Fox In Paradise

Day 260: I had driven up to Paradise (Mt. Rainier National Park) hoping to find Clark's Nutcracker on his customary patrol of the parking lot. Visitors are not supposed to feed the wildlife. In fact, the prohibition is posted quite clearly, but some folks just seem to be unable to read. Clark's was strolling around, scavenging tidbits from the family of five who had pulled up beside me, eating sandwich meat and mayonnaise and white bread, none of which are particularly healthful for a bird's digestion. Suddenly from the top of a snowbank, this grey-phase Red Fox (Vulpes vulpes) streaked down and snatched a mouthful of bread, dog-walking between oncoming cars to eat it safely away from the humans. Several times, the fox climbed the snowbank and waiting for another handful of food to be thrown down. It came within mere feet of the adults, being chased (as were the birds) by the children. Eventually, the activity caught the eye of a ranger who came out of Jackson Visitor Center and gave the group a lecture on feeding the wildlife. I heard the father tell her, "My son just dropped it." I don't think the ranger was fooled for a minute.

Do not feed the wildlife! It does them no good to eat human food. Not only is it unhealthy for them, they may become dependent on handouts and lose their ability to survive the hard conditions imposed by winter.

Bucks In Tutus

Day 259: This plant is so common along roadsides and in waste areas that no one older than ten pays it any mind. If you're ten or under, they're known as "shooters." When the stem is bent into a circle and folded down behind the head, the head can be launched with some force as the bent stem is slid forward. With practice, a good marksman can peg a friend in the back of the head from a distance of a dozen feet or so.

That said, if you were to inquire among youngsters or adults as to the true name of this mundane plant, you'd receive very few correct replies. Originally from Europe, the Buckhorn or English Plaintain (Plantago lanceolata) exists in almost all of North America. The young leaves are edible as a salad green, if not particularly desirable, and are reputed to have a slightly salty taste.

Quilted By Mother Nature

Day 258: Hosta "Gold Dust" is a yellowish chartreuse bordered in a deeper green. The heart of the leaf can be yellowish-white in stronger light, but the delicate veination is always apparent. It is this stitchery which makes Hostas so appealing in the garden. With their wrinkly, crinkly texture, they could be quilts for the faerie folk, fabric for the garden gnomes' jackets. And they're virtually waterproof, as you can see...Nature's own version of Goretex, and therefore perfectly suited for the Pacific Northwe't.

Salsify

Day 257: Tragopogon dubius, aka Salsify or Oyster Plant, is a common sight on Southwest Washington's prairies...if you can catch them when they're open. Their two-inch yellow flowers close at mid-day.

Salsify is an introduced species. The plant often stands three feet or taller, and the huge seed heads resemble a dandelion on steroids (inset). They are wonderful for dried arrangements. Spray them with varnish or hair spray to keep the fuzzies from falling.

Delphinium

Day 256: When I first moved into my home over twenty years ago, the flowerbeds beneath the two big living room windows were entirely overgrown with grass and weeds. With the help of a friend, we dug them to a depth of eighteen inches and sifted the soil through our fingers to remove roots, rocks and shards of glass. In the process, we discovered a number of root masses which we felt sure were those of cultivated species, so we laid them aside and replanted them when the weeding was done.

That summer, I was delighted to find that some of what we had saved were Delphiniums. A relative of Larkspur, Deliphiniums can grow to heights approaching eight feet. Their blue flowers attract hummingbirds as well. Smaller varieties are available in yellow and rose, but in the large version, several shades of blue occur, and most have the white "bee" in each blossom. They flower most profusely in early to mid-June, but frequently will put up a few smaller, shorter flower spikes in Autumn.

Life List Sighting - Red Crossbill

Day 255: Meet Loxia curvirostra, the Red Crossbill. It is not every day that a birdwatcher gets a Life List sighting, and certainly not at their own feeders. I have been observing a pair of unidentified birds for the last several days, unable to get a clear look at them until this morning. When they arrived today, I was sitting on the back porch, camera in one hand and a field guide in the other. The field guide was unnecessary except to confirm what I discovered.

