KAI - THE STORY OF ARIZONA'S OWN KAIBAB SQUIRREL

It can probably be counted on the finger of one hand the number of friendships one makes from being whanged on the head with a pine cone. It depends, of course, on who threw itor, in this case, who dropped it. But, whatever method, a green cone from a ponderosa weighs about as much as a baseball, and when pitched from the crown of a one-hundred-foot tree can leave one in a dazed enough condition to think that Whitey Ford sat straddle a limb to hurl malicious knuckle balls.

Was it a churlish sense of humor, or was it an unaccountable chain of events that led to a moment of fate for green cones simply do not fall of their own accord. Evidence pointed to a plot.

The cleanly cut, snipped-off missile meant some careless forest prankster sat nonchalantly high above midsheltering branches. Try as I might, I could not see the culprit. A circuit of the Herculean column showed nothing unusual cradled in the lofty, needled cornices. The only thing to do was to sit and wait for the fellow to show himself. It didn't take long. With a flurry of nimble arrogance, my new acquaintance skittered down the trunk of the pine and raced to a nearby stump. Sitting upright, he flipped his white plume over his back, cocked his head to the side, and denounced me in frenzied barking. It was a strange, woodland encounter, a David and Goliath dispute for my accuser was none other than our Kaibab squirrel. Who would think that out from primeval stands of pine this spunky, elfin-like creature would challenge my intrusion in such a clamoring demonstration, with such vociferous fervor?

The Story of Arizona's Own Kaibab Squirrel ΚΑΙ Story and Photographs By Willis Peterson

sheltering branches. Try as I might, I could not see the culprit. A circuit of the Herculean column showed nothing unusual cradled in the lofty, needled cornices. The only thing to do was to sit and wait for the fellow to show himself. It didn't take long. With a flurry of nimble arrogance, my new acquaintance skittered down the trunk of the pine and raced to a nearby stump. Sitting upright, he flipped his white plume over his back, cocked his head to the side, and denounced me in frenzied barking. It was a strange, woodland encounter, a David and Goliath dispute for my accuser was none other than our Kaibab squirrel. Who would think that out from primeval stands of pine this spunky, elfin-like creature would challenge my intrusion in such a clamoring demonstration, with such vociferous fervor?

He sat on the stump a saucy leprechaun, peering at me from under long-pointed ears. A white banner unfurled over his back while its tip curled around neck and shoulders. Twitching with every bark, this bobbing tail accentuated each fiery complaint. Abruptly his mood changed. Pensive, staring, he moved not a muscle. We arrived at an uneasy truce. Truly, Kai, as we will affectionately call him, Sciurus kaibabensis, is aptly named. Translated from the Latin, Sciurus means “shade tail.” This extravagant appendage demands attention not only from the casual observer but from scientific minds as well, as we shall later see. There isn't a squirrel in the United States that can hold a candle to his tail. Of all the arboreal clan, Kai's tail is the most handsome. Pure white, with perhaps a touch of gray about the base, his banner is the mark of an aristocrat.

Piute Indians thought as much. In one version of a legend concerning his tail, it was said by revered oldsters, while they sat near campfires, of how once long ago the gods had a rendezvous with all the animals of the Kaibab a Piaute word meaning “mountain lying down.” At the appointed time, the holy spirits arrived. “Skoots” (meaning squirrel) was the only animal that kept his promise to be there though the ground was covered with snow and it was bitter cold. The deities, Tobats and Shinob, were so impressed that they stroked his tail and hence it became white. It reminded the other animals not only of their faithlessness but gave Skoots protective cam-ouflage in the snow. The white tail became a mark of distinction and special merit or so it was told to me. Contrasting sharply with this whiteness, body coloration is gray-black. A cinnamon-red tinge follows his spine. Head, feet, and ears are sooty black. The latter with tufts of hair about an inch long, which give him an elfin-like appearance. During summer, these tufts are shed.

In the whole of North America there are only two species of squirrels with tufted ears Kai and his kissing cousin, the Abert.

The Abert was first described by Dr. S. W. Woodhouse while on the 1852 Sitgreaves Expedition to explore the Zuñi and Colorado Rivers. Until recently, these two squirrels were considered to be only a sub-species apart. However, in the latest edition of Hill and Kelson's Mammals of North America, the Kaibab is now given full status as a distinct species. With this new rank he has become increasingly important for biologists to study, even though his population is exceedingly small. His range is correspondingly tiny, being less than 1/3000th of the total United States land area in square miles.

