The Butterflies of Black Butte

Northern Checkerspot, Black Butte, June 2024

     A week or so ago, our family vacationed to together at Black Butte Ranch.   This was Sandra and myself, my younger son and his wife, two grandsons 8 and 6 and Riddles, an 11 month Irish Golden puppy.  The house I rented for this gathering was big enough to be comfortable and the weather was pleasant, affording us the option of expanding into outdoor living.  

    Black Butte, ten miles west of Sisters, Oregon, and ten miles east of Santiam Pass, is renowned for activities favored by a young family: unsurpassed bike paths, several community pools and two championship golf courses through which the bike paths meander.   It is also known for spectacular mountain scenery.

    What it is not known for is butterflies.  The entrance to the resort is about ten miles total to the Metolius Preserve, about which we have blogged recently.  But I have vacationed at Black Butte many times, most recently two years ago in late June, and never seen much in the way of butterflies.  But butterflies there were, and a few were most definitely blog-worthy.

    Before I get into the butterflies, I'm going to regale you with a personality profile.  My daughter in law is a force to be reckoned with. She is smart and athletic.  At Oregon State she majored in business, as did her husband, who in his youth was no stranger to the joys of Black Butte.  Tara comes form a hunting family; a pronghorn antelope which she dispatched as a teenager, looks down balefully from the wall of their living room.  And yet,  she holds academic zoologists in disdain.  I know this because last summer, when my bride and I visited the insect museum at Oregon State, Tara allowed that she and her fellow business majors would make fun of the zoology students as they entered those formalin scented halls.

   Now I sort of get this.  I was once a zoology major and I remember taking stock of the situation sometime during my junior year.  I suddenly realized  that I wasn't being trained to perform any sort of conventional job.  Was I going to collect animals like Gerald Durrell and run a zoo?  Not bloody likely!  

    That epiphany is a story in itself, but you can see their point.  They were being trained to make money, which they have done, and my lovely daughter in law retired at age 39 to begin training as a triathlete.  Both she and my 8 year old grandson made the podium in Bend, a week before this family vacation.

   Tara loved Black Butte, which afforded her the opportunity to bike and run and swim in a manner that bordered on excessive. Which is not to say that she was alone, as many  fit young women were engaged in a similar endeavor.  Did I mention that the scenery at the ranch is spectacular? 

Indra Swallowtail, Black Butte Lodge, June 2024

    At any rate, things took a curious twist.  In the process of engaging in those outdoor activities, Tara started noticing butterflies. 

  On the second day, Tara got us down to the lodge pool by texting us a serviceable picture of a checkerspot on the pool apron. 

    While delighting in the killer view of the Three Sisters,  Sandra and I immediately saw a pair of Mourning Cloak butterflies.  In this instance, these amazing nymphs were abiding in a willowy swale just outside the fence that separates the yuppie-infested pool from the natural environment.  This has been a very good year for Mourning Cloaks, but even so, to have one circling me just outside the lodge pool was surprising.  Looking like some demented geek, I attempted in vain to net the circling mourning cloak.  While I didn't catch the butterfly,  I did catch some disdainful looks from a trio of bikini-clad dudettes, presumably on the way back to their condo for an Italian soda, what ever the hell that is.

    Inside the pool area, Tara had found checkerspots puddling on the cement apron. Seemingly they were sucking up water splashed out by, among others, my grandchildren.  Colsen and Reid were putatively learning to dive while perfecting their cannonballs and belly flops.  Suffice it to say, there was plenty of pool water outside the pool.

    This unlikely scene begs the question, "Does it surprise you that a self respecting Chloesyne would suck up this chemical rich brew?  What sort of conjugal gifts were these male checkers putting together?" 

     Luckily there were some checkerspots nectaring on the tasteful native plantings just outside the pool and we got a some killer pictures al fresco. Although we had no luck netting a Mourning Cloak, it was no problem to capture one of these myriad checkerspots.