You wouldn't think that Mr. Red Crossbill's crossed bill could reach through the screen to pick out nyjer seed, but now I know why it's been disappearing in such quantity lately. Like the Pine Siskins shown beside him, this male hung upside-down to feed, gobbling seeds down as fast as he could manage. The female stayed inside the roofed feeder at the top of the pole and I was unable to get a "field guide" shot of her, however I am thrilled...let me emphasize that!...THRILLED to have captured the male in a pose which shows almost all of his distinguishing characteristics.

Brown-Headed Cowbird

Day 254: Brown-Headed Cowbirds are a common sight in the Pacific Northwest during the summer months. The females are of a medium brown color with barely visible streaks on the breast. Young birds will appear speckled, but it is the male's distinctive head which gives the species its common name. In some lights, the color is difficult to distinguish, but these birds are easy to identify due to a frequently observed and somewhat comical "staring at the sky" posture, beak pointed almost straight up and neck extended.

Molothrus ater is a clever mimic and copies not only the calls of other birds but of other animals as well. I have heard them voice the whinny of a horse, an odd sound indeed to be coming from thirty feet up a Douglas fir tree!

Castilleja, Indian Paintbrush

Day 253: I cannot adequately express the good fortune I feel to be able to live in the Pacific Northwest with its beautiful alpine areas almost immediately out my door. Here in the heart of Mt. Rainier National Park, there are more wonders than I could record in a lifetime of photography, from the spectacle of craggy peaks rising abruptly against the sky to the delicacy and vibrant color of myriad wildflowers.

The one scene which typifies our area is this: Indian Paintbrush against a backdrop of snow-covered mountains. This is not a secret spot known only to hikers. No, this photo was taken from a pullout alongside the paved Stevens Canyon Road. The elevation here is approximately 4000'. To the south lies the canyon, deep in its valley. To the north, rocky cliffs rise from directly beside the road, often with waterfalls cascading down from their heights. It is early in the season yet, a season late in beginning this year. In its peak, there will not be a color of the rainbow unrepresented on these slopes. Today I contented myself with brilliant vermilion Castillejas, pale purple Phlox, a few white Avalanche Lilies and the ever-present greens, a quiet day in the mountains I so dearly love.

Siberian Iris

Day 252: A virtually indestructible plant, the Siberian Iris will spread if you allow it to do so, but may be easily controlled. If you dig the roots, be sure to distribute them to your friends because no one can resist the simple beauty these flowers give when grown in masses. When the blossoms are through, the leaf blades provide a nice backdrop for a border.

Catch Of The Day

Day 251: The day began at Riffe Lake's public fishing bridge. My 90-year old fishing buddy, his youngest daughter and I arrived on site about 10 AM, fished for an hour and never had a single bite. A smart fisherman knows when to admit he's licked, so we packed up the gear and headed east to Lake Scanewa, the nearest of two possibilities.

Scanewa is a pleasant lake which affords good fishing on a sporadic basis. Today was a good day for those who cast from the bank. Most of the piscatorial prizes measured between ten and twelve inches. The one notable exception...an eighteen-inch fat rainbow...rounded out my limit and made my day.

Rosa Gymnocarpa, Baldhip Rose

Day 250: Such a tiny thing, the Baldhip Rose, with a fully unfurled flower less than an inch across! And so delicate and shy! The name "Baldhip" derives from the fact that this rose drops its sepals when the hip (ovary) is ripe, leaving the pear-shaped fruit smooth-ended. Native peoples ate the hips sparingly since they can be irritating to the digestive tract, although a tea can be made from leaves and young stems.

Honeysuckle

Day 249: My fishing buddy's back yard is scarcely larger than a postage stamp but is jam-packed with flowers and shrubs, and something is nearly always in flower. I took advantage of his gardening skills for today's photo. His Honeysuckle serves as a lure for Anna's Hummingbirds, and although I was unable to record one, I did enjoy watching them feed.

