Mount Hood 2025 Part Two

    Our second day on Mount Hood, departing around 9 AM from the Withering Woods Resort in Welches, gave us the opportunity to put Mount Hood Meadows at the top of the list.  The gate at the ski resort, which opens into a huge parking lot, had a large sign saying that the lot was closed but that we were welcome to use the trails.  Seeing a line of parked cars up by the lodge, roughly one hundred yards away, we drove into the lot regardless of the warning and found a sign in the middle of the lot advertising events, such as wildflower walks that were to occur over the next few days.  And so we proceeded up to the line of cars near the lodge and parked.

Mount Hood Meadows  Summer butterfly parking up by the lodge!

    The lodge was locked, which only limited access to restrooms.   Back in the enormous parking lot, I found a nice young lady a few cars down the line.  She was preparing to go on a hike with her small terrier, showed me her prospective route on her cell phone and reinforced the idea that no one was going to bother our car.  

   Our newly found friend disappeared up a dirt road on the north edge of the lot and in a couple minutes Sandra and I headed that way.   This road was familiar to us.  About five years ago, when we were in our infancy as butterfly hunters, we successfully netted a Hoary Comma on the shoulder of this road only 100 yards in.  This is a magnificent butterfly, big and colorful with the oddly shaped wings distinctive to its ilk.  We didn't know what to do with it, so we attempted to take its picture inside a jar, which aided identification but was far from perfect.  Ever since then we have checked out this road, never with much success.

Blue Bells or similar, Mount Hood Meadows

   As we started up the road, we passed an Asian lady with four young children standing cheek by jowl in one of those plastic wagons that are now so common.  One of the children commented on our nets (she might have said, "What the f*** are they doing with the nets?) and as we walked away their mother  (I mean, why in God's green earth would you have four children in a wagon if they weren't your children?) was explaining about catching butterflies. 

   Enough with the F bombs.   Not too far up the dirt road, which, as we will see, is used for ski lift maintenance, we happened upon a patch of wildflowers.  Lo and behold, there was a fritillary butterfly in the flowers and I netted him.  The bag I pulled from my pocket was one of those soft green suckers that are designed to indicate organic vegetables.  They may decompose when allowed to molder with rotting vegetables, but it wasn't our intent to keep the butterfly in the bag so long that it started to rot.  So from that point, decomposing bags, we were probably OK.  Of course, these bags are more or less opaque, so we had little chance of identifying the butterfly by looking at the bag.  Note to self...bring clear bags.  

    Anyway, I stuffed our organic butterfly in my knapsack and we headed up the trail.  Up, in this instance, is the operative word.  This is Mount Hood, after all, and so it was natural that the road would involve elevation gain.  This is not a highly sought feature on the gerontology ward.  And, sadly, in the words of Garfield the Cat, we are beginning to resemble that remark.

Butterfly Watching in Style

    We saw a few birds, identifying some Pine Siskins.  And, at one point, a couple hundred yards up the road, we stopped to photograph some charming, blue, bell-shaped flowers.  These may very well be called blue bells. 

    At this point I owe you a confession.  I inadvertently left my phone charging on the bathroom counter
back at Withering Woods.  Hence, the pictures you see, like the Blue Bells here, were taken with Sandra's phone.  They are perfectly good photographs, so why should you care?  Well, a month or so ago I loaded Google Photos onto sweetie's phone and it conspired to overload her memory. Choosing to avoid the fuss, she had me remove Google Photos.  Thus, on this montane morning, my career as a budding botanist suffered a setback.  The Microsoft tool, which is what we are left with, is not nearly so precise as GP.  Hence, I think they are Blue Bells.  But who the f*** knows for sure.  Whoops.

    About this time we were passed by a nice young man toting a large camera and tripod and accompanied by a rambunctious dog.  Sandra was permitted to throw a stick for the frisky quadruped, making both her and Fido happy.  

Mormon Frit on Goldenrod, July,  Mount Hood Meadows

    As the man and the dog romped their way up the trail we heard a rumbling.  In short order we saw an approaching tractor.  We stepped out of the roadway and soon he was passing us, going downhill, with a trailer full of ski lift chairs in tow.  Sandra looked longingly after the trailer full of ski lift chairs.  Much like Toad in Wind in the Willows, having his Gypsy Cart upset by a passing motor car (or in this instance a ski lift repair tractor) my sweetie had a new desire, which was to go in the direction dictated by gravity.  

    "Poop, poop ,poop," said the Toad. 

    "Down, down, down." Said Sweet Sandra.

    As we descended, we stopped for a moment to enjoy a pair of Gray Jays cavorting in the spruce.  Had we come for bird watching this would have been more satisfying.  But for most of this hike, from the standpoint of flutterbies, we were bereft.

    Finally we made it to the spot where the road leveled out, with that patch of wildflowers where we had nabbed the hydaspe just ahead.  To our right, on the mauka side of the road, there was another patch of wildflowers, leaning heavily towards the dreaded Goldenrod.  Among those gilded blossoms I spied another hydaspe frit.  