    The difference between the many species of checkerspots, Mother Nature's answer to the Rubik's Cube, is baffling.  Pyle and LaBar, in their book, which covers Oregon, Washington and southern B.C., describe 11 species of checkers.  And they provide pictures that would enable you to distinguish among this mob. 

   However, in the process of introducing the group, Robert Pyle writes, "the checkers are among the comeliest and most confusing butterflies.  To beginners they all look alike."  I would submit that it may not be just the beginners that have problems with this group.

   Sandra and I took our pictures back to the lab where, with the help of Riddles, we produced a couple serviceable pictures which you see here.  We sent our pictures to Bob's junior author, the usually dependable C. LaBar.  We were hoping for Hoffman's Checkerspot, which their field guide says are limited to the moist woods surrounding the Cascade Summit.  Sounds like we were in the right place.  But Caitlin had a dog in the fight, having previously declared that the only place we could possibly see Hoffman's was at her secret spot somewhere near Ellensburg, Wa.   

     Suffice it to say, Riddles was no match for Caitlin's dog and we have to be satisfied with her identification, however tainted.  Northern Checkerspot.  Case closed.  I was hoping for Hoffman's, and I'm still not sure that I was wrong, but Northern was a life butterfly, as well. Tick it off!

    As long as we were down by the lodge, we looked at the handsome native plantings surrounding that swanky edifice and found a veritable flock of Indra Swallowtails.  We delighted in watching these big beauties flying from blossom to blossom, nectaring on blue flowers at the end of long, sturdy stalks.  This plant reminded me of  lavender, but that's coming from a pathetic non-botanist.  

   We took our photos in the garden and took one back to the lab.  Not only was this a real treat, but we were able to take him right back to the lodge for release!  This is a fate that, for better or worse, not all of our subjects enjoy

   Before this season, I had almost desponded of seeing the Indra, but now I had seen it twice. Even Caitlin was pleased with this discovery.  This should be a seriously difficult butterfly, but if you are following the blog, you may remember that we saw one at the Inn at 7th Mountain outside Bend, as well.  2024 is a good year for several butterflies.

    That evening Tara, our peripatetic lepidopterist told us of many butterflies on the far northern edge of the property, through which she bicycled earlier in the day.  The next morning Sandra and I found our way to that spot, only to unearth more checkerspots.  We dispensed with them and headed into Sisters for some well deserved shopping.  After hitting a few art galleries we had lunch at a cowboy bar, where I had more than my share of brewskis, explaining the accompanying snapshot.  This tale fooled Reid and Colsen, but I hope not you.

    Once I was bailed out of the hoosegow, we went back to the ranch.  On a hunch, we stopped at the lodge and, Land o'Goshen, there was a bevy of tiger swallowtails enjoying those ersatz lavenders.  I netted one, and, as we were parked more or less illegally, took off before we ended up in the Black Butte jail.  The accompanying pictures of a cooperatively chilled Pale Tiger Swallowtail are pretty nice.  And what about all that orange on both surfaces of the hindwing?  Pyle and LaBar tell us that there are no subspecies of the Pale Tiger Swallowtail, but this is a beautiful and very colorful

Silk tent caterpillar.  June 2024

individual, to say the least.

   As our last evening at the ranch approached, and Sandra and I were sitting in the cabin with Riddles, we received a call from my son.  The family was biking back from the lodge pool when they were accosted by a lady on the bike path.  "You've got to look at these caterpillars!" she exclaimed. "And look at the chrysalises!  Isn't it amazing?"

    James and the boys got home and soon Sandra and I were off, being guided by James and Colsen.  We found a nearby spot to park and made our way to an aspen grove beside the bike trail.  Almost immediately we found caterpillars, both large and small, and what looked like a caterpillar in the process of pupating, which is to say molting into a chrysalis, and many chrysalises wrapped in silk.

Caterpillar going chrysalis?  Maybe not.

