrous cycle. This is the short period before estrus when a female's pheromones have a potent come-hither-come-yon effect on males, though they reject amorous advances. It's a common pattern in carnivores.

Several males may be attracted to such females, and a honcho emerges from the competition. The winner takes all when the female comes into heat a short time later, or at least he has the first shot at siring the litter.

The all-too-common indicator of the breeding season are dead skunks in the middle of the road. I used to keep count of dead skunks on route 66 when I drove from Front Royal, Virginia to Washington D.C. for weekly meetings, and a bell-shaped curve tracked the frequency over time rather nicely. Male activity usually picks up in the second week of February, even when the temperature is 10 degrees C, but over the years I often saw dead skunks in January. A second spate of flattened skunks would apppear later in the spring and early summer when youngsters were up and about.

The uniqueness of this American road experience moved Loudon Wainwright to compose "Dead Skunk" in 1972, and for six weeks it was #1 on the charts in Little Rock, Arkansas, where apparently it stirred strong emotions.

A number of my colleagues were quite taken with the song, but I always felt that the lyrics could have encompassed other eternal themes like the rake and rambling boy "looking for love in all the wrong places".

The erotic wanderlust of male skunks has not been adequately investigated. In fact the only paper on the subject was written by herpetologist Carl Ernst whose 10-month-old pet male skunk developed disturbing rutting habits for a period of five weeks. The previously docile animal "nervously prowled about and examined every possible hiding place, sniffing loudly..." Its appetite doubled and it peed a pungent urine indiscriminately, which it also lapped and rolled in.

Rutting behavior is a hypersexual phase in the reproductive cycle of polygynous male ungulates and manifests itself in anorexia, aggressive behavior, frequent urination and scent marking, wallowing and increased activity.

Why it occurs in the striped skunk is another question. Maybe it is related to the observation that litter size and weaning success of captive skunks is greatest in females that breed earlier in the season. Timing of birth is often critical, and early-born skunks have more time to grow under favorable conditions.

If so, Ready-Freddies who play the field early in the season would have a reproductive advantage.

References

Ernst, C.H. 1965. Rutting activities in a captive skunk. Journal of Mammalogy, 46(4):702-703.

Wade-Smith, J. and B. J. Verts. 1982. Mephitus mephitus. Mammalian Species, No. 173, pp. 1-7

Wade-Smith, J. 1978. Reproduction in captive striped skunks, Mephitus mephitus. American Midland Naturalist, 100:452-455.

Sunquist, M.E. Winter activity of striped skunks (Mephitus mephitus) in east-central Minnesota. American Midland Naturalist, 92:434-446.

Hairy entanglements

Bwah-ha-ha-ha . . . I tricked you with that title, didn't I!

And then you saw another blasted skunk picture. Well, I know you're tired of seeing skunks on this blog, and I'd much rather be writing about pictures of California quail, red tree mice, or kit foxes. But these seedy skunks delivered a story.



Skunks tank up at the water trough nightly, so the camera trap gives me a pretty good idea of who's coming and going. Seedy skunks started to show up back in July. A week later they were gone, and only well-groomed skunks were making appearances.

I can't tell you what kind of seeds they were, but the skunks, I suspect, dispersed the seeds far and wide as they grubbed about on their nocturnal beat. I imagine a lot of the seeds just dropped off, but carnivores are pretty persistent at grooming seeds out of their fur, too.

Epizoochory is an old story. Grass parts were recently discovered in dinosaur dung, so Juarrasic park might have been seeded by giant reptiles, but that's endozoochory.

We're talking about the first plants to hitch-hike "on" rather than "inside of" mammals (epizoochory). The earliest evidence for seed dispersal by hairy entanglement comes from the Dominican Republic in the late Eocene. A grass spikelet attached itself to some mammalian hair, a blob of tree pitch snared the entanglement, and the pitch was transformed to amber. The spikelet had hooked hairs on the lemma, which means that hairy entanglement had been going on for some time.