From nose to tip of tail, Kai measures about twenty to twenty-two inches and weighs up to two pounds. Tail alone accounts for nearly half of his overall measurement. But it is breadth rather than length that makes his tail so picturesque. Hairs stand out perpendicularly, creating, indeed, a lavish banner of about five inches in width.

All his thoughts are mirrored in its subtle actions. A flick here, a switch there, a sinuous wave, a bold jerk are meanings more complex than one could ever decipher. In some strange way, it seems to me, this flamboyant repertoire of gestures also acts as visual signals to others of his tribe. No fashion model values her coiffure more than Kai cares for that white plume. And you should see how he carries it like an emperor bears his scepter. It doesn't seem to make any difference how many muddy puddles he might scamper over, or how many pitch-laden limbs he might climb upon, nary a speck nor spot is long permitted to mar his handsome pennant. When such a catastrophe occurs - hold everything - Kai darts up some lofty forest rafter. Sitting there on his haunches and cradling that magnificent flag with forepaws, he passionately combs, brushes, and cleans with teeth, claws, and tongue. Finally, the horrendous, insignificant bit of dirt is removed. Such immaculate conditioning serves him well. Indeed, it may save his life as you will later see.

So, now, let's add up his physical attributes - namely, the beautiful tail with its artful little curl at the tip, the supple arch of his back, the outlandish pointed ears, the Sprite-like appearance and the voluble Irish temperament describe the most remarkable woodland character one could have the pleasure of meeting. There simply is no other denizen of Arizona quite like him. Kai is unique. Let the semanticist ponder this context and let the biologists consult their treatises, but the fact remains he is unique and absolutely indigenous to Arizona. Kai's home is the pine forest of the Grand Canyon. Exclusive? Only the North Rim will do, thank you. It is an area of some thirty by sixty miles, but the actual Kaibab squirrel habitat is smaller since he is dependWent upon the stands of ponderosa pine which grow only at certain altitudes. The greater part of the Plateau is bounded by semi-deserts, which occur to the west, north and east. To the south, the country is shorn off abruptly By the Colorado River. This leaves an intriguing bit of geography a land island more than 1200 feet higher at its highest point than the South Kaibab Forest across the River. More rainfall, higher altitude, and isolation have presented the North Kaibab Plateau with a noticeable ecological dif-ference compared with the South Rim.

What has this to do with Kai? Simply this. Of all the North American mammals, he is the best example we have of the effects of such isolation. In a sense, he is a living museum showcase of evolutionary departure from the rest of his race. For there seems to be little doubt in the minds of biologists that Kai and the Abert squirrel evolved from the same common ancestors thousands of years ago, perhaps as far back as the Pleistocene era. Apparently, this forerunner roamed and populated the whole Colorado Plateau when it was in its infancy. As geological, cataclysmic upheavals caused the area north of the Colorado River to rise, and as the River constantly tore away a deeper and deeper gorge, some of these little mammals became marooned upon the North Kaibab land island.

Though less than fifteen miles as the crow flies separate the North and South Rims, it would be a well-nigh impossible task for these squirrels to leave their main food supply and descend through three life zones, ford the turbulent Colorado, and then climb more than a mile back to the pines. How many eons these mammals have been isolated is a moot question. As the strange evolution continued, the Kaibab branch took on different appearances. Dark to almost black furwith a decided reddish back and distinctive white tail became prominent visual changes.

On the other hand, the Abert ranging in the remainder of Arizona's pine belt, as well as in Colorado, Utah, Arizona, New Mexico and the Sierra Madre Mountains of Mexico is much less showy. It has a lesser contrasting fulvous tinged back, with whitish underparts, and gray dress and tail.

Though both squirrels have tasseled ears, I believe that in the Kaibab species they are more pronounced. Generally speaking, the animals are of the same weightand length.

As far as feeding habits are concerned, each is associated with the ponderosa pine for the greater part of its diet. From observations of several summers, I would venture to guess that Kai is more dependent on the ponderosa than his Abert cousin. They not only eat seeds with which the cones are filled, but chew away the cambian layer beneath bark from twiglets of last year's growth. During winter and spring, this becomes a major food supply. Terminal needle clusters are dropped and discarded, hence a feeding tree is easy to find because the ground beneath is covered with a multitude of needle bundles, which look like a helterskelter pile of tiny brooms. Cone debris and litters of twigs stripped of bark are also scattered about.

