Adams' Island Adventure

Day 241: I let myself get psyched out by a log from another geocacher for a hide on Adams' Island, or I would have been out here in my kayak last fall. He'd mentioned taking an "accidental swim," so I assumed that getting in and out of the boat was tricky. Someone else had mentioned "ledge jumping," and that was enough to put me off the cache. Nevertheless, Mayfield Lake presented a kayaking opportunity even if I couldn't attain the island. In other words, I decided I had to see it for myself.

Now it has to be said that I am not the world's best example when it comes to filing a flight plan with anybody. I've hiked alone all my life, and seldom told anyone where I was going. Chances were good I'd deviate from the agenda anyway...one thing leads to another when you're an adventuresome sort...so telling someone I'd be up the Blah-blah Trail and would return at 4 PM seemed entirely pointless when I'd more likely head off with map and compass to try to find some bathtub-sized tarn and might not get back until almost bedtime. However, with concerns about dumping myself in the Cowlitz River, I took exception to the standard disregard for protocol and told three friends where I was headed. It was a classic GAR model...Global Assessment of Risk...Green-Amber-Red. For me, this one lit up the caution light.

Well, I got all anxious for nothing. There were several spots to bring the 'yak in on tiny Adams' Island, and while I didn't pick the easiest one, at no time was I in danger of tipping myself into the lake. I was more at risk when I went further up-river and got into whirlpool eddies just past the bridge. It was the closest I've come to being seasick in the kayak, and I prudently retreated before it could become an issue despite the fact that I really wanted to see what was around that next bend. Knowing when to call it quits has kept me going this long, even though my friends might tell you I sometimes push the envelope; I think I've struck a workable balance between "old" and "bold."

Hanging Out

Day 240: Ohop Valley is an excellent locale for birdwatching, and although I'd stopped by in the hopes of catching a snapshot of a Yellowthroat, it was the Cedar Waxwings (Bombycilla cedrorum) who stole the show. Their colors are clear, breasts and flanks unmarked by any of the flecks or speckles which camouflage other species, black facial masks outlined with white, and tailfeathers "dipped in yellow paint." A keen-eyed observer may be able to make out bright red, waxy drops on the tips of the secondary flight feathers, the physical feature which gives these birds their name. Cedar Waxwings are not related to jays as some people think, although their heads are similarly crested. They are a very gregarious species, often grouping in large flocks when feeding. A hundred Cedar Waxwings in a chokecherry tree is a sight to behold!

A Spoon Full Of Rain

Day 238: Osteospermum "Spoon Flower" has quickly become one of my favourite annuals since I was introduced to it by a friend a couple of years ago. The rolled petals with their spatulate tips are very eye-catching, and the plant sends up dozens of them. Keep the flowers coming by dead-heading faded blooms.

Last year, I bought my Osteos too early and one of the two (four-inch pots) did not survive being treated as a houseplant. This year, I bought a single plant in the gallon size and put it immediately into the garden. No sooner than I'd finished tamping down the dirt, Mother Nature watered it in for me. Thanks for working in tandem with me, Ma!

Hatiora Rosea

Day 238: I call it my "Swedish Christmas Cactus," and that's about as far from fact as you can get in a name. Hatiora rosea blooms in late spring and while it is technically a cactus, it is also an epiphyte/lithophyte (i.e., it grows on trees or rocks, drawing nutrients from decaying plant material which is washed down to it by rainwater). Why "Swedish?" The slip from which this blooming beauty grew was given to me forty years ago by a Swedish friend.

For years, I struggled to bring it into bloom with never a bud being set, my frustration magnified by the fact that Christine's was covered in flowers every year. I have to admit that at the time, I had no clue as to its growing requirements, but with no reward coming to me for my pains, I finally relegated it to the window of my sewing room where I seldom remembered to water it. That was how I discovered that it liked an abundance of sun and being ignored. When it put up a single bloom, I was thrilled, but I over-reacted and put it back with the more "active" plants. The next year, it gave me nothing. I chalked the previous success up to fortuituous circumstance, and Hatiora was again relegated to sewing-room purdah. However, when it repeated its previous performance the following year, I began making a connection. I left it there and made no alterations to the way I handled the plant, and from that point on, it has bloomed for me unfailingly.

These days, it lives in my craft room, and just a few days ago, I discovered that it had come into lavish flower while I wasn't looking. I've moved it to the living room for now, but when the last of the flowers drops, I'll put it back on the shelf and reinstitute my practice of scientifically ignoring it until next season.

