Scree in Winter

Deadman Lake and its scree, on the north facing slope of Rt 49 (Google earth image)

You are looking at Deadman Lake at 6675 feet, and its ancient field of scree that spills downhill nearly 700 feet.

A camera set in deep boulder-scree

We set camera traps on Deadman's scree slope last November.

It's a strange place.

In summer you can slow-fry eggs on the sun-baked boulders, while cool drafts and the babble of moving water rise from the depths. 

In winter it's a wasteland of ice and snow,  

We've camera trapped Deadman in summer and fall, when little chief hares or pikas raise their squeaky alarm.

Scree isn't plant friendly, and you wouldn't expect many small mammals other than pika to live there.

But we've photographed wood rats, deer mice, chickarees, chipmunks, and golden-mantled ground squirrels far from the more vegetated edges.

The presence of those critters convinced me that talus must be a winter paradise for weasels.

It offers ever-present protection from the elements, thousands of recesses to escape from hungry raptors, and a steady supply of food.

Normally Deadman starts to look glacial in mid October, but winter was late last year.

We managed to get our act together in early November, and set our camera traps in shirt sleeves on a fine Indian summer day.

Six months later we were casting about and scratching our heads looking for our cameras.

I was the one who couldn't find his cameras, and even with the GPS telling me I was there I still had to peer into deep recesses to find two of them.

The camera batteries had died months earlier in most, but two of my cameras set a new record of 6 months -- they were still running on external D-cells.

We didn't have much to show for our patience, and we didn't get a single picture of a white weasel.

But a bobcat made several appearances at the first cam I set at the foot of the scree.

Full frame of scree visitor

The space was too small for a full body shot, but the cat showed us both working ends. 

Another revealing view.

Finding Little Chief Hare

Little Chief Hare, monarch of the mountains 

I found them in Sierra County.

That's the best I could do with my point-and-shoot camera -- the same one (Sony s600) I use in the camera traps. 

To see how cute they really are check out Bill Schmoker's images here. 

   

Little Chief's rugged domain

My plan was to search for Little Chief Hare by skirting a large talus slide just visible through the red firs on Scenic Route 49. 

The women, and especially the g'daughters  were keen to see the Little Chiefs, but not if it meant climbing a talus slope. 

They had their own plan, so they sent me on my way with a pack lunch and Fred.  

Alder thickets -- potential mountain beaver habitat -- threw me off course before I reached the rocks. 

I took off my glasses and waded into the tangled sticks looking for Aplodontia's nipped twigs and burrows.  

Snow pack had laid the alder stems low, 

and newer shoots tried to correct the course to the sky.

  

The plant community, slope, and soil moisture seemed adequate to support mountain beavers, but there was no sign of them. 

I headed up the hill wondering if talus under the soil prevented their burrowing. 

We were in the middle of the rock slide when I heard the penetrating announcement . . . 

Pip-squeak . . . . pip-squeak . . . . 

Little Chief had us in his sights, and bolted his head forward with each couplet. 

A second Chief protested lustily and disappeared into the rubble as we approached.  

We listened to it sounding its alarm deep beneath our feet.  

Onward and upward.

Fred proved himself a surefooted talus climber, but he was the only black body on the white reflective granite, and the length of his hanging tongue started to worry me. 

He didn't want to drink from my hand. He wanted water as it poured from the bottle's spout. 

My GPS showed Deadman Lake and Peak somewhere above us, and I decided to go for it.

Deadman Lake -- one of the northern Sierra Nevada's glaciated lakes. 

Reaching the lake was kind of a Lewis and Clark moment. 

Fred cooled off, we ate lunch, and I studied my GPS topo to plan the return trip.  

Fred cooling off with bear bell in full view.

So we found Little Chief Hare, navigated to Deadman Lake, and made the return trip down a steep ravine at the east end of the talus. 

The round trip was only 2 miles and a climb of about 800 ft. 

It was a good hike, but I think camera trapping Little Chief will be hard. 

Heat and updrafts will trigger the sensor as soon as the sun hits the rock. I can expect hundreds of pictures of rocks. 

But it's still worth a try -- next year.