Central Oregon 2023, Butterflies Birds and More! Part 1

          Last week Sandra and I took our annual sojourn to Central Oregon to look for butterflies.  This was paired with a family vacation, so although we spent some quality time in the out of doors, we were incarcerated with a pair of raging beasts for at least an equal period.  

A Mother Merganser and Her Ten Ducklings Ply the Deschutes

     We blasted out of Portland, made the uphill turn at the Dalles and arrived at Sherar's Bridge on the Deschutes a bit after 10 AM.  This is the spot where we had such terrific luck a month before and we were both excited about the prospect of another puddle party at our favorite  sandy boat launch.

    As we stepped out of the car a mother merganser and her family of ducklings scuttled across the river, which made for a nice picture.  Who among us doesn't like baby ducks? 

A Tiger Swallowtail makes a touch and go on the mud.

   But as far as butterflies go, the short answer was virtually nothing.  A few Tiger Swallowtails made touch and go landings, but nothing else wanted a piece of that nutritious mud.  An Ochre Ringlet teased us in the grass nearby, but there were no other butterflies.  Not only that, but the parasitic wasps, upon which I was determined to make my reputation as the bad boy of Northwest Entomology,  were not in the hackberry bush.  Reputation denied!  

    As we sat stewing in the BOT-mobile, a pair of fishermen arrived to launch their inflatable into the rushing river.  They were a friendly sort, and like virtually everyone we meet, they were very accepting of our pursuit of butterflies.  As they were now occupying the boat launch for what I must concede was its intended purpose, we bid each other good luck and Sandra and I headed down the Deschutes.  

   Our only fruitful stop, from the standpoint of lepidoptera, was a campground about three miles further down river from our favored boat launch.  There were a few things flying, and in one of the stream side willows I took a poor photograph of a Dark Wood Nymph.  This blurry picture served a purpose, in that to identify the species one must compare the oculi on the ventral forewing.  In this case the top bullseye is larger than the one below.  Tick it off.

    On the way back to the car we spotted a couple butterflies lounging in the dusty grass and succeeded in netting one.  This was to be our single trophy on the day.  Later we had a chance to cool and photograph what turned out to be a female Sagebrush Checkerspot.  I suppose I should be proud for identifying this on my own (Caitlin LaBar confirmed the ID) for this is one drab butterfly.  I mean, how did she expect to attract a mate without the tiniest hint of make up?  Perhaps we did her a favor by taking her to Sun River where she could shop with the glitterati for a more stylish outfit! 

  

   By comparison, the male Sagebrush Checkerspot is a real clothes horse.  You will recall that we photographed this foppish butterfly on the aforementioned boat launch a few weeks earlier.  If this drab female is too depressing, I suggest that you refer back to the previous blog for a peek at the resplendent male.  

  Figuring that the fishermen must be well on their way down the Deschutes, Sandra and I made our way upstream to the boat launch.  When we arrived there was nothing doing, so we pulled into the shade and enjoyed a bite to eat.  Sandra then wandered down by the river while I searched for birds in the vicinity of the wasp-less hackberry bush.

   And as in uffish thought I stood / An ungulate with eyes aflame, / Came wandering 'pon the rimrock ridge, / and nibbled as it came.

My First Bighorn Sheep, Sherar's Bridge 2023

    And what was this strange large beast?  "Sandra!" I called out, ""You better get up here.  There's some large animal on the ridge!"

    By the time she got to me, the one had been joined by two more.  The trio were at least a quarter mile almost straight up, but so large were they that it took my sweetie but a trice to spy them.  We traded off the binoculars and I used the telephoto to its best advantage in getting the pictures you see here.  

    As we watched, more animals emerged.  Moving in a leisurely fashion, nibbling at the dry grass, they wandered from left to right.  As they did so, more appeared, including two or three kids.  These large, bulky ungulates has swept back horns, not particularly large, certainly not curling around like Princess Leia's coiffure.  Never the less, I was fairly sure that these were Bighorn Sheep.  They certainly weren't Mountain Goats, or domestic goats, for that matter.  And they were big, with bulky white hind quarters, the better to announce their presence.  

A pair of bighorns high up on the rimrock.

     "How many species of large hoofed mammals roam the high desert of Oregon, anyway?" I asked in my most uffish soto voce.

    So how many butterflies do you trade for a flock of Bighorn Sheep?  Especially if it is the first time you have seen this species?  Not just in the wild, mind you, but maybe anywhere.  Is there a Bighorn Sheep in the Desert Museum in Tucson, which I visited thirty five years ago?  If so, my aging memory was unable to pull it up. The Portland Zoo, where Sandra and I are members, has Mountain Goats and Black bears, but no bighorns. 

   

 And so, as Sandra and I made our way down U.S. 97 on a glorious summer afternoon, past Mount Jefferson, the Three Sisters, through Madras, Redmond and Bend, we had something delightful to discuss.  A whole family of Bighorn Sheep! 

A Bighorn Family High on the Rimrock.