Peony The Betta

Day 237: Meet the newest member of the family, Peony the Betta. But before we continue any further, I'd like to make sure you are not mispronouncing his last name. I've noticed that these days, even pet store personnel say "BAY-ta," which is incorrect. "Betta" said properly has a pronunciation very similar to the word "bettor" as uttered by someone from Boston: "BETT-uh." Now that we have that straight, you may continue reading as long as you promise to correct yourself whenever you say "BAY-ta."

Bettas are easy-care fish, showy but undemanding. They are happy in room-temperature water, and although it's easier to keep them in a tank with a filter, they can be kept in a bowl if the water is refreshed at least every other day. The males have luxurious fins (some "specialty" species are more exotic-looking), but they must be kept in individual apartments because they are very aggressive. Males and females should only be put together to mate; males will eat the young fry, and may even attack the females.

I've kept one or more bettas ("BETT-uhs") off and on since I was in my early 20s. They tend to live about four years, although I had one white one which lived to be over seven years old. I've generally taken a break of a year or so between bouts of pisciculture, but the top of the kitchen bookcase always looks empty to me unless there's an aquarium on it. Peony is quite content in a one-gallon "mini-bow" tank where he'll receive color-enhancing food daily, supplemented by an occasional treat of bloodworms.

His Favourite Flower

 Day 236: They were his favourite flower, blood-red peonies, and while he was a man who worked the soil and brought forth fine crops of corn, beans and squash, his assistance in my mother's flower beds was notoriously disastrous; to wit the painstaking removal of all her poppies in the belief that they were a type of thistle. Peony roots, however, were something he recognized, and he contributed to their well-being with generous applications of the hand-turned compost he brought up from the bottom of the field. It is peonies, not poppies, that I associate with men in uniformed service and veterans, and peonies which bring the tears to my eyes in empathy for the families which have been shattered by death in the name of war.

My father died not in battle during the Second World War, but some years later of an insidious disease contracted as a result of unimaginable deprivations suffered during almost four years in an internment camp. For as long as we lived within driving distance of the cemetery where he is buried, it was my mother's custom to blanket his grave on Memorial Day with 39 of the peonies he so loved: one for each year of his brief span of life.

Life, The Universe And Everything

Day 235: Happy International Towel Day to all you hoopy froods out there!

Probability...the odds were two to the power of 276,000 to one against that Arthur Dent and Ford Prefect would be picked up by Zaphod Beeblebrox in the Heart of Gold...somewhat greater than those the corner bookie would give you on a tree knocking over a utility pole, incidentally taking out my power, land line and internet concurrently with a failure of cell phone service in my area, but I think not too enormously greater. Factor in a traffic accident occurring at the same time, half a mile from the house going the opposite direction, and Arthur and Ford's odds start to look pretty good. Make it Memorial Day weekend (one of the busiest holidays) and put the emergency response vehicles on the wrong side of the fallen tree, and...well, Arthur and Ford were in the right place at the right time, and anybody on this one-mile stretch of road was not.

But as anyone who frequents the Restaurant at the End of the Universe knows, there will be more opportunities to screw it up again. Order was restored by 7 AM this morning and we're ready for the second round. Did somebody say "second round?" Make mine a Pan-Galactic Gargle Blaster, please...no, better make that a double. Don't Panic.

Calibrachoa "Million Bells"

Day 234: Uncertain as to what I wanted to put in my two hanging baskets this year, I pointed the car at Gordon's Garden Center in Yelm with nothing firmly in mind. Petunias have worked well for me in the past (surprisingly, to my way of thinking), and Lobelia is always a good filler, but is rather dull without something else as a centerpiece. Budget is always a consideration when I go plant shopping. I would rather buy fewer healthy plants than try to nurse a whole cartload of "bargain table" starts back to vibrancy.

Because I live in a colder zone, the selection of plants available to me when I'm ready to pot them is usually limited. The petunias at Gordon's had been pretty well picked over, and although the dark purple ones appealed to me, I didn't want to go with a single color. As I was mulling over other possibilities, a saleswoman suggested "Million Bells." I remembered that my good friend Patty had grown them last year with great success, so after inquiring about their care and feeding, I settled on two colors, one of each for each basket.

Calibrachoa will remind you of petunias, to which they are closely related but are nevertheless a separate species. They have a sprawling growth habit which makes them perfect for hanging baskets, and need no dead-heading like their cousins. They like well-drained soil and tolerate some dryness, and like Petunias, they can be grown in sunny to partly shady locations.

