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.
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| 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?
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| 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.
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| 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.
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| 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!
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| 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
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