My favorite mammal is the pika, a close relative of rabbits. Every summer I hike up into Alta to a large rock field near the Sugarloaf lift. Once there, if I wait quietly, after ten or fifteen minutes pikas appear from under rocks and start running back and forth with mouthfuls of harvested grasses that they store in their winter food cache. Last week while watching one fearless pika at my feet, licking salt off my pack, I noticed a marmot standing at attention, chirping shrilly for at least five minutes. I looked up and saw two golden eagles, a thousand feet above us, searching for lunch. While the marmot alarm sounded, the pikas sat still near their under-rock homes, halted harvesting, and looked around for danger. Once the alarm stopped they went back to filling their winter storehouses.
