Return Of The Black Blade

Day 332: 'Twas a cold dawn but there was a matter wot needed settlin' betwixt two old foes, and the Black Blade had a mind to see it to a firm end when she stepped onto the deck of a ship wot's name I'll not be sayin'. Ye'd know it if I spoke the word, and ye'd know for certain the name of a chap who'd stood on the very selfsame deck. I'll not be tellin' of that story here. The Black Blade will come 'round to it in her own good time. Yet 'twas a fine battle engaged on this day, her Ladyship victorious, and that be the tale for her relatin'. I only say she lived to tell it, mates, and wi' her skulkin' round her cabin lookin' for the rum, I'll not be crossin' her by lettin' the cat go out'n the bag.

Before The Battle

Day 331: Aye, 'tis the eve before the battle, and the Black Blade be takin' her leisure at polishin' her best poniard for the engagement. What's that, ye say? Ye didna know September was the month o' pirates? Ye'd best be keepin a weather-eye on that horizon, matey, lest the Black Blade take you sleepin' on your watch. She's not in a pretty mood, that one, 'cuz the bloody rum is nigh onto gone, and Her Ladyship's lookin' to redecorate her cabin with the innards of the scallywags wot drunk it. Best mind yer appendages, lad, if it were you who's been nickin' the juice.

Like Cookies, They're Better Homemade

Day 330: I find myself in total agreement with the authors of "Crackers!" Like cookies, crackers are better homemade.

My readers have often heard me talk about "birdseed crackers," and the recipe comes from Linda Foust and Tony Husch's wonderful book. It is my favorite...might have something to do with the fact that I'm a Crow...but running a close second are the "Jack and Dill Squares."

These puffy, light, cheesy delights are quite simple and quick to make.

Grate a quarter pound of Monterey jack cheese and set it aside. In a bowl, combine 1 cup of flour, 2 teaspoons of dried dill weed, a quarter teaspoon each of salt and pepper. Add to this a quarter cup of vegetable oil and fluff with a fork until the mixture has the texture of coarse meal. Add the jack cheese and toss lightly. Then add 1/4 to 1/3 cup of water to make a dough which just holds together. Divide it into two parts and roll it out as thin as possible without tearing. Cut it into 2" squares and place on a parchment-lined baking sheet, and bake at 325° for 15 minutes. Turn the crackers and bake for an additional 4-5 minutes until they are golden brown. Served with tea, they are simply delicious!

Nisqually National Wildlife Refuge

Day 329: Early this morning, I met with members of the Nisqually Land Trust at the Ohop Valley property where I serve as a Site Steward. It was a casual meeting, just a "getting to know you" get-together, and when I mentioned that I had business to attend to in Olympia, a visit to the main office was suggested. Because I had thought the main office was in an entirely different city, I asked for directions. "Go down to the Nisqually National Wildlife Refuge...you know where that is, right? The office is in their maintenance area." It sounded like a good idea, so I agreed.

A word of explanation: the National Wildlife Area and the Land Trust are unrelated, other than by the fact that they both are agencies protecting the Nisqually River and its watershed. The Land Trust is a small operation. The Wildlife Refuge is more on the lines of a National Park. As much as it pains me to admit it, for the number of years I lived in close proximity to the Refuge, I never once visited it. One thing leads to another, and my stop at the Land Trust's office was brief. A few minutes later, I was on my way out to the end of the boardwalk, a "trail" which extends two miles into the tidal estuary. It is an amazing piece of engineering, to say the least.

My trips to saltwater have been few and far between, and another completely different ecology exists in that environment. Within the first hundred feet of my walk, I'd discovered a wildflower I'd never seen before, growing quite profusely. Cape Jewelweed (Impatiens capensis, top image) is a wetland plant native to the Olympics.

Continuing through the short forested section of the boardwalk trail, I was paying keen attention to the descriptions of Warblers on the interpretive signs. I figured a Warbler sighting would ice the cake! I knew to expect Red-Winged Blackbirds, Bald Eagles, Great Blue Herons, a variety of sea birds, sparrows, finches and so on, but there was also a good chance of spotting a Yellow or Wilson's Warbler if I kept my eyes peeled.

