Weed Warrior

Day 176: It's National Citizen Science Month, and I'm out there doing my part to control invasive species in a challenge issued by the PNWIPC (Pacific Northwest Invasive Plant Council). Yesterday's project turned into a foxglove pull before I'd ridden half a mile on the east end of the Foohills Trail. Digitalis is only in the rosette stage at this point, and the ground is still moist enough that the plants come up fairly easily even where the soil is compacted. I pulled what I could (the others being too numerous or stoutly defended by nettles). This extension of the Foothills Trail opened a few years ago, but this was the first opportunity I'd had to ride it to its terminus at the White River.

Connected At Last!

Day 131: I don't really enjoy walking on paved bike trails, but I was willing to make an exception for the new section of the Foothills Trail which runs from South Prairie north to connect with a formerly isolated portion which then takes you into Buckley. This particular stretch, roughly three miles long, has been held up in negotiation with adjacent private property owners for at least thirty years. Last year, the final permissions were granted and the trail was at long last completed. Since I was in the area today, I decided to assault it on foot. There was nothing botanically remarkable alongside the path, good or bad (I always have an eye out for invasives), except a few half-open Indian Plum flowers, but multiple bridged river crossings made for a refreshing and scenic walk. I wasn't quite sure where I was when I decided to turn around, so I marked it by GPS and mapped it when I got home. Yep, I'd stopped right where it connected with the old trail down from Buckley. I'd linked up, just as I'd hoped.

Rana Catesbeiana, Bullfrog

Day 164: As much as I love the froggy folk, I find it difficult to say anything nice about Rana catesbeiana, the Bullfrog which is outcompeting native frogs in a rapidly growing number of ponds and wetlands in the Pacific Northwest. This exotic ("non-native") species is easily identified by its large tympanum (eardrum), as large or larger than the eye. Color can be quite variable, brown to brownish-green, green, or in some cases, even blue. In size, Bullfrogs can measure up to 150 mm. from snout to vent. The female is capable of laying up to 6000 eggs in a single season. Native to the eastern portion of the US, Rana catesbeiana is considered a problematic invasive in Washington.

Spring Song

Day 143: Melospiza melodia...Song Sparrow...he wears a tie tack in the center of his breast, but if you hear him sing, you won't need to note any other identifying feature. His clear, liquid notes come like a chorus of bells from thickets of willow and wild roses. You may not see this little singer, but there is no mistaking his voice. Plain though his colors may be, his song is one of the loveliest sounds of spring.

A Credit To The Builder

Day 142: I first noticed this cozy nest late last autumn after the leaves had begun to wither. Of course by then, its summer occupants had moved away, but even given the untidy look of the neighborhood, it was plain that the structure had been well-kept during their tenancy. What had attracted them to this particular spot? Was it the protection the blackberry and salmonberry vines afforded, so close to the edge of the Foothills Trail? Certainly, grocery shopping would have been convenient whether the residents preferred berries or bugs; both were available in the bog just beyond the door.

It surprised me to find this nest still intact yesterday. Although the mild winter might have been a factor, I am more inclined to believe that it was the care and exactitude of the builders which were responsible for its longevity. A single-use residence, this painstakingly constructed and lovely home will be allowed to fall into ruin, I could not pass it by without some acknowledgement of its beauty.

Black-Capped Chickadee, Poecile Atricapillus

Day 141: I do envy the people who say, "Oh, the Chickadees are so tame here! They'll come right down and sit on your hand." Any Chickadee I've met during my ramblings in field and forest has been flighty, jumpy, and impossible to photograph, and I've spent hours trying to get a decent shot of one. Today, I had three in a group at Warbler Bridge (Foothills Trail). As soon as my eye fell on this elusive avian quarry among the tangle of limbs, the birds would leap to another branch or disappear into a thicket altogether. They also seem to know how to use the sun to good advantage. As I would maneuver myself into position so that they weren't in silhouette, they'd hop ahead of me again, always keeping the sun in my eyes as I searched for them. I did finally manage a few shots, although they're certainly not field-guide quality. One of these days, you little stinkers...one of these days, I'll catch you when you're not looking!

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.

Foothills Trail Walk

Day 107: The town of Orting lies in the path of prediction: sooner or later, Mount Rainier is going to turn loose a lahar which inundates the valley. When it will happen is anyone's guess, but as the climate grows warmer and warmer, the likelihood of the event increases. However, given a sixty-degree January day, who could pass up the opportunity to walk or ride the Foothills Trail? I elected to go by foot from downtown to the wetland interpretive site 4.5 miles east in the full knowledge that I could never outrun a mudflow if the Mountain chose to send one down the Carbon River. It's not that I am in denial of the hazard; it has not happened in my lifetime, so I'm playing the odds. That it could happen is never far from my mind, but that it would happen "on my shift" is a chance I'm willing to take. Like the residents of this valley, I just don't believe it will be today.

Eagle Day

Day 91: With something close to spring-like weather today, I opted to take a nine-mile walk on the Foothills Trail in lieu of a shorter local walk and second session on the exercise bike. Thick fog lay over Orting at the start of my hike, but dissipated over the first hour to reveal beautiful blue skies. As I approached the landmark I call the Warbler Bridge, I noticed two Bald Eagles perched in a tall cottonwood. Eagles are a fairly common sight along most western Washington rivers, but over my last several walks along the Carbon, they have seemed substantially more abundant than usual. Common or not, they are still a spectacular sight, and this fellow appeared to be taking advantage of the sun to warm his wings. The second bird was perched just below and to the left of him. I snapped several photos before continuing on to my turn-around point at the South Prairie Wetland interpretive area, but the eagles didn't budge an inch in the time I was gone. I was glad they were still there. I got better photos on the second shooting.