The phenomenon of the feeding tree is a mystery, indeed, and becomes a subject of intense interest when one considers the multitude of available pines from which he may choose. Why should the squirrel prefer one ponderosa to another, even to the point of being so discriminating as selecting only one in a grove, where all seem to be of identical growth and size. Not only this, but Kai may use the same pine for several years, if layers of cuttings lying about the base are any clue.

Is it the content of the resins which causes certain trees to be more favorable? In some way or another it must depend upon a chemical synthesis. It, in turn, causes given pines to produce cones with more palatable seeds. The same process must also hold true for the twigs, since they apparently yield a more nourishing cambian growth, of which he is so fond..

When Kai cuts a choice cone, he often hot-foots it to a special place. Not only does he have favorite feeding trees, but he also has favorite luncheon bars and banquet tables scattered along his daily excursion routes. Sitting upright, he holds the cone in his forepaws and rolls it over and over until he decides where to dig in. Chips fly in all directions as he skillfully shells seeds from the husk.

Is he a hoarder? Yes, but not in the sense that story books would have one believe of all squirrels. A succulent cone may inspire him to tuck it away in some subterranean pantry provided he is full or his appetite dulled by other foods. If so, he digs rapidly with front paws and plops his cone into the excavation. Unless it fits snugly, he rotates it till the treasure settles into the vault perfectly. Sitting back a moment with an air of an appraiser, he scrutinizes the bit of wealth as if assessing its future value.

Then, deftly using his nose, he pushes dirt over the hoard. A bit of face washing follows to eliminate pesky dirt which has stuck across nose and whiskers. Quickly brushed and combed, he twitches his tail and hops off His white plume curls lazily over his back, then twitches in staccato rhythm as though keeping time with his jaws. Every now and then he stops to look about and catch up on swallowing. His face is covered with pitch. He sticks his tongue out, rolling it about in a peculiar circular fashion to lick away offending gum. With wrinkledup nose, haughty expression and sticky, strip-tease mustache he reminds one of Clifton Webb, the actor.

It takes just about ten minutes to complete the job, and then he flips away the shelled cone and zips up that favorite tree again. In seconds, he is down, carrying another to his old perch. How much can he eat at one time? Well, sir, like all woodsmen, even though diminutive, he has a hearty appetite. I have watched him over a period of some thirty-five minutes cut and shell four good-sized cones. Again. He may make a number of such caches during the day, but it doesn't appear to be a calculated program of building supply depots as with many other rodents who actually fill storerooms with foods.

Apparently, with an excellent sense of memory and a keen nose, he can easily retrace his steps on a later trip to dig up the morsel. During winter, he often tunnels under snow to get at one of the old caches. Thus, in an unrehearsed manner he also becomes an efficient forester in an inefficient sort of way. For the tree he loves so well is always assured of a perpetual growth by his seed-totree reforestation plan.

Like most mammals, Kai seems to have a definite schedule or timetable to which he adheres. Should he be found early in the morning or afternoon darting along bases of certain pines, or playing and exploring under fallen logs, it is likely he will be found on a similar venture about the same time on the morrow.

His day is complete when he finds his favorite mushrooms. When it comes to garnering this delicacy, he displays a gourmet's talent. Letting his nose act as a homing device, he searches diligently through the leaf duff cover-ing the forest floor. While digging up these goodies, his tail turns in a slow, enraptured whirl. Other delectable tidbits are various nuts, berries, tender grass shoots, and flower buds.

Active early in the morning, Kai usually tires by noon. He then takes a lengthy nap high on a handy limb. It's amazing to see how still he can sit. Not only still, but "freezes" in the same position for hours without moving a muscle. Cousin Abert maintains much the same schedule, though from what I have observed he seems more active throughout the middle of the day.

During this immobile and lengthy siesta, Kai is a successful display of evasive tactics defeats their purposes.

