2012 Camera Trapping Workshop

2012 Camera trapping class:
Top row: Greg MacDonald, Hannah Stewart, Patti ten Boom Byrnes, Natalie Fenner, Timothy Fenner, Sam Dailey.
Bottom Row: Joshua Fenner, Bill Wilson, Gwen Dailey, Chris Wemmer, Doug Overman, Lance Milbrand, Caitlin Ott-Conn.  

Thunder showers and an electrical outage got us off to a slow start, but otherwise, the 4th camera trapping workshop at SF State University's Sierra Nevada Field Campus came off well.

Participants of past workshops helped the codger by setting their own cams in the Yuba country a month beforehand, and when the job was done we had a total of 15 in the field.

We were confident we'd have a few photos of Bruin. Large piles of bear scat seemed to litter one meadow where we set two cameras. 

But when we went to collect those cameras we found ourselves in the midst of a logging operation. The bears left us empty-handed.

The field campus provided ample opportunities for camera trapping, and back at camp, however, Patty ten Boom Byrnes captured video of a cub exploring a log. (Sorry I can't upload it.)

Doug Overman with his pre-Galileo
all purpose cam mount.   

Just down river from the tents Bill Wilson added a new species to our Sierra County mammal list -- an incomplete but unmistakable image of a river otter.

Bill Wilson's river otter visited a log jam below camp.

Not far away RandomTruth's cam snapped a bobcat.

Above camp Caitlin Ott-Conn got a photo of an upright showtl -- not a pose commonly caught on our cameras.

The class harvested the usual assemblage of cute rodent pictures.

We added the long-eared chipmunk to the species list -- and you can see here one of its distinguishing marks -- long almost unchipmunkly ears.

The Douglas squirrel or chickaree

Chickarees were the usual early morning and late afternoon camp visitors, but our subterranean video cam once again caught them doing mysterious things in mountain beaver burrows.

Golden mantled ground squirrel.

Golden mantled ground squirrels were already plumping up for hibernation. If the bitter cherries are any indication, there will be heavy mast crop this fall.




Jake's cam also got an image of a Wandering shrew (Sorex vagrans).  See if you can find it.

To celebrate the "strenuous life", we forded the Yuba's north fork and climbed Deadman Scree.  Everyone marveled (I hope) at this geological phenomenon and savored a habitat that cooks in the midday sun but hides an ice age climate in the underworld beneath the rubble.  

On the Deadman talus slope with Lance in video-documention mode.  

We had a couple of camera failures, but still managed to capture some portraits of bushy-tailed wood rats in various stages of development.

A heartfelt thank you to the "alumni" who helped me out on Tuesday night by making presentations about their own camera trapping discoveries.

Jake and Christian compared still pictures with video clips, their message being that if one relies entirely on still pictures one gets snapshots of a much bigger story. Video clips contain much more information. 

Random Truth presented his ideas about close-ups and serendipitous sets with gorgeous examples of woodrat activities in the coastal range and critters from the eastern Sierra.

A serendipitous mountain beaver set -- no "Aplodon,
but a handsome Western tanager (Sam Dailey's photo).

My subterranean cam yielded some chickaree and showtl footage, but a bear cub curtailed that set when it uprooted the cam and turned it on its back. (More about the challenges and risks of subterranean cam-trapping soon.)

I'll be heading back in another week or two -- as soon as I get some special mounts made for some odd sets.

Many thanks to the "alumni" from previous courses, Jake, Christian, Sean, and Random Truth, and to Bill Wilson for assisting with local logistics during the full week.

Last but not least, thanks to the class for enthusiasm and hard work.

One of a series of time lapse photos taken at lunch with a Canon A630. The camera was hacked with the Canon Hack Development Kit (CHDK). We also demonstrated motion detection.

Lucky shot in the dark

March 21, 2012, 11:35PM

Several camera trappers I know periodically post enviable otter photos on the forums.

They are risk takers. If they weren't, they wouldn't get otter pictures.

If you want to get aquatic mammal or waterfowl photos, you have to stake your camera in or near water, and if high water doesn't baptize your camera there's a good chance that men and boys with fishing rods will regard it as a gift from God.

Since this is the third time I've gotten otter photos, I am pleased.

And that drop of water on the lens over the otter's head? It doesn't bother me that much either.

The location is a seasonal creek that feeds the Mad River. 

