Seward, Alaska
Seward's snowy mountain slopes may look spectacular, but the deep snow and crusty surface has forced hungry mountain goats to descend to the forest to find food.
Thus, I was watching for mountain goats on the cliffs and steep slopes of Bear Mountain, while dodging potholes and rocks as I slowly drove along Lowell Point Road. Suddenly, I spotted three goats in a snow patch at the top of a large slide zone, much creamier in color than the white snow. Then three more in the hemlock-spruce forest above, grazing in the mossy green vegetation and browsing on tree needles and still-dormant twigs. Wow! Six goats! I immediately pulled over and started clicking away.
Another goat emerged from the north (right) edge of the slide, pausing to nibble on alder twigs before ambling across the treacherous, steep slope. She paused on a dirt outcrop, posing like a Mt Marathon racer at the glory rock, and regarded me calmly. Her shaggy fur coat looked freshly brushed and cleaned, even her fashionable beard and the stockings below her knickers were clean. Such a pretty nanny!
As she carefully negotiated the remainder of the slide crossing, little rocks pattering down, another pretty nanny appeared from the north side. She too, approached the glory rock and posed! Before she left, she turned to look back and waited. More were coming
The next nanny had a distinctive left horn with a bent and enlarged tip. She followed the other nanny, but then stopped to look back. Another nanny was coming, browsing on the alder twigs. It looked like she was smiling.
After she crossed, here came a darling yearling, her wide-spaced, tiny horns barely erupted. Her feet and belly were brown with mud. After consideration, she crossed from snow patch to dirt slope, following the others. At the edge of the crossing, she joined the last nanny, likely her mom, and they strolled off together. Was that all?
No! Next came two-year old kid with horns almost as long as her ears. When she successfully reached the end, she looked back. Now who?
Another adorable two-year old. Her twin? She too, posed mid-way and looked back. This herd really kept track of each other! Here came a nanny, perhaps her mom. Then another nanny followed closely by an adorable yearling with tiny horns. The baby bravely and deliberately crossed the unstable steep slope, rocks skittering underfoot.
As the one left the slope, another entered as if on cue, this time another two-year old with horns about as long as its ears. Then another kid, its twin? I was losing track! As the last one reached and posed at the glory rock, she too looked behind. Here came another nanny, perhaps the mom.
That group soon disappeared as another nanny emerged. This one seemed to be molting with a decidedly shorter patch on the hind leg. She posed on the glory rock and looked behind, but I didn't see anyone else coming. Maybe she was the caboose, and, as a good leader, just making sure everyone had crossed.
What a magical encounter! I estimate a minimum of 13 adults, two yearlings, and four two-year old kids for a total of 19 mountain goats that ambled across that slide in a steady stream over a span of 15 minutes.
I understand the billy goats are not welcome to join the nannies and babies in the winter when food is very scarce (enforced by the moms' sharp horns). The billies fend for themselves, ranging far and wide, leaving the more accessible food for the vulnerable family group.
What I find even more amazing about these incredible and hardy year-round residents, is that the pregnant nannies are basically eating a starvation diet of twigs, hemlock needles, dead grasses and sedges, seaweed, and whatever else might provide calories to feed themselves and their growing babies. With such shaggy coats, I could not tell if any were pregnant, but one can hope!
Around Mother's Day, in the second week of May, they will give birth to singles, or sometimes twins, and the cycle of life begins anew.
Happy Birding! (while watching for mountain goats)
Carol Griswold
Seward Sporadic Bird Report Reporter
