 |
|
| |
View previous topic :: View next topic |
| Author |
Message |
paintninaz
Joined: 06 Jan 2003
Posts: 3515
|
 Posted: 6/22/2007, 8:57 am Post subject: PageRob, do you know these birds? |
 |
 |
|
|
From today's Arizona Republic
http://www.azcentral.com/arizonarepublic/arizonaliving/articles/0622condor0615.html
| Quote: |
Condors making a comeback
Frank Jennings
Arizona Highways
Jun. 22, 2007 12:00 AM
VERMILION CLIFFS - Chris Parish danced high atop the cliffs, waving a red coat like a crazy man in a desperate effort to attract the attention of two birds with nearly 10-foot wingspans rising on a thermal a mile and a half down the ridge.
Nearby, gangling Junior peered at the demented biologist through the slats of the kennel in which he waited for his mom and dad, carefully placed next to the nest cave where he'd hatched - the bright hope for a flock of nearly extinct condors, thanks to the efforts of a team of bird biologists.
Suddenly, two condors peeled away from the distant gyre of the biggest birds on the planet, Ice Age survivors back from the brink. Eighteen days earlier, biologist Jim Wilmarth had captured Junior, fearful of possible lead poisoning from eating a deer carcass contaminated by a fragmented bullet. One bird surgery and a full recovery later, Parish hoped to return the gawky young bird to his parents in the flock of 53 condors now living north of the Grand Canyon. His fear was that the parents would reject the chick.
His hopes soared when he spotted the number 114 on Harold's wing tag. It was Junior's doting father, 24 pounds of paternal instinct.
But wait. The female flying alongside Harold wasn't Gertrude (149), Junior's mother. It was Maude (126), the flirtation of Harold's youth for whom he'd ditched Gertrude.
Maude landed beside Junior, apparently ready to assume the duties of stepmother. But Harold chased her away, and then performed his tender fatherly duties - regurgitating a big crop full of mushy meat he'd gobbled from a calf carcass set out by Parish's team to supplement the condors' diets.
Despite the rebuff, Maude hung about. A few hours later, Gertrude cruised past. She looked down at her son, her wayward mate and the other woman. Then she floated southward to the South Rim.
Parish shook his head. Who can predict the heart of a condor?
The 11 field researchers and condor-minders working for the Peregrine Fund have logged thousands of hours of observation as part of a million-dollar-a-year reintroduction effort. Funded with federal and private money, the effort has maintained a captive-breeding program and established struggling populations of the giant vultures in Arizona, California and Baja California, Mexico.
At last count, the number of condors had risen from 22 to 242, of which 145 are in the captive-breeding program and 97 in the wild, with more than half of them in Arizona. The Arizona population has reared five chicks hatched in the wild, which made Junior something of a superstar in the condor world.
The biologists figured Junior was suffering from lead poisoning when they captured him. Bullets fragment into hundreds of pieces upon impact, which could cause lead poisoning in such scavengers as condors.
Near Lees Ferry Lodge, which hosts the team, Parish X-rayed Junior at the lab the team built with the assistance of the Arizona Game and Fish Department Heritage Fund. He noted a hazy mass in Junior's gut, which prompted a trip to the Phoenix Zoo. There, veterinarian Kathy Orr operated to remove a hairball trapped by two sticks Junior had swallowed.
Such saves underscore the difficulty of returning condors to the territory. The huge vultures cover 150 miles per day on average, mate for life (well, except for Junior's dad) and live for up to 70 years but produce only one chick every two years. Condors vanished from Arizona in 1927, and by 1983 only 22 remained in California. Already beset by habitat loss, the condors were shoved toward extinction by lead poisoning, collisions with power lines and eggshell thinning because of DDT in the food chain. Biologists rounded up the survivors, established a captive-breeding program and started releasing condors into the wild in 1992.
Biologists tricked the captive vultures into essentially tripling their reproductive rate by removing eggs and using adoptive parents to rear the extra chicks.
Returning the curious, social, intelligent birds to the wild proved much more difficult.
The first flock released in California behaved like a youth gang, hanging out at a golf course, haunting the barbecue pits and attacking cars in the parking lot. Worse, 20 percent of the released birds died in their first year from encounters with power poles and human beings. The biologists countered with fake power lines, electric shocks and hazing techniques to train the birds to avoid potential hazards.
The first release in Arizona came in 1996. The biggest setback came when 12 condors died of lead poisoning. Three others have been shot, one by a medical student with an illegal firearm in Grand Canyon National Park who said he thought he was shooting at ravens, which is also illegal. A golden eagle killed three condors that strayed into its turf and coyotes nabbed five others.
Even so, the condors have adapted. Some have wandered many miles north along the shores of Lake Powell, and many hang out over the Grand Canyon, to the delight of river runners, tourists at the Navajo Bridge overlook and visitors to the South Rim. The widest-ranging condor reached Flaming Gorge in Wyoming.
Condors drawn by the activity at the South Rim inevitably attract neck-craning exclamations from humans. But Parish's team members track the radio signal and rush over to scare off the condors, knowing that losing a fear of humans could doom the flock. And biologists urge tourists to stay well away from the birds - or to deliberately scare them off to reinforce the conditioning.
If a condor proves too fearless, a biologist will sneak up, grab it by the legs and take it back to the captive-rearing pens for a good talking-to. One condor developed the disconcerting habit of visiting the camps of river-rafters and going through their things. Another condor enjoyed strolling along the trails of the South Rim until biologists grabbed him and shipped him off for reconditioning.
These efforts to safeguard the condors have paid off, especially for Junior.
Harold and Maude cared for the youngster for several months after his return, but then breeding season rolled around. Normally, condors mate every two years and feed the chick for 18 months. But as soon as Harold and Maude mated, they both stopped feeding the hapless Junior.
Fortunately, Junior had the good sense to hang out at the enclosure the biologists kept stocked with calf carcasses.
Now, Harold and Maude have an offspring. Gertrude has a sweetheart of her own. And Junior's doing just fine, thanks to Chris Parish and the crew.
|
_________________
~Tracy
“Friends make the bad times good — and the good times unforgettable.” |
|
| Back to top |
|
 |
|
Back to top
|
|
|
You cannot post new topics in this forum
You cannot reply to topics in this forum
You cannot edit your posts in this forum
You cannot delete your posts in this forum
You cannot vote in polls in this forum
|
|
Home
Board
AZH Gear
FAQ
Search
Members
Articles
Calendar
Gallery
Register
Profile
Log in
Hosted by Gartman
Technical Services.