When the middle Miocene (c.20-10Ma) rolled around, prairies and savannas were widespread, and it is likely that mammals, especially migratory ungulates contributed to their spread. In seasonal climates sheep, bison, antelope, camels, and horses cover large distances moving between summer and winter ranges, and bushy manes and hair capes can carry a lot of seed. In domestic sheep the area between the shoulders is particularly prone to collect seeds and plant rubbish, and sheep growers refer to it as the "bird's nest".

You have to marvel at the myriad and frustrating ways that plant seeds stick to your sneakers and bury themselves in your socks. It's not just a chance thing.

So when my daughters had to do a science fair project in middle school, I suggested "Furs and burrs"! Our working hypothesis was that mammalian fur differs in its ability to catch burrs. The experimental design was simple. After school, the girls suited up with fur leggings of cottontail, woodchuck and deer skin (patches held on with rubber bands), and then traipsed through a measured track of weeds in the field next to the house. Afterwards, they combed the furs, and sorted the seeds for counting.

I just called them on the telephone to learn the results, and guess what? They didn't remember! They said it was great fun wearing the leggings and combing the furs, but they couldn't remember the results! Oh well, it was a fun if not elegant experiment.

I was pleased to find that just a few years ago some researchers did the experiment more scientifically. They tested seeds of 66 species on seven mammals to develop a "seed adhesivity score", but before I go any farther, let me state that I had to be satisfied with the limited information contained in the abstract of their publication -- the codger wasn't willing to pay $30 for a pdf file of the article.

As reported in the abstract: "Deep furs with long, rough, undulated hairs implanted at a large angle were most suited for seed adhesion, while seeds adhered less well to shallow furs with short, smooth, straight hairs implanted at small angles." Clearly we are talking about all kinds of bushy tails, and skunk tails fit the billing to a T.



The authors go on to say, however, that there was "an interaction effect between certain seed and fur types", which I take to mean that some furs and seeds were meant for each other. They also learned that though seed structure is a good predictor of hairy entanglement, less specialized seed types can still get a good grip on fur. In other words, all the species they tested seem able to disperse as hairy entanglements.

As frustrating as seeds may be in boots, pants, and mittens, they offered society a wonderful invention. It didn't take George de Mestral much time to figure out the hook and fastener principle that plants evolved millenia ago. That's how we got Velcro.


References

Couvreur M, B. Vandenberghe, K. Verheyen, and M. Hermy. 2004. An experimental assessment of seed adhesivity on animal furs. Seed Science Research, 14(2):147-159.

Manzano, P. and J.E. Malo. 2006. Extreme long-distance seed dispersal via sheep. Frontiers in Ecology and the Environment, 4(5):244–248.

Milton, S.J., W.R. Siegfried, and W.R.J.Dean. 1990. The distribution of epizoocoric plant species: a clue to the prehistoric use of arid karoo rangelands by large herbivores. Journal of Biogeography, 17(1)25-34.

Poinar Jr, G. O. and J. T. Columbus. 1992. Adhesive grass spikelet with mammalian hair in Dominican amber: First fossil evidence of epizoochory. Journal of Cellular and Molecular Life Sciences, 48(9):906-908.

http://www.adonline.id.au/plantevol/tour/tour15.htm

A victim of Nackenbiss

Check out the skunk's neck. Yes, yes, yes -- that's a mouse in its mouth (and a trespasser from my garage where no mouse is tolerated.) But that's not the point. I want you to look at the skunk's neck. Can you see that the wounds are on both sides of the neck?



Sooner or later those who live close to nature encounter the diseased and injured, and it sinks in that "nature is red in tooth and claw".

So how did this happen? I offer four scenarios based on the observation that the wounds look traumatic, rather than the result of irritation.

Scenario 1: The skunk got its neck caught in some chicken wire, and scratched itself trying to get out.
This is possible, but I don't think it is likely. No one in the neighborhood keeps chickens or keeps chicken-wire cages, and the chicken-wire under our deck has already been breeched and offers free and safe access to critters seeking shelter.

