Lucky Peak: More Than a Place, It’s a Story Waiting to Be Told

Keith Barnes, Timberline High School- Boise, Idaho

I have been bringing Timberline High School students on overnight field trips to Lucky Peak banding station for some 15 years now, and every year it’s one of the first things I add to my busy calendar. We are so lucky (pun intended) to have this unique research and education center right on our doorstep, literally within sight of our classroom windows. Camping in the woods and experiencing our feathered friends up close is a special opportunity that builds a bond and empathy for migrants and for our natural world. That connection to nature brings joy to our screen-swamped youth in all sorts of intangible and important ways. It’s inspiring. What better gift can we give our youth?

Harry Weekes, Sage School-Hailey, Idaho

When someone says “IBO,” images rush through my mind, very appropriately like a flock of birds, precisely because the images are of birds – Turkey Vultures in swirling kettles, Ruby-crowned Kinglets and Juncos waiting to be extracted from mist nets, Saw-whet Owls wide-eyed making their little bill clicks, Sharp-shinned Hawks being sent up to Hawkwatch from the raptor blind.

My students and I have made the undulating trip to Lucky Peak for 15 years. I continue to refer to the trip as “the most impactful 24 hours of the year”. We leave school at noon, are banding and counting raptors by 3 p.m., slide into owling after dinner and into the wee hours, then wake to make the morning songbird runs (literally). By the time we leave in the late morning, students have drawn, held, released, counted, and cajoled birds from White-crowned Sparrows to American Kestrels- and even Flammulated Owls…yep, we got one! 

When I founded The Sage School, one of our first slogans was “Holding the bird.” We used this as an umbrella term for experiential education – of getting out and really doing the thing. Finding IBO and making our fall migrations to Lucky Peak and our spring migrations to the Boise River lets us fully “Hold the bird.” The experience of IBO is the one to which students invariably return, a powerful glimpse into the magical world of birds.

Joey Braun, Boise, Idaho

Beginning with an internship in my undergrad years at BSU and visiting nearly every year up to September of 2024, I have marked the end of summer with the winding, rocky drive up to the Lucky Peak banding station, bringing with me so many different friends, family members, colleagues and co-workers. Over the years, it has been a pleasure to spend so many leisurely days gazing out over Shaw Mountain and Bogus Basin, eyes searching for wings spread across the sky, chit-chatting with Hawk Watchers and swapping stories about the latest and greatest catch from the songbird nets or raptor blind. 

There are few things that are as precious to me as being able to share my love for wildlife with others, and having the yearly opportunity to bring those closest to me up to the banding station has been one of my favorite ways to share my special interest and encourage those closest to me to get excited about wildlife conservation. Evenings spent watching the sun set over my beloved city of Boise, filled with anticipation for the potential of catching owls overnight, punctuated by cool morning walks to the songbird nets with friends and family are some of the things I look forward to most on my visits to Lucky Peak.

I have grown a deep appreciation over the years for the dedicated group of folks who run the station and the seasonal employees who answer each and every visitor question with a welcoming attitude and enthusiasm. I truly believe that these visits and memories are not only valuable to me on a personal level, they also serve the much higher purpose of allowing the nebulous and seldom-seen world of wildlife biology to be brought into the everyday lives of people who will, someday, be directly impacted by climate change and the rapidly changing topography of our beloved Treasure Valley. It is also my belief that wildlife conservation is a collective responsibility, and having opportunities to intersect with and contribute to conservation in a personal way is invaluable as we move together into an uncertain future. 

With the banding station being so drastically changed by the 2024 Valley Fire, I am anticipating that things will look a little different on my visit in 2025, but I am certain that the passion and enthusiasm present at Lucky Peak will have gone unchanged.

A huge thank you to the crew at IBO, past and future, for letting us into your world and sharing your passion with us!

Songbirds

By Carter Strope

The 2024 songbird season at Lucky Peak was, if nothing else, unpredictable. The fall began with a busy first day of 91 birds on July 16th, but then numbers dropped off again until September. One thing that did prove to be constant throughout the first month was challenging weather. High temps, gusty winds, and smoky skies were perpetual challenges-

Lucky Peak saw its first smoke closure in 30 years on August 7th.

A lone Ruffed Grouse, caught in late July, was a crew favorite. Early-season numbers for MacGillivray’s Warbler (222 new banded in 2024), Western Tanager (156), and Warbling Vireo (144) were up while numbers for Dusky Flycatcher (164) and Nashville Warbler (100) seemed down. Eventually the smoky days cleared and we thought that the 2024 fire season was behind us.

If only that had held true.

As usual, the pace picked up in September as White-crowned Sparrows (526) and Ruby-crowned Kinglets (454) arrived in force. September also provided the crew with several rarities. On September 5th crew and visitors were shocked and delighted to discover an Olive-sided Flycatcher in net 8. This treetop species is a common sight and sound at Lucky Peak but seldom drops down low enough to be caught – this was the 4th ever at Lucky!

A little over a week later, luck struck again with a new discovery in the net!

