Otter Water

Day 110: Mineral Lake is one of the more popular fishing destinations in the area surrounding Mt. Rainier and even hosts a Fishing Derby on Opening Day, an overpopulated event locals know to avoid. The lake is stocked heavily by the Washington Department of Fish and Wildlife, a circumstance the River Otters have learned to turn to their advantage. One has only to sit for an hour or so on the shore to appreciate what efficient fisherfolk these sleek creatures are. You seldom see them dive without coming back to the surface with a nice trout. In the time these two passed from the boat ramp to the public dock a few hundred feet to the south, they each had most certainly caught what would be a human's legal limit, devouring the evidence as they swam along. But there must be plenty to go around, because I seldom come home from Mineral without my allotment of five as well!

Red-Breasted Merganser

Day 109: Red-Breasted Merganser males are easy to distinguish from Common Mergansers, but the ladies...well, that's another story. The two identifying features birdwatchers use to tell Mergus serrator females from Mergus merganser are the shape of the bill and the patch of white beneath it. Red-Breasted Mergansers have a longer, thinner bill than those of their cousins, and the female's throat patch has indistinct edges as opposed to the sharply defined margins seen in female Common Mergansers. That said, it's equally difficult to tell young males from females. I am classifying this bird as a female based on the darkness of the area in front of the eye, but I could be wrong.

In birdwatching, the observer in the field must have a quick eye, a camera or both. When you are photographing birds for documentation purposes, you must try to include as many identification points as possible. These include such things as beak shape, presence of facial markings, and barring or spotting on wings, back or breast. Keep your field guides handy! Spring is on the rise!

Badge Moss, Plagiomnium Insigne

Day 108: Badge Moss (Plagiomnium insigne), also known as Leafy Moss, is at its best during the cool months of winter and early spring. It is quick to dry out in warmer temperatures, forming brown and unattractive mats atop rotting wood. It is a common sight in mixed forests, frequently growing in patches among sword ferns. Individual leaflets are approximately 1/4 inch in length, stems trailing two to three inches.

(Somehow this entry failed to upload on the date it was submitted. I discovered the error on the 31st and corrected the omission.)

Bushtit

Day 107: Psaltriparius minimus (Common Bushtit) is a tiny little round bird who loves hanging out in open woodlands where there is a lot a brush. Normally a fast-moving grey blur is all you'll catch at the tail of your eye when you're in their territory, so I was surprised when this one zipped across the trail in front of me and lighted behind the protection of crossed blackberry vines. At first I thought he might have been injured, but as I watched him through the lens, I realized he was only newly fledged, a baby not quite sure of his wings. He's a little early. Bushtits normally breed in February here, but he was fully capable of flight, as I discovered when I tried to edge closer. With a single "Tzzeeek!" he dived into brush, following the call of mom from deep within the tangle.

Icmadophila Ericetorum

Day 106: A few weeks ago when hiking in Mt. Rainier National Park, I noticed the barest hint of apothecial "buds" arising on this plate lichen, a common Icmadophila species. Each "button" is comprised of thin tissue which will open at the center top as a single pore. If you look carefully, just to the right of the penny, a couple of "buttons" are beginning to dimple prior to bursting.

It's A Frog Pelt!

Day 105: Don't blame me! That's what this unusual lichen is called. Its Latin name is Peltigera neopolydactyla and those funny little brown tips are its apothecia (fruiting bodies). Frog Pelt occurs in several color variations: dark blue-grey (shown here), pale blue-grey and olive green. Its name derives from a local Native American word meaning "frog's blanket." The brown apothecia are approximately 5 mm. in length.

I discovered this specimen and two others in Charles L. Pack Experimental Forest near LaGrande, WA. Pack Forest is one of my favorite places for short hikes and it frequently provides me with natural curiosities such as this.

Fascinating Fungi

Day 104: On a rainy day a few weeks ago, I discovered a newly-developed trail system within a nature area administered by Cowlitz Wildlife. I was not prepared for a hike that day, although a brief walk of a few hundred yards provided me with a photo of Tremella mesenterica (see Day 75, please). Today, I went back for a further exploration and, much to my delight, discovered these two specimens.