 

     Stay tuned for our next installment.  We promise a few more butterflies and other delights in the offing.

jeff

 

 

 

 

 

 

A Visit with Chris Marshall

Realkrit's Blue Butterfly, Utah 2023  photo Bob Hillis

   Recently my compañero, Sr Roberto Hillis, queried regarding the use of  a net, from a philosophical standpoint. in the pursuit of Lepidotera.   He had just spent over an hour taking a picture of a small, elusive butterfly,  Realkrit's Blue, and was wondering how we felt about the use of nets in pursuit, identification and photography of butterflies. Before going on, I gotta tell ya that Bob is seeing some killer shit in the Rocky Mountains. I mean, who has ever heard of Realkrit or his obscure (by West Coast standards) little blue butterfly?   Bob and Kim have invited all of us to join them in St. George, Utah next May for a butterfly extravaganza.  Let's get ready to party!

   Bob Pyle is the leading lepidopterist in the Pacific Northwest.  Despite the fact that he lives in the middle of nowhere, miles and miles from any institution of higher learning, the academics from around the country, not just here in Oregon and Washington, defer to him.  Keeping in mind that he is not intimately associated with a collection, one should, I suppose, accept his position on the taking of butterflies for identification and photography. 

Robert M. Pyle, the Dean of Lepidoptery

   Bob Pyle says, " Compared to habitat destruction the taking of a single butterfly is insignificant."  Or to put it another way, it is just fine for Bob Hillis to net that butterfly, take it home and cool it, take its picture and release it, knowing fully well that it is not going make it back to the spot where it was captured.  Adios amigo.

   Sandra and I have collected butterflies for photography a few times, but now that we have a better camera,  we sometimes find ourselves taking the camera into the field and leaving the net sitting on the floor of the back seat.  At least here in the PNW,  photographing butterflies in situ is a sport unto itself.   And with the right equipment its not too difficult ...most of the time.  

    Of course, if we are going on a hike, we take a net or two, two sets of binoculars and two cameras.  Thus, we are ill prepared for netting if a strange  butterfly zips by.  We are taking better pictures, but, as you will see, we are missing out on some identifications.  And as a final philosophical caveat, I hate killing things, so maybe this is OK.

   A situation like this came up yesterday.  It was a cloudy day, but it was the day we had, so we wandered up to Dougan Falls.  We got there a bit before noon.   It was cloudy, breezy and the thermometer in the car said it was 63 degrees outside.

The Western Meadow frit, Dougan Falls, June 2023

  Our fist two stops yielded no butterflies.  Luckily, as we waited at our favorite spot, the sun came out, and things started to move.  I spotted a Western Meadow Frit on a pile of dirt.  He cooperatively flew to a thimble berry leaf where he flattened out and pirouetted until his wings were in the perfect position to catch some rays.  
 

   He was a happy little sun bather and I had the camera handy.  At my leisure I took a pretty good picture.No net required. 

  Then, from across the gravel road, Sandra hailed me.  She had a small dark butterfly and together we chased it down the road until it flew into the forest.  We stopped for a moment and then she said, "Look, there's one right around you!"  And indeed this little black bug was circling me.  I got a pretty good look for a couple seconds at this small flying insect.  The nets were in the car, so we had no opportunity to capture it.  Of course, it flew into the forest, preventing photography.  I then retrieved the net and waited for ten minutes, standing in the road with my butterfly net, looking like a refugee from the local mental institution, but no more little black butterflies appeared. 

Clodius Parnassian, Dougan Falls 2023

   Playing the sour grapes card, Sandra wanted to write it off as a moth.  It was chubby, all right, but I think it was a skipper, possibly a duskywing, of which their are two species on the wing at this time of year in Skamania County.  Its debatable whether we would have successfully netted this fast flier, but as it was we never got a chance to try. 

   The sun continued to go in and out and we were treated to another hour of butterflies.  There were lots of tiger swallowtails and Lorquin's Admirals.   And at one point we were visited by two or three Clodius Parnassians, one of which did somewell positioned  nectaring, so I could snap this picture.  Look carefully and you can see the cherry red dot peaking out under the right forewing. 

    We've already brought these butterflies home, chilled them and taken some excellent pictures, so there was no reason for any netting.  Suffice it to say, their little ghosts  linger over my guilty conscience. 

   Which brings me to the next part of the story...  Last Wednesday Sandra and I visited the Insect Museum at Oregon State University in Corvallis.   We had been invited, after a fashion, by Paul Hammond, who is the bull goose Lepidopterist at that fine institution of higher learning.  We sort of wandered in unannounced, and were pleasantly surprised to be greeted by a friendly giant wearing a necktie.  

   This well dressed colossus introduced himself as Chris Marshall, the curator of the insect museum at OSU.    We talked about butterflies and he was regretful that Paul Hammond wasn't in.  It remains to be seen if Paul would have shared this sentiment or Chris's cordiality.  We looked at his exhibits in the hallway and we talked about me donating a paper mache butterfly to the Insect Museum.  I don't know which was cooler, the weather outside or Chris's reception to my offer.  Actually, he was very nice and we may send him a butterfly just to see what he does with it.  