The planked portion of the trail stopped at the end of the forest and turned into a gravel path which cut across the estuary for half a mile. There, the boardwalk began again and continued for a mile across the tide flat. The tide was out, so I got to see a Heron and a collection of Seagulls browsing for sandworms, barnacles and other "seafood" treats. When I reached the observation platform at the end of the boardwalk, several women were watching Bald Eagles in the distance. They left when the Eagles flew, and I turned my attention to another wildflower. The bottom image shows Puget Sound Gumweed (Grindelia integrifolia).

On the way back along the boardwalk, I sighted my Warbler sitting near the top of a scrubby dead tree in the tide flat. As I maneuvered into the proper position for the light, two CROWS flew over and settled just below if, one on a branch on the left and the other to the Warbler's right. Warbler was having none of that, and took off before I could get zoomed in far enough to check for a black patch on its head. I'll never know what type of bird it was, because two of my best friends decided to play a little joke on me. I couldn't help but laugh, and gently scolded them for being a couple of stinkers. And never fear, I will be returning to this beautiful place in other seasons. I can tell there are many wonderful birdwatching opportunities for someone whose Life List is rather short on "beachy" species.

Twinflower Triplet

Day 328: Twinflower (Linnaea borealis) takes its name from the fact that paired flowers arise from a single stalk. Wait a minute, here! I said, "...paired." What the heck?

The Twinflowers are mostly gone now, and I've been lamenting the fact that I failed to get a photo of them in their prime. As I was walking up the Eagle Peak trail today, I happened to notice one which still looked fairly fresh. As I knelt down, I could see I'd gotten a bonus: my Twin was triplets!

Sky Fire

Day 327: A lively sky tells of seasonal transition. Mornings are chilly now at 42° or lower, and the calendar is marked not by pages of days but by ground fogs. The indeterminate month of Foggust has begun. We can hope for a brief reprise of summer, though it will not be strong or long enough to bring the tomatoes into ripeness, and it is not the sound of early bird-calls which wake us now, but that of the furnace's stomach grumbling for a breakfast of oil. Soon, the Mountain will draw the clouds around itself, and the sky will mourn the passage of warm and pleasant days with an unceasing flow of tears. Today, on this morning, the sky is alight with the embers of dying summer's fire, so let us enjoy its warmth while some trace of it remains.

Gazania Sunshine And Friend

Day 326: The first of the Gazanias has opened and is living up to its variety name of "Sunshine." When fully unfurled, this blossom will measure three to four inches across and will stand above a twelve-inch mound of grey-green foliage. Each plant bears multiple flower heads and the "Sunshine Mix" offers a wide variety of patterns and shades. Grown from seed, Gazanias are great for fall color which continues past frost. I have had them bloom at Christmas, bright blossoms smiling above the snow. Can you find the obligatory "bug-in-the-frame?"

Frog-O-Rama

Day 325: I figured it was about time I took a "Me Day" in between working at Mount Rainier National Park and in the Nisqually Land Trust's Ohop Valley property, time for me to break out the bike and put some miles on my legs. Since I had another chore to be done in Puyallup, the logical choice for a ride was the Foothills Trail, and because the day was somewhat shortened by the aforesaid task, my goal was a mere fifteen mile round trip.

Now it must be said that I never go anywhere without the camera around my neck, quite literally. Riding the bike, it is slung over one shoulder, jouncing along on my hip bone every time I hit a rough spot in the pavement. It's a small price to pay to have it at the ready when a sneaky Scrub Jay or elusive butterfly flits past, and of course it means that I don't have to unpack it when I choose to stop somewhere for a minute.

The Foothills Trail passes through a wetland area for a mile or more as you head southeast from Orting toward South Prairie. For the most part, this area consists of boggy places overgrown with invasive Japanese Knotweed, but as you get closer to South Prairie, there is a nice little pull-out with two picnic tables, an elevated "campfire" grill, an interpretive sign and a lovely (if narrow) view of a marsh. I always stop at that point, hoping for frog or dragonfly photos. Today I hit the Frog-O-Rama jackpot!