The crew banded a Townsend’s x Hermit Warbler Hybrid! September was also the first full month after the arrival of the raptor and owl crews, who not only brought an extra sense of community to the peak but were frequent lifesavers as they jumped in to help on busy mornings. 

The first few days of October were our busiest days of the fall, with the season high of 125 birds coming on October 3rd. We looked forward to the final two weeks of banding with much anticipation. 

Unfortunately, our excitement for what was to come was abruptly halted the next morning. 

In the early morning hours of October 4th, the Lucky crew became aware of a fire that had started along Highland Valley Road below the station and they made the difficult decision to evacuate. In the days that followed, the staff and crew watched from a distance as large swathes of the peak, our camp included, burned. 

Much of our time since the fire has been divided between reminiscing on memories from the peak and trying to sort out what comes next. We wonder what the rest of our season would have looked like? All in all, this year seemed as if it was continuing the recent pattern of historically slow seasons, but did show some signs of resurgence. Ruby-crowned Kinglets and others seemed to be doing better than 2023. 

The road ahead is long and winding for Lucky Peak, but amidst the wreckage is a growing sense of excitement.

Rebuilding the peak will undoubtedly pose a myriad of challenges, but this tragedy will also bring opportunity, and we can’t wait to learn from what rises out of the ashes.

Hawkwatch

By Kateri Bilay

I had been waiting in anticipation for the 2024 fall raptor migration to begin. To be able to set up my tent atop Lucky Peak and join my peers in witnessing the spectacle that is migration. Finally, the day arrived, August 15th, our first day of standardized counts at hawkwatch. There is a lot about hawkwatch that could be considered unglamorous as we sit on top of a hill for hours on end watching, waiting for a bird to fly by, or to not fly by. 

As migrating raptors slowly began arriving during the beginning of the season, we were delighted if we counted even ten birds soaring over Hawkwatch. We were on the look out for hawks, falcons, and eagles moving from north to south in search of more forgiving climates in order to escape winter. The heat in mid-August, combined with the unyielding sun atop the peak, was at times relentless, and the ever-present plumes of the smoke out to the north loomed over us. We spent just as much time watching fires like the Wapiti and the Lava Fires erupt in the afternoon heat as we did counting migrating Red-tailed Hawks and American Kestrels. 

Even still, on the smokiest of days I was surprised to see raptors pushing on through the haze, determined to head south.

Hot August days gave way to a cooler September, and the slow trickle of hawks became a steady stream. Soon, we were counting dozens of raptors a day. Sharp-shinned Hawks and Cooper’s Hawks zipped past the peak and American Kestrels bounced about us in the afternoons. As the migration began to pick up, so did the number of eager Hawkwatch volunteers! 

Curious and interested birders began to join us in hopes of witnessing the spectacle, delivering homemade baked goods, words of wisdom, and most importantly an extra pair of eyes glued to the horizon. The additional help came just in time as hundreds of Turkey Vultures began moving through the skies in military-like squadrons, heading south along with Broad-winged Hawks and Northern Harriers. 

Migration was in full swing and the Hawkwatch crew relished every moment of it!

Thanks to the extra help from volunteer hawkwatchers, we had time to share with visitors about IBO’s raptor migration research. I remember one young birder in particular who was so enthusiastic about helping with the migration counts that his parents practically had to drag him from the peak when they had to leave for their drive back to Oregon! He ended up spotting and correctly identifying enough migrants that we marked him down as an official volunteer. 

His motivation and enthusiasm that day were just as inspiring to me as the birds were to him. 

As October arrived, the flow of migrating raptors slowed. We were looking forward to chilly days with cups of hot cocoa and Rough-legged Hawks. But, they never came. The morning of October 4th, there was a knock on my tent that jolted me awake, 

“Kateri, sorry to startle you but we need to leave, there is a fire…”. 

I grabbed what I thought I might need from my tent for a few days down off the mountain and gathered with my crew mates. We left the mountain, not knowing that it would be our last day at the peak for the rest of the season. The Valley Fire burned through camp taking our belongings and the beautiful views of Lucky Peak with it. But even still, I knew that every day we were not up there at Hawkwatch, raptors were still migrating, uncounted, but alive and free and soaring. 

Just as the birds do not stop, neither will the curious and relentless scientists. The generous and open-hearted volunteers that love this conservation work as much as we do continue to find ways to help. Lucky Peak will grow back, and we will return, because even in a changing world, the spectacle of nature is what brings us together as scientists, volunteers, and as a community.

Raptors

By Hannah Glass

After having trapped for three seasons prior in the East, traveling west to Lucky Peak for season number four was something I had been looking forward to. I knew that trapping on a mountain where you can see for miles around you versus flat areas surrounded by trees on all sides was going to be quite the experience. Walking down the raptor trail on the first day of set up, I couldn’t wait to step out into the open to see the space where I would live for the next three months. When we all crested the top of the trail at the end of the trees, there it was. A jaw-dropping scene with mountains, valleys, and skies that I knew would soon fill with raptors migrating south. 