Wisteria

Day 233: Although my wisteria is far from the spectacular, thick vines you find blanketing other peoples' porches and trellises, it keep my carport shady and has provided an excellent foundation on which many generations of robins have built nests and reared their young. It rewards me with a few scattered, pendant blooms and an abundance of leaves with little care but for the occasional radical pruning. It tends to invade the trusses of the carport's interior when I'd rather it crawled over the roof, so every few years, I take down the brittle stragglers in the hopes of encouraging outward growth. Its main trunk is as thick as my upper arm, and several lesser branches have wound themselves around each other to the point of appearing braided. It clambers over itself, having long since destroyed the lattice I put up for its support when it was but a stripling vine as it coiled about the laths like a boa constrictor. Despite its paucity of blooms, it is a fascinating study in textures, and in the force which Nature can exert in the simple development of cells.

Outgrown

Day 232: It was windier than expected today, so rather than letting the kayak drift in the middle of Swofford Pond while I ate my lunch, I tucked in behind a half-submerged fallen tree with the 'yak's bow on the margin of the shore, the restless waves rocking the boat like a cradle. Not much to see on Swofford, I was thinking (although I'd found a beaver lodge), and I'd given up any hope of fishing after discovering what had made that brittle snapping noise when I'd taken bags of groceries out of the car a few days earlier. Yep, the tip of my $17 6.5-foot, 40-year old Shakespeare kiddy rod had split when I jerked instead of analyzing why a sack was stuck. It was clearly beyond any hope of redemption, but fishing was out of the question. Well, I'd come to paddle, and fishing would have just been a bonus. The day wasn't a total loss, catastrophic failure of equipment notwithstanding. The beaver lodge would do nicely for a blog shot, I thought, and then my eye fell on this touching scene: a dragonfly offering its farewells to the nymphal husk which had housed it fairly recently.

With deep shadows and the boat bobbing up and down on the waves, I had no alternative but to use a a higher ISO than I liked, hence the graininess of the image. However, to my delighted surprise, the dragonfly lifted off before I had finished my lunch, allowing me to retrieve the nymph casing to photograph it in better light.

A dragonfly begins its life cycle when it emerges from the egg as a naiad, an aquatic phase which may last several years. When the naiad is ready to metamorphose into an adult dragonfly, it climbs up the stem of any handy grass or reed, and as the shell begins to dry and the larva starts to breathe, the shell splits down the back. The adult dragonfly then works its way free, remaining with the empty husk until its wings have completely unfurled and are ready for flight, as this specimen did today as I looked on.

Columbine

Day 231: A very "grandmotherly" flower, Columbine always calls up images of old-fashioned sitting rooms and parlours in my mind, with delicate crocheted antimacassars, leather-bound books and lamplight rounding out the scene. An air of nostalgia surrounds the spurred flowers, as if alongside a vase filled with such fragile grace, a calling card from an afternoon guest might not seem out of place. Columbine is a flower which invites you to tea, demands that your napkin be spread upon your lap and that you adhere to the social niceties of conversation. It brooks no common gossip, no harsh language or vulgarity. No improprieties can be uttered in the presence of Dame Columbine.

Interurban-Green River Trail

Day 230: In the winter of 2009, the Green River went out of its banks and the Green River-Interurban Trail was heavily sandbagged in an effort to protect the homes on the far side of the dike along which the trail runs. Some areas of the trail were damaged as well. Once the floodwaters had receded, King County did not have the funds to remove the sandbags and/or repair the trail. It was a sad day for bicyclists and walkers when it was announced that the trail would be closed for the duration.

One particular bicyclist missed the memo. Three years ago, operating on the blithe assumption that all had been put to rights, I parked in Pacific (the southern trailhead) and launched myself toward a Taco Time lunch at the north end of the trail, approximately 18 miles distant. When about seven miles from my start point I discovered a small mountain of sandbags blocking further travel, I was disappointed, to say the least. Unfamiliar with the city streets which might have allowed me to bypass the damaged section and not fond of riding in city traffic, I simply turned around and went home.

The trail has since been reopened, but circumstances haven't permitted me to ride it until today. I had Old Blue in the shop in Sumner for his annual physical, so when I picked him up, it seemed logical to drive a few more miles to Pacific. That hadn't been my original plan for the day, but what the heck, it sounded like a good idea even if I hadn't packed much in the way of snacks.

So there I was, going merrily along, thinking about lunch at Taco Time as I pulled into the Three Friends Fishing Hole wayside, and what did I see, to my surprise? A big orange "Green River Trail Closed" sign! But this time, there were arrows pointing to a detour route. Dismayed, I followed them, knowing I'd be forced onto city streets whether I liked it or not. In a few hundred yards, I came to a busy highway. I scanned for another detour arrow, and the only one I could find seemed to point in entirely the wrong direction, crossing an overpass. Or did it? It was set at an angle, hard to tell. I gave it a try. No, that was definitely wrong. Maybe it meant that I should go through a parking lot and enter the trail again by a local access. On the trail again, I was alone but for one walker on his lunch break from the industrial complex. I made an inquiry and was given some rather vague directions which I followed...again wrong, but at least they led me to a construction worker who pointed me the proper way. In a mile or so, I was back on track. But as I got closer to Taco Time, I spotted more orange signs saying that other areas of the trail would be closed until some time in 2015. Oh dear!