Those of you who expect the naturalist to launch into Latin at this point are going to suffer a grievous disappointment. Plainly put, I haven't got a clue as to these handsome princes' identities. I would not be surprised to learn that any or all of them may be that nasty invasive species I've heard rumours about, but if so, I think for the moment I'd rather continue on in innocent ignorance. As for the blue faces on some of my subjects, I believe it is a seasonal change of appearance or the beginning of a moult. However, I do not say that with any degree of certainty. Any herpetologist out there who'd like to chime in here is welcome to do so!

Ever enthusiastic to the point of being obnoxious, I invited several other trail riders to pause and join me in frog-watching. When they would say, "I can't see any frogs," I would zoom in on one and let them view it on the flip-screen over my shoulder. More often than not, then they began spotting them unaided. Then the fun began, each of us pointing out new discoveries. What a great way to spend a day off, opening peoples' eyes to the joys of Nature all around them. Oh, wait a minute...that's what I do anyway, isn't it?

Skinny Girl

Day 324: People tell me I'm too skinny.

You know what I tell them?

Bite me.

The Odd Onion resurfaces in a surrealistic self-portrait which the photographer swears contains no consciously executed abstruse meaning. If the Freudians and Jungians among my readers care to wade in, I am certain the pool is deep with revelations applicable only to themselves.

Gazania Bud

Day 323: One of Autumn's best border plants, the Gazanias are just starting to put on their first buds. If they survive the browsing deer, there is a good chance that brilliant, showy garden color will linger even past the first snowfalls of the year. I prefer the "Sunshine" mix with its zonal, bulls-eye flowers over the plainer solid varieties: vivid orange, red, pink or white blossoms banded with dark brown, or the striped varieties whose long petals are lined or edged with another hue. Somewhat resembling a Sunflower, Gazanias form eight-inch mounds of dusky blue-green surmounted by four-inch blooms. If you need joy in your Fall garden, easy-to-grow Gazanias will fill the bill!

Boondocks Landscaping

Day 322 (bonus edition): Out here in the boondocks, "landscaping" takes on a whole 'nother meaning. Since the guys burying the phone lines couldn't put this feller back in the hole, couldn't shove it off into another landowner's property, couldn't leave it by the roadside and didn't want to have to bring in a dump truck to remove it unless they absolutely had to, they asked me if I wanted it in my yard. I thought about it for a minute...the difficulties of mowing around it could be surmounted by a healthy dose of Roundup and some beauty bark...and I said, "Sure, can you drop it over the fence in that corner over there?" I buttered them up with a plateful of cookies, and before the crew left, they installed the Zen Rock in the corner where nothing will grow. It's going to be a race to see if the rain washes it clean before moss takes it over.

Long-Lost Stubby

Day 322: Our local phone company is burying their lines, and today it was my turn to have the equipment in my yard. Ever the sidewalk superintendent, I went out with the camera to observe and document the proceedings. As I was watching the backhoe taking great bites out of my euphemistically-termed "lawn," the driver stopped suddenly and climbed down from the cab to scrabble through the soil dropped by the scoop. From the rubble, he lifted up a glass stubby, a type of beer bottle I don't believe has been used since the 50s or 60s, about the time they would have been hauling fill dirt in to raise the level of my yard. Both of us were amazed that the backhoe hadn't broken the bottle which I casually placed on the porch beneath a begonia. On looking back at the scene, I said to myself, "There's a photo in that," and thus you see the Long-Lost Stubby posterized. It was one of two trophies, the second being an enormous rock which I adopted under the loosely written description of "landscaping." What the heck, it was free, right? They even set it for me after I bribed them with cookies.

Burdock, Arctium Sp.

Day 321: You do not want Burdock in your socks. You do not want it in your yard. Two species of Burdock are common in western Washington, and I am charged with the removal of them (when at all possible) from the Nisqually Land Trust property where I volunteer as a Site Steward. Burdock and other invasives are part of my patrol. Today, for example, I spent an hour digging out Tansy and Sow Thistles with a "lady fork," a short-handled tool with wide tines and a vague resemblance to a pitchfork. Hard, dry ground didn't make it an easy job, but I was successful until I came up against one small Burdock seemingly rooted in concrete. I struggled with it for some time, unable to remove it or even break off the soon-to-open heads at first. Only repeated bending of the stem allowed me to win, and then as I fell backwards and caught my balance, my eye was drawn to the parent...no, the great-granddaddy!...of the one-foot sprig I'd been wrestling. Twenty feet from me, the second Burdock rose to a height of at least seven feet, sprawling numerous branches above an old concrete pad where some shed or another had stood. Literally, the plant was growing up through the concrete, and there was no possible way I could remove it. When I sent in my Site Steward's report, I said, "You might want to think about bringing in an excavator for this one."