The top image shows a Clavariadelphus species I have not been able to locate in any reference material. It is possible that the coloration is due to its age, however, it felt fresh. The fruiting body was approximately three inches long, white near the base.

The bottom photo shows easily identifiable Sarcoscypha coccinia, also known as Scarlet Cup. The ear-shaped specimen measured approximately one inch across the long dimension.

Tip's Dreams

Day 103: He smiles in his dreams, Tip does, and his whiskers seldom twitch the way those of many cats do. Tippy is a gentle little fellow. He dreams of playing, of getting his tummy "wuzzied," of playing tag with his Mama to tap her lightly on the foot or ankle as if to say, "Okay, now you're It. Catch me if you can." He dreams soft dreams, sweet dreams, his forehead unfurrowed, his ears relaxed. If sometimes a bird flits through his slumber, he mutters a quiet, questioning "Mirrl?" without waking. His eyelashes may flutter or a gentle purr ripple in the silence of his sleep, but my Boy dreams on, my beautiful dreamer.

Backyard Burner

Day 102: I took advantage of today's football game to do some photography in my fishing buddy's yard where he has a delicious assortment of old farm tools and paraphernalia arranged along his fence. One item which has always appealed to me is this fully functional woodburning stove which bears a similarity to the smudge-pots used in orchards to keep frost at bay. He uses it in place of a shredder when outdoor burning is allowed.

When Winter Goes

Day 101:
When Winter goes,
Its icy breath exhausted and efforts spent;
When its strength and savage beauty fail
And it rises no longer from its bed
To pillage days with frost and snow,
And torture nights with acid winds,
Then ventures the bud to emerge,
The bird to sing in hope of mating.
When Winter goes,
And life returns to the Earth's warming bosom,
The lakes and rivers rejoice and creatures with them,
With a chorus of raindrops echoing their glee.
The hills shrug off their coats of snow
And clouds frolic above them, laughing,
When Winter goes.

Shootout At Crow Canyon

Day 100: My photo blog would be incomplete without admitting that I am an immense fan of Star Trek in all its incarnations. Recently, a friend in Daily Shoot offered a challenge, stipulating that both of us would use Trek action figures to fulfill a week's assignments if at all possible. This image represents the mid-point in my portion of the project. The post-processing is detailed in my Flickr photostream, so if you're curious, please feel free to stop by! For now, I hope you enjoy the latest episode:

***Shootout At Crow Canyon***

It was sundown on the Holodeck, and that rascally varmint and bandito Worf had been lootin' Miss Deanna's henhouse again. Why, he'd done got all the last batch of eggs, the ones she was plannin' to take to the orphans down in town so's they wouldn't have to go hungry a-mornin's. Well, I can tell you, she was right fed up, Miss Deanna. She saddled up Old Paint, and now she'd tracked that scoundrel to his hideout in Crow Canyon. Tyin' her horse to a bit of sagebrush, she went on foot through the chaparral, keepin' hid behind tumbleweeds and rocks until his tracks disappeared over one of them hills. She'd hunkered down low to wait her moment, wantin' to see the whites of his eyes afore he spotted her, wantin' to draw a bead on him smack between those big brown eyes o' his and then she'd lay him low. Yep, there he was now. She waited, wantin' him closer and then...BANG! Worf bit the dust, hard as twenty-five pounds o' spuds in a ten-pound gunnybag, his shootin' iron flyin' from his hand. Then out from behind a big rock come Alexander the Kid. Yep, the Kid took his own daddy down for egg-thievin'. Now that's an ornery varmint, that young'un, but a lawful one. Betcha he's gonna make Sheriff somewhere down the line.

We Call Them Hills

Day 99: The 3000-3500' peaks surrounding Alder Lake are minor bumps compared to the 6000-8000' summits of the Cascade Range, and mere pimples on the landscape which surrounds 14,410' Mount Rainier. This is hilly country, Washington; divided roughly in two halves by the Cascades, with the balance shifted markedly to the west where the Olympics rise from the seashore. Hills, I tell you. These are not mountains, no matter what folks in the northeast believe (and you know who you are, my two good friends).