I'm glad I made this ride today. It feels as if it was ordained by the Fates or some such nonsense. I don't think I'll be riding this way again, not until I hear that the construction is completed.

Siberian Iris

Day 229: If you want vivid color along a fenceline, you can't go wrong with Siberian Iris. They spread readily and come up through even the thickest grass. As a brightener for a sunny corner you don't want to bother weeding, this plant will fill in quickly if you lightly bury just a few rhizomes. Long, narrow leaves are great for hiding bare boards and old posts, and stay green all summer long with a minimum of watering. Cold-hardy to at least the single digits, Siberian Iris doesn't mind summer temps in the 90s. They are not particular about soil and tolerate dry conditions well. Give them plenty of sun, and stand by to fill your vases with vibrant blooms next Spring!

Hoya Orb

Day 228: It's been a while since I made an Orb. This is a fun bit of post-processing which is easy to effect with almost any halfway decent graphics software. A certain degree of artistry is involved, but not enough to be intimidating, even for folks who have just graduated from Windows Paint. You'll want to have an assortment of images to play with, if only to learn how to position your subject to get the best results. Flower photos are a great place to begin.

The first action you will take is to "promote the background layer" (Layers menu). Once this is done, crop the image into a square. Do this by changing the settings for "canvas size" (not "image size"). Let's say we're working with a 4320 x 3240 pixel image. Set the canvas size to 3000 x 3000 to give yourself a little "wiggle room." Now because you've promoted the background layer, you'll be able to slide your image around until you have your flower fairly well centered (centering is not a requirement, but until you get used to making Orbs, you'll get a higher percentage of attractive results). Once you have your flower in a good position, "merge" the layers (Layers menu). If you look at the image information at this point, it will tell you that you have an image measuring 3000 x 3000. Save the file.

Here comes the tricky part! Follow the directions exactly, because if you mix up Step 1 and Step 3, the results won't be an Orb. In the Effects menu of your photo processing software, select "Polar Coordinates." It may be a sub-menu under "Distortion" or something with a similar name. I use PaintShopPro, but other software should use similar terms.

READ THE INSTRUCTIONS CAREFULLY!

1) Convert POLAR to rectangle.
2) Flip the image top to bottom.
3) Convert RECTANGLE to polar.

The most common error in creating an Orb is to start with Rectangle to POLAR because most photo processing software lists it first. You must convert POLAR to rectangle in Step 1, or the Orb will not work out right.

Orbs remind me of those wonderful glass paperweights. Make yourself a whole collection, because this version won't ever need to be dusted!

Bloomin' Beautiful

Day 227: Because I am so proud of my garden this year, here are a few more photos from around the yard! There will be more to come at a later date. The irises are just budding and the delphiniums are only starting to put up flower spikes. I see nodding heads currently the size of hazelnuts on the poppies, and several other perennials are still in the vegetative (non-blooming) state. This promises to be a colorful summer!

I put the hardy fuchsias ("Genii" and "Dollar Princess") in the ground yesterday, but I am not quite brave enough to commit the tomatoes ("Sweet Million" and "Oregon Spring") to Mother Nature's whims. Although the forecast would seem to indicate a trend toward mild temperatures, we've had killing frosts here as late as mid-June. Consequently, the tomatoes will remain in their pots until the first of June. I'll have to risk them then or take a chance on going fruitless due to our short growing season. Tomatoes are a hit-and-miss proposition any year (and the only edible I try to grow, with the exception of some herbs).

The yard suffered one fatality, however. The Whatzit Tree was ailing, so I had my neighbor take it down. I still have to dig out the roots (a project which may wait until next year). The front yard wants a fast-growing shade tree, and I am entertaining three options to replace it: black walnut, horse chestnut or a big-leaf maple. Decisions, decisions! But that's what makes gardening fun.

Steering Toward Better Blooms

Day 226: Mother Nature had a substantial hand in bringing my flower garden into its best-ever display by providing several days of hard rain right after I'd laid down a thick layer of mixed compost and steer manure. I have to admit I've only made minor soil amendments in past years, and the application of fertilizer was instituted as a last-ditch effort to control the moss which was slowly taking over the flower beds. Almost overnight, I noticed a change in the color of the peonies' foliage, and within a week or ten days, the garden was lushly green. I am being rewarded with larger and more abundant blooms as well as fewer pests, a bonus which can be attributed to the better health of the plants overall. Three bucks! That's all it cost to bring my flowers into vibrant bloom. I should have done this years ago.

