Heron On The Hunt

Day 138: Great Blue Herons are hard to resist when you have a camera slung around your neck, and I had plenty of willing models at the Nisqually National Wildlife Refuge today. I had gone to attend a Site Steward workshop and bonus nature-mapping segment, and good weather tempted me out to the end of the boardwalk yet again. The tide was in but receding, and a number of different varieties of duck were feeding in the shallows, accompanied by herons and gulls. I was able to capture images of both Common (Eurasian) and Green-Winged Teal as well. However, the herons always take the place of honor when I sort photos, my eye captivated by their ungainly yet graceful posturing.

Lost In The Stars

Day 137: The true Trekkies among my readership will recognize the title of this image "Lost In The Stars" as one of the cuts on Leonard Nimoy's first LP (vinyl) album, "Mr. Spock's Music From Outer Space." They may also recognize my rather inept oil painting as one of "The Two Sides Of Leonard Nimoy" portrayed on the cover of his second album. You see, I have been a Trekkie from the very beginning, and in my opinion, the character of Mr. Spock was the icon of the series. It probably goes without saying that he was also one of the major crushes of my life, hence the portrait.

I had a bad feeling when I saw the announcement of Leonard Nimoy's hospitalization a few days ago, so I was not entirely surprised to learn this morning that he had passed away. That said, it was not news I wanted to hear. I've seen numerous posts honoring him today, but lack of artistic skill aside, I wanted to create a special tribute of my own, something from the heart, emotional human that I am.

A Shortage Of Snow

Day 136: I'd like to dedicate this photo to my friends on the East Coast who may not see green until August. While record snow accumulations are plaguing them, the Pacific Northwest and notably Mount Rainier have the opposite problem: we're short on the white stuff. Paradise has a mere 60 inches on the ground, there's none at Longmire, and from what I could see from the Westside Road, it's just patchy at Indian Henrys. It's not warm temperatures alone. Precipitation has been minimal. It will be interesting to see how low snowpack will affect the wildflower season.

Secret Falls Rainbow

Day 135: "Secret Falls" doesn't really have a name, although its stream shows up on the topo map if you know where to look. You'll find it less than fifty feet from the road if you know where to stop, but otherwise you could drive right by without any clue to tell you where this ribbon of water is tucked away. It's at its best in the months of winter and spring, and variously may present the aspect of a freshet or of bizarre figures of ice. Light enters this niche in the forest for only a few minutes of the day. If you're lucky, you may even catch a rainbow.

A Walk On The Westside

Day 134: Up until a few years ago, I would have considered a 12-mile walk/hike "short," but these days, my knees and hips are telling me it's closer to my "average" category. "Average" used to be 14-18 miles, "long" 20-23, "killer" 24 and above (and we're talking about 3000-4000' elevation gain as well). Whether I want to admit it or not, I'm not as young as I used to be. I can still pull off a 17-20 miler, but I pay for it with sore joints. That said, 12 miles in four hours isn't bad for a little old lady, especially since it includes time out to investigate lichens and waterfalls, and to chat with the road crew repairing Westside Road. The main thing is that I get where I'm going, and I enjoy the trip even if it does leave me with a few aches.

Chorus Frog Chorus

Day 133: No, you won't see any frogs in the video. The fern is simply something to occupy your eyes while your ears enjoy today's post. Easterners may brag about their "spring peepers," but here in the Pacific Northwest, the singers of Spring are Pacific Chorus Frogs, Pseudacris regilla. They are out early this year and abundantly, but they are very hard to spot. A footfall, even on soft grass, is enough to hush them. If you want to see these tiny but operatic vocalists, park yourself at one of their hangouts and be prepared to remain motionless for fifteen minutes or more.

Pink Polypores

Day 132: There are times when I wish I knew more about two subjects: bryology and mycology (or as you might put it, "mosses and mushrooms"). However, when I spotted this pretty pink polypore in Pack Forest today, I figured I wouldn't have too many options when it came to keying it out in a field guide. I narrowed it down to two, Fomitopsis cajanderi and F. rosea. F. cajanderi is more common in the Pacific Northwest and prefers Douglas Fir as its host and therefore it is what I suspect, but without chemical and microscopic analysis, I must list it simply as "Fomitopsis sp."

