As wildlife biologists and visitors mourn the death of 1K, the first wild California condor in Zion National Park, they can still find comfort and hope by scanning the skies.

There, with a little luck and good eyesight, they may catch a glimpse of 1111, Zion’s second wild condor and the younger sister of 1K, the condor who was recently found dead in a juniper tree near Pipe Spring National Monument in northern Arizona. He had died of lead poisoning.

1K, a majestic bird with a 9-foot wingspan, became one of the main attractions in Zion National Park after hatching in May 2019 and an iconic symbol of hope for the species, which has been listed as endangered by the federal government.

Now that he has died, presumably from poisoning resulting from eating an animal shot with lead ammunition, 1K’s fans continue to mourn and public attention is increasingly focused on three-year-old 1111. In addition, parks and wildlife officials are using the tragedy to urge hunters to use copper bullets and other lead-free bullets to avoid further poisoning.

“The people who work to save condors watch these birds every day and really get to know them,” said Janice Stroud-Settles, Zion’s wildlife program manager. “So when a condor dies, it’s extremely emotional for us.”

Get the advantage

That’s one reason for the intense attention being paid to 1111, who was hatched in Zion two years after her brother and has already had a near-death experience from lead. When she was captured and tested in January, 1111 had the highest lead levels ever measured in a living bird and was taken to a wildlife rehabilitation center in Arizona for intensive care.

Lead poisoning, wildlife officials confirm, has been the leading cause of condor deaths since the California Condor Recovery Program was established in 1982. Since 1996, when the birds were introduced to Utah and Arizona, 53 condors have died from lead poisoning. To reduce mortality, the Utah Division of Wildlife Resources’ Hunters Helping Condors program offers hunters in the park area a $50 coupon that they can redeem for lead-free bullets at retailers.

Last year was particularly tough for the condors.

In 2023, the condor population in Utah and Arizona was about 120 birds until an outbreak of bird flu killed 21 of them, while others succumbed to lead poisoning. According to wildlife conservationists, there are now 83 condors in the region, of which only four remain in captivity.

It’s difficult to determine exactly how many condors are in Zion at any given time because they roam a large area that stretches from the Grand Canyon in northern Arizona to Cedar Breaks National Monument in southern Utah. Wildlife biologists attach radio transmitters and license plates to each bird to track their numbers.

Sole survivor

To survive so far, 1111 has shown courage and a little bit of luck. After several months of recovery in Arizona, the surviving sibling was released back into the wild on May 17 and can now occasionally be seen flying in the Kolob region of Zion, according to Stroud-Settles.

1111 not only lost her brother, but also her parents. Her mother recently died of bird flu, and she was the only survivor. Stroud-Settles said it was fascinating to watch the siblings frolicking through the canyon last April, when 1K was still alive.

“They were hanging out together below Angels Landing,” the wildlife manager recalled, “and she was watching his behavior and trying to imitate it. It was really cute. They were also sleeping together, so they were basically looking for a place to spend the night together.”

The sight of the number 1111 also brings back fond memories for Pete Gorzalski, a retiree from St. George. A member of the volunteer Condor Raiders, he spends two days each week in Zion tracking condors and teaching visitors about North America’s largest wild bird.

Spinning grapes and cranberries

Gorzalski, also known as “Condor Pete,” recalls the bird’s eye view he had of 1K and other condors hovering or perching near Angels Landing and venturing too close to hikers. To prevent such fraternization, the park volunteer and his fellow raiders would hike to the end of the trail and scare the birds away.

Sometimes they used a slingshot and hurled half-frozen grapes or cranberries at the couple.

“I actually had to attend a slingshot school for that,” says Gorzalski, laughing.

Condors, he said, recognized volunteers by the uniforms they wore. To make the condors fear everyone – not just uniformed volunteers – the Raiders often hired visitors to yell, scream and clap at the animals.

Gorzalski said they also used sports bottles to spray water on the animals.

“But these birds were so smart that they learned very quickly which tree they could perch on that was two feet out of reach of the water,” he said. “So that didn’t work so well.”

Rather than harassing condors, Gorzalski prefers to educate visitors about them. One of his favorite memories is helping an elderly woman view 1K through a telescope and watching tears stream down her face.

“She told me that when she was a little girl she had seen a condor and thought she would never see one in the wild again,” he recalled.

Stroud-Settles and Gorzalski want to make sure others have that chance, too, so they’re instructing hunters to remove the lead from their ammunition — in other words, use copper bullets — to avoid poisoning condors, bald eagles and golden eagles that feed on animal carcasses.

Unfortunately, such advice comes too late to ease Gorzalski’s pain over the loss of 1K. When the condor’s body was recovered, he said, conservation officials removed one of its feathers and the tag it wore on its wing and asked volunteers if they wanted to hold them.

“I was there with another wildlife officer and asked her if she could take a photo of me holding the feather and wing tag,” he recalled. “After she took the photo, I broke down and lost it. We were all so upset at the time.”