Ethics Of Fishing

Day 225: One of my readers has asked me to address the ethics of fishing, i.e., to justify inflicting pain on a fish I do not intend to kill and eat. This is a very complex issue, and since I caught and released six trout at Rapjohn Lake today, this is a good time to address it.

First let me say that you will find me in the forefront when it comes to acknowledging both sentience and self-awareness in many species of animals and birds. However, very few members of the scientific community will credit fish with either. A fish is a sleek, scaly packet of instinctive and conditioned responses, nothing more.

Here we must explore the difference between cognition and conditioning. Cognition is an active thought process, whether verbal or nonverbal: "I chased and chomped down on a green thing which was swimming in a straight line and something pointed pierced my mouth and I couldn't get loose" versus "> > > > > - *!* - !!!" (for lack of a better way to express it). The cognitive being makes direct associations through perception (action and result) whereas a conditioned response simply results in avoidance in the same scenario.

So does a fish feel pain? Yes, but the way its brain processes the pain stimulus is less sophisticated than the way a dog's or dolphin's brain processes it, and therefore it is "felt" as an element of conditioning, rather than a cognitive response. I know, that's a hard distinction to make, but it's crucial to this explanation.

The waters I've been fishing lately have all been "put-and-take" fisheries, which is to say that the Washington Dept. of Fish and Wildlife rears trout in hatcheries and uses them to stock lakes and rivers for the pleasure of anglers (and for the dollars they spend on fishing licenses). These fish lack any of the native fish's wariness with respect to predators of any sort, and are therefore doomed from the get-go. They've been fed hatchery food until they're fat and sassy, and then after they've had their food withheld until they've gotten good and hungry, they're turned loose in the lakes where fishermen are already lined up waiting for the truck to drop them off. They don't stand a chance against the hundreds of hooks baited with PowerBait, and many will be dead within a week. A month past Opening Day, most of the lakes will be "fished out," which is to say the only fish remaining will be the few which were able to avoid being taken, perhaps because they were conditioned by a few narrow escapes...like being hooked by a catch-and-release fisherman who let them go smarter, if with a sore mouth.

My Bicycle And Me

Day 224: The Pacific Northwest has been basking in summery temperatures for the last several days and they're due to stick around for a couple more before the rains return. Anyone who enjoys the Great Outdoors can't be expected to stay inside if there's any possible way they can escape other obligations. I did have some shopping to do, and thus my destination was dictated by the convenience of locations where I could purchase pet supplies, fishing lures and possibly pay a visit to the bike doctor for the annual derailleur adjustment.

It's only been a week or so since I rode the Foothills Trail from Orting to South Prairie, so I wasn't expecting any surprises. The frogs aren't out at the wetland wayside yet, nor have I seen the Great Blue Heron who sometimes hangs around, but Red-Winged Blackbirds provided a brief diversion. South Prairie's little riverside park is a pleasant place to stop for lunch, and if no children are about, the swing is great fun for an "older kid." The emu (a sight which stops nearly everyone) was grazing in his field, and otherwise, the river just rolled quietly by, its passage only marred by the regrowth of invasive Japanese Knotweed along the banks. Given this pastoral vignette, the word which might come to mind is "uneventful," which indeed described the day until I came to the bull ambling casually down the center of the trail.

This is not the type of obstacle one normally encounters on paved bike paths. His ladies were calling to him from the pasture, voices he answered with a loud and mournful bellow. It was clear that he had no idea how he'd come to be on the wrong side of the fence and unfortunately, I had no clue either. We exchanged glances and passed each other without incident, and I rode on, stopping at the farmer's house to report his errant charge. The owner's comment? "Yeah, he does that from time to time. I'll take care of it."

Special Friends

Day 223: The Sundews are back! Their floating island/raft is still in place at the location where it came to rest after a storm last fall, and although it's shaded for most of the day, the colony seems to be doing quite well.

I have so much to learn about this fascinating plant! When I checked on the island exactly a month ago (April 13), there was no sign of Drosera growth on the logs. I did not know what to expect after the relocation, but I figured whatever happened, the Sundews had undoubtedly survived similar episodes and alterations in exposure and it was now up to me to document any changes that might occur. Interesting to note is the fact that there are none on the log where I first discovered them, the log still in place at the north end of Sundew Arm.

This, of course, was my main reason for going out on Lake St. Clair today: checking on my babies. I also found another paddle cache and did some fishing, which is to say that I caught and released an amazing twenty-eight trout in the 11-14" range!