Most, if not all of these rolling mounds of earth and rock have borne timber at one time or another. Most have been logged once, twice, even three times since the days when old Paul Bunyan first urged Babe the Blue Ox into their canyons and onto their crests. These are penetrable hills, were the timber company gates thrown wide to public access, not alpine challenges such as Rainier and Adams and Baker, which are covered with permanent glaciers and deep crevasses. The elk and deer roam these fields, summering high and wintering low where forage is easily gotten. Fish are plentiful in the higher lakes where no roads go, and only fishermen with map and compass venture. But hills these are, not mountains, and my eyes lift past them for sight of the peaks of my younger years.

Courting Tree

Day 98: The Courting Tree stands on the back of my neighbor's property, a billboard on which the lonely-hearted and eligible post their longings each mating season. It also suffices as the society column for where local residents can announce expectancies and births.

Although I have no way to confirm my suspicions, I have not seen Missus for several days. The Town Crier has been very vocal with some bit of news, however, proudly proclaiming to all other Ravens in the area that something important is or may be occurring. If familiarity with patterns may lead to a conclusion, I would incline toward the belief that Mister is the news-bearer, here telling one and all that his lovely lady is setting eggs.

Northern Flicker

Day 97: Authorities differ on whether the Northern Flicker should be "lumped" as "Colaptes auratus" or "split" into "Colaptes auratus" and "Colaptes cafer" for the Yellow-Shafted and Red-Shafted varieties. I wish they'd get their acts together and settle it once and for all! The confusing taxonomy forces people to use common names, to be less precise. When subspecies differences are as obvious as they are between these two variants, it would seem more logical to separate them by nomenclature. Alas, I generally use David Allen Sibley's guide as my authority, so although I'd personally be inclined to call this Red-Shafted Flicker "Colaptes cafer," Sibley ironically refers to him as "Colaptes auratus," the last word translating as "yellow."

That said, I am on a first-name basis with Flicker when he comes to dine at my establishment. I know his preferences and serve him promptly, as an honored guest. He is somewhat resentful of the fact that the less mannerly Evening Grosbeaks frequently sit down to table beside him, and has been known to deliver a sharp peck to an interloper who has attempted to elbow him away from his place. His handsome spots and characteristic swag-like flight pattern ("swoop-swoop-swoop") make him easily identifiable, and although he would prefer a diet of insects, black-oil sunflower seed provides both high protein and the oils which he needs to keep his feathers sleek throughout the winter.

Proof Positive

Day 96: I have not, and I can prove it! They're all right there, all 3733 of them. I've not lost a single one.

Old and new, my marble collection weighs close to fifty pounds and fills a five-gallon pickle jar with overflow into a cookie tin. Swirlies and aggies, cat's-eyes, clearies...no knuckling down for this Crow and lover of shiny objects!

As a child, I drove my mother mad as I spun a line of marbles 'round and 'round in the lid of a metal fruitcake tin, utterly enthralled by the optical delights of spiralling lines. My favorites were candy-striped, red, green or blue on white, and one tiny cobalt-blue cleary who hung out in my imagination with three yellow and one white solids of the same size. The group always formed the last of the parade, like the segments of a rattlesnake's tail. Equal to them was a coveted single white cat's-eye I'd been forced to trade heavily to obtain.

Well, if I am pressed, I suppose I must admit that my original collection went the way of so many childhood treasures when I moved away from home. However, even today I cannot resist picking up a marble if I find one, hoping that sheer numbers will make up for those lost forever with my youth.

Pussywillow Promises

Day 95: January has given a promise: Spring is on the way. It is written in silver, burnished in russet and dark umber, a calligraphy of soft buds on a dark grey canvas. It is softly spoken, this assurance; voiced low beneath the muttering rain and clamorous freshets, its gentle embellishments a melody to embroider upon the robin's waking call. Place your trust in January's pledge, and endure the winter's raspy syllables but a moment longer. Pussywillows are rising to open Spring's grand chorus!