Let's fly somewhere. Say Salt Lake City?

   Since I already had one in the organic vegetable bag, I borrowed the Sandraphone, and snapped a few pictures.  Isn't it amazing how a given butterfly can be so cooperative when they want to be?  If I do say so myself, these pictures turned out pretty darn good.  

    We admired our handiwork, completed our ramble in the woods and trudged across the enormous parking lot to the car.  Soon we were back at Withering Woods with our organic butterfly contemplating his sins in the refrigerator.  "If only Father O'Brien were here," I heard the butterfly mutter, "he would give me the wafer and the wine, my sins would be absolved, and I would merit a reprieve."

   As it was, sweetie wanted to take full advantage of the high life that Withering Woods might afford her.  Thus, after a few minutes and a short walk down a small parking lot, I found myself immersed in the hot tub.  There, up to my Adam's apple in hot water, I sat and listened to two gas bags discuss, at infinite length, the multiple strategies involved in getting the most out of time share points, memberships, ownerships and who gives a f***?  Now I knew how the butterfly felt.   

Hydaspe Fritillary, Mount Hood Meadows July 2025

    A short time later, after a well deserved nap, Sandra and I were looking at our pictures.  I should have said something really clever, like, "Do you hear the Angel Moroni's trumpet?"  But instead, we just got a little excited and forwarded the pictures to our Inquisitor back in Longview.   In short order, Caitlin gave us two heavenly words...Mormon Frit.  

   So that impulse back at Mount Hood Meadows had paid off big time.  And we could hardly wait to see what was in the organic vegetable bag.  Sadly, the organic butterfly had not yet consumed enough sacramental wine and wouldn't hold still for a picture.  This was a big mistake on his part.  He could have, after all, been released at Withering Woods.  But no!  

 His is recalcitrant behavior earned him a trip to the Vancouver, Washington laboratory. 

    It was just before lunch the following morning when our organic buddy emerged from the cooler.  He was a little floppy, but I barricaded him in and he sat for a great number of pictures.  In fact, after the José Jalapeño routine (on a stick) he allowed himself to be taken outside where, perched on a rhododendron leaf he posed for another half hour. 

Hydaspe Frit, Mount Hood Meadows Dorsal.

 

   The day before I had tallied our frits.  At first, I thought we had seen and photographed all the frits in our area in 2025.  After a while, however, I realized that we were missing the Coronis.  Rats!  So, in looking at these pictures, I was dwelling on all the white in the wings, both ventral and dorsal.  And this butterfly was a lot lighter than the hydaspe we had procured at Alpine, photographed and adjudicated as Hydaspe.  Obviously, there is an ocean of difference between chestnut brown and yellowish orange, the portion of the palette that Pyle and LaBar use to describe the dorsal Coronis.  As far as the ventral ground color goes, they say it is highly variable and location dependent. 

   It ain't for nothin' that the expert lepidopterist, Jeffrey Pippen, had Bob Pyle identify his frits when he butterflied Mt. Rainier. 

    Suffice it to say, we sent Cait numerous pictures, but she sent us only one answer:  all the pictures are Hydaspe Frit.  

    It's a fair jaunt from Timberline Lodge to Mount Hood Meadows, 17 miles and a combined elevation loss and gain of about 4500 feet taking over half an hour by Mr. Toad's motor car.    In actual miles, say as the gray jay might fly, it's less than three miles.  At that altitude three miles gets you about a quarter of the way around the mountain, from a southern exposure to an eastern.  It's sort of interesting how much difference we found between our two Hydapspe frits. found so close together on the mountain.   As for the Coronis, there is always next year.

jeff

A summer Sojourn on Mount Hood

    This week Sandra and I went butterfly hunting on Mount Hood. 

    The first day started at the Government Camp rest area.  Earlier in the year, we discovered that this rest area was a great place for spring butterflies.  It sits on a man-made shelf at the foot of a ski slope, receiving drainage from Mount Hood, which peers down at you from over a ridge a mile or so uphill.  This seeping water supports a variety of plants, which in turn attract our friends, the butterflies.  I took a hike up the slope of the Summit ski area, enjoying the wildflowers, which near the end of July included some asters and a generous sprinkling of yarrow, but were carpeted mostly with goldenrod.    In fact, I took a picture of that appropriately named wildflower (along with the yarrow) and let Google Lens add them to my botanical armamentarium.  With the right technology, you too can be a botanist!

Goldenrod, Government Camp, July 2025

     At 9:45 it was apparently too early for butterflies at Government Camp, so Sandra and I headed up to Alpine Campground. just below Timberline Lodge at 5,500 feet.  As we got there, we encountered the fuzz.  In this case the Clackamas County Sheriffs, who were manning a traffic stop to provide access for construction vehicles.  Unimpeded we slipped into our roadside stop at the campground.  

    As we walked across the highway we could hear some banging up slope.  Soon we were on the gated dirt road leading to my private alpine meadow.  We were greeted there by a field of asters, yarrow and goldenroad surrounded by a spruce forest.  We walked across this little piece of paradise and were greeted by a killer view of the mountain. And our first butterfly! 