Another question arises with this discovery, and if I knew the answer, it might settle the issue of which Fomitopsis this is. As you know, lichens are a symbiosis of fungus and algae. Many (perhaps most, maybe even all) lichens develop from one specific fungus and one specific alga. There could be a relationship between this Fomitopsis and the lichen growing alongside it (the operative word in this sentence is "could" - I won't guarantee it). Ah, if only I had better resources (if, in fact, any exist).

If I had my life to live over, I would devote it to the study of lichens, and that's the truth. You would find me taking samples, analyzing them microscopically, testing them with reagents and carefully documenting my field observations, noting anything and everything which might give me a toehold in their fascinating biology. As a sidebar, I would undoubtedly learn more about fungi as well, and who knows? Given a few more Fomitopsis, I might even learn to like pink.

Hooded Merganser, Lophodytes Cucullatus

Day 131: The Hooded Merganser (Lophodytes cucullatus) is in my opinion one of the prettiest of western Washington's "ducks." Although not quite as showy as the Wood Duck, it is more common, and the male's fan-shaped white head marking definitely sets it apart from other species. I spent some time at the Nisqually National Wildlife Refuge yesterday trying to get a good photo of this bird which seemed determined to prove its reputation as a diver. Just as I would get the camera trained on my subject, down he'd go, staying submerged for a minute or longer and popping back up to the surface some distance from where I'd seen him go under. As the diving interludes continued, Mr. Hoody kept moving farther north, so I outfoxed him. I moved ahead on the boardwalk until I was well beyond him and then waited for him to come to me. However, like most waterfowl, he was alert for unnatural flashes of light and never did come very close to my lens.

Photo Classics: Duck Butts

Day 130: Sooner or later, every person who carries a camera regularly is going to succumb to the undeniable charm of duck butts. I thought I was immune, but today a mated pair of Mallards proved me wrong. I stood at the rail of the Nisqually National Wildlife Refuge boardwalk for ten minutes, enchanted by the synchronized antics of these two as they dived for their lunch in a small backwater. Does anyone know of a support group for duck-butt addicts? I think I need help.

Making More Pussywillows

Day 129: The scarcity of wild pussywillows upsets me, so I am taking measures to ensure that I am never without this delightful tree and its old-fashioned charm. The bush I started from a slip a decade ago now stands about ten feet tall, its topmost branches being the best bearers of catkins. The lower branches are rather sparsely endowed, so it was those from which I cut slips to put in water. Pussywillows root readily, and as you can see, mine are anxious to take their places in my yard. I will pot them later in the season, and will leave them there for a year or two while they establish strong root systems. Then I'll plant them in strategic spots where they will prosper in good light. You can never have too many pussywillows!

Old Treasures

Day 128: I have very little memorabilia from my mother's side of the family, none at all from my father's side save for his military records and medals and a small handful of personal items, but those few things I do have are precious to me. The larger kitty you see here came across the Plains on my great-grandmother's lap, held to protect it from the jouncing of a buckboard, or so the family story goes. The black kitten was my grandfather's, of a somewhat later manufacture than the gold cat, but identically posed. The Double Wedding Ring quilt was a wedding gift to my parents, hand-stitched by my maternal great-grandma, its pieces cut from the calico flour sacks of the era. Both the quilt and the pillow are stained and worn, and the gold kitty has many scars and scratches, but in no way does that diminish their value in my heart. Sentimental? I'm not ashamed to admit to that.

Steller On A Stump

Day 127: When the discussion turns to Steller's Jays (and many other corvids for that matter), you will find that there is a sharp dividing line between camps. People either love them or hate them, seemingly without any middle ground. True, their voices are harsh and scolding, but what they lack in musical ability is more than balanced by the color they bring to the yard. They are not particularly aggressive as some people claim. In fact, I have seen Juncoes a quarter their size chase them out of the feeders. They are polite guests at the table, unlike the Rufous-sided Towhees who scratch and kick seed out of the trays, and their ability to mimic a Red-tailed Hawk's call keeps the other birds on their toes. I am quite fond of my Steller-fellers (named for German naturalist Georg Steller), and love having them around.