Up Periscope

Day 94: Preconceived notions seldom work out according to the vision. Such was the case today when I left home, bound for Mineral Lake with the idea I was going to shoot another "Loggin' Country" heavy-equipment sepiatone. Oh, I managed that well enough, but not before three River Otters (Lutra canadensis) stole the show.

According to the proprietor, these critters have found permanent homes beneath several of this campground's docks. In between intervals of posturing for the camera, one chap in particular delighted in going beneath the boards leaving nothing but his nose and whiskers poking out. If he thought he was hiding, his snuffling and blowing gave away his position quite readily, as did that of his companions when they'd surface from a protracted dive.

Mineral Lake holds plenty of Otter food, from hatchery-raised brown and rainbow trout to a substantial population of crawdads, a fare also enjoyed by humans during the Fourth of July all-you-can-eat crawdad (crayfish) picnic. "Poor man's lobster," they call them, and justifiably so. Tasty with or without butter, the tails are bite-sized morsels of pure deliciousness. Now as for Mr. Otter, he'd better leave me a few!

Invasion!

Day 93: "Flying pigs" is what a friend in New York calls them, but I love my Evening Grosbeaks as much as I love Crows and Ravens.

At the time when Mt. St. Helens began erupting, I was living near Olympia WA. One of the volcanic events coincided with the migration of Evening Grosbeaks, injuring and no doubt killing many and knocking them off their normal flyway. The surviving flock arrived instead at my front door, literally. Burned and blinded birds by the score came to feed on the black-oil seed which was only a percentage of the mix I normally gave the smaller birds. When I realized they were discarding millet and milo for sunflower seeds, I started buying bags of black-oil, trying to save as many of the beautiful birds as I could.

The following year, my porch was on their map. They came in droves! Because of their bright, big bills, we dubbed them "porch parrots" or "porchies" for short. For ten years, we diligently fed them as much as they could hold...500 pounds of seed between May and August!...and every year, they returned.

When I moved away, I gave them into the keeping of a neighbor who had also been supplying them with their selected diet. To this day, she still feeds them until they're "fit to bust," and I have my own flock who seem to stick around from January through October in the knowledge that they'll be very, very well fed.

Loggin' Country - Tubafor Mill

Day 92: A local icon, the Tubafor Mill's name has always amused me, but sadly, they are in the process of switching over to the more ostentatious "TMI." To these ears, the new name is hard, unfriendly and humorless, far too professional for a small-town mill. However much I dislike the change, it's justifiable in that the Tubafor Mill does not produce "tubafors." It never has. It produces fence slats approximately half an inch thick by five inches wide. Logic aside, I lament the demise of the old name. With it passes one of the last evidences of Paul Bunyan's residence in these h'yar parts. A legend no longer, Paul's been commercialized.

Double-Crested Cormorant

Day 91: We had some strong winds last night, so perhaps that accounts for the presence of nine or ten Double-Crested Cormorants (Phalacrocorax auritus) at Mineral Lake. If I have seen them there before, I do not recall the occasion. With rain pelting down, I zoomed in at 71x from the fishing dock to capture this bird posturing before (s)he flew off to join a larger group where courting activity appeared to be taking place. The lighter color on the breast indicates a young bird, late first year.

Unsolicited Assistance

Day 90: Something (I'm not sure which one) went somewhere no Somethings are allowed last night, and seized...seized, I tell you!...an innocent ball of yarn attached to half a sock cuff and three size 1 needles. The fourth needle remained on top of the bookcase where it had been placed, but the yarn was found on the floor, savaged but not entirely disemboweled.

It is to be noted that while cats are not allowed on "hard" furniture or counters (no tabletops, desks or bookcases), any "soft" spot is open for use. The bookcase is within cat-arm's reach of the back of an overstuffed chair, a circumstance which clearly puts me in the wrong for having placed temptation too close at hand. That said, as I attempted to work a few more rows today, the tangled guts of the skein eventually proved too tedious to pick apart every few stitches. I gave in and pulled the skein apart to rewind with a mechanical winder. My new sock-in-progress will be hidden safely away from prying paws tonight!