Be aware of invasives! Do your part to help eradicate them, even if it's only calling your county Weed Control Board or other administrative authority.

Douglas' Aster, Aster Subspicatus

Day 320: Imagine my surprise when walking around a paved trail in an urban park, I discovered pretty little purple asters brightening a field of dry grass at the edge of a wetland. I could not recall photographing this particular variety before, so I snapped several pictures to document the identifying features, and then when I got home, I turned to my trusty field guides. I believe this is Aster subspicatus (aka Symphyotrichum subspicatum), Douglas' Aster. Mark Turner's "Wildflowers of the Pacific Northwest" refers to it as a coastal species which sometimes occurs inland as far as Mount Rainier National Park. That means I probably have another photo of it somewhere, but certainly not against as lovely a backdrop.

Morning Mist Crow

Day 319: The Breakfast Bunch polished up the dog kibble I'd spread on the Crow Board, then dispersed into the fog to take up various positions in Clyde's yard, hopeful for a presentation of the dessert menu. Some perched on treetops or branches, some patrolled the ground. Some wiser folk selected fenceposts where they could keep a watchful eye on both feeding stations in case I happened to bring out seconds as I sometimes do. Thin dawn light gave a blush to the mist, rendering the canvas of an August morning into a natural monochrome, and this Crow's Eye was drawn to one young sentinel who profiled himself against the pasture. "Caw!" he said as I closed the door, and when I turned around, he'd flown off to join the growing gathering of his kindred somewhere out of my line of sight. Clyde must have put out something tasty.

First Cosmos

Day 318: Either deer or elk "groomed" my garden during the night a week ago, removing the heads and upper leaves from a variety of plants, including a sunflower which was just about to open, Globe Gilia, Livingston daisies, Rudbeckias, even venturing close enough to the house to sample the Pitcher Plants in a stand just outside the kitchen door. That said, the guilty varmints seemed to prefer to keep their hooves on the paved sidewalk, so plants further back were spared. This morning as I went out to deliver breakfast to my avian clientele, I noticed this brilliant Cosmos, the first of the season. I have made no adjustments to this image in post; the vividness of hue was provided by "Golden Hour" sun, and despite my customary objection to pink shades, I cannot help but enjoy the vibrance this flower brings to the garden.

Ghost Pipe, Monotropa Uniflora

Day 317: Today's trip to the Grove of the Patriarchs and Ohanapecosh was inspired by a lead from a friend who told me she had seen Ghost Pipe growing alongside the trail to the Grove. Even with her instructions, I was unable to locate the particular cluster of Monotropa uniflora; however, I was able to locate another further on, a specimen which enjoyed the "sun-fleck" nature of its habitat even as lighting conditions gave me fits. In one second, the light would shift from illuminating solely the foremost flower to falling entirely on the hindmost. As I waited on the boardwalk for the perfect moment, the mosquitoes were having a heyday on my back and arms. Ah, the sacrifices we make for our art! Finally, the sun fell where it was wanted, and I got my shot.

The east side of the Park is a treasure-trove of mycoheterotrophic species for some reason. I do not believe any studies have been done, nor do I have any hypotheses as to why one creek drainage should have more mycoheterotrophs than another. I do know that some species live in symbiosis with only one fungal component, but I do not know if that holds true for all of them. Ghost Pipe, Pinesap and Candy Stick do appear in other locations throughout the Park, but not so abundantly as they do around Laughingwater Creek.

There is so much yet to learn about the world around us! A few years ago, mycoheterotrophy was misunderstood, and these plants were classified as saprophytes. Now that we better understand the symbiotic relationship they have with certain fungi, a whole new area of research has opened up. Science in action! And I am thrilled to have witnessed the expansion of knowledge surrounding these elegant and rare plants. As I have said to friends, "If I had it to do all over again, I would specialize in mycoheterotrophs." What an amazing family!