Foothills Trail Highlights

Day 126: While friends in the eastern states are experiencing bitterly cold temperatures and snowdrifts threaten to cover their houses, the Pacific Northwest is basking in unseasonably warm weather. I took advantage of it again today to put in a little over ten miles walking the Foothills Trail in Orting. I thought I would share a few of my favourite spots with my readers.

If you park near the fire station and walk east a little over two miles, you may find yourself confronting the Attack Emu. Even though he's behind a sturdy fence decorated with "Not responsible for any accidents" signs, be careful not to approach too closely if you want to take a picture. His beak fits between the wires, and I have no doubt that it would be strong enough to break a lens. He's fast, too. He can sprint across the field in the time it takes you to change ISO settings, and he resents the fact that no one asks him to sign a model release.

At about 3.25 miles, you will reach a bridge over a small bog. Right now, the trees are bare, but as soon as they leaf out, the warblers will come. These fast-moving little birds are hard to spot amongst the foliage, so you may want to study up on "birding by ear" before heading this way. You may also find eagles in the general area, as well as other accipiters.

Four miles in, you'll come to a larger swamp created by a beaver dam at the southwest end. It is always dark and cool here. There are many lichen-covered, broken trees standing in the water, giving the area an air of mystery and foreboding. I call the trees the "Swamp Witches."

The best attraction on the trail as far as I am concerned is the wetland interpretive area. In summer, it is possible to find Blue Herons, Red-Winged Blackbirds and a wide variety of other avian life here. You will also see native and non-native frogs, and of course some of the insects which are the staples of their diet. Recently, many of the young alders east of the picnic table have been cut down by beavers. You'll find the interpretive area 4.5 trail miles east of Orting.

If you'd like, you can continue on to the town of South Prairie, but I generally turn around at the interpretive area or where the trail crosses the next paved road. Ten miles of pavement-pounding is about all I care to do. I'll come back this summer and ride the entire trail on my bike.

Life List

Day 125: Just a bit of whimsy here. This image was in response to a photo challenge: Create a whimsical book jacket for a mystery/thriller novel. I took it one more step and wrote a teaser.

"Ornithology professor Jay Byrd is drawn into a murder investigation when several of his colleagues are found dead of poisoning. When it becomes apparent that the victims' names are ironically puns upon actual bird species, Professor Byrd realizes that he may be on the killer's Life List."

Exploring Strange New Worlds

Day 124: Lieutenant T'var made a note on her personal tricorder that the syntax of the Cladonian language was one of the most complex she had encountered during her tour of duty aboard the Chomsky. An expert in xenolinguistics, she had made one significant breakthrough to advance her analysis: the Cladonians were a symbiotic species, and subtle intonations from the secondary component, barely perceptible even to her keen Vulcan ears, had the ability to change a positive statement to a negative. That one fact had culminated in a number of substantial misunderstandings following a peaceful first contact, and relations with the ship's crew had become strained over the next few months despite the Cladonians' gentle nature. A colleague had remarked that the Cladonians were "inclined to listen, but too closely," often reading hidden meanings into a phrase voiced by a human with a stuffy nose or a raspy throat. However, with T'var's insight into the nuances of the native language, a foundation for communication had been laid even though consistent translation was proving difficult to achieve.

A Thimbleful Of Peridioles

Day 123: First of all, I would ask my readers to forgive me for not identifying this tiny treasure any more precisely than a "bird's-nest fungus." That's the best an amateur can hope to achieve when further breakdown requires scientific apparatus capable of measuring spores in the 8-20 micron range. "Best guesses" are not acceptable when documenting species. An expert might be able to differentiate them from photos, but I am not so skilled. I simply enjoy them, and in this case, I found a wealth of them on the banks of the Nisqually River at Longmire.

What fascinates me about the Bird's-Nests is the way they propagate. The spores are contained in little "eggs" called peridioles. When it rains, the cups fill up and the peridioles are washed out. In some species, the peridioles may be attached to the cup by a thread-like cord. All species are quite small, tinier than a thimble. Some may be as much as 18 mm. tall. This particular specimen was approximately 12 mm. high and 6-7 mm. in diameter, and was hosting an abundant store of grey peridioles.

