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PHOTOGRAPHS BY KRISTI ODOM
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By Rachael Bale, ANIMALS Executive Editor
On a cold and damp hike above tree line in the southern Rocky Mountains two Saturdays ago, it was just me and my husband on the trail, socked in by mist. Suddenly, cutting through the gusting wind and the huffing and puffing of our breathing, came the squeal of a dog’s squeaky toy.
We paused, holding our breath midway across the talus—a stream of broken rocks cutting across the trail and down the slope of the mountain. Then a rock twitched. I focused my eyes. Not a rock, but a small mammal, about the size and shape of a furry russet potato (a description so perfect I’m borrowing it from Amanda Mascarelli’s new story). Head thrust forward, it intermittently opened its mouth and let out a squeak that seemed to take full-body effort.
An American pika. The longer we stayed still, the more we saw. Some were stationed on top of rocks, squeaking to tell us to stay away. Some were scurrying back and forth, mouths stuffed with grasses and flowers to build up their winter food stash. (Pictured above, a pika as it moves into its rocky den.)
I was more than a little thrilled. We’d just published a story on how plateau pikas in Asia survive brutal winters without hibernation, and I’d just assigned a story on the Pika Patrol, a group of volunteers with the Colorado Pika Project who hike to high-elevation sites to collect data and help scientists monitor pikas. I’d been waiting to see one since we moved to Colorado more than a year ago, and here were a dozen right in front of me. (Pictured below, Pika Patrol volunteers making another pika sighting.)
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