Scenario 2: The skunk suffered from a neck bite during a sexual tryst.
If we knew this to be a female skunk, and it was earlier in the year -- like January or February -- a romantic interlude would be quite possible. The courthip of mustelids (members of the weasel family) is well known for prolonged bouts of neck biting along with all the other stuff. But the breeding season is past, and little skunks should be appearing soon; so I don't think it is very likely. I might also add that I haven't seen wounds like this in skunks photographed earlier in the year when "love is in the air".

Scenario 3: The skunk suffered from a predatory encounter with a naive bobcat or coyote.
Many mammalian predators, especially cats and weasels, dispatch their prey with a neck bite which severs the spine. Note that this skunk shows wounds not only on its neck. There are also scratches on its head.



In this case the hypothetical predator might have lost its appetite when overpowered by skunk musk. This scenario is feasible. A naive predator might try to nail a skunk once, but the skunk's chemical defense and uniquely bicolored coat are highly effective teaching tools. Smart predators learn their lesson from a single experience. (Domestic dogs seem to require several trials, and some never seem to get it.)

Scenario 4: The skunk had a brawl with another skunk.
This would be more likely in male than female skunks. Carnivores tend to fight over food and sex. Since skunks don't have to defend their food (which comes in small packets), I suspect that studly skunks fight over females. Whether male skunks fight by attacking each other's necks, I just don't know. It seems possible, but perhaps a mammalogist out there can enlighten us.

We haven't solved the problem, but my guess is that the luckless skunk was attacked by a coyote, bobcat, or fox. By discharging its scent gland, it not only saved its own damaged neck, but taught one more predator that 'ole stripey' isn't to be trifled with. In other words, his own close calls and occasional misfortune benefits other members of his species.

[By the way, German-speaking ethologists identified the Nackenbiss (=neck bite) as a fixed action pattern. It is innate (=genetically programmed), typical of the species, and is tiggered by specific sign stimuli. It is used in predatory, sexual, and maternal situations with very different effects.]

Upscale California housing

Does a deer mouse really need this much space?

When I discovered the den last week, there were auspicious signs that the tenant was larger than a mouse or rat. For one thing, there were no spider webs across the entrance. Something big and furry had been swabbing it out. And there was plenty of bunk space upstairs in the apartment. I had high hopes the occupant would be an opossum or a raccoon (which for some strange reason I rarely photograph here), or maybe a spotted skunk.

I staked it out for four days, but the place was so promising that I paid a visit after the second night.

"Well, I'll be . . ." Something had knocked the camera askew.



And not only that . . . it had bitten off the camera trap's "eyebrow" (a PVC ring hot-glued to the case to protect the lens window from rain). Fortunately, none of the three windows was popped or broken.

The anticipation was killing me. Was I about to find an image of a beady ursine eye peering malevolently into the lens?

I opened the camera, flipped the switch to view mode and clicked through the images . . . deer mouse, deer mouse, blank, deer mouse, blank, deer mouse, deer mouse. . . Get the picture? My spirits were rapidly deflating. Then came the last picture.



This was the only visitor who could fill the den, but Ole Stripey was only passing through and had only paused for a sniff. I had to ask myself--was this skunk my camera's abuser? It seemed so out of character. Surely a skunk wouldn't take on the camera with its teeth. I don't think it could have even reached it.

When I got home I found two sharp indentations, 22.6mm apart (as measured with a caliper) in the base of the PVC ring. Now I ask you, can someone tell me the distance between the canines of a striped skunk? A raccoon? (My skull collection is still in a box somewhere in the garage.)

Anyway, two more days yielded more pictures of (yawn) Peromyscus -- both adults and blue-coated juveniles. The cushy upscale den was only a flop house for deer mice, and I am left with an unsolved puzzle.