My Favourite Chair

Day 122: My favourite chair has seen better days. In fact, I had to reassemble it for the photo from an untidy heap of parts found on the porch of this little cabin in Pack Forest. The last time I'd seen it, it was still holding together, although you wouldn't have wanted to set anything weighing more than an ounce on the seat. I suspect at some point, its rickety bones will be carted away and discarded, a fate which makes me more than a little sad.

I believe the cabin may have been occupied by a caretaker in Pack Forest's early years, but I don't know that for sure. If you peer through the dirt-marked windows, you will see some evidence of prior habitation: a hard hat, a basin for washing dishes. Faded gingham curtains speak of someone who wanted to add a homey touch, and the chair itself says that someone once enjoyed sitting on the porch.

When I first discovered the chair over two decades ago, it was functional. Occasionally at the end of a hike, I'd sit in it for a few minutes, wishing it could tell its story. I liked to think that my pausing there made it feel less lonely. Had I known its fate would come to this, I might have asked if I could give it a home. Now, it is beyond hope, its arms broken, its seat collapsed.

In some way, I have given the poor thing a degree of immortality in photos captured during our brief acquaintance, and truly, what more can any of us hope for in the longer term? We are all transient beings, resolving into the realms of memory.

Logger Toyz

Day 121: Hikers who are coming in to Pack Forest for the first time are advised by a sign in the parking area to pick up a map at the office. What the sign neglects to say is that the map is hand-drawn, not to scale and out of date by a couple of years. During my walk today, I encountered half a dozen people who had no idea where they were. I offered what help I could, giving them mileages between points and explaining the road system verbally. To add to the difficulty, there are logging operations in place at various points currently. These necessitate trail and road closures, and in many cases, the closures are poorly signed. In fact, eight miles into my walk, I came up against a closed trail with no alternate route indicated. Familiar with Pack's road system, I knew that the branch to the right was a dead end, but also that the left option led down into an area of active logging. The only thing which saved me from having to turn around and go back the way I had come was the fact that the crew was working in another area. From the looks of things, Pack Forest may lose its "nice place to walk" status by the time the logging is done.

Bridges And Beavers

Day 120: Going 'round and 'round on the Tahoma Woods boundary trail is rather monotonous, but it is preferable to walking on the road. However, it's possible to change up the route a bit by taking another short path to the river. This trail is maintained by the students and staff of Columbia Crest School for the most part, although occasional anonymous Parkies will help out by clearing away easily moveable storm debris. It is one of a very few access points to the Nisqually along SR 706 and is not widely known. This bridge crosses a small boggy area fairly close to the end of the trail. Frogs can be found here occasionally, and today marked my first sighting of larger wildlife.

I'd gone to the river and was just climbing back up a staircase of roots when I heard something crashing through the brush. I checked up short, and a good thing I did, or an enormous beaver would have run me down. I am tempted to say that it was the largest beaver I've seen, but my estimate of its size might have been affected by proximity. We stood for a few seconds no more than six feet apart, equally surprised and making eye contact. I fumbled for the camera but was not quick enough on the draw. Beaver slid down a six-foot bank and with a few noisy slaps of its broad tail, submerged in a cloudy pool and was lost to sight.

A Lot Of Brass

Day 119: When my mother passed away, I added her Bells of Sarna to my own small selection. As you can see, the designs of each are unique (at least I hope I didn't put any duplicates in the display). Each one has a specific purpose. My mom could have told you the meanings and/or ceremonies associated with each of these, but unfortunately never wrote them down. The collection is normally suspended by decorative cords at the sides of two different doorways where in passing, I will bump into them unless I make a specific point to avoid them. I love hearing them ring.

Controlled Substances

Day 118: In the early 1900s, my maternal grandfather came out west to serve as the first pharmacist in a small pioneer community in northeastern Washington where he remained for several years before taking a schoolteacher to wife and relocating to a more established location. There, he set up a Rexall Drug Store where he spent the remainder of his working years. Even then, the sales of narcotics were controlled by the Federal Government, but such things as opium and cocaine were commonly prescribed by physicians, and pharmacists had only to obtain a license from the Internal Revenue Service to be allowed to sell them.

