Amid Teeth and Claws

By Mary Terra-Berns

Pink and orange clouds hovered on the horizon as I pulled out of the Sawtooth National Recreation Area (SNRA) compound in the early 1980s on the critical mission to restock toilet paper in the outhouses around Alturas and Pettit Lakes in the Sawtooth Valley. Such high-tech tasks were typically entrusted to seasonal employees at the SNRA rather than to field biologists but I didn’t mind, because it got me out of the office first thing in the morning and I loved the peaceful calm before most people were awake.

Driving north, I took in the beautiful scenery even while scanning acres of sagebrush on either side of the road for wildlife. As I headed up to Galena Summit, a few deer lingered by the roadside and ground squirrels tested their luck by darting across the road in front of the truck. When I came down off the summit, daylight stretched across the west side of the valley as the sun crested the White Cloud Mountains on the east side.

My attention was drawn to an explosion of dirt that rose above the sagebrush just off the road. Highlighted in the early morning sun, the golden-colored dirt stood out against the greenish-gray sagebrush.

A check in the rearview mirror confirmed I was the only one on the road, so I made a U-turn and edged the truck near the dissipating dirt cloud. Curious about what generated this mini-sandstorm, I walked around to the front of the vehicle. My interest changed to panic when I was greeted by a growling fur ball with impressive teeth and a wicked set of claws. In a nanosecond, I was on the truck’s hood.

An American badger. Idaho Department of Fish and Wildlife.

Exploding dirt from a badger job. Mary Terra-Berns.

A little too attentive. Alchetron.

Badger in hiding. Mary Terra-Berns.

Although this was probably safe sanctuary, I nevertheless climbed on top of the cab. Doing my best to become one with the truck, I flattened myself on the rooftop and remained motionless. From that elevated position, I had a good view of this creature who was not interested in my company: an angry badger. I focused on staying still and on regaining a normal breathing pattern. I knew this low-slung member of the weasel family had poor eyesight and hoped it would assume the interloper had fled.

My disappearing act apparently did the trick. The badger checked along the side of the truck and appeared confident that its toothy intimidation had been successful. It made one more inspection around the front of the truck, stopped growling, and trundled back to what appeared to be a new excavation project.

Badgers are mostly active at night. My early-morning mission had caught this industrious mustelid (weasel) at the end of its night shift. I was delighted to be up high enough to watch the action but was frustrated that my camera was out of reach, tucked in my daypack inside the truck. I lay quietly and continued to watch the badger, which was likely to retire soon. The toilet paper could wait a few minutes.

The sun was about to clear the peaks but I was wrong to think my wildlife show would quickly end. The badger momentarily paused its digging and gave some signal not detectable by me, at which three baby badgers tumbled from a hidden den into the sunlight. The trio huddled up to mom and apparently got an all-clear signal to commence playing and exploring. While the youngsters wrestled and checked out the neighborhood, mom continued her excavation work, unbothered by the truck.

I was amazed at the efficiency of her progress. Badgers are superior builders of dens and tunnels. They move dirt as efficiently and productively as dams are built by beavers, their aquatic engineering counterparts. I recently read an article about a badger caught on film by a research project’s remote camera that showed it completely burying a fifty-pound dead cow calf over five days.

Badgers constantly excavate new dens, which typically have multiple entrances. A female badger with kits will excavate an elaborate den that has primary, secondary, and dead-end tunnels. Wide spots and chambers are located along the tunnels for giving birth, storing food, and resting. She will move her family from one den to another, always looking to improve her hunting prospects by finding places where prey, usually ground squirrels, is abundant. Badgers’ abandoned tunnels are often used by other species, such as burrowing owls and red foxes.

I stayed as motionless as possible and quietly continued to observe until the sun, unobstructed by the mountains, started to warm the valley. At this point, mom imperceptibly signaled that playtime was over and the three little ruffians slipped through the elliptical den entrance. Their vigilant parent backed into the den to make sure no one would join them.

It was probably unnecessary but as quietly as possible, I made my way back into the cab of the truck. I returned to my toilet paper mission knowing that my morning was already complete. I was delighted with my good luck in coming upon this wildlife spectacle. Even though I didn’t get any photos, I’ll always have mental snapshots of that little earthmoving family.