I couldn’t help but feel…”lucky”.

The season began with days that felt like they would never end due to so few birds overhead. But migration soon picked up, and with it came the masses of Sharp-shinned Hawks and Cooper’s Hawks. These raptors are often easily swayed into coming into the station, thanks to their ambitious hunting styles. However, larger raptors such as buteos and eagles aren’t as easy to convince. 

That is why one particular capture of mine this season had my mouth on the ground from a combination of pure joy and disbelief!

September 6th was proving to be a successful day as migration was ramping up. With nine raptors already caught by evening time, I was pleased. As fellow raptor crew member Grant was processing a Sharp-shinned Hawk, I noticed a large raptor out past Shaw Mountain – the closest peak to the north. As I began to work the lure, this raptor immediately pivoted and began its descent directly towards it. I alerted the folks in the blind that I thought there was a buteo coming towards the station. Everyone sat still and quiet so as not to scare the raptor off. 

Before I knew it, there was a Golden Eagle right in the center of my bownet!

Once it tucked its enormous wings in and lowered its head, it was time to pull the trigger. Whoosh! The net flipped over and safely encased the stunning raptor. Everyone in the blind ran down to the trap to see a bird that is striking in the sky and even more so in the hand. What a privilege it was to get to band and process this bird in the name of science. A dream come true for a raptor bander. Thanks to everyone who helped this day and to those who took photos that I will cherish for years to come!

Just as migration was beginning to wind down, we were all prepping for the cold that was to come with extra layers, blankets, and meals consisting of soups and mugs of hot chocolate, 

the most unexpected and devastating event occurred that none of us could have predicted…

the Valley Fire. The wildfire ravaged habitat for wildlife, our homes for the fall, the raptor blind that stood proudly for the last 30 years, and also robbed us of a complete season of data collection. Those of us on the mountain that morning won’t soon forget the terror of being woken up in the early morning hours, being told there was a fire and we needed to evacuate quickly. Not really knowing what to grab, we did our best, letting hope trick us into thinking we would be back soon.

Unfortunately, we weren’t that lucky.

We sat in limbo for many days wondering if our tents and personal belongings survived the blaze after learning the blind that had become a home to many of us, hadn’t. After several weeks of anxious, dreadful waiting, we were finally allowed to return to the peak. To say it was somber would be an understatement. 

Seeing ash where my tent once stood and fragments of metal bits where the raptor blind had been for three decades was bleak. However, this disaster isn’t the end,

but rather an unexpected opportunity for new research.

There are a multitude of projects that will emerge from this event and much will be learned. Wildfire is an important part of  forest ecology and is often needed for regrowth, and that is how I will choose to look at the future of IBO going forward: a new and needed beginning.                                   

Owls

By Meg Getzinger

We began our season preparing our speakers to broadcast the sounds of Flammulated Owls through the forest, their hoots both soothing yet somewhat haunting. The first nights were slow, but after a few nights of catching only bats and flying squirrels, we finally saw our first owl! As we approached, we noticed something unusually big in the mist net – Emily, fellow owl bander, rushed down and quickly extracted it. 

When we returned to camp, we gathered everyone to witness our first bird of the season: a Long-eared Owl! 

We were ecstatic to have caught a Long-eared Owl, a species not regularly trapped at Lucky Peak. It turned out to be a sign of abundance for the season, as we ended up banding a total of 6 Long-eared Owls. That same night, we also caught our first Northern Saw-whet Owl. 

We were excited to have caught two species of owls but were still anxiously awaiting our first ‘flam’. The following night, on September 1^st, we caught our first Flammulated Owl! Though perhaps not as charismatic as the Northern Saw-whet Owl, the Flammulated Owl has its own unique charm. 

With dainty feet suited for catching moths, eyes as black as night, and impressive camouflage, it’s hard not to love them. 

Throughout the rest of the season, we captured a total of 6 Long-eared Owls, 277 Saw-whet Owls, and 66 Flammulated Owls. At the start of October, when we switched our speakers from the slow “flam” hoots to the tiny “toots” of the Northern Saw-whet, it became apparent that migration was in full swing. On the night of October 3^rd, we banded an impressive 33 Northern Saw-whet Owls. 

As I walked back to the yurt at 5 A.M. with owls in tow, I noticed a red glow in the western sky. In my tired state, I assumed it was the sun beginning to rise. It was only later, when chaperones from the visiting Riverstone International School warned us of a nearby wildfire, did I realize what I had actually seen. After banding and measuring the birds from our most recent net check, Emily and I hurried to the top of the peak to get a better look at the fire. 

We were shocked to see just how close the flames were and rushed back to awaken others before closing the nets for the night.

As we were closing, a few early-morning owls had been caught in our nets. We banded and measured these owls before releasing them to continue their migration, not knowing they would be the last owls banded at Lucky Peak this season.

Although this season came to an early end and much was lost, the love for Lucky Peak shared among the dedicated researchers and community is here to stay.