Paddle Caching

Day 222: Despite the fact that I've pretty much given up geocaching, I do like to go out for "paddle caches," the ones you can't find unless you have some type of water craft. I've found several you couldn't access with a rowboat, and even more that you couldn't reach in a power boat. Lilypads, matted aquatic plants, submerged stumps and logs are just a few of the hazards you may encounter. A kayak is ideal for getting into tight spaces...and back out again. Don't forget that part! It's pretty important!

While most geocachers will tell you that their least favorite thing is "micros in the woods," a micro-cache such as this thumb-sized bison tube hanging over the water doesn't create the same potential for environmental destruction that the same container hidden in a mossy glen would invite. Camouflage is effective even when the trees are bare of leaves. Even if the stated coordinates are spot-on, this type of hide can be devilishly difficult to spot. As a matter of fact, this one nearly hit me on the head before it caught my eye.

Sometimes paddle caches are hidden on islands, as was one of the ones I found today. Typical in every other respect, an "island" hide nevertheless earns the cacher five stars for terrain by virtue of needing special equipment (i.e., a boat) to reach it. Some may even be below the surface of the water, anchored and equipped with a cord for retrieval.

I went out for three paddle caches today. I could have found all three without travelling more than two miles, but since caching is simply a bonus above and beyond kayaking in my book, I put in eight miles, explored the full extent of shoreline on two lakes and caught five fish. Now that's a rewarding day!

Kevin Turtlesitter

Day 221 (by request of a mutual friend): On our way to the annual Volunteer Brunch yesterday, I mentioned to Kevin the fact that I needed a photo of something caged outdoors for the monthly photo "scavenger hunt" which sometimes inspires the material for these posts. He gave the project about three minutes' thought and then replied, "I'm taking care of Ron W's turtles while he's gone. They're in an outdoor cage. I don't know how good a subject they'd be, but I have to run over there after we get back and you're welcome to come along."

The turtles (and there are actually three of them, although only one appears in this photo) eat earthworms. After I had taken several photos of one of them, Kevin went about his duties as turtle-sitter, entering the spacious enclosure to drop the worms in the turtles' water dishes. I'm not sure why he hunkered down, but it gave me an unexpected opportunity to capture both the sitter and one of the "sittees."

From A Distant Shore

Day 220: How it is that she sailed 7000 miles unmanned shall forever be a mystery, yet sail it she did, and docked safely today to offload a cargo of precious chocolate upon a foreign shore. I was not totally unprepared for her arrival, although I had no idea as to the nature of the "surprise" I had been told to await from New Zealand, but I had rather forgotten that a parcel was en route.

For this gift, I have my friend Rob to thank, the same "Robin Penn" who entered Captain Morgan Corbye's history on November 11, 2013 with the "thump-thump" of his wooden leg announcing his arrival on the dock; Rob who, after losing his leg in a real-life accident applied for inclusion in the good Captain's crew. Morgan Corbye does not turn a good man away, and Rob had proved his mettle. We've never met in person and perhaps never will, but the distance between us is shortened through technology, allowing us the privilege of a friendship which spans the sea.

As ship's bursar and former bos'un, Robin Penn is a close confidante to Capt. Corbye and a trusted associate. His staunch good spirits and sound work ethic make him a highly respected member of the crew. His wry sense of humour would brighten the stormiest of days and smooth the roughest and most tempestuous of waters. 'Tis me 'onour t' know ye, lad, s'trewth!

About As Far As You Can Go

Day 219: From the Nature Center at the Nisqually National Wildlife Refuge, a boardwalk takes you almost two miles out into the tidal delta, passing first through a brushy forest which serves as habitat in season for a variety of migratory birds, then travelling out above the mudflats until terminates at a gazebo overlooking southern Puget Sound. Geese, gulls and herons are common here, searching among the pools and mounds of seaweed for small fishes, mud shrimp and other delicacies for the avian palate. A keen observer may spot other shorebirds: sandpipers, dunlins, terns. In the woodland, feathered songsters flit about during the months of spring and summer, playing "dodge the photographer" with amazing skill. The trees and shrubs resound with the calls of the Yellowthroat, Wilson's, MacGillivray's, Yellow and Yellow-rumped Warblers, but the eye seldom catches more than a flash of color and the lens even less unless one is endowed with a surfeit of patience and an abundance of time. Still, the music of their songs is enough to draw any serious birder back again and again.

No Warblers crossed my field of vision today, although I spotted one Chickadee and several Song Sparrows. Swallows were flying above the flats by the thousands, and geese could be heard honking throughout the day. The weather was a bit too blustery and cold for me to do more than walk out to the gazebo today, but I'll be back. Those Warblers were calling my name.

