North Cascades National Park - Everygreens, Marmots, and Mountain Goats

Life Among the Evergreens
As the coniferous forest crowds out the last of the broadleaf trees, the cast of wildlife characters gradually changes. Black bears may remain, but most of the deer move on, and true forest-lovers move in. Among the most conspicuous are Douglas' squirrels, little scamps that loudly scold all intruders in "their" forest. Fond of the seeds of evergreens, they tear the cones apart and litter the ground beneath their favorite perches with deep piles of cone scales. Nearby there may be Townsend's chipmunks or tiny Pacific jumping mice that escape enemies by leaping six feet in a single bound. The Trowbridge shrew, a miniature bundle of energy, moves constantly and frantically in its endless search for small prey.

As the forest ages, carpenter ants may burrow into older trees, sprinkling the ground below with sawdust as they excavate their tunnels. The carpenters' burrows in turn are an invitation to the pileated woodpecker; the ants are its principal food. The big bird chips away the wood until it can reach the ants inside their burrows with its long, sticky tongue. It uses a similar technique to make its nest. Choosing a likely tree in a stand of evergreens, both male and female hack out a hole where the female lays her clutch of three to five eggs.

The spotted owl, a nocturnal hunter with a taste for small animals, also haunts the evergreen forest. Relying on keen eyesight and extremely sensitive ears to locate prey in the dark, it swoops down on feathers softened for silent flight and snatches its victims with powerful talons.

The stealthy, secretive mountain lion ranges through nearly every part of the park -- including the deepest, darkest forest. A sleek, silent, tawny-gray wanderer and an efficient killer, it slips, graceful and unseen, from one hiding place to the next, waiting to pounce on unsuspecting prey. It takes chiefly deer and eats every part of a kill, gorging until its belly bloats, then hiding the remainder until it is ready for more.

Of Marmots and Mountain Goats
In sharp contrast to the evergreen forests are the open meadows of higher elevations. White with snow in winter, sin spring and summer they are aglow with color as wildflowers come into bloom. Several kinds of paintbrushes grow there, including a whitish variety found only in the North Cascades. Other paintbrushes range from yellow to brilliant crimson, with much of the color supplied by modified leaves, called bracts, that grow among the clusters of flowers.

Bistort, another prominent meadow flower, produces elongated flower heads at the tips of long stalks; they look like fluffy white caterpillars swaying in the breeze. Tall asters contribute a pink-purple hue, and heathers brighten the scene with white or purple flowers that dangle from the branches like miniature bells.

The meadow flowers supply a rich menu for such high-country animals as hoary marmots, which munch on the greenery all summer long and then hibernate through the winter. In contrast, their smaller companions, pikas, provide for winter by storing sun-dried plants in rock crannies.

Mountain goats are the nimblest residents of the heights. Relying on soft, cupped hoof pads for traction, they leap from one precarious perch to the next with seeming unconcern. Thanks to a woolly winter undercoat beneath their shaggy outer fur, they are pretty much unfazed by fierce winter weather.

Another high-country survivor, the snowshoe hare, changes from brown to white when winter approaches, and develops the dense furry footpads that give it its name. Hopping about on their showshoes, the hares actually benefit as the snow cover deepens: each new snowfall brings them within range of twigs and buds that had previously been beyond their reach.

Pocket gophers also remain active through the winter, but seldom do they venture out into the weather. Instead, they burrow through the snow, pushing loose dirt into the tunnel behind them as they dig for roots and tubers. When the snow melts, the dirt settles to the ground in long, twisting heaps that mark their wintertime comings and goings. During the summer they burrow underground and get at surface plants by pulling them into their burrows from below.

Like every creature large and small, like every plant from the tiniest moss to the tallest tree, the little pocket gophers survive because they are attuned to their environment and to the unending cycle of the seasons in the North Cascades. Here they are at home -- here in these magnificent mountains that are regularly watered by wet winds off the Pacific, warmed by the sun's bright rays, and governed by laws as ancient as life itself.