– Carlie Ideker, Associate Director
A high-pitched chirp echoed across the alpine meadow, as soon as my boots struck the top of the small hill. I paused mid-stride, taking in the sea of wildflowers and mid-summer grasses spreading out from the forested edge. July at lower elevations was a dry and crisped landscape, but in the Wilderness, the saturated greens and pops of yellow petals were a seeming oasis.
Another chirp broke the mid-morning silence, anchoring my attention. I shifted my pack and scanned the boulder erratics dotting the meadow, looking for my watcher.
There. The trail followed the ridge, made a brief dip into a small creek and then climbed up to the edge of the largest of boulders, before disappearing behind it. Seated on a smaller piece of granite adjacent to the glacial monument, were a trio of reddish-brown furred forms – yellow-bellied marmots. The outlines of two more marmots, or rock chucks, peeked out nearby, just visible in the shadows underneath the colossal stone. The largest of the pack held her head higher than the others, senses locked on the intruder. Me. She let loose another warning cry and members of her brood skittered for cover.
I smiled to myself before trudging onward. In my mind, marmots are inextricably linked to high places, as their presence always surfaces core memories of time spent in Wilderness. And, while a slow drive down Snake River Canyon dispels any notion that their habitat is found only in altitude, for me, these gregarious and vocal rodents are still markers of the backcountry.
As I moved past ‘Marmot Mountain’ as I now dubbed it, I pondered the importance of undeveloped, quiet expanses for the smaller critters. We often cite charismatic ungulates or grizzly bears, today’s ‘mega-fauna’, as the dependent species that large tracts of undeveloped and roadless lands like wildlands and Wilderness protect. And while that is undoubtedly true, as the threat of habitat loss or fragmentation often impacts larger or wide-ranging animals first, it means we can overlook the other critters who still rely on these wildscapes, including marmots, pikas, Clark’s Nutcracker, and many, many other members of these critical ecosystems.
A few miles farther down the trail, a blur of a grayish-tan shot through the nearly foot-tall forbs to my left. With its solidly medium frame and surprising speed, my brain sought context for an identification – a coyote? A fox? Either would have been an appreciated sighting. But wait… the animal paused once it reached the security of a bedrock outcrop. That form was unmistakable – another marmot, but this time one of impressive size. I chuckled as its robust silhouette surreptitiously peeked out from the granite-cover, appearing as a slightly smaller boulder.
“Hustle, hustle,” I imagined my furred friend whispering to itself as it finally turned-tail and rippled out of sight.
Like many wildland visitors, I’m guilty of valuing the more rare wildlife encounters. Hearing a wolf howl while deep in the Absarokas. Watching a grizzly and her cubs ambling up a slope in the Teton Wilderness. Watching a fox and her kits mouse while hiking in the Palisades. And yet on this particular outing, these arguably Boone-and-Crockett sized rodents stole the show. For me, it was another reminder of the importance of our wildlands to diverse, interconnected communities of life. For all critters, great and small.
If you value our Wyoming wildlands and the homes and habitat they provide, please consider a donation to the Wyoming Wilderness Association during the Old Bill’s Giving Season (from now until September 13th) and support our work protecting and stewarding the remaining wildlands in Teton County.
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