Sage Grouse

On Friday morning, I met a couple of colleagues at the Bear Valley exit.  It was 5:50, and still dark.  The moon was new on Wednesday, so it was providing nothing but a sliver in the sky.  We drove over to Highway 89, turned north into the Sevier Valley, and went a few miles to the Dog Valley Road.  By the time we got to the little wetland formed by the dam on Echard Creek, the eastern sky was brightening.  We stopped along the western shore and got out of the truck.  It was cold (18F), but still.  The valley was full of the hoot of the sage grouse mating call.  We were in a lek.  We counted about 80 males strutting and calling.  We saw only around 10 females, so the ratio wasn't good, but the young men were undeterred.  They strutted, puffed, flared, peacocked, hooted, scuffled, and flapped for at least 90 minutes.  By about eight o'clock, the sun was high, the temperature was up to 25F, and, as if by signal, the boy birds packed it in.  They flapped into the air and flew straight down the canyon in a couple of large groups.  That was the signal for us, too, and we shuffled back to the trucks for the drive back to I-15.  The sage grouse would be back in the morning, doing what they'd been doing there for thousands of years—with, hopefully, more females doing it, too.