Looking cautiously around, Kai climbs to the top of the limb again. When he knows he is safe, he starts down the trunk of the tree. On descending, he makes use of his specialized heels, which seem to be equipped with universal joints. Pointing backward, hind feet rotate in such a manner that Kai can hang upside down against the bark of the tree for hours without strain. While anchored by these amazing back feet, toes act as grappling hooks. To go down, he simply relaxes their grip, and slides down the tree head first in a series of little jerks. His tail is usually tightly pressed against the bark to keep balance.

As balance is the magic word to the circus aerialist He is the most difficult fellow to find. I have studied a tree for minutes on end, but never spotted my quarry, though I knew very well he sat there watching me. His black fur blends perfectly with the dark bark of the smaller tree-top branches. Even his beautiful white plume seems to become merely a bit of sky when viewed from the ground.

But even freezing is not enough when it comes to the sharp eye of a bobcat, weasel, or hawk. Strangely enough, it's Kai's tail that saves the day.

I have seen him relaxed, lazing upon a limb when suddenly he finds that he is in the hunter's sights. In a split second his tail snaps around and Kai rolls under the limb. By casting his tail from one side to the other, his body is levered to take off in the opposite direction.

The hawk's talons click together on empty air where Kai sat a moment before. Wing pinions climb for another dive. Banking around he plummets downward for a second strike, but our white-tailed friend has leaped to another limb. The hawk swooshes past, scraping up a second claw-ful of empty air. A third try and then he flaps off in dis-belief. Other predators call it quits, too, after such a act, it is also the key to Kai's aerial broad jumping. Depending upon windage and whiplash of the branch from which he has vaulted, his tail may windmill, flip from side to side, or stream out, straight as an arrow to keep his body trimmed so that he may effect a perfect landing in the adjacent tree. With a running start, this furred projectile can leap more than twelve feet, and arch through space to the next needled balcony.

Should he fall, and it does happen even in a squirrel's life, it is his tail that comes to the rescue again. He gyrates it back and forth, and with all its hair standing on end, it creates considerable air resistance, which in turn slows his fall. In effect, it is like a crude parachute, and gives him a chance to twist his body so that he will land on all fours.

A hard jolt? Think what it could have been.

While Kai is elusive when it comes to his enemies, he is not so successful in avoiding his own relatives. Of the other four squirrels that reside within his range the rock squirrel, the golden-mantled ground squirrel, the Colorado chipmunk, and the spruce squirrel it is thelatter that offers some direct competition. Where the open ponderosa forests give way to stands of spruce and fir trees, Kai finds the antics of his meddlesome relative can be quite disconcerting. Though smaller, the spruce squirrel doesn't take a back seat to anybody. He can and does romp over the less pugnacious Kaibab squirrel. But sens ibly, Kai does not meander far from the safety of his beloved pines, and therefore, feeding competition only occurs in those marginal areas where the two ranges broadly overlap.

His gait is almost always a hop. Both forefeet come down at the same time and both back feet come up to meet them. The result is a continuous, gentle wave-like body motion of black fur, followed by an undulating aftermath of frothy white. Most of the time he seems to travel in slow motion, but when he has to make time he can. Twelve suph is pretty fast for a squimel.

And believe me Kai can run when it comes time to look for a lady love. Courtship is exhibited by furious chasing, adroit aerobatics, and a coy minuet. Staying at a seemingly prearranged distance of five or six squirrellengths from each other, they cling to the bark of a tree, and do a vertical sidling ballet. She glides forward, around the trunk and looks over her shoulder. He follows her elegant white train, takes the same number of steps and awaits her pleasure. She seems to courtsy, dips her head, and retraces her pattern in a mincing little sashay. They slowly circle, facing each other. Both stop. They wave their white plumes, and begin to circle in the opposite direction. He appears to bow, then zowie they're off again, around and around the trunk in a dizzy series of spiraling maneuvers.Switching their tails for balance, they come racing down. She jumps to the ground and dashes for the next pine. He bounds pell-mell after her and they repeat their nuptial tag. The female exercises the age-old prerogative, probably devised by the first cave woman, that the best way to catch a man is to let him chase her. And, of course, there would be no fun in it if she were caught on the first try, so the scenario is enacted time and again against the forest backdrop of the giant ponderosa.

Providing everything from main diet to the trysting place, it isn't any wonder that when Kai starts thinking about a family he should choose his favorite tree again for this important phase of life. But, first, he must have a home.