The Worm Box

Day 316: What do you give a child on their first birthday? Well, I received a set of World Book Encyclopedias (first person who says, "Yeah, we could tell..." is going to get smacked in the eye) and a small ceramic planter in the shape of a big green worm wearing a top hat, a cactus installed in the center of his back. That gift began a collection which multiplied over the years with purchases and gifts from friends and relatives.

A few mishaps along the way reduced the numbers by a small margin; my best friend's cat ate one of the smallest worms and several others went missing during a move. Some were eventually replaced, and although perhaps the colors were different, you could see that the "worm" had been cast in a duplicate mold. More modern additions are resin, plastic or metal; ceramics are difficult to find. The keen-eyed among my readers will spot a few anomalies here: kitties, a few birds, a sheep, but this is the Worm Box, whoever may live in its apartments, and many of its residents are only a few years younger than the one who placed them in their cubbyholes. To this day, I still love caterpillars, and I still have the original worm in a top hat given to me on my first birthday.

Rudbeckia, Black-Eyed Susan

Day 315: Susan is a bit of a tom-boy, and somebody poked her in the eye! I am not certain of the etymology of the name "Black-Eyed Susan," but it always makes me chuckle because these flowers do have a Becky Thatcher look, at once pretty but rough-and-tumble and somewhat weedy-wild. They are the showpieces of a scatter-garden such as mine, heads rising brazenly above the shorter plants as if to say, "Go on, I dare you!" to the Tom Sawyers and Huck Finns who share their playspace. You can sense the mischief in the rambunctious yellow-orange flowers, feel the longing for adventure. A better name, I believe, would have been "Black-Eyed Becky," because I am certain that this plant has frogs in its pockets just waiting to be dropped down the neck of some stately, proper and unsuspecting lily.

Raven Necklace

Day 314: Two representations of Raven make up the focal points of this necklace. The one on the left is sculpted clay and was given to me as a gift. The one on the right is a traditional depiction of the legendary figure as known to the First People of the Pacific Northwest. I purchased it at the 1986 World's Fair in Vancouver, British Columbia.

The central green bead represents the Earth. The black tourmaline on the right signifies the darkness in which the First People lived until Raven stole fire from the Sun and gave it to them. The amethyst crystal on the left represents the fire. The smaller birds symbolize all my avian friends, not solely corvids. Raven, with his many faces and shape-changing ability, guards us all.

Country Morning

Day 313: Morning light. It falls like an enchantment on the garden as the sun climbs over the shoulder of the Mountain, sending its sweet rays between gaps in the sleepy evergreens. It illuminates in gold the manuscript of the day, gilding flowers and nodding grass heads. Graced with the lilt of rising birdsong, the morning air holds a note of autumn; just a touch of chill lingers, soon to be banished and soon forgotten in the heat of afternoon though it marks the going-out of the season's first advance. We must pretend a little longer that summer endures for more than a few brief weeks. We must not allow ourselves to acknowledge autumn's toe in the door. An August morning's light deludes us gaily, like the sleight of hand employed by a magician. We believe because we want to, not because there is any truth in the matter.

Garden Blues

Day 312: My little garden is nothing special. It's just a hodgepodge of things I thought might be pretty, might survive my neglect, might reward me with a little color. I don't fertilize. I don't spray for bugs. I only remember to water when the weather is hot enough to make me complain. I don't plan or plot the plantings. On the contrary, I usually broadcast a mix of seed between clumps of transplants started in the house in early spring. I pay no particular mind to a color scheme, although I've always lamented the paucity of blues. This year, I aimed at blue and hit it with Bachelor's Buttons, blue Ageratum, Blue Merlin Petunias and Globe Gilia, even though they're mixed in among other shades.

Morning On Alder Lake

Day 311 (Part One): Before Alder and LaGrande Dams were built, Alder Lake did not exist. Here, the Nisqually River cut a steep-sided canyon, not so steep that it couldn't be logged of its valuable timber, but nonetheless steep enough that in places, the lake is as much as 400 feet deep. The river channel passes between the shoulder of the Bald Hills and Reliance Hill here, a point at which Tacoma Power and Light swings a log boom across the water to prevent flood debris from backing up behind the upper dam several miles down-valley. The defile is a catchall for morning clouds.