World's Most Satisfactory Houseplant

Day 248: My blog would be incomplete without a nod to the World's Most Satisfactory Houseplant, Hoya bella. This small-leaved "miniature" Hoya is classified as an ever-bloomer, i.e., it comes into blossom every six to eight weeks rather than flowers only appearing once a year. And it blooms lavishly! Lightly scented flower clusters appear not only on the tips of each cascading branch, but oftentimes along the stem at leaf nodes. It is a vigorous trailing grower suitable for hanging baskets in eastern or southern windows, and needs pruning regularly to keep it from reaching the floor. Not to worry! Simply stick the cuttings in water until they form roots and then pass them around to your friends.

This plant will flourish even under the care of those with the proverbial "black thumb." I often ignore mine's watering needs until I happen to notice that the leaves are beginning to wither. A little refresher restores it to full health within a few hours. It is better to keep it on the dry side than to over-water, and it blooms best when slightly rootbound. Transplant only when the soil is depleted and if possible, simply restore the plant to a pot of the same size or only slightly larger.

Pale Tiger Swallowtail, Papilio Eurymedon

Day 247: The Pale Tigers are abundant this year, today fluttering through the yard by the dozen, investigating clover and peonies, checking out the hummingbird feeders. We called them "Zebra Swallowtails" when I was young, but of course that was an error. Our popular nomenclature was based solely on the "pale" portion of their correct name. Papilio eurymedon is not a Zebra. Zebras have longer tails and do not occur in the Pacific Northwest. But "pale" this species most certainly is, its lighter portions only faintly yellowish. Pale Tigers feed largely on Serviceberry and Red Alder in this area.

Leaves Of Three, Beware Of Me

Public Service Announcement!

We interrupt our regularly scheduled broadcast to bring you this important public service announcement.

Poison Oak is spreading in western Washington at an unprecedented rate. Anyone participating in outdoor activities should learn to recognize Toxicodendron diversilobum (aka Rhus diversiloba). Shown here as a mature specimen, its oak-shaped leaves ar obvious, as are the red stems and distinctly shiny appearance of its foliage. During its early growth phases, it is easy to overlook. Remember the phrase, "Leaves of three, Beware of me" and steer wide of this plant!

Begonia Non-Stop Orange

Day 246: Every year, I grow one "Non-Stop" tuberous begonia in a pot on my front steps. They are an easy-care plant which is willing to reward almost any gardener with a lavish display of huge, brilliantly colored blossoms. A wide range of colors is available in both flower and foliage. Last year, I grew a dark red variety with "black" leaves ("Midnight") and this year, chose to go with the more traditional Non-Stop Orange.

Woman Digging Roots With A Stick

Day 245: The costume is the ceremonial gown my mother wore when she was a Camp Fire Girl in the 1930s. The Douglas fir behind me probably started its growth concurrently. Washington as a state had been in existence less than half a century, as I often remind East Coast friends who have such a wealth of historical sites to photograph. When I delve into the area's past, this type of scene is what comes to mind: our First Citizens going about their domestic duties. The words of Zeno (a Greek philosopher) spring to mind as well. He wrote, "The goal of life is living in agreement with Nature." I heartily concur.

Lupinus Rivularis, Streambank Lupine

Day 244: There are many species of Lupine to be found in western Washington, from the tiny Lupinus lepidus which grows in the poor soils of alpine areas to the enormous Lupinus latifolius which may reach up to four feet in height. Although many species contain poisonous alkaloids, some were prepared for use as food by the indigenous peoples of the area.

A vigorous grower, Lupines are members of the family of Legumes, related to the Vetches and Clovers. If you look closely at each individual blossom, you will see that they are shaped like pea flowers. With a few exceptions, wild Lupines are bluish or purplish in hue. They have been cultivated and hybridized to produce the other shades which gardeners love.

Diverse Grasses

Day 243: The pasture across the road has lain fallow for more than twenty years by my reckoning, or at least I've had that length of time to observe it. The barn and house which once stood at the far edge are long gone, remembered only in drawings by local artists and a few of us old buzzards who've roosted in the area for some time. It sees its share of elk in the springtime when the diverse species of grass are young and tender, but now they are chest-high on me and tough as leather bootlaces. Among their stalks, a crop of Canada thistles begins its war for space. The thistles will win, sure as death and taxes.