A trunk of California bay lies across the mouth of that creek, and it looks like it was designed for a camera trap.

I smeared castoreum and muskrat musk in the moss, and the lures worked their magic.

The otter left one image on a rainy night 13 days later.

No doubt that single flash was enough to curtail its sniffing, and in my mind's eye I see it humping back to the dark water.

A few nights later the river rose and came close to claiming my camera.

Camtrappers lose their cameras to high water, but it doesn't seem to cure them.

Wetlands have a powerful pull.

When the grief wears off, they home-brew another camera, and before long they are staking it in water again.

Had Alfred Lord Tennyson been a camera trapper, he might have penned his famous lines differently: 'T is better to have lost your camera in a flood than never to have water-trapped at all.

I know better, but when it comes to water sets I can't help myself.

I re-set the camera on that log and took my chances once again.

The otter paused

You should recognize the setting -- el paradiso de los mapaches -- and as you can see there were more than raccoons that presented themselves for portraits. 

An otter passed the camera on the 8th and 14th day leaving only single photos each time.

This was the only full body shot. 

The camera was set for red-eye reduction.

In the Sony s600 the camera fires three short flashes before the shutter is opened for the final flash.

The pre-flashes seem to have gotten the animal's attention and put its eyes on "low beam".

I rather like the picture, but wish the it was about 3 feet closer. 

I also wonder if the thief who stole my other camera enjoyed the otter pictures it had taken. 

I'd be surprised if otters didn't pass that camera too.

Camera U's final gift

For the camera trapper who has forgotten that creeks flood and that dirt roads can turn into quagmires, or believes that engineered wetlands maintain a constant water level, or thinks he walks under a lucky star . . . well folks, this is what can happen.

Welcome to the Sacramento Valley in December -- December 2, to be exact.

That's when the story began, when yours truly and Random Truth staked Camera U at the edge of a riparian wetland.

I had great expectations. The place was crawling with wildlife.

And sure enough, otters and raccoons left 12 images the very first night.

That's right, river otters -- my first camera-trapped otters on the first night!

The place was hot.

During the next four days Cam U snapped another 19 images.

The raccoons kept coming, and there was the tail-end of an egret and black-tailed deer.

On December 6 the water started to rise, and the promise of set 444 faded rapidly.

In three minutes the water level rose another 4 inches, and at 45 minutes past noon Cam U went under.

Under water it shorted and snapped 50 blurry photos in 3 minutes.

And that was it.

Camera U was finito. 

A couple days ago I removed the precious memory stick and cleaned the sludge from the contacts. 

It still worked, and that's why there is more to this story than the two photos at the beginning and end.

At the moment Camera U is lying in state on my work bench.

When dry it will join other casualties in the camera trap catacombs, which is just a box in the closet.

Lonesome otter

Ever since PG&E drained the flume a couple weeks ago -- mainly to remove dead trees on the banks -- I've had an eye open for bank burrows.

Last year I saw otters dive and disappear into the banks in several places, and now I've had a chance to confirm the presence of burrows.

The burrow left of center for example is normally underwater, and in the summer it's completely hidden by Indian rhubarb.

Today we stumbled on a lone otter and I found another burrow.

The muddy water caught my eye, but I assumed it was due to someone's dog.

The next thing I knew Fred was in the water, and I saw a flash of movement under the surface -- the otter.

Otters can tooth-slash a dog as easily as a person, and it took only a few excited curses to get Fred out of the water.

But this otter behaved oddly -- it refused to leave the area, and it didn't retreat into the nearby burrow.

So while Fred fidgeted on the berm I took pictures as the animal rested on the gunnite bank.

Its small size told me it was a female.

Possibly there's a litter in that burrow, but if so I'd expect an aggressive male to be present.

I got the feeling she is an outcast.

Who knows? . . . Maybe the scars on her shoulder and flank were from a fight.

Signs of old age were there too. Her lower canines were broken off at the gumline.

My first otter photo

I am a discriminating road kill inspector.

I don't stop to inspect the common stuff.

This I couldn't pass up. 

The animal was apparently crossing the road between two irrigation canals when a car tagged it.  

Route 162 across the Sacramento Valley is a mighty tough road on wildlife.

An otter thrill

Fred went a little retro while we were back East. 

He stayed with my daughter's family. 

They like him a lot, but giggling and squealing little girls summon all of his playful instincts, especially catch-me-if you-can with shoes, socks, and other articles of clothing.

