Dougan Falls in July...Checkerspots, a Cicada and a Grouse!

    One thing that separates the lepidopterist from others who venture into nature, and here I'm talking about birdwatchers and fishermen, is that they don't need to get up early.  Upon waking up in the morning, birds and fish need to eat.  So, if you want to catch a fish or find a bird, its best to be out there shortly after sunrise.  Butterflies require a nice, warm morning and so if one arrives after 10 AM, even on a warm summer day, things in the insect world are just beginning to hum.  Or flutter, as the case may be.

Edith's Checkerspot, Scout Creek July 26

    Yesterday, Sandra and I arrived at our usual first spot at 10 AM.  The little wooden bridge at Scout Creek spans a seasonal flow, a charming little stream that meanders between moss covered rocks and a variety of lush plants.  This morning we did not have time to watch the stream, for on stepping out of the car we were deluged with butterflies.  There were Clodius Parnassians by the bucketful and a number of Pale Tiger Swallowtails.  As I readied my net, a light-colored blue fluttered in the weeds by the car.

    As soon as we were armed with our nets, I spotted a checkerspot fifteen feet ahead.  I got a good look with binoculars and then started following him up the gravel road.  After about thirty yards he took a Roscoe and headed up the slope into the woods.  As I wandered back to the car, what should I see but Schmoopie holding her net in the familiar "I've got a butterfly!" position.  

    She thought she had a checkerspot and she was right.  We collaborated on transferring her prize into a vegetable bag and popped it onto the back seat.  As I closed the car door, I was standing right where I saw the blue butterfly a few minutes before.  Scanning the nearby weeds, my eye picked out something that looked like a very big fly perched on a thimbleberry leaf.  In general, we don't collect large flies, so I got out my phone, readied the camera and started sneaking up on him.  In my dotage, I am not getting better at taking pictures or sneaking up on things.  As I got close enough, my finger poised above that white spot on the camera, the fly took wing, audibly flapping its way up into the trees.

Mountain Cicada on Thimbleberry, c/o The Bug Guide and AI

   Luckily, I got an excellent look.  the body was big and black, and the wings were broad and long. It took me about an hour to remember where I had seen wings like that before, for this was certainly not a fly.  It was a cicada.  

   As events conspired, it wasn't until this morning that I had a chance to peruse Daniel Rubinoff's book, California Insects.  This particular cicada was not in the book, so I took to the internet and between AI and Google images we identified the critter as a Mountain Cicada, Okanagana bella.   It occurs in the area around the Cascades and Sierras from B.C. to northern California.  That it wasn't in my mentor's book can be explained by the fact that there are literally a gazillion insects.  You'll have to ask George Bush how many a gazillion is, but it's a lot.  More than you can fit in a book. Dr. Rubinoff tells us that there are 65 species of cicadas in California, alone.  

Acmon Blue on a Thimbleberry Leaf AI

    That is a plethora of singing bugs, for noise making is what cicadas are best known for.  The males have strong wings which they rub together to make noise.  Some make a clicking sound.  O. bella makes a shrill buzz lasting up to two minutes.  We heard nothing, but maybe it was too early in the day, and the orchestra was just getting warmed up, as it were.

   The other thing cicadas are known for is their curious life pattern. Many species stay under ground as nymphs, emerge all at the same time and make a hell of a racket.  This species, O. bella, is asynchronous; its nymphs live three to eight years underground and some emerge every year in June and early July.  They create a more solitary buzzing...not nearly so annoying as a multitude might, and therefore, they are easy to ignore.  

     After I failed to take a picture of the cicada, I wandered back up the road.  Near the spot where I lost track of the checkerspot, Sandra was pointing and making "be quiet" gestures. In the depression adjacent to the road, she had a small blue perched in wings up position on a thimbleberry leaf.  Apparently these soft, broad leaves make a fantastic place for excellent insects to hang out.  If one took a step off the road, he was only five feet away.  He had a buffy gray wing, and I could make out the orange band on the trailing edge of his wing.  I extended the net, took my swipe and twisted, trapping our treasure.  Voila!