His ponderosa penthouse is constructed some seventy to a hundred feet above ground level in the tree's crown, which on second thought is logical, because this particular pine is singularly free of cavities. Kai is quite selective in choosing a homesite. I've never found a newly constructed tree castle in a snag or dead tree, though knot holes and hollows due to decay are popular homes for other arboreal squirrels.

Looking much like a large bird nest on first impression, it is a hurly-burly mass of needle clusters and small pine branches. It is quite conspicuous not only from its bulky appearance, but by the reddish color of dead sticks and needles that contrast prominently with the deep green of the tree.

While the exterior may look like something out of Tobacco Road, the whole structure is an architect's dream of split-level planning, sunken living area, louvered ventilation, and shake roof. Small branches and needles are woven into a water-repelling thatch. This shingle-like mat catches driving rain and effectively drains water away, leaving the interior dry. Living quarters are below the entryway, and form a cavity about the size of a large head of lettuce: His apartment is lined with chewed and shredded grasses and other fibrous material that not only fashions into a luxurious, airy master bedroom but becomes effective insulation from cold an important factor since winters are quite severe on the Kaibab.

And, so, on those dreary days when sighing branches of pine bow obediently under white, crystalline mantles, Kai zolls into a furry ball. And there he stays until the storm finally relents. When the sun comes out, he unwraps from his ermine scarf and scampers out into the glistening world. His sleep is not a true hibernation. Winter for him is a series of fitful naps, depending on weather.

The young are usually born in late spring, but seasonal weather conditions apparently control this timing. In 1962, there was little rain on the Kaibab until August, and in that year I observed hardly any nesting activity until the forest greened up from summer showers. As late as the 25th of August of that year I saw three females with extended mammary glands, indicating that they were still nursing young. With the possibility of heavy snow falls in late September, this would seem to be about the latest in the year for the raising of young. Three or four comprise the average litter.

Blind, naked, and absolutely helpless at birth, the babies stay in their home for several weeks until they develop some nimbleness of foot. Coloration is the same as the adults - though the tail may not be quite as white, and it certainly isn't as full. Bodies are slimmer, too.

In five to six weeks, the little ones are bright eyed and mischievous. Playing about the nest, they scramble nimbly in and out of the entrance, and frolic onto adjacent limbs. With a flurry of white tails and grasping wildly for footholds, little Kai and his brothers and sisters ramble among the branches in madcap "Hair Breadth Harry" escapades. With like gymnastic determination, their mother vainly tries to subdue this capricious behavior in her nursery too feet high.

Adolescence ends abruptly for seemingly they do not want to tarry long at the old homestead. The lure of the exciting forest, with its many smells and succulent dinners of juicy cones and desserts of meadow offerings, is too much for the young adults. They pack up and seek higher pines to conquer and other dells in which to linger.

Perhaps it's a good thing because if weather conditions are just right, the female may have a second brood. Which poses the question, does Kai mate for life? Well, no. Alas, fidelity is not one of Kai's fortes. As a matter of fact, male and female have separate households.

But then, let's not be too harsh in our judgment. It is nature's only way to combat the vicissitudes of pestilence, erratic weather conditions, and a multitude of ills which can cause overnight depletions in squirrel populations. Consequently, his life expectancy or span is not great, probably no more than four or five years on the average.

These fluctuations in reproduction have been a real cause for alarm to scientists who are beginning to take notice of and study the Kaibab squirrel - for remember, he is a distinct species, but of extremely limited numbers.

Dr. Joseph Hall, of San Francisco State College, whom I was fortunate to meet last summer, has studied the squirrel for some four years under a grant from the National Park Service. He vouches for the fact that the squirrel is not as plentiful as it used to be. By conversations I have had with park rangers and oldtimers of the North Rim, my own investigations have indicated as much.

Though strictly protected ever since Theodore Roosevelt declared the Kaibab a game preserve way back in 1906, the Arizona Game and Fish Commission opened a hunt on the Kaibab squirrel for the first time last year. It was to run for a total of eight days in conjunction with the North Kim turkey season. The bag limit was to be three a day or three in possession.

To say the hunt was an unpopular move with conservationists throughout the country is to put it mildly. The Park Service officially deplored the Commission's act. Daniel B. Heard, Regional Director, and Howard B. Stricklin, Superintendent of Grand Canyon National Park, of which the North Rim is a portion, emphasized that not enough is known of the life history and ecology of the Kaibab squirrel to risk opening a hurt. Though squirrels would not be disturbed within the Park boundaries, this is only a small part of the North Kaibab Plateau.