The thistles began as a small patch, seed undoubtedly brought in bales of hay when the farm was active. They sprung up near the barn after its collapse, given a boost by the local fire department who used the remnants of the building for a practice drill. Fire assists by opening the seeds, you see, and from that one small area, the thistles have spread of their own accord until now over half the acreage turns purple in season.

For now, you can walk through the grass, feeling only the occasional bite of a thorn. In August, you'd want for stout armor to your thighs. For now, the diverse grasses hold sway quite literally, nodding in the wind and muttering among themselves in whispers.

Stacking And Packing

Day 242: Crows and Ravens are masters of stacking and packing. I watched this Raven re-order his load several times to allow the addition of one more piece. He turned them end-for-end, aligned them, then slid his beak in under the lot being careful not to disturb his arrangement. Then he would march over to another piece of bread and pick it up by barely opening the tip of his beak. When he had all he could possibly carry, he took it back to the nest while his mate was engaged in a similar foraging exercise.

There is quite a bit of intelligence being exhibited here. The bird recognizes shapes as being able to fit together in the most efficient configuration. Ravens have been known to stack donuts in two manners. In one instance, the bird reached its beak through the hole of one donut to grab another, and in the second instance, a donut was carried horizontally with another balanced vertically with its base resting in the hole of the first.

A Wild Calypso

Day 241: Calypso bulbosa, the Calypso Orchid, is a somewhat rare and elusive wildflower which prefers moist soil and shady locations. Like its namesake, it is sweetly fragrant. Its flowers are short-lived after emergence and are critical to the plant's continued survival. If a flower is picked or broken off, the bulb (a corm) is not likely to survive.

Once gathered as food by the indigenous people of the area, this plant is in decline due to trampling and heedless attempts at collection for home gardens. It is extremely delicate and if found in the forest, should be left undisturbed.

A Memory In Fragrance

Day 240: At four years of age, I could often be found sitting on the steps outside my grandmother's kitchen door during late May or early June, surrounded by the rich scent arising from her flowerbeds on either side of the stoop. It was a shady niche, cool when the front yard temperature was on the rise, moist in a way which defied being called humid.

The porch looked out onto a sunnier alleyway where the Hollyhocks grew, and I loved them well, yet not so dearly as the Lily-of-the-Valley's delicate bells. The Hollyhocks were faerie-folk in a storybook I loved, their crinkly dresses ready for a promenade. Lily-of-the-Valley was shyer, hiding beneath a small bell-bonnet of white. But it was Lily-of-the-Valley who wore the perfume which filled both dawn and dusk with her aroma.

Lily-of-the-Valley has always been my favorite of flowers. It was the first thing I planted in my garden here: twenty-five pips which spread, as it is wont to do, until it covers a bed four by twelve feet. I thin it from time to time, and give the excess of bulbs to friends. This year, I threw them by handsful into the woods adjacent to the lawn where I hope they will happily multiply. For now, I sit on my front step o' mornings and evenings, and bathe in their fragrance with thoughts of my grandmother's kitchen porch.

Eeyore, Old Grey Donkey

Day 239: Eeyore, the old grey donkey, stood by the side of the stream and looked at himself in the water. "Pathetic," he said. "That's what it is, pathetic. Nobody minds, nobody cares. It's bad enough," said Eeyore, almost breaking down, "being miserable by myself and no proper notice taken of me at all."

Yes, Eeyore is in one of his Moods again, and you can't blame him. People come to his corner to play and frolic, but they pass him by without so much as saying, "How do you do?"

"Not very how," he'd tell them if they did ask, "I don't seem to have felt at all how for a long time." But they don't ask, and that Accounts for a Good Deal. It Explains Everything. "How Like Them," Eeyore would say quietly, morosely watching the children and fishermen who always ignore him entirely.

The old grey donkey I've dubbed "Eeyore" after A. A. Milne's character is small for his breed. Once a workhorse of the timber trade, he is currently pastured out in Gust Backstrom Park in Morton WA. He deserves some recognition for his years of service, so I thought I'd add him to my blog.