This morning, I was on my way to my first day as a Site Steward for the Nisqually Land Trust and drove past this placid scene as I have done hundreds of times before. A quarter mile or so beyond, the beauty of it registered in my mind. Unlike other mornings when the same thought processes have come and gone, today I turned around so that I could share this moment with my friends.

Picnic Chicks

Day 311 (Part Two): My friend and sister-of-my-heart Patty is an excellent cook, so good that she really can't comprehend what it means when someone says, "I hate to cook." Nevertheless, she can always be counted on to come up with a recipe guaranteed to work, even when you hate to cook as much as I do.

Tomorrow, Mount Rainier National Park's Volunteers are getting together for their annual potluck picnic. I was discussing the fact with Patty, thinking I'd probably make a carrot cake and fancy it up with some cream cheese frosting, a process which is way more work than I normally put into something which is just going to be eaten. Out of the blue, I got an email from Patty with a photo of the most adorable little devilled-egg chicks I'd ever seen. I responded that "those would be fun to take to the picnic" (not really meaning that I wanted to MAKE them, y'see) and the next thing I knew, she'd sent me two more versions. I said to self, "Patty wouldn't send me anything that was TOO hard to make 'cuz she knows I hate to cook. I think I'm gonna do these."

Well, I bought all the bits and pieces...carrots, capers...boiled eggs last night, and at 3:30 this afternoon, I started building chicks. Three hours later, I had twenty-two cute little fellers, each of whom...oh, unthinkable thought!...will be devoured in under a minute.

Rattlesnake Plantain, Goodyera Oblongifolia

Day 310: Another member of the Orchidaceae, the Rattlesnake Plaintains are just now coming into flower in the Longmire Volunteer Campground. I have been watching them develop over the last week or two and was hoping one would bloom before the stalk got too leggy to get the plant in a single frame because I also wanted to show the basal rosette. It was impossible to show the rosette and still have the details of the flowers, so the inset shows the base of a non-flowering specimen.

Unlike many other members of the Orchid family, Goodyera oblongifolia prefers a dry environment and seems to thrive in thin, acidic soil. The leaves often appear withered, even when supporting a healthy flower stalk. Look for these fairly common plants in stands of mixed conifers.

Chirper

Day 309: This is my Audubon bird call, or as I refer to it, "the chirper." I don't recall where I got this one, but as of a few years ago, the Audubon Society was still selling them and I gave several as gifts to birding friends. The wooden bead is held on the metal spindle by a screw in the base (somewhat visible in the reflection in the binocular lens), and by removing the screw, powdered rosin can be blown into the center of the bead to give it more stickiness when its chirping capability starts to diminish. By sliding the bead up the spindle and twisting it at the same time, a skilled practitioner can make both ascending and descending notes of variable duration. It's a whole lot more fun to play with than a birding app, and of course much more rewarding when you actually succeed in calling a bird into the open.

Hooded Ladies' Tresses, Spiranthes Romanzoffiana

Day 308 (Part Two): An exquisitely beautiful and somewhat rare plant, this specimen of Hooded Ladies' Tresses was growing in a revegetated area at the Stevens Canyon entrance of Mount Rainier National Park. I had a few minutes to spare before my duty started this morning, so I took a short walk and was surprised to find it and several others blooming merrily in the middle of the traffic island! I brushed aside a few grass seedheads to get a clear shot.

The name Spiranthes refers to the spiralling nature of the flower head which appears to twist as it rises. The Spiranthes, of which there are several varieties, are members of the Orchid family. Ordinarily, this botanical jewel prefers wet or even boggy areas. Of course, you could say that most of western Washington qualifies as a "wet area" in most months of the year, so perhaps that accounts for why these lovely plants are doing so well.

Making A Better Park For You

Day 308 (Part One): "Good morning! My name is Crow, and I work with the National Park Service. This week, we're conducting visitor surveys throughout the Park, collecting demographic data in conjunction with the University of Idaho. The information we gather will be analyzed by them and the results will be returned to our Superintendent. If you have a moment, I'd like to ask you a few quick questions and then send you home with a questionnaire which you can mail back, postage paid. Would you care to participate?"

At least 90% of the time, the answer I received was an enthusiastic, "Yes!" When the interview was completed, I would add, "Every survey which is returned is helpful to us. By answering the questions, you are helping make the Park a better place...for YOU!"