At The Edge Of Dawn

Day 89: Snow fell throughout the night, a snow which desired to possess all it touched; to take the hills unto itself, to wrap branches in its embrace while wind was absent from the boudoir. It was a snow which coveted each nook and cranny, usurping fern and lichen. And like a spent lover, it lingered long and was caught by the light of dawn in flagrante delicto, still abed. Too late it was to pretend, the snow remained to challenge the advancing light, and so it is tonight, winter holding the woodlands in its arms.

Mister Preens Missus

Day 88: The Newlyweds were back on the fence this morning following a fresh fall of two inches of snow. They seem to come to the Crow Board more frequently when there's snow on the ground, although I don't think it has much to do with food being unavailable, since they get additional handouts from both my neighbor and another a quarter mile down the road.

Their confidence around me is growing. Today, when they were done eating and had settled in on the fence to groom one another, they were not at all perturbed by the rattling of the sliding glass kitchen door as I drew it back. I spoke to them as I stepped out on the porch, both of them looking toward me at the sound of my voice. They returned to their exchange of tendernesses almost immediately and remained on the fence for ten minutes or more while I photographed them.

An Acquired Taste

Day 87: If you know what this is, I'm going to take a wild guess and say that you're either Norwegian or have close Norwegian friends, as I do. If you don't know what it is, I feel sorry for you, because despite its reputation, it's delicious. It's lutefisk.

Okay, I hear the "Ole and Lena" jokes bubbling to the surface already. You can't have lutefisk without them, or without lefse, mashed potatoes, melted butter and cream gravy. Traditional Norwegian fare, all of them, designed to get sun-deprived Scandinavians through the long, hard, lightless winters with a chuckle and a calorie count which should sustain a caribou until spring thaw. A bland diet, perhaps, but one which ensures against digestive disorders and other ailments caused by a lack of Omega-3s. Clothespins for noses are optional; some say the fragrance of lutefisk can be smelled for miles, but I assure you that the taste is as delicate as one could expect from whitefish. The gelatinous appearance defeats the chef's saying that "the first bite is with the eye," but if you were dining by the Northern Lights, I imaging the colors would refract beautifully in the lutefisk's translucence.

Since our usual New Year's dinner had to be postponed because of snow, today was Lutefisk Day at my fishing buddy's home. He and his family are Norwegian. I am not. But I will try anything once, and when he first introduced me to this savory delight some ten years ago, I was instantly hooked. All I can say to you who are not brave enough to try it is, "You don't know what you're missing!"

Night Driving

Day 86: Shot while on a rare trip to the Big City, an overlay of a second photo of the car dashboard reduced to 35% transparency covers a street scene taken as I waited for a train to clear the crossing in a line of traffic. I do not like driving at night and felt that this combination of images might serve to demonstrate how some peoples' eyes are affected by the brilliance of street lights, headlights and road signs. Give me my isolated country roads where I can use the center line as a guide to get me home safely!

The Burning Of Incense

Day 85: The burning of incense or aromatic plant material ceremonially is widespread, occurring in many cultures. Originally employed to mask unpleasant odors, the practice was also believed to ward off evil spirits which caused disease and suffering. Even today, incense is used ritually throughout the world.

This antique incense burner is made of heavy, cast copper, a fact I discovered only after it came into my possession when my mother passed away. It was sticky with resins from myrrh which she placed on specially designed charcoal disks, there to be melted rather than ignited as many other forms of incense are. The burner was almost black when it came into my hands, and so gummy that the lid stuck to the base. A variety of different degreasers and solvents eventually revealed the dark copper tones of the metal. Of its history, I know very little. I believe she may have purchased it in San Francisco's Chinatown prior to the Second World War.

Her tastes in incense ran to the heavily perfumed sticks from India as well as the myrrh. Mine are for the aromatic scents of cedar, piñon and fir, in keeping with my love of the Pacific Northwest and its forests, and respect for the ways of the First People here. After all, there's a lot to be said for cultural exchange.