Columbine Rain

Day 238: With summer having taken a sabbatical, I am not venturing far from home for my daily blog. With the peony featured yesterday and the Brown-Headed Cowbirds and Starlings uncommonly skittish, I scouted the garden for any other possibility and found this bicolor columbine hiding behind a camellia. It is larger than the fluffy pink or pale yellow ones and must be from a mix of seed I tossed out several years ago. It's made prior appearances, but I tend to forget it's there. My garden is like that: a hodgepodge, a melange of things which survive my lack of attention to their watering. The columbines are durable and faithful friends who endure my foibles.

The Deeps Of Paeonia

Day 237: For all that we love the richness of color, it is sometimes a distraction in an image, the subject better served by a black-and-white treatment even when the contrasts are not sharply defined. Shot as an in-camera monochrome, this opening peony flower illustrates the point. As seen by the eye, the background was a welter of greens, the blossom itself a bold, deep red. Visually, the rich texture of the petals was lost in the assault of color, the nuances of shade hidden behind the shock of hue. The greens afforded confusion rather than clarification, sight taking in only the distinction between verdure and the contrasting flower. In black-and-white, the peony becomes an exploration of depths, of peaks and valleys, of folds and soft curves; its flamboyance is gentled. In greys, the peony is an essay of contour and form.

Little Blue Snot

Day 236: "Gotcha, you little blue snot!"

Great cause for jubilation here, and every year it's the same story: I spot the Little Blue Snot and by the time I get out the door with the camera, he's in the next county. Lazuli Buntings are very shy (at least those in my area) and in past years, I've gotten very few decent photos of them. I've shot a few through the window (only to curse myself for not washing the glass more often), sufficient to document the occurrence of the species, but definitely "nothing to write home about."

Yesterday, I spotted the Little Blue Snot for the first time this year. I waited patiently on the back porch, succeeded in getting some poor photos. In between waiting, I built a new feeder (the one shown here) and hung it from a shepherd's hook near the dogwood where LBS had been perched. This morning, he was back, perching either on a telephone wire with the sun at his back or behind a screen of contorted filbert leaves. Once, he flew over to the dogwood, but kept a branch between himself and the lens.

The lure of food is a strong one. This afternoon, he descended to the feeder and I was able to make several captures from my seat on the back porch. Little Blue Snot is in the bag!

Columbine In Pale Yellow

Day 235: One thing leads to another.

It began yesterday with a short hike and the discovery that I'd brought home an unexpected passenger. We never used to worry about ticks in Western Washington (in fact, I hiked fifty years before encountering my first one), but over the last decade, they have become a problem. I never think about DEET until I've picked up my first one for the season, and that was yesterday. I removed it before it got embedded and no harm done (except to the tick), but I have spent today feeling like they're all over me. It's a normal reaction.

With my mind somewhat preoccupied ("obsessed"), I have had one of the lousiest...make that "tickiest"...days (photographically speaking) of personal record. I haven't been able to make anything work for me today, not that I haven't tried. I did, however, manage to build a new bird feeder to try to entice Little Blue Snot (a somewhat rare Lazuli Bunting) in front of the lens. So far, no luck. I also managed to go to sleep sitting outside and was waked with a start when a Steller's Jay went off like an alarm clock, something which in my foggy state I perceived as my cell phone ringing.

One thing leads to another.

Not exactly having all my wits about me, I posted my "blog shot" and a description; right photo, wrong description. In attempting to mend the wrong, I deleted the photo from my files. I hadn't been particularly happy with it anyway, but I was less happy with this one which, forgive me, is just going to have to do.

I think I'll get up on the other side of the bed tomorrow.

Be Earthwise

Day 234: Ever since I began geocaching, I have fought an internal war with myself, wanting to adhere to the "Leave No Trace" ethic on one hand but enjoying both the finding and hiding of caches on the other. Recently, an ecologically-minded private party in another region of our state took it upon himself to begin removing any and all geocaches in his area. The action was deplored by geocachers in general, but it caused the old arguments to resurface in my mind, as has the recent prevalence of "litter" hides by other cachers (i.e., hundreds of film cans stashed 500' apart in guard rails, or empty water bottles with a sheet of notebook paper jammed inside for a log).

