I was set up to take pictures of a young marmot whose talus slope burrow is located north of Llao Rock. On several earlier visits I had found the young fellow to be sufficiently curious or uninitiated that he would come out of his underground home, looking up toward me from his ridiculous sitting position with his little round belly resting on the ground between his not-long-enough hind legs. My little friend had sat like this several times in the past, with forepaws held primly in front of him, looking toward me with as much interest, it seemed, as I showed toward him.

However, on that day all was not well on the precipitous marmot rock pile. The little fellow came out within minutes, but two adults - - some 60 feet distant - - were constantly giving the alarm cry of the yellow- bellied marmot. Their cries could, I thought, be directed toward me. No, there was a red-tailed hawk sailing slowly overhead; this was probably the cause for the marmots' unusual display of alarm. The short, shrill cries continued, though, long after the hawk had disappeared far east along Crater Lake's rim toward Cleetwood Cove.

Then, without warning, a small mink-like head, rich brown in color, peered from behind the large rock just below the young marmots' hole. It was a pine marten, fearless, pugnacious animal, smaller and more slender than a domestic cat.

The young marmot disappeared into the burrow; the marten, after a hasty look about, which included a glance in my direction, followed. After a few seconds, the marten reappeared and for a time was lost among the rocks. Once more I saw my little friend's nose with its knowing expression. But the sharp, warning cries of the two adults, sitting up like overgrown golden-mantled ground squirrels, sent the young fellow back out of sight.

Yellow Bellied Marmot

Once again the marten appeared, eyes gleaming, head bobbing. He entered the young marmot's burrow, this time coming out of another exit. Smelling the rocks about the area, he once again gave me a fearless glance - - a glance that made me feel the tenseness of the moment acutely - - before he again slipped into the main entrance.

After many seconds, the marten reappeared and poised on the large rock with my little friend clenched shapelessly in his jaws. Quickly now, the marten carried his prey down the rocky slope and across a small pumice meadow to the shadow of a Shasta red fir. Here the marten put down the marmot, looked toward me and toward the two adult marmots, his body vibrating intensely. Then, picking up his plunder, the marten disappeared into the depths of the forest.

Now one of the adult marmots went into action. Whether my presence had prevented earlier defensive activity or whether they had not actually seen the marten, there is no way of determining. I had thought of the marmot as a slow animal, moving lazily about on its short legs. This conception was soon to be altered, for this adult covered the 60 feet of rough terrain between his burrow and that of the young marmot in a matter of seconds. On arrival he sat up and gave three shrill "chirps" before dropping into the burrow, tail bristling so strongly that it approached the size of his fat body. The adult marmot soon returned, sat up straight for an instant. Then, with the bristling tail trailing like a pennant, he returned to the home burrow as quickly as he had come.

For the next ten minutes both adults sat upright, giving their shrill chirp every few seconds. One of the adults began to run toward a pile of rocks that stood on the edge of the pumice meadow and, to my surprise, a marten dodged from behind one of these rocks. The marten sped from the lumbering marmot with a swift airy grace, possibly very soon, by taking to the trees, to complete his escape.