Confrontational Skunk

Not much happened on the trap line this past week, so I pulled a few cams and will find new sets soon. This skunk with attitude is the best I can offer. It's a full frame picture, and obviously it reacted to either a previous flash or perhaps the sound of the lens extending. I've seen this stand-off posture in other photos. This should suffice to warn any savvy predator about imminent danger. The next step is an about-face, at which point the stubborn predator is face-to-face with the weapon of musk destruction.

No more starry eyes, almost. . .

Have you ever noticed that most night pictures taken with camera traps look flat and the animals’ eyes glow like their brains are on fire? These are two bothersome biproducts of current camera trap technology (among others). They are caused by the camera’s flash, which illuminates the subject head-on. Starry or glowing eyes are caused by a structure associated with the retina. It's called the tapetum lucidum. In dim illumination, when the pupils are dilated, the light from the camera’s flash bounces back from the tapetum. But when artificial light enters the eye at an angle, the reflection is diverted. No starry eyes.

As for flash pictures with the "flat 2-dimensional look", it is simply caused by the lack of shadows when the flash is positioned near the shutter.

A few weeks ago, my friend Ed Gould shared the "fat cat" blog with a professional photographer, who suggested that positioning 2 flash units with slaves to the left and above would give the photos a great deal more depth and improved background lighting.

I dug up an old electronic flash and a slave, and neighbor Richard kindly made me a waterproof mount. A few field trials taught me that the AA cells lasted only a couple of days when the flash was left "on standby". So I wired the flash to an external holder for D cells, which have a much higher mAh rating—and longer battery life.

What I didn’t know was whether the camera flash could be tuned down enough to trigger the slave but not cause eye shine.

I found out last week. Both Zorrilo and Stinkarella visited the "set". For some mysterious reason, Stinkarella's eyes always seem to "burn bright". The creature must be stoked. I think the camera flash would have to be deactivated to circumvent those burning eyes. But I was pleased to find that a few pictures of Zorillo showed off a pair of lovely twinkling skunk-peepers. The problem of starry eyes isn't completely solved, but I'm getting closer. . .



(As for flat pictures, I'll have more to say on that topic when I work out the optimal angle of the external flashes).

Showdown at Big Rock

Sony s600 and its trusty sidekick Promatic were staked out at Big Rock and ready for the ambush. Though slow on the draw, Sony was ever-vigilant, waiting to shoot any rascal who dared to cross its sights. The loyal Promatic was perched on its gargoyle-like slave, but always followed Sony's lead. Promatic was old and sensitive to moisture. Sealed in a biscotti jar was the only way it could survive the winter.

Unlike these high-tech partners, Zorillo had an unsavory reputation. He was touchy, and he could draw his weapon in an instant. But he lacked Sony’s focus. When he shot it was messy, and there was usually more than one victim.

On the fateful night, Zorillo was ambling through the manzanita when his nose scented chicken. He moved in to check it out. As he climbed Big Rock the scent grew stronger. Suddenly there was a whirring sound behind his back. Even in its rubber-lined Pelican case with the water-proof seal and all that—Sony just can’t prepare to shoot in silence.

Zorillo raised his tail, puckered, and took aim, but it was too late. With a blinding flash of light Sony and Promatic shot first, immortalizing the showdown in a single frame. The fateful day was January 10, 2007. The moment of truth was 4:03:27 hrs.



Postscript—Zorillo decided not to shoot back, and left the scene without touching the chicken dinner.

Love is in the air?

The striped skunk mates in the winter. In January and February, the males ramble about looking for mates and often meet with misadventure when they cross busy highways. I have never gotten a picture of a family group or a pair of striped skunks, so this picture is a little unusual. There are two possibilities. A couple of skunks just happened to meet, or we are seeing a prelude to courtship. I favor the latter. It looks to me like the skunk in the foreground (a female?) is looking over its shoulder at the pursuer (an amorous male?).

More recently researchers have shown that stripped skunks den together in the winter--one male with a group of females.