Today was my third day of visitor surveys. It was at least ten degrees cooler, but still warm enough that I shed the jacket by 9:00 AM. It was also the slowest day of the three (my other two days were on the weekend). In seven hours, I handed out 40 surveys on an "interval" basis, evenly distributed to the occupants of 228 vehicles. My peak day was Saturday when I was working with a partner. Together, we handed out 85 surveys to the occupants of over 2100 cars.

Give Me A Call

Day 307 (Part Two): Today I tried a different tack with my little friends in the Nisqually Land Trust property in Ohop Valley: I took along a manual bird call, a device made by the Audubon Society and one I haven't felt compelled to use for many years. Basically, it's a wooden bead on a metal spindle. With the application of a little resin, it can be made to chirp in quite a variety of tones. Anyone can make it "tweet," but it requires a bit of practice to create a note capable of fooling a given species of bird.

I'd like to say I practiced a call before leaving home, but I did not. In the first place, I didn't think to do so. In the second, available sound files tend to be taken from out of region, and although the basic call will be the same, there are dialectic differences (sometimes quite strong) in other areas. Think of English as spoken by a Pacific Northwesterner or a Southerner. Bird language is spoken with the same variations of tone.

I put the bird call around my neck with the camera and walked slowly up the road making a random assortment of squeaks. I must have punched someone's buttons because a female goldfinch popped into a nearby tree and sassed me. Then I heard "rrrr-pip-BEEyur" in the forest and tried to imitate it with the device. The burr at the beginning of the call was impossible for me to create, but after several tries, I could reliably produce the "pip-BEEyur" portion. Spacing it out as naturally as possible, I "chirped" several times over the next five minutes. All of a sudden, I saw movement out of the corner of my eye. Immediately, I picked up the camera and zoomed in on the shaded hole in the branches where I'd seen a flutter. Lo and behold, there was one of the Flycatchers I've been trying to ID! I got a quick, poor shot for documentation purposes and then "chirped" again. My little friend popped up onto a branch, looked toward me...and answered the call! In the process of trying to focus on the bird, I allowed sunlight to glint off the lens, causing him to dart back into cover. I "chirped" again a few times, and the curious little fellow again landed on a branch in the open, but not quite in full view.

This process went on for a while, interrupted once by a passing car. Finally, Mr. Flycatcher took up the position you see here. We exchanged calls several times, and now I am happy to say that yes, this is definitely a Willow Flycatcher (Empidonax traillii), based on his call of ""rrrr-pip-BEEyur"" and his not-so-identifiable markings.

Out, Standing In The Field

Day 307 (Part One): Roger Tory Peterson is a name with which any good birdwatcher will be familiar. His field guides are some of the best on the market today, and no field bag is complete without one. A consummate naturalist and artist, RTP's guides delineate what markings to look for in the field where often the birder only gets a brief glance at the subject. With a little training, the observer is quickly able to make distinctions between one species or another based on Peterson's system.

Although I have many field guides on my shelf, "Roger Tory" (as he is known in my household) is the one I turn to first. He sometimes disagrees with the nomenclature in Sibley's works, and I tend to use the Sibley taxonomy because it is more current, but I only use Sibley's images to reinforce identifications.

Roger Tory Peterson, 1908-1996, was outstanding in his field. So am I, given a comma and a space to qualify the statement.

Root And River

Day 306: I arrived at my duty station early this morning so that I'd have a little time for a hike and some photography before spending the day interviewing visitors. I've always avoided the short trail to the Grove of the Patriarchs simply because of its popularity. I prefer to hike in solitude and silence, and at this hour, I was ahead of the crowd. Long light still lay on the river, touching gently on water and root as it pierced the heavy forest canopy, giving a magical appearance to the gnarled grasp of one of the namesake ancient trees. Even in the stillness, the river's low chuckle was barely audible but for where the water tumbled over stones in the shallows. Some days, it pays to go to work early.

Is This The Road To The Summit?

