By IBO Research Biologist Lesley Howard
Pinyon Jays are weird and wonderful: loud, electric-blue flocks that cache pine seeds and help stitch together pinyon–juniper woodlands across western North America. Since 2023, I’ve led Intermountain Bird Observatory’s Pinyon Jay project in Idaho, Utah, and now Wyoming, collecting data for the species’ review as a candidate for listing under the Endangered Species Act. It’s a dream job – and a big responsibility – for an early-career woman scientist who once felt that only my childhood wildlife “heroes” on TV could have a job like this.
My first glimpse of a woman in field science came when a dendrologist visited my Girl Scout troop and showed us how to core trees to age them. I couldn’t have been more than 10 years old, and, years later, I’m the one in the field, coring into questions about how a little-known corvid survives in our rapidly changing West.
Most field-season days look nothing like those I saw on TV in my childhood. Before my head leaves the pillow, I silence the too-early alarm and check Garmin inReach messages to be sure my technicians are safely hiking to their survey points. Then I shift from a half-awake human to IBO Research Biologist: reviewing data, refining analysis code, answering emails, and checking in with my crew—many of them young scientists themselves. During the field season, the workday never truly ends as this cycle repeats daily. For roughly 20 weeks a year, I keep one eye on inReach messages until every technician is safely accounted for early in the morning, and again late in the evening, and one ear listening while I sleep for any potential emergencies.
Carrying that level of responsibility has taught me as much about leadership as it has about Pinyon Jays. It’s a constant reminder to care for myself with the same attention I give my team and the project so I can continue to be at my best. This is something I hope other researchers like myself, who often juggle invisible emotional labor and mental loads along with their science, can recognize in their own careers as we near the end of the 2025 roller coaster ride.
One day this summer I was out with the team monitoring colonies in the Stone Hills. Meanwhile, technicians conducting surveys over in the Black Pine Mountains (surveys funded by a new partner in 2025, Liberty Gold) suddenly lit up our data collection app with Pinyon Jay sightings. This area in the eastern Black Pines was long suspected to hold Pinyon Jays, but had no prior confirmation of breeding. So, myself, Rob, and my colleague Rory Eggleston – a PhD student at Utah State who also studies jays – threw gear in our trucks and drove toward the Black Pine Mountains to see for ourselves.
Come to think of it – this may be the last time Rob let me drive his truck.🤔Less than an hour after seeing the data pop up, we were standing among junipers, watching flocks of Pinyon Jays fly through the trees on the Black Pine Mountains in real time. Ultimately our crew were able to confirm 2 distinct (and new to us) breeding areas in the eastern Black Pines!
In Idaho, and other states without substantial pinyon pine, it has been known that Pinyon Jays occupy areas with no pinyon pine at all. This challenges decades of influential published research that portrayed them as tightly tied to pinyon stands. Bianca Sicich et al. recently published a paper that re-framed years of data that had been collected on Pinyon Jay habitat associations and foraging behavior.
As research progresses, much of what we thought we knew about Pinyon Jays has continued to shift.
In the 1970s, scientists had turned up what seemed like confusing behavioral results: male Pinyon Jays weren’t interacting in dominance hierarchies as predicted, and the females seemed to fight often. Taking another look at the data, we now recognize that Pinyon Jays actually function in a female-dominated hierarchy much of the time. As Lucy Cooke describes in her book – which contains an entire chapter on Pinyon Jays – female dominance was implicit in the earliest long-term studies of the species, but it was overlooked. Cooke notes, “good scientists can suffer bad biases… They are by no means alone in their honest error”. I think about that a lot as a woman leading this project.
Confirming two new colonies in the Black Pine Mountains was the most exhilarating kind of scientific “yes” – both a win for the species and a validation of a collaboration that brought together IBO, federal agencies, and private industry. For me personally, it was also a quiet milestone: a moment of looking around at the team and realizing, for the first time, that I am the one truly leading this research.
That sense of leadership definitely didn’t arrive overnight, obviously it took a couple of years of being in my role at IBO. Imposter syndrome still whispers, but I’m surrounded by colleagues and mentors who push back on that voice. The way Jay redirects Pinyon Jay questions to me during meetings, rather than answering by default. The way that, throughout a bout of Pinyon Jay fieldwork this year, Rob’s voice repeated “Well, what do you think? You’re the boss, Boss!”. The way that Jeremy (my supervisor for 3 field seasons prior to me joining IBO full-time) has mentored me on project management and the finer details of our work. The way that Heidi, now one of my biggest role models, always responds enthusiastically and inquisitively when I happen to catch her ear and word-vomit a far-fetched research idea.
Lastly, but certainly not least, the way Heather always knew the right moment to call and tell me “You’ve got this, girl!”. Those moments, perhaps small for those I mentioned, send me a big message every time: scientists like me don’t just quietly contribute to projects – we lead them and we should be supported. Now, as I mentor students in Heidi’s VIP class and welcome new seasonal technicians into the project, I’m trying to pass that support forward every moment I can.
Our work began with a simple question – “Where are Pinyon Jays in Idaho?” – in a state with only two short-term studies on the species before our research began. Today, less than 3 years later, we’re up to 12 known breeding colonies, we’re modeling habitat suitability across their Idaho range, expanding surveys into Utah and Wyoming, collecting drone-based habitat data and, with support from Idaho Department of Fish and Game, soon deploying cellular transmitters on a subset of Pinyon Jays here in Idaho to track their movements wherever they go: because we don’t yet know!
Looking back on the project’s growth, and my own, from early 2023 to now, I feel humbled and hopeful. My goal is that our research will inform the Endangered Species review process, and guide land management practices in areas with Pinyon Jays across Idaho. Just as importantly, I hope a younger human somewhere who is seeking a role model, maybe in a scout uniform with tree core in hand, can see women here at IBO (among the other talented staff) not only doing this science but leading it – much like the female Pinyon Jays cacophonously steering their bright blue flocks.
This article is part of our 2025 end of the year newsletter! View the full newsletter here, or click “older posts” below to read the next article. Make sure you don’t miss out on IBO news! Sign up to get our email updates.