Island Landing

Day 218: Yesterday's kayaking adventure took me to yet another "new" lake where, in addition to catching five trout in the 11-12" range, I also discovered an island approximately twenty feet across the longest dimension. It held three or four large trees (living and dead), a number of small shrubs (mostly willow), and showed repeated use by Canada Geese as a nesting site. I found two eggs, one of which had been rolled out of a nest by some varmint, the other still nearly entirely concealed by mounded dry grass and down. In the process of exploring this small but fascinating microcontinent, I also learned that Canada Geese are useful in controlling the invasive snails which populate most of western Washington's lakes.

The only birdlife I observed on the island (other than evidence of geese) were Red-Winged Blackbirds, common also along the reedy shore. However, as shown in yesterday's post, Spotted Sandpipers were present at the north end of the lake. A pair of Bald Eagles were seen in and around a tall snag on the west side of the lake. That said, the island was a naturalist's delight, for all of its diminuitive size.

Spotted Sandpiper, Actitis Macularia

Day 217: While this was not a Life List sighting for me, the only other place I have ever observed Spotted Sandpipers was at Mystic Lake, elevation 5000' in the northwest corner of Mount Rainier National Park, and that would have been at least thirty years ago. I found two today at the north end of Lake Mackintosh (Thurston County, WA). Their behaviour indicated that they might have been a nesting pair.

Sibley refers to this species as "uncommon but widespread," and shows the Cascade crest (approximately) at the junction of the year-'round range and the migratory route. Lake Mackintosh is only a few hundred feet above sea level and well west of the crest, so if this was indeed a nesting pair, this sighting is interesting from the standpoint of the species' phenology.

Fitness Challenge "Iron Ranger"

Day 216: I have to say I'm proud of this achievement. Yesterday, I received an unexpected prize as the "Iron Ranger" of the 2014 Fitness Challenge in addition to a certificate of completion. Each member of our team was given a handy little backpacking spoon/fork (all eleven members completed at least 100 miles), but as the top finisher among all participants, I also was rewarded with a pair of Merino "Smart Wool" socks in a two-color Norwegian design and a gift certificate to one of my favourite stores, REI.

The Challenge was based on the Pacific Northwest National Scenic Trail, a 1200-mile traverse from the Continental Divide in Montana to Cape Alava on the Olympic Peninsula. It crosses five mountain ranges, three National Parks and seven National Forests. Teams participating in the Challenge were charged with accruing aerobic-equivalent miles to represent a hike of the complete trail between January 7 and March 30, 2014. After completing a few days of more than 15 miles, I was asked by one of my colleagues, "What, are you planning to do the whole trail by yourself, Crow?" At that point, I sat down with a calculator and saw that it was indeed possible. That was the goal I set for myself about two weeks into the Challenge. Between riding an exercise bike and walking/hiking, I finished the virtual "trail" with enough days remaining to add an additional 300 miles to my total, averaging 18 miles per day. I am happy to say that our team also took top honors.

"Iron Ranger." I like the sound of that. Not bad at all for a little old lady.

Fiesta!

Day 215: Sinfully delicious, decadently rich, caramel flan is a traditional Mexican dessert custard, and I cannot be trusted alone with a pan of it, so two trays of sticky goodness are bound for Natural and Cultural Resource's Cinco de Mayo luncheon. NCR provides the main meal, and requested dessert contributions from attendees.

Several of the Park's Divisions hold annual "feeds" of one sort or another. It began, as I understand it, when the Carpenters threw a turkey dinner for Thanksgiving. You'd think a commitment like that might rotate, but the Carpenters continue to hold the event at their own request. Interpretation has a Valentine's Day party; Volunteers have a brunch; Rangers throw a Potato Feed; the Superintendent's wife single-handedly provides several dozen pumpkin pies (homemade) for a Christmas gathering. Parkies like to eat!

So what's in flan that makes it so good? I'll give you the recipe, but don't blame me if you put on weight!

Caramelize 1 cup of sugar in a heavy sauce pan, adding 1/2 cup of hot water SLOWLY once the sugar is melted and golden-brown in color. Cook a little longer and then use the syrup to coat the bottom and sides of an 11 x 7 metal baking pan. Set this aside to cool for half an hour or so. The sugar will set up, but will reliquify while the flan is being chilled.

Preheat your oven to 325°. In the blender, combine 1 14-ounce can of sweetened condensed milk (NOT regular "canned milk"), 1 cup of whipping cream, 1/2 cup of whole milk and 4 eggs. Whir until well-blended. You may top the flan with cinnamon or nutmeg before baking if you wish.

