The sky is full of vibrant pinks and deep reds on the early morning of February 12th it looks to be another beautiful southern California day. We begin this day by filling our packs with rebar, carabineers, webbing, and climbing rope. In addition to the nest observations, we have planned a series of nest entries as a part of health checks on nests that began in 2007.

Today will be the first entry of the 2008 season. Our goal today is to determine whether the first time pairing of condors 79 and 247 has produced a fertile egg. If we happen to find an infertile egg, it is possible to substitute that egg with a replica that the pair will treat as its own. Later it can be replaced with a healthy egg that was laid in captivity and is on the verge of hatching. This process is referred to as an egg transplant. In this case, condors 79 and 247 have an egg that we suspect to be about 20 days old. We are hoping they have a fertile egg.

It is 7:15 when the 150 lbs of gear is loaded onto ATVs and the four of us are ready to make our way to the nest cliff. It will be a short ride and then about an hour hike to reach the top of the nest cliff. At 8:30 we reached the steep slopes above the nest cliff. Each nest is like a puzzle with a variety of challenges to overcome in order to get to it. For some, the routes to the nest cliff present the biggest challenge. Many are on very steep exposed terrain. In this case, the rappel to the nest will prove to be the much more difficult than the hike. It will require close to 500 feet of rope and portions of the descent, especially the last 100 feet, will be on near vertical terrain made up of loose rocks and the occasional cliff side shrub.

It’s 9:30 and I radio the nest observer across the canyon to inform her that I am going to begin my decent. From this point on, she will be my navigator as I make my way down the cliff. She will also inform me of the attending parent’s behavior so I know what to expect when I reach the nest. I weight the rope and the anchors we’ve built out of this recently sunken rebar and the webbing that distributes the weight evenly across them barely even flexes; this is a good sign. As always, we’ve built an anchor that is redundant, capable of withstanding forces much greater than my body weight and the 40 lbs of gear that I am carrying. The consequences of a fall would be life threatening and I’ve got no plans to end up as condor food just yet.

It is our first time rappelling on this nest cliff so the decent takes longer than normal. I need to be careful about lose rock and veering off course so I descend slowly trying to make mental notes about the terrain for future entries. I am only about 10 feet above the nest with the female, condor 79, looking up at me from the nest porch. I anticipate that as I approach she will flush from the nest and leave me to candle the egg and sift the nest substrate for any trash that she or her mate may have brought to the nest. In the eight other nests I’ve entered, this is what I’ve come to expect of these giant birds. Perhaps she might re-land while I am there, keeping her distance while doing her best to let her size and presence intimidate me.

A few moments later I discover that condor 79 has a different game plan. Upon arriving at the nest, I quickly remove my pack and grab my camera to fire off a few photos of her, who has yet to evacuate the nest. She has taken a stereotypical defensive posture with her head lower, mouth gaping, and wings partially extended. I turn to prep the equipment needed to candle the egg and a few seconds later I hear the frantic voice of the nest observer over the radio. Her warning was just in time as I turn to see 79 approaching with the intent to use her powerful beak to defend her nest. Allowing the parents to remain perched at edge of the nest seems to be less stressful on the parents rather than continually flushing them away. I move into a position within arms reach of the egg and try to encourage the worried mother to fly off. She hops off to a nearby ledge.

I discover that the cavity has a small window that opens up to the ledge she is perched on. It is not big enough for her to fit through but as I go to candle the egg, I am within striking distance of her powerful beak. I remove my helmet and place it in front of the window. In order to candle the egg I must create a makeshift dark room in the nest. I do this by draping a tarp over my head and use a high powered flash light to illuminate the egg so I might see its contents. With my head under the tarp the sound of 79 pecking at my helmet is reassuring. As long as I hear her there I know she is not sneaking to the front of the nest where my legs are exposed to her bite. I am now focused at the task at hand. I am careful not to make any sudden movements while handling the precious egg. I keep it in the position that I find it in, only raising it a few inches and holding it to the light. I can only make out the air cell and a dark shadow with faint lines extending into the unlit portions of the egg, but the shadow’s movement is a sure sign of a of a fertile egg!

My attention is completely focused on positioning the egg exactly as I found it and I am unaware that the periodic taps on my helmet have stopped. Condor 79 has returned to the nest entrance. I feel a tug at my paint leg as she lets me know that I am unwelcome at the nest. I quickly sift through the cavity substrate searching for any trash items that the chick could later ingest. Luckily, I’ve remembered to tether my backpack to the rope as well because the condor has pulled it over the edge of the nest in hopes to send it the remaining hundred feet to the canyon floor!

I am happy to discover the nest is clean, 79 turns her focus to the egg as I move to the other side of the cavity. She slowly steps into the cavity and stands over the egg looking down at it. With my gear stowed away I am ready to make my exit. I begin the ascent back up to the rest of the team who have been patiently waiting in case I was in need of any support. Condor 79 is now fully focused on her egg using her beak to manipulate the egg and I can see first hand just how gentle a condor can be with its beak. I make the climb back up to the top set of anchors with a feeling of satisfaction. A fertile egg and a mother who is more than willing to defend her nest from any intruders means there is little chance we will need to do more for this pair during the egg stage. In years to come, this pair’s ability to produce fertile eggs will only improve so this first egg is a strong indication of future egg success. This is an excellent start to what we hope to be another fruitful breeding season.

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