Snowdrop Surprise

Day 117: A detour onto an overgrown and muddy side trail turned up an interesting find today: a patch of snowdrops covering approximately ten square feet, densely packed in a central area and otherwise randomly dispersed amid moss and normal forest debris. My guess is that they are "volunteers," transported to their present location when a local homeowner cleared them out of a garden. Daffodils and narcissi are often dispersed in this fashion, so why not snowdrops? Since they are a non-native plant and are growing in what should be a "natural" area, I will feel no pangs of conscience when I return to the site with a trowel and a bag next autumn.

A Few Loose Marbles

Day 116: I may have a few loose marbles (3,838 to be precise), but no one can accuse me of having lost them. I keep them safely confined in an enormous jar and a metal tin. The collection weighs close to fifty pounds and includes both modern and vintage varieties. Don't you think this would make a wonderful 1000-piece jigsaw puzzle?

A Flock Of Bird's-Nests

Day 115: The Nidulariales are a fascinating family of tiny fungi which keen-eyed observers may find growing in many areas of Mount Rainier National Park. These were seen near Longmire. Like other fungi, they propagate by means of spores, but in the case of these Bird's-Nests, the spores are contained in capsules called peridioles. When the cups of the "nests" fill with rain, the peridioles float out to be deposited in new locations. Consequently, Bird's-Nest fungi are often seen in clusters, although this particular grouping is one of the most dense populations I have found. If you look closely at the photo, you can see free peridioles where they have come to rest on bare wood.

Lettuce Lung, Lobaria Oregana

Day 114: Take a deep breath. Where you find any of the "lung" lichens, you can be assured that the air is free of most pollutants. Although most members of this family prefer shady old-growth forest, they can be found in younger stands as well where they are popular forage food for deer and elk. Nitrogen-fixing cyanobacteria found in the cephalodia (small gall-like growths) of Lobaria species play a significant role in contributing to the overall health of a forest. Aren't lichens grand?

Prunes And Prisms

Day 113: I was only about four years old when my grandmother (a teacher in the early 1900s) explained to me that smiling was an affectation of the vulgar. "A proper young woman should never allow her teeth to be seen," she told me. "You must practice holding your mouth in a prim manner by repeating the words 'prunes' and 'prisms' several times throughout the day." Although I ignored this rather Victorian piece of advice for the most part, I did take to heart her counsel about not frowning or squinting. Today, I have but a few lines on my ancient forehead. In fact, my age shows primarily around my mouth, perhaps because I neglected those pert, proper prunes and prisms prescribed in Grandma's school of etiquette.

Laces

Day 112: How many ways are there to manipulate a piece of thread? When it comes to lace-making, there are more than you might think. This photo shows four of the most common lace-making techniques, and within each of these, there are numerous variations. From left to right, top to bottom, you see examples of crochet, bobbin lace, tatting and knit lace. Each is done with different tools, i.e., a hook, bobbins, a shuttle or double-pointed needles. In knitting and crochet, the stitches are made by drawing a loop through another loop. In bobbin lace, threads are simply crossed over one another. In tatting, half-hitches are formed over a base thread and snugged into place. By using different weights of thread, the lace may be made finer or coarser. Bobbin lace is generally done with very fine thread, and crochet uses the heavier materials with knitting and tatting falling somewhere in between. A good needleworker should never be bored, not with so many options available to keep her fingers flying.

SuperBowl Sunday

Day 111: I've never been much for watching sports. My idea of an athletic event involves active participation: running, distance hiking, snowshoeing. However, when I met my fishing buddy, I made a point of trying to learn enough about football that I could at least make intelligent conversation while sitting with him in front of a television set. It was a way to expand our friendship, even though I wasn't particularly interested in the game. Our local team was good enough to make the SuperBowl in 2006, but due to what is now generally regarded as a bad call, they lost to the Pittsburgh Steelers 21-10. On that day, I passed out of the ranks of "people who watch football" into the classification of "football fans," if only because I wanted to see the Seahawks avenged. Last February, I got my wish. I sat with Sande (now in his 90s) and watched the Hawks go to victory, flattening the Denver Broncos 43-8. I don't know if I was more pleased with the win, or with the fact that he got to see it happen.

This year, I've had several other invitations to watch the game with friends, but I declined them all to spend the day with him. Another year, I'll be happy just to watch good football played, no matter who wins, but today...today, it has to be the Hawks, for Sande's sake.