  Later in our visit he told us of  a convocation that OSU holds each October in which people interested in butterflies convene at Cordley Hall to share their experiences.  There are academics, talented amateurs like our dear Caitlin LaBar, and a variety of other characters.  Chris mentioned one gentleman who, at this gathering, sells jewelry made from butterfly wings.  

    Chris kept saying that he had to get back to work, but made no strong effort to shoo us along,.  I asked for a picture and he went to one of the large metal cabinets in which the butterflies are kept, brought out a tray and posed with Sandra.  Count if you can, the butterflies in that tray, then multiply it by several thousand, for there were so many rows of these large metal cabinets.  Do you remebber Carl Sagan ,the astronomer, saying, "billions and billions and billions?"  Such is the infinite number of deceased butterflies in the museums around our United States. 

   While he allowed that he, too, doesn't like to kill anything, I got the distinct impression that Chris thinks its just fine to catch and preserve insects.   

The Redoubtable SKG meets the Colossus

   Chris and I looked through a few drawers, attempting to find the butterfly from Malaysia named for Pierre Lorquin.  I saw some beautiful butterflies, but not the right one, and finally it was time to go. 

   While this was interesting in its own way,  and perhaps a little depressing, I hope it gives Bob Hillis  a perspective on the loss of one butterfly from the environment.  So let's lift up our chins, do what we can to protect the diversity of host plants and enjoy the miracle that God has given us in the fascinating multitude of insects.

jeff

A chilled Lorquin's Admiral gives his all as a model.

   

   

The Skippers of Klickitat Canyon

    Roughly speaking, there are two groups of butterflies.  The Papilionoidae, also known as scudders, and the Heperiidae, known commonly as skippers.  No one uses the name scudders, but all insect watchers know what skippers are. These are the lesser butterflies.  They tend to be smaller, less colorful and are built around stout bodies.  If one is building a list of the butterflies he has seen, he definitely wants to identify the skippers; they count as species on the list.  But if you are just sitting around browsing the field guide, it is unlikely that you will pick a skipper as your target species for your next adventure in the field.

Two Banded Checkered Skipper, May 2023

   A month ago at Dougan Falls, we were watching the profusion of Echo Azures when I noticed a small butterfly, nectaring on dandelions,  that I initially thought might be the female echo.  It was reminiscent of Metalmark, but it was tiny.  That evening it was identified as a Two Banded Checkered Skipper.  So you see, like it or not, those skippers creep onto your list.   

   Recently we asked our mentor, Caitlin LaBar, about Klickitat Canyon, one of her favorite sites relatively close to Vancouver.  She gave us instructions and we got all excited to go.  And then, as we researched the butterflies we might see,  we discovered that the specialties of the area were skippers.  There were three species of skippers, the  Propertius and Pacuvius Duskywings, and the Northern Cloudywings.  Cloudywings, duskywings? Sounds downright gloomy, doesn't it? But by the time we had fully appreciated the skipper situation we were excited for a walk in Klickitat Canyon and the trip was on.

Pacuvius Duskywing, male Klickitat Canyon May 2023

   The day we picked was cool and a strong wind was blowing in the gorge as we made our turn off Highway 14 at the Lyle trialhead.  We had been directed to a portion of the trail roughly ten miles up the Klickitat and we enjoyed views of the rushing stream as we drove on an excellent road.   

    We disembarked a bit after 10 AM and, encumbered with a net, binocs and cameras, we headed down the Klickitat.  This area is far enough east, that Garry Oaks are the mainstay of the riparian forest.  It is far from coincidental that the duskywings require the oak leaf litter for "hibernal sites", and according to Bob Pyle, the range of the Propertious coincides almost exactly with that of Garry Oaks.

Propertius Duskywith female. nectaring.

    As many of you know I spent two and a half decades in Salem, Oregon, where Garry Oaks form the backbone of the forest. The official flower of Salem, however, is the poison oak.   One Christmas, early in our tenure there, I contracted poison oak while cutting the family tree.  It was an unforgettable experience and I became an expert at identifying this annoying shrub.  But despite my caution, I managed to get poison oak a couple more times. Thusly indoctrinated, I was immediately cognizant of the lush growth of poison oak just off the trail.

   Luckily, the skippers were all over the place and posed on rocks, flowers and in the leaf litter.  So cooperative were these insects that it wasn't necessary to chase them into the forest.   We got many pictures and Caitlin verified that we recorded both of these extremely similar species.  When it came down to it, I found these duskywings to be rather attractive, in a conservative, subdued sort of way.  As you will notice, there is considerable sexual dimorphism in the duskywings. The Norhthern Cloudywing, which we missed, is a seriously dull bug, described by Pyle and LaBar as "muddy dark brown".    

Propertius Duskywing chilling in the oak leaf litter. 

   As the morning progressed, we were graced with a myriad of tiger and anise swallowtails, numerous ochre ringlets, and a few Lorquin's Admirals.  It was really quite delightful. 

jeff

Sandra found an Oak Tent Caterpillar!