Across the nation sentiment rose against the proposed hunt. The National Parks Magazine and other outdoor publications dealing with natural history voiced strong opinions. A particularly effective article ran in the Audubon Magazine written by Carl W. Buchheister, national President of the Audubon Society.

An editorial dated July 5, 1964, by the conservation minded Washington Post says:

EXIT THE KAIBAB SQUIRREL

"One of the most attractive animals in the West is the Kaibab squirrel, which is found only in a nanow range along the North Rira of the Grand Canyon in Arizona. Tourists have traveled miles to watch these handsome little fellows scampering in the pines. Now the Arizona Game and Fish Commission in its wisdom has decided to declare an open season on Kaibab squirrels and let hunters kill cae apiece. Since the Kaibabs are alsvady extremely scarca, Arizona hasters will now slaughter the rist, or most of them. It is a commentary of quality of humankind that mes derive pleasure from killing anything so charming and harmless as a Kaibab squirrel, especially since the dead animal is not needed for its food or polt. So the Kaibab squirrel will follow the Carolina parakeet, the Passenger pigeon, and presently the whooping crane kato oblivion is order that a few Arisonans may have the pleasure of shoot ing them. We hope that for every Kaibab squirrel shot, a score of tourists will give Azizons a wide berth. Perhaps then the Arizona Ganse and Fish Commission will regret the destruction of ane more natural asset.

This editorial followed & 2.4 colman inch news story dated June 28 with a banner head "Arizona Gambles With The Kaibab Squirrel."

About the same time, the newly formed governmental agency concerned with the study of vanishing wildlife of America, under the direction of the Secretary of the Interior, sent out a news release on July 6, 1964, entitled "Interior Department Steps Up Fight to Save Near Extinct Wildlife." It pointed out that nearly two score birds and mammals have disappeared from the American scene in less than 150 years. Under the subhead, "Endangered Mammals of the U. S. and Puerto Rico," were listed sixteen species.

It included the Kaibab squirrel.

On August 15, the Arizona Game and Fish Commission officially rescinded their decision for a combination turkey and squirrel season on the North Kaibab Plateau. Conservationists hailed the decision with jubilation. A portion of a news story which ran in the Phoenix Gazette at that time reads: "The department had received many protests against hunting of the Kaibab squirrel, a rare type previously protected. It was emphasized, however, that the turkey prospects were the determining factor, and that a closely controlled hunt of the Kaibab squirrel might again be considered due to the value of information obtained through hunting."

In this writer's opinion, the Game Department should gather specimens to better understand the life history of this squirrel using their own personnel for live trapping to eliminate needless wastes. Then their biologists could begin immediate fact-finding studies rather than make superficial examinations by just field checking hunter's bag limits. Hunting wouldn't seem to be objective enough.

But back to Dr. Hall's research. He states that in the '30's the Kaibab squirrel was quite plentiful. His tree ring studies indicate at that time ponderosa forests were in a state of vigorous growth. Since then they have declined. Because this mammal is tied so irrevocably in an ecological sense with the ponderosa, squirrel populations have also declined. According to this genial scientist, thorough studies must be made to discover contributing causes for this downward trend. He feels that we should determine why this mammal is not reproducing himself as in previous years before hunting is again considered.

And what is the danger underlying the future reduction of the population of this squirrel? There is, as yet, another little understood but significant and evident scientific fact that some animals and birds reproduce best when there are enough of their number to promote an "animal psychology of social excitement." Without this excitement tuned to the right pitch, some species seem to decline of their own accord.

If this should be true with the Kaibab squirrels, it is possible that they may never regain their former numbers. They may even disappear completely over a period of time. Supposition? Yes, but based on fact. The phenomena of this sort of socio-biological excitement is one of the mysteries which scientists are endeavoring to unravel. If this does apply to the Kaibab squirrel, indeed, think what a mistake we would make not to have investigated such ramifications with regard to this very limited and special species.

Presenting another sidelight, Dr. Clarence Cottam, Director of Research for the Welder Wildlife Foundation, Sinton, Texas, told me that the Kaibab squirrel is notonly the most beautiful squirrel in the world but the rarest in regards to its divergent evolutionary development. Until enough scientific data is accumulated on the squirrel's life study, it is without reason to suggest hunting, he emphasized.

