Captain Clark Park, Butterflies, Birds and Bathers

    Yesterday Sandra and I wanted to go look for butterflies but didn't want to go for a long drive.  We chose an excursion to Captain Clark Park at Cottonwood Beach, which lies in front of the industrial area known as the Port of Washougal.  This might be a little confusing if you think of a port as the place where boats come and take stuff away.  In this instance, trucks and trains come and take stuff away, the only boats are little run abouts and jet skis that launch somewhere else and make it to the park. 

A male Yellowthroat sings for his supper.

 

     As one enters the park, he is obliged to walk on a trail that traverses a moist cottonwood forest.  So moist that util about the middle of may it is a swamp based on the level of the nearby Columbia River.   Beside the trail there are stands of stinging nettles, which theoretically might harbor Vanessa butterfly caterpillars.  We have never seen Red Admirals or Painted Ladies on these nettles, but it doesn't stop us from hoping.  

    Yesterday was no different, and we traversed the swamp without encountering any butterflies and found ourselves a picnic table in the shade of some river front cottonwoods.  A grassy strip with shelters for dining extends about a mile here, with the cottonwood swamp backing the land side and cottonwoods stretching along the Columbia.  And the Columbia rolls on, just like it says in the song. 

    It didn't take long before we saw some Tiger Swallowtails.  These magnificent, if common, butterflies nectar on blackberry blossoms and use cottonwood as one of their host plants.  They are ideally suited to Captain Clark Park.

   Having accomplished all the lepidoptery that was likely to brighten that afternoon, I walked across the greensward and had a pleasant conversation with a gentleman who was amusing himself by chipping golf balls into the blackberry vines.  This may seem like an odd way to pass the time, but I suppose people say the same thing about those of us who watch butterflies and birds.  Such odd ducks!

A very yellow Bullock's Oriole enjoys the spring sunshine.

   While I was in the vicinity of the woods, I heard a bird call that struck a primal chord.  Was it a Yellowthroat?  I pished at some marsh grass that was shaking suspiciously and out flew a tiny warbler, landing on a low branch of a maple tree that someone must have planted in the past.  The male Yellowthroat looked at me, gave a fine concert of chirps and then flew up into the tree.  

   I went to retrieve my beloved who was enjoying her lunch at the shaded table.  None of our tricks could lure the yellowthroat down for more viewing.  But while she was waiting for me to finish my pishing and squeaking and whistling like a demented screech owl, Sandra spotted a large yellow bird about 40 yards off in a bare alder.  We looked at it and discovered that it was a Bullock's Oriole.  Now, we know that the ornithologists have lumped the west and east coast birds, but the plumage is definitely different and Baltimore and Bullock's sound so much more interesting than Northern Oriole.  Don't you think?

Orange and black is the bomb.

    You will note that we said this was a yellow bird.  One tends to think of the male of this species as being orange.  If nothing else, think of the baseball cap worn by such greats as Cal Ripken and Jim Palmer.  Of course, in the case of Jim Palmer you would be forgiven if you remembered him modeling men's underwear.  But he was a great pitcher and regardless of what was underneath, he donned the orange and black when it came time to strike out Yankees and Red Soxes. And Elaine Benes!  She wore the cap in Steinbrenner's box, right?  I always had a thing for Elaine.  And that Oriole on her cap was orange. 

     Anyway, at first glance, it really looked to be on the yellow side.  No doubt about what he was, however.  Elaine's favorite bird. Eye line, white wing patches and all. 

A Yellow Warbler on a spring morning.

   Before the male oriole could fly away, we saw a small yellow bird fly into a neighboring alder.  Now this was a very small bird and fairly far away, but with the binoculars Sandra and I both got a good look at a breeding male Yellow Warbler.  Realizing it could be a Wilson's Warbler, I made sure he didn't have a black cap.  And then I did my best to imagine the red streaks on his breast. 

    

     So here we had three fine feathered friends endemic to the swampy woodlands of the west.  Not too bad for standing virtually in the same spot for twenty minutes! 

    I hope you enjoy my AI renditions of these encounters.  As I'm not as skillful with a camera as some of my compatriots, I've found that I can recreate these avian encounters pairing good observations of the  plants and animals with accurate AI prompts. Its fun for me, that's for sure.  And it keeps me out of the bars.  In the case of actual photographs, the place and date will be noted/ 

Pats are nice, but a salami sandwich would hit the spot.

    The bird action came to an end, and we went back to our table to finish lunch.  A nice lady cane by with her stout pit bull mix named Thor.  Big dog with a powerful name and boy was he friendly.  I gave him a pat and his owner was kind enough to say we made his day.  And as we finished lunch, we observed a number of young adults making their way through the trees down to the river, where there was a yard or two of dry sand between the driftwood branches upon which to catch a few spring rays. 

     I doubt that Captain Clark had it so good.

jeff