My Bicycle And Me

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

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

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

It's All Der Pollen In De Air

Day 168: It's dat time of year again, da time when all der pollen in de air makes my eyes water and my nose run. Red Alder (Alnus rubrum) is the current culprit, soon to be followed by Douglas Fir, the primary tree species in the Pacific Northwest. It's a hell of a note for someone as outdoorsy as I am to be allergic to the woods but fortunately, my allergies aren't severe. In fact, it usually takes me a couple of weeks to make the connection between irritated eyes and the blush of color on the Alders. My reaction to Doug Fir is a little more radical. Standing at the end of my carport, Big Doug powders my car with yellow dust which then works its way into the air recirculating system. A trip to town will have me scratching at my face and sneezing unless I remember to drive with the windows open for the first few miles. A few weeks of taking a mild antihistamine will get me through the spring season, and then I won't have another bout until the grasses bloom at the end of summer. For now, though, it's just Alder pollen in de air. No need to buy Kleenex stock just yet!

Indian Plum, Oemleria Cerasiformis

Day 156: A true harbinger of Spring, Indian Plum is one of the first shrubs to flower here in western Washington, emerging shortly after the early pussywillows have turned yellow and just before Skunk Cabbage heads poke up in the bogs. Also known as Osoberry, the astringent fruits were mixed with oolichan grease by native peoples to make a local version of pemmican. There is very little flesh in the fruit which resembles chokecherry to some degree. Ripe berries are dusty purple in color. The flower has a peculiar and not altogether pleasant scent, and the shrub seldom exceeds 15 feet in height.

Farmall 130

Day 137: Much of the Foothills Trail passes through farmland, and just east of Orting, it passes by what is either a junk yard or a cattle farm or a combination of the two. A wide variety of old vehicles and equipment is parked beside the barn and fence, everything from a "honey wagon" to decrepit semis, hay rakes, cultivators and a few hulk cars. There's a Farmall tractor near the barn, too far away for a decent picture even if I could isolate it from the junk surrounding it, a big tractor like you'd expect to see working in the field. Today, something "new" (and I use the word in the sense of "newly observed") caught my eye as I was walking: the smallest Farmall I have ever seen, just my size. Rusty, missing more pieces than it possessed, it still struck a chord with me. My daddy drove a Farmall. My memories of it are vague and largely stimulated by photographs taken before I was born, but I do recall riding on his lap one sunny afternoon, the dust and scent of dry hay rising around us in a cloud. There's a soft spot in my heart for these old red tractors, regardless of their size or condition (or perhaps because of it). Like a stray kitten, if this worn and weary waif followed me home, I'd find a spot where it could sleep in comfort and give it the love it deserves.

Neighborhood Watch

Day 116: If you travel the Foothills Trail east from Orting, about two miles from town, you'll find a large grassy area rimmed by 2 x 4 fencing topped by three strands of barbed wire, and posts which bear warning signs varying from "Keep Out" to "Don't feed the animals" and "If I don't call the police, my neighbor will." Clearly, the property owner means business, but nine times out of ten, the open space seems empty of any life larger than a bug. However, if you're lucky, you'll discover what the signs protect...

No, I've said that all backwards. If you're lucky, you'll discover what protects the signs.

You see, this is an emu farm. I've never seen more than three emus in it at any one time. Most times, there's only one. Bicyclists and walkers often stop to take pictures of the enormous birds, but must be careful not to venture too close to the fence. Emus are not known for their sunny dispositions. This fellow was feeling decidedly territorial today, and chased me back from my position at the wires by running toward me with clear intention to attack. Even though I had retreated to the trail twenty feet away, he kept pacing the boundary, following me whether I moved left or right. With a little fancy dancin', I was able to shift him over to his job description. This is one "Neighborhood Watch" you don't want to mess with!

Swamp Witches

Day 245 (bonus edition): I can't resist posting this shot from yesterday's bike ride. It makes me feel like I was dropped into a Russian fairy tale and Baba Yaga is lurking in the woods. The pool is one of many alongside the Foothills Trail between Orting and South Prairie. This one in particular also reminds me of a Mangrove swamp. The trees are Cottonwoods and Alders, though, and the pool dries up almost entirely by the end of the season. Still, these Swamp Witches do their voodoo and enchant me every time I pass by.

Open Hostility

Today as I was sitting by one of my favorite wetlands along the Foothills Trail, I was casting about for photographic subjects and in the tail of my eye, caught a flurry of wings and a dive-bombing streak. I looked up and saw a Great Blue Heron perched at the top of an old snag about twenty feet high and a Red-Winged Blackbird devilling the daylights out of him. There were actually two male Red-Wings working together. One bird would dive for the Heron's head, permitting its companion in the assault to approach from behind to land on the big bird's back or stubby tail. The Heron stood its ground for a good fifteen minutes, remaining motionless under the savage attacks save for stretching its neck and raising its beak. Finally, it gave up. One Blackbird immediately occupied the perch and announced its dominance with rapidly repeated calls. If you look closely, you can see where the cap of the Heron's wing has been bloodied by repeated peckings. I was fortunate to make this capture of the Red-Wing in full display.