Dr. Cottam, who has received more conservation awards than you could shake a squirrel tail at, including the coveted Leopold Award, grew up in Southern Utah and is conversant with the status of the Kaibab squirrel. He went on to tell me during our discussion at the National Audubon Convention in Tucson last year that the State of Texas receives millions of tourist dollars from people who travel just to view and study the whooping crane at its special refuge. It is possible that the Kaibab squirrel could attract a proportionately high visitor economy to Northern Arizona. It would, he explained, far exceed any revenue gained from hunting and promote the Kaibab area as well.

Meanwhile, Kai continues to haunt his favorite pines, and is content to let the rest of the world go its way, but he remains in the eyes of Arizonans as one of their very own. As a matter of fact, Arizona State Senator Fred Udine of Coconino County introduced a bill in 1961 to make the Kaibab squirrel our official State animal. As yet, the bill has not been acted upon.

What better tribute could Arizona pay to Kai - for, after all, how many states have a citizen as picturesque and as unique?

Shooting The Kaibab Squirrel With Camera BY WILLIS PETERSON

To be hoodwinked by squirrels is one of those things you take in stride, for many are the pitfalls of the wildlife photographer. I don't know how many times I set up a complicated circuit of electronic flash equipment, only to have lights, camera and stands ignored by a brigade of curious rodents, who purloined bait and shouldered away rightful recipients from posing.

For example, all I could get in the way of pictures along the Rim at Point Sublime was a constant review by a battalion of rock squirrels. Though a Kaibab feeding tree stood nearby, my white-tailed quarry either had left or he had found my presence not to his liking. I must confess that it seemed to be the latter.

Near Fracas Ridge, a lot of cuttings and sign promised possibilities. Imagine my excitement when his "nibs" came sniffing down my bait trail. He ate my offerings and got bolder. I chuckled, rubbed my hands. Soon we would have a real working partnership. But I should have known that it wouldn't be that easy. While his nose homed in on the cracker bait wave length, we were infiltrated by a squad of golden-mantled ground squirrels on reconnaissance.

Beautiful animals, but terribly inquisitive, they made a frontal attack along the whole bait line and performed exactly where Kai should have been. To humor them, I made several pictures, but I still wasn't getting Kai. He sulked in a nearby pine. So, I tipped my hat and tried a third location, an attractive nook in the wood, called Jolly Sink.

Here seemed plenty of activity. In two days I spotted a Kaibab going about his daily chores. Out went the crumb trail. When he cut it, I knew he was having a ball I could tell by the way his tail swished back and forth. Again our tryst was short lived. A spruce squirrel started poaching. With all the forest to reconnoiter, he had to take advantage of me, so, Iwound up taking pictures of him. I still didn't have what I wanted of my Kaibab friend. To photograph Kai took more planning than one might think. Not to be beset by a lot of hungry, shirttail relatives, I looked for an area completely devoid of growth except for ponderosa. An open pine glade north of Jacob Lake Lodge was perfect. The only thing that might interfere were chipmunks. And, if I couldn't defend myself from chipmunks, I thought, I might as well go back to the desert. After the lures were out, it was like trolling with a spinner against a weedbank. Wham. In three weeks I was making Kai's portrait.

The electronic setup consists of a main light, with one, two or three extensions. The only drawback is rapid drain on batteries. Bait lines are crumbled crackers of aromatic sorts. Trails lead to the prefocused camera, a 31/4 x 41/4 Speed Graphic, which is used for color only. Exposure is computed from reflector to subject distance. For black and whites, I used a 35mm Minolta with a selection of three lenses, 135mm f-4.5 Steinheil, a 500mm f-5 Astro and an 800mm f-5 Astrogon, for no matter how far Kai wandered from me, I had one lens up my sleeve which could bring him in range. In firing the electronic flash, I used a remote device so there would be no need to stay close by while Kai posed. Good shade piercing binoculars are a must to determine when to fire the shutter. When we got to know each other better, I moved closer.

At Jacob Lake Lodge the owners keep one or two squirrels in a large exhibition enclosure under a permit arrangement with the State Game Department. These captive animals provide many hours of visitor enjoyment for those who might not otherwise see Kai.