After a while it gets old with the parents.   

What Fred needed was vigorous exercise, without restraint of the gentle leader.

 So yesterday -- our first day home -- we got in the pickup and headed for the flume.

On the way he yodeled with eager anticipation.  

The cool morning air and colder water had no effect on his usual routine.

He belly flopped into the current, fetched sticks, and raced back and forth on the banks.

He slowed down a bit after 5 or 6 miles of running and maybe a mile of swimming.

That's when I saw him fixating on something across the flume.

It wasn't his usual response to strange dogs or strange people.

He was growling.

As I came into view four otters dropped into the water.

The family had been sunning on the far bank. 

The mother periscoped us as she swam downstream.  

Two youngsters followed underwater with the largest animal in rear guard. 

Thirty feet downstream they turned into a tangle of Indian rhubarb and were gone. 

Normally I would have had a point and shoot camera with me, but it didn't matter.

I'll be studying the banks and poking around the roots and Indian rhubarb. 

I have a feeling we'll meet the otters again. 

 

Otter water trails

[An otter water trail]

The otters in the Sacramento Valley use all available waterways to make the rounds, including this man-made channel at Llano Seco.

There are several otter landings near the observation deck there, where they haul out, sniff around, and deposit scat.

Most of the year the scats are packed with crayfish shells, but lately they seem to be eating coots.

[Otters cross the road from the channel to forage in this body of water.]

This is the first time I have seen otter water trails through the algae and duck weed. We must have just missed them.

Check out Cliff Wheeler's blog to see the otters he frequently photographs up in Washington.

[More otter trails and a landing near the observation deck at Llano Seco]

Revenge of the otters

Butte Lake Campground, Lassen National Park:

The grandkids were swimming at Butte Lake when I overheard the camp host mention otters to a family near by. It piqued my interest, and later that afternoon I was lucky enough to engage the host as he was making the rounds checking camp sites.

"I overheard you mention otters today down at the boat launch. Are they stealing fish?"

"No, but we had one bite a swimmer here on the 4th of July. He was checked in right here at this camp site." Small coincidence.

The victim, I learned, was a young man in his thirties, who had planned to spend a few days at Butte Lake with his wife and 8-month old baby. They arrived at 5:00 that afternoon, unpacked, and went to the lake for a swim. The husband swam out about 100 yards, while mother and baby waited on the beach. Then he turned around and headed for shore. His wife saw the otter swimming towards him when he was about 50 feet from the beach.

It was NOT a member of the local welcoming committee. The otter sunk its teeth into the man's upper calf, and worked its way forward, biting him above the elbow, on the latissimus (under the arm), and twice on the face below the eye. I gathered that the body bites were on the right side, and the facial bites were on the left.

So much for a happy family camping trip. They left at 8:00 that evening, and headed for the nearest hospital in Susanville, an hour and a half away. The face bites required 11 stitches, and the doctors started rabies inoculations. One aggressive otter curtailed a three day camping trip to 3 hours, and the National Park Service posted a warning.



Apparently otter attacks are becoming more common in the US, and the most likely explanation is that human recreation is becoming more common in otter habitat. Otters are highly territorial and don't tolerate the intrusions of neighboring otters. Thay also have strong maternal instincts. So it is NOT unnatural for a mother to defend her youngsters against large swimming mammals that splash about and make loud noises. To a wild otter people can be scary as hell.

Perhaps that's what happened at Butte Lake. The otter birth peak is in March and April, and the young aren't weaned for another three months. This puts the mother and her mobile but inexperienced youngsters in the water in June and July, when they forage together as a family. You can expect such mothers to be protective.

That would explain the other July otter attack in the Sierra Nevada and one that took place in April when an otter attacked a crew team on the Connecticut River.

More difficult to explain however are otter attacks on pets. One would expect a territorial otter to drive a frisky lab out of the water, but wildlife biologists scratch their heads when an otter attacks and drowns an Eskimo dog. Is this normal behavior? Have they been eating bad (=chemically contaminated) fish? Or are they suffering from rabies?

Inevitably the call goes out to remove the animals.

Which raises the question. Where else but in nature do we punish healthy maternal instinct?

As this codger sees it, if you you want to live close to nature, be prepared for the risks. Isn't it better to be bitten by an otter than the Taco Bell chihuahua?