    I netted this pilgrim with ease.  No surprises, he was a California Tortoiseshell.  Two years ago this species was a much sought after addition to our list.  This year the Cali Torts are super common.  Not only that, but we have an excellent picture taken in the campground across the highway from a couple months ago.  And so, as we walked back down the road, having encountered nothing else except a song sparrow,  we opened the vegetable bag and released him.  Noblesse oblige in the extreme.

   

    As we neared the highway we did a double take.  Ten feet from our car was a large truck.  It was pulling one long trailer supporting a junior sized cherry picker.  And following that, a really long trailer with the remails of a corrugated steel building was resting somewhat precariously on the long bed.  If things got loose, our poor car wouldn't have a chance! 

Yarrow Government Camp July 2025

   We then repaired into the campground where we found a shady spot for an early lunch.  While we sat in air-conditioned comfort, a pair of brown creepers flew into an adjacent spruce.  Brown creepers are small, striped gray and brown.  Were it not for them being extremely busy, probing the bark with their strong curved bills, these little birds would be difficult to see.  Sandra wanted to take a picture, but how do you capture busy-ness in a still photo?

  After lunch, we moved the car to a sunnier spot.  There I saw a butterfly fluttering in some low bushes, recognized it as a Lorquin's Admiral, and netted him.  Although this is a good year for the admiral at Dougan Falls, it was a surprise to find one at this altitude; it was the first time we had seen one on Mount Hood.  When we put the list together for our exhibit, "The Butterflies of Mount Hood" this guy was left off the list.  Caitlin had vetted that list, but when we presented her with the picture you see here, she apparently changed her mind.

   Around noon we moved our car to a shady spot near the entrance, from which we looked across the small meadow one sees from the highway.  Under a bright blue sky there were purple asters and golden goldenrod.  Husky Heaven.  And there were a few butterflies working the wildflowers.  

Lorquin's Admiral, Alpine Campground, July 2025

   I grabbed my net and went for one near the car.  I got a good look, it looked like a hydaspe,   As I failed with my net, I felt my larynx start to tighten.   I coughed a little as I went back to the car.   From that vantage I could see some action on the far side of the meadow, so I said to Sandra, who was enjoying air-conditioned comfort while watching my antics, "I'll just walk across the meadow and then we'll go."

    By the time I'd walked ten yards through the flowers, I was coughing.  A couple more steps and I was struggling to get a breath through my tightening larynx.  "Is this where it ends?"  I thought, "in a purple and gold meadow in the middle of nowhere, light years away from any medical care?"

    Well, I took my time, captured a few slow breaths, and made it back to the car.  And when I got there, the frit was once again nearby, and this time I got him!  In the bag, in the Kimmy bag along with the admiral.  Serves him right. 

   For those of you who are wondering, goldenrod is not a remarkable allergen (according to google).  It is related to ragweed, but does not throw its pollen into the air.  So, I do not know who the pollen spewing culprit might have been.

Hydaspe Frit, Sandra's hand, Alpine July 2025

     In ten minutes we were back to the Government camp rest area.  I had high hopes, but all we got were more California Tortoiseshells.  Too many tortoiseshells to count.  Right by the parking area and nothing but tortoiseshells in the meadow. 

    The tourists were amusing though.  There was one granny who could not stop exclaiming about the beauty of the tortoiseshells.  And an older guy, seeing my net explained that he was heading for a lake where he was going to catch dragonflies.  I've never known a dragonfly enthusiast, but apparently, they are out there.

    This mini-vacation involved a couple nights at a resort at the foot of the mountain in Welches.  After our nap, we attempted to take pictures of our prizes.  Earlier in the morning we had collected some wood for props and we placed a piece on a bed by one of the fluffy pillows.  First up was the Lorquin's Admiral.  He wasn't quite still, but in the process of perusing his stick he mamaged to pose for the picture you see here. He then took wing and flew under the bed.  

    The hydaspe was next up.  He was even more awake.  We got a shot on Sandra's hand, but no way was he going to pose on the stick.   So he went back in the fridge where he could contemplate his sins and, perhaps, wonder why he ever thought spending the summer at Timberline was such a good idea. 

Let me outta here!

    One of the sage tidbits of advice in The Butterfly's Guide to the Galaxy is that a butterfly in a room will always fly into a window and sure enough.  After ten minutes, we were able to return to the bedroom where my versatile sweetie nabbed the admiral, took him outside and off he went,  

   Now we had pictures, It was at this juncture that Caitlin LaBar looked at our Lorquin's Admiral and said that she wasn't surprised he was at Alpine Campground.  "They are well known at mid-montane elevations." she said.  "Mid-montane!" I fumed, "They don't call it Alpine for nothing!"  She went on to note that this was a darker morph, one she has seen only a couple of times.  So that was something.  Look carefully and note the dark chocolate band .  It really is different, although this does not make it a different species. 

    And the Hydaspe was expected.  Ho hum.  Would our second day on the mountain yield something we could impress her with?