Ruffed Grouse, SKG July 26

   I had a bag in my pocket, so the two of us were soon engaged in transferring this small animal.  As Sandra removed the bag, we got an excellent look at the brilliant orange on the wing, which goes to show that the insect was not entirely in the bag, both literally and figuratively.  She claims that the net hit her hand, but in an instant the butterfly was loose, flying into the alders that border Scout Creek.  "Oh my Precious!  Gollum, Gollum." I lamented.  for this was certainly an Acmon Blue.  We saw one in the nearby brush just out of reach two or three years ago.  I had desponded of seeing another and here was our chance to photograph this rare beauty, now flown away.  Gollum.

    As we drove back down the hill, we agreed that the escape was a rare occurrence, so we would buck up.  No more remorse.  The gravel road dropped down and turned to the left. At this point things flatten out, with Douglas fir forest on either side of the road.  Scout Creek is much reduced, now barely a trickle with its course marked by a few alders s and shrubs.  The flow is directed through a culvert beneath the road without the need for a bridge.

Ruffed Grouse on Gravel AI

     Just after we made the turn, in the middle of this shaded road, was a rufous bird, much like a small chicken, but with a crest.  I knew immediately that this was a Ruffed Grouse.  I hadn't seen one in years, of course, and this guy was showing us why.  Despite years of the bucolic types, riding around the hills in their pick-ups and running across a grouse, stepping into the road and blasting it with a shotgun (ostensibly for the small amount of meat it might provide) these birds remain relatively unafraid.  One might have thought that a century of experience and natural selection would have created a more furtive bird.  But this guy provided evidence to the contrary.

    We watched the grouse walk back and forth in front of the car for about three minutes.  This was long enough for Sandra to get the shot you see through the windshield and for me to turn the car cattywampus, receive the camera from Sandra and fail to get the grouse in the frame.  Once again, my prowess with a cell phone camera was manifest.  Eventually the grouse tired of our shenanigans and flew off in the direction of the Washougal.  She was just lucky we didn't have a gun rack in the Mazda.

Echo Azure, Dougan Falls, July 26

    A wonderful bird sighting was enough to boost our spirits, and we soon found ourselves at the Weedy Car Park, fifty feet above the Washougal.  There were butterflies aplenty here.   After a bit, I caught a small blue nectaring on a daisy.  And a bit later Sandra caught another checkerspot.  We looked at her new catch and considered letting it go.  But something about it looked ever so slightly different, so it was successfully bagged and put in the back seat.   

    At this point, Sandra retired to the air-conditioned comfort of the front seat to work on her cross-word puzzle.   As the day got warmer, I persisted in my search and captured a very small butterfly, which was cruising at high speed just over the tops of the weeds.  He landed eventually and was captured.  A Mylitta Crescent was added to the day's bag.  Although tinier than the Acmon Blue, he did not escape Sandra's delicate, but purposeful, technique.

    We found a shady spot on Dougan Creek for our lunch and then had an encounter with three larger orange butterflies that circled me in a quick pass and then flew into the woods.  Great Spangled or Hydaspe frits?  WTF knows. 

   Back at the laboratory we took our captives in turn.  The blue, as you can see, was a really nice Echo Azure.  He didn't give us any trouble and was soon taking flight from our door side Rhododendron.

   Next came the tiny Mylitta Crescent.  He was active, so he got a few seconds in the freezer which rendered him cooperative.  He opened his wings and we got a nice photo.  Following this, he awakened and dashed towards the window.  We were unable to find him and suspect that the small butterfly made it to the top of the window, well behind the blinds.  Perhaps we will see him on the windowsill in a day or two. 

  Last came the two crescents, which were cooperative enough.  The first opened his wings and we got a dorsal picture.  The second was more cooperative and provided us the opportunity for both dorsal and ventral shots, which you see here.  

    It was easy to tell from the photographs that they looked a little different, so we sent the pictures to Caitlin, along with the sad story of the Acmon Blue.  She was very excited about the Acmon Blue, redoubling our regret at the escape.  But she also told us that we had pictures of both the Edith and the Snowberry Checkerspot.  

    These butterflies are ridiculously similar.  The Edith has slightly shorter and more rounded wings.  And it has bands across its abdomen.  The Snowberry Checkerspot has dots on the side of the abdomen.  There is something about an "Edith line" on the ventral surface, but like certain proofs in calculus, this eludes me.

    All I have to say is, Thank God for Caitlin LaBar.  And Happy fourth of July!"

jeff

If you can find the Edith Line, you're a better man than me. Snowberry 26