I am no longer young. My health is good overall, but things happen...heart attacks, strokes, joint disease (if you'll recall, I just had knee repair)...and it occurred to me that I do not want my legacy to be written in plastic and metal containers stashed in the forests I so dearly love. I have begun systematically removing my own caches (not those of others) in the interest of other less ecologically casual sports such as photography. Today, I hiked in to retrieve one of my caches from the site of this photo. As I looked up at the Mountain framed in the trees, I thought, "Yes, I am doing the right thing."

Leave No Trace. Take nothing but pictures, leave nothing but footprints.

Ruffed Grouse (Bonasa Umbellus)

Day 233: While out patrolling back roads for landscape possibilities today, I rounded a bend and slammed on the brakes. Mama Ruffed Grouse was herding two (that I saw) tiny, tiny, tiny chicks across the pavement! Fifty feet farther on, a rabbit dashed up the hillside. I expected Ms. Grouse to follow her babies, but she stood her ground as if defending them against me. She strutted back and forth, spreading her ruff and tail, raising her head feathers and giving me the evil eye. I got brave and stepped out of the car. She still didn't flush, so I took several photos. Unfortunately for me, the chicks were well hidden, although when I left, I saw grass stems moving and Mom was headed toward them.

The Grosbeak Collection

Day 232: This was an all-day project, and if I had known how elusive the male Black-Headed Grosbeaks (upper left) were to be, I would have started with them first when I had a dozen or more. The female Black-Headed (upper right) was the first successful capture. I had two of them flitting in and out among the other birds. A small number, to be sure, and later it would increase fivefold, but at 10 AM, I was simply looking for a quick shoot.

Another project pulled me away from my perch on the back porch and by the time I returned, the feeders were nearly depleted. I stocked them again with plenty of black-oil sunflower seed and settled into my chair. Within fifteen minutes, I had all the Evening Grosbeaks you'd ever want (bottom left and bottom right respectively), but no male Black-Headed was in sight. I waited and waited. Went in and made a cup of coffee to the sound of cracking seeds, audible even through the closed windows. Hungry little buggers, this lot. And then I waited some more. Finally, two Black-Headed males showed up but stayed largely hidden in the leaves for the first ten minutes or so. Eventually, they got bold enough to challenge the horde of Evenings, although one decided the easiest course of action was to eat nyjer seed instead. I wound up with more photos of Black-Headed males than any other, oddly enough.

Have I mentioned that I have a lot...plenty, an abundance, scads, tons, swarms and flocks of Grosbeaks?

Pika, Ochotona Princeps

Day 231: After completing a photo shoot at Longmire, I started back home planning to make one small side trip up the Kautz Creek trail. "Just as far as the bridge," I said to myself, a mile each way on relatively flat ground. Now I must admit that occasionally I go off ill-prepared for a backcountry hike even though I know better. Today, I had neither water nor food, nor even a daypack. I carried only my camera and identification. Of course, I was only planning to go a mile in.

Where the trail turns and debouches from young forest onto the brutally scoured riverbed, the path passes through jumbled boulders ranging in size from grapefruit to bathtub, interlaced with fallen trees and other debris remanent from the floods of 2006. It is a harsh environment, and yet if you wait patiently, you may see signs of life. As I was clambering up a small ladder of rocks, a movement to the side caught my eye. As is my usual response, I froze. Slowly, I turned my head and spotted this American Pika peeking out of a tiny cave between two rocks. Cautiously, I unclipped the lens cap from the camera and turned it on, cursing myself for leaving the sound unmuted. Pika didn't seem to mind. In fact, he sat very still for several minutes before darting into cover. But he was a brave soul, this one. Out he came again and perched on the rock, watching me. Two or three times, he startled and ran back into the shadows, only to emerge again for his photo debut. I tried to edge closer (not that I needed to, since he was barely three feet from me), but that was the final straw. Off he went, and I had my photos in the bag.

The Pika is a fairly reclusive little fellow normally. A relative of hares and rabbits, their common name of "rock rabbit" is one most backpackers in the Pacific Northwest will recognize.

My hike culminated an additional 2.5 miles later when the snow became too deep to follow the trail.