Place the 11 x 7 pan in another larger pan and set them on the oven rack. Pour the blended ingredients into the pan, and then pour hot water into the larger pan until it is at least halfway up the sides of the baking pan. Slide the pans into the oven and bake for 1 hour 50 minutes (or until a knife inserted in the center of the custard comes out clean). Chill for 24 hours before serving. Cut into small squares and top with the caramel syrup which has formed in the bottom of the pan.

1952 FarmAll Super C

Day 214: I hadn't intended to go out today, but I was bored...bored, and I needed to return a product I'd purchased without realizing that some scum-sucking lowlife had opened the package to remove the battery before I bought it. I sat around the house trying to convince myself I should stay home, but around 11 AM, boredom won out over gas budget and off I went. As long as I was going to be out, I thought I might try to pick up a few of the "items" for a photo scavenger hunt, figuring I may be one of very few people who could complete it with a real pig instead of a plastic one. However, I hadn't factored rain into the equation.

I remembered a couple of spots where I'd seen pigs, and in any event, I like driving back roads where I can straddle the yellow line. Alas, my pig hunt left me porkless, but for having seen one old sow's back turned to the weather as she slept inside her shelter. Pigs are smart animals, unlike photographers who simply will go out in the rain. In one last-ditch attempt to find swine, I set off down a five-mile long dead end road, eyes scanning both sides of the route. Just seconds from the end of the road, I spotted this beauty.

My dad drove a FarmAll, so I'm...well, "biased" would be a fair assessment. And I have a friend who restores these red machines. I had to get a picture, but the tractor was parked adjacent to a rather nice home, rather than out in a convenient field. I did something I wouldn't ordinarily do: I went up and rang the doorbell. After a long few minutes and no response, I was ready to leave, but a woman came 'round from behind the house and said rather sharply, "Can I help you with something?" I replied, "Oh, yes!" and launched into a spiel about my dad. She graciously allowed me access to the tractor, and as we talked, I learned that her husband had only recently finished its restoration.

Still pigless, I decided I was done for the day, but as it happens, "tractor" was also on the scavenger hunt list for the month. Who says you can't make a silk purse out of a sow's ear...even when you can't find the sow!

Pacific Chorus Frog, Pseudacris Regilla

Day 213: On March 9, I posted a photo of a grey-brown Pacific Chorus Frog, the little critter almost indistinguishable from the decaying leaves on which it was resting. This image shows a specimen in typical spring/summer coloration. This species is highly variable because Pseudacris regilla has the ability to camouflage itself, although the transformation of its color and markings may take weeks to occur. The alteration is initiated by a response to light rather than to environment, i.e., a long period of cloudy weather would return this frog to the dull browns of winter.

It's Calypso Time!

Day 212: Arguably one of the most beautiful wildflowers of the lower forest, the delicate Calypso Orchid is also one of the most fragile. As a partial mycoheterotroph, this plant relies on a mycorrhizal (fungal) component to aid it in utilizing soil nutrients. Unlike full mycoheterotrophs, it is also capable of limited photosynthesis, but cannot complete its life cycle without both processes (mycoheterotrophy and photosynthesis). A broken stalk, a crushed leaf or a disturbance of the soil will destroy these diminuitive "fairyslippers."

Calypsos spring up in the early season (May-June) at Mount Rainier National Park. At an average height of five inches, they can be difficult to spot in their preferred habitat alongside mossy stream channels and wet areas. The single leaf emerges first, followed by the development of the stalk and blossom. Although the magenta-pink flower is typical of the species, white blooms are not uncommon. Keep your eyes open, because it's Calypso time!

Camas, Camassia Quamash

Day 211: A long time ago, Mount Olympus (the peak in the Olympic Range) had two wives. The younger wife was very jealous of the elder wife, and so one day, she decided to leave. She packed for a journey and set out walking south, carrying a basket of edible roots and berries on her back. She travelled down the Peninsula until she came to the bottom of Puget Sound, and then turned eastward but by this time, she was tired and hungry. When she reached the place we now call Yelm, she took her basket off her shoulders and sat down to make herself a meal. When she was done, she started walking again, but she left behind a few bulbs of the blue Camas. From those few bulbs came the Camas prairies of southwest Washington. The jealous wife walked and walked, and eventually came to a beautiful, wide-open meadow. "This is where I want to make my home," she said, and there, she spread her skirts and sat down to stay. Today, we know Mount Olympus' jealous wife by another name. We call her Mount Rainier.

This traditional story is one of my favourites. I had never seen Blue Camas until I moved to the prairie as a young married woman. Every time I see the fields turn blue in the early spring, I think of Mount Rainier's journey to her present home.