Day 305: After being on my feet on asphalt for nine hours straight conducting visitor surveys (demographics) from a script with temperatures approaching the 90° mark and a combination of deerflies and blackflies vying for position on any exposed skin, I arrived home hot, tired, sticky, footweary and stinking of bug spray to find a box sitting on my front step. It was not an unexpected box, but I had no idea what it might contain. I opened it up after a cool shower, and in a somewhat better mood, I laughed when I saw a moose inside. It was a gift from one of my sisters-of-the-heart, and couldn't have arrived at a better moment, just the thing I needed to remind me that I too have been a "visitor" and probably asked my fair share of stupid questions if, perhaps, not about moose.

Today's best was one I've heard before: "Is this the road to the summit?" It is one of the classics of rangering at Mount Rainier, right up there with "When do the deer turn into elk?"

Thank you, Patty, for breaking the tension of the day. Moose joins the ranks of my favorite stuffies, and will always make me smile.

Pipsissewa, Chimaphila Umbellata

Day 304: When given the choice of two common names, I find that "Pipsissewa" has more character in its pronunciation than "Western Prince's Pine." Waitaminit! "Pine?" What association with pine does Chimaphila umbellata have that the word should be part of its name? Ridiculous, I say!

Pipsissewa is found frequently in the mixed conifer forests of the western Cascades and in Mount Rainier National Park. Its pretty drooping flowers have five thick, waxy petals. Its evergreen leaves are leathery and toothed along the margins. Flower stalks seldom rise more than 10-12 inches from the base. This plant is truly a jewel among wildflowers despite its common nature, a favorite among hikers wherever it blooms.

I'm The Baby, Gotta Love Me

Day 303 (Part B): That's it. I'm going to rewrite the dictionary. As of this photograph, there is a new definition for "adorable," and this is it.

Since I had to go in town anyway today, I swung past Ohop Valley on my way home to check for Warblers. Either they were in hiding or have moved on because I neither saw nor heard them, but the Flycatchers were definitely about, if perhaps not quite "out" in the open. I wish my identification of this little fellow could be substantiated. His call and habits strongly suggest Willow Flycatcher, but in the back of my mind there is that niggling possibility that I've labelled him incorrectly. Time and again, I play the recordings of the different possibilities, closing my eyes so that I can't be influenced by the photos, and each time, it is the Willow Flycatcher's single "Whit!" which makes me say, "That's it. That's the one." But am I 100% positive and without a doubt? No. His tail seems too short...but then Mama shows up and feeds him, and her tail is longer. Her bill is longer as well.

No, I don't think I'll rewrite the dictionary after all. I'll rewrite the field guides instead. Here you see the Western Adorable Flycatcher, Empidonax adorabilis. I can definitely check THAT off on my Life List!

Sundew, Drosera Sp.

Day 303 (Part A): Today I added another carnivorous species to my plant collection, a member of the Sundew family. Its structure is quite different from the Roundleaf Sundews with which I am famliar, having instead long narrow leaves covered in fine, sticky hairs, branching to resemble antlers. Native to Oregon, this unusual plant is a denizen of boggy but sunny locales. Like the Pitcher Plants, it prefers to have its feet wet except in the winter months, and enjoys full sunlight. Like its Roundleaf cousin, its diet consists primarily of small gnats. If you look closely, you'll notice that it has quite a voracious appetite for them.

All the carnivorous species in my collection have been raised for commercial sale and were purchased from a reputable nursery. These are not...repeat NOT!...wild-collected plants.

Mountainbells, Stenanthium Occidentale

Day 302: After work today, Kevin and I took a quick walk around the Longmire campground and probably would have gone further down the road had we not become distracted by the sudden disappearance of the stream which runs centrally down its length. It had been flowing at normal levels at the point where it passed under the road, so what had become of it in a tenth of a mile? Following it downstream from the road crossing, we found a boggy area, but no obstruction (or at least not one which would have created a dam), and it was there that the stream dwindled to nearly nothing.

In the process of marvelling at the geologic processes and soil conditions which could cause such a phenomenon, our attention fell on these dark-flowered plants, brought to sudden color by a ray of intermittent sun. Neither of us could recall the name of the flower, so did the sensible thing and photographed it for when we had access to our field guides. A member of the Lily family, Mountainbells grows from a small bulb which is said to be poisonous. The plant is classified as "uncommon," and yet at stream's end in the heart of the campground, they were plentiful. I am pleased to add it to my virtual field guide at 365 Caws.