Down By The Old Mill Pond

Day 84: If hovering on the very margin of freezing can be said to be a "return to warmer temperatures," then Spring is just around the corner. The old mill pond shows a film of ice on less than half its surface now, although the reflections seem viscous, an illusion wrought by the barest exhalation of Boreas' breath. A few daring raindrops make the initial plunge on this day, to be followed by a rush of their compatriots; liquid lemmings hurtling themselves from the brink of a grey sky to meet an unquestionable fate in the peaty waters of the pond.

Planting Seeds Of Thought

Day 83: It's that time of year again! The Park catalog has arrived and I've been thumbing through its pages, trying to decide what to attempt this year. The results of my labors are relatively unvariable: I carefully cultivate seedlings in every windowsill, on top of the washing machine under lights, sometimes even on the kitchen counter from March until June when it's safe to put my babies out of doors. And then...and then I forget all about them, and if something happens to crop up with a blossom on the end of a stalk some time in August, I'll say, "Oh, wow! I got a paper daisy!"

I am a haphazard gardener. If it likes the conditions it is forced to endure by both me and the weather and actually manages to survive to the blooming point, I will put it on my list of successes to be repeated in subsequent years. If it withers and dies, I'll probably forget what it was and try it again a few years down the line. I only plant flowers. At vegetables, I am a total failure. I flunked zucchini. My radishes never made roots. But enough flowers survive my ministrations (gazanias, notably, and occasionally a rudbeckia or zinnia or calendula) that I always sit down with the Park catalog as soon as it arrives, joyously selecting what I can kill this year.

A Teasel In Rime

Day 82: Dipsacus fullonum, the Common Teasel, is a weed and yet a favorite for dried arrangements. The heads, often occurring in groups of three or four, may be up to three inches in height, supported on thorny stalks which may reach six feet or more. It resembles a thistle when in bloom with purple florets opening first toward the base of the cone, but it is the end-of-the-season Teasel most coveted by the florists and hobbyists who have inadvertently assisted in its spread.

Each tiny floret forms a seed, many of which remain caught in the cone. Gatherers should be cautioned to place bags over the heads until the seeds can be shaken or raked out to be disposed of in an environmentally secure way. For all its beauty, Fuller's Teasel is an invasive plant and care must be taken not to transfer the seeds to new areas.

Lichen Fan Club

Day 81: Welcome to the Lichen Fan Club! Apparently, we have a rather extensive membership, of which I was not aware until I balked at posting yet another photo of lichens for the Daily Shoot assignment because I felt I'd already overworked the subject. The Fan Club (and you know who you are!) turned out en masse to say that they would love to see more lichens.

Thus it was that I took a little walk across the snowy pasture opposite my home, my own little Lichenville having seen an early sundown thanks to a large cedar stump on its close horizon. In visiting the larger metropolis of Central Lobaria, I was able to find these sun-dappled and brilliantly green specimens waiting for my lens. I am sorry to say that the areas outlying this core of population are suffering a bit from cold at the moment, and while their brown colors are still attractive, they were not quite suitable for presentation. As the season turns to spring, they will again present their best faces for the Lichen Fan Club's admiring eyes.

Sparkles And Shadows

Day 80: What better way to ring in the New Year than a snowshoe hike? I left home with plans to make a short round-trip of only two miles, but the snow was in perfect condition and the weather was glorious...well, except for that little issue of temperatures which never went above freezing during the "heat" of the day.

When I left the house headed toward a higher altitude, my home thermometer registered 24° F. I've fished in worse, and here at least I wouldn't be getting my hands wet. Dressing in layers is a Pacific Northwest custom even for non-hikers, although I found myself getting a bit too warm in two pair of long johns (one polypro, one wool) plus a wool shirt and jacket. Less than a mile in, the shirt was stowed away in the pack.

I had a hard time deciding which of three images to post in 365 Caws today, settling on this one because it best captured the conditions, the light and the mood. A Happy New Year to my readers, one and all!