 

   We took many pictures including one of Colsen posing as a young lepidopterist.   As a reward he received an erudite lecture on the buttterfly life cycle.   Once we got organized, an impressive collection of photos was sent sent to Caitlin.  She wrote back quickly saying that these were silk tent caterpillars and those things we thought were chrysalises were possibly discarded skins. 

    Not wanting to disillusion Colsen, we left him in the dark.  As long as he got to watch the cartoon with the black bear and the blue lemmings, I don't think he could have cared less.

    And so ended our Black Butte lepidopteran vacation.  We had a great time, saw a life butterfly and just maybe recruited a new butterfly enthusiast.

jeff

Let's catch a butterfly!

The Metolius Preserve 2024

Great Arctic Butterfly, Metolius Preserve, June 2024

        A year after I started watching butterflies, I wrote to the Bend (Oregon) Audubon Society asking for help with my new endeavor.  My query was rewarded with a response from two different ladies who watch butterflies at a high level in Central Oregon.  Amanda Eggerston has a job as a bureaucrat managing the environment and Sue Anderson is simply a really involved enthusiast.  I got several suggestions for places to look for butterflies and both recommended the Metolius Preserve.   

    The Metolius is a river that springs from the ground about ten miles west of Sisters, Oregon.  As the population of Oregon has grown, the Metolius, always a recreational magnet, has received increasing pressure.  What was once an out of the way stream is now a tourist magnet and is in the process of being loved to death. The hub for all this activity is Camp Sherman.  Little more than a cross roads with a small general store, Camp Sherman is surrounded by National Forest campgrounds on the river and numerous lodges.

Greenish blue on Sandra's finger

    The Metolius Preserve, on the other hand, is a highly managed tract of Ponderosa Pine forest well off the beaten track.  Although it has well maintained trails, there is little to attract the average tourist.  In fact, if it had not been for Sue and Amanda  I would have remained blissfully ignorant of this seemingly nondescript patch of forest about six miles from Camp Sherman.  The management involves the preservation of native plants and this creates a haven for numerous species of butterflies.  The ladies lead spring butterfly walks in the preserve and over the years have accumulated a list of 44 species that Sue kindly provided me with four or five ears ago.

    In fact, her list included host plants, plants upon which all these butterflies choose to nectar, etc.  Being an incompetent nincompoop when it comes to botany, all this information was pretty much wasted on me.  Pearls before swine!  But I preserved the list and that comes in handy from the What's Possible standpoint, a position which always serves well when watching birds.

Clouded Sulfur Butterfly, Metolius Preserve, June 2024

    And so, Sandra and I arrived at the preserve a week or so ago at about 10:30 in the morning.   As we prepared, three jolly mountain bikers pedaled through the tiny car park, but aside from that brief visitation, we were all alone. 

   We looked for butterflies for the next hour, in habitat that included the weedy area near the care par, a dusty trial through ponderosas, mixed forests, with willows, etc (remember, I'm not a botanist.) and a dry meadow.  The first butterfly we encountered was an orange and brown, medium sized  and engaged in fluttering flight.  This larger species, when examined back in the lab, proved to be a Great Arctic. 

    We captured a couple blues on this first day, Boisduval's and Greenish Blue. 

This was the first Greenish Blue that I had photographed in the laboratory and you can see that it's a pretty handsome fellow.  Although not very greenish.    

Western Tailed Blue, Metolius Preserve, June 2024

    We got the Pascivius Duskywing, a small black skipper,  and we captured a Clouded Sulfur, which was even more common than the Great Arctic, although not so physically imposing.  In all, we got seven species on our hour long walk and felt pretty good about our effort.

    Two days later, we took another walk in the woods.  Our start time was a bit earlier and in the car park we met three younger people with three dogs.  They headed off before us and we followed on the north trail a few minutes later.

   We saw a Clouded Sulfur, and then a California Tortoiseshell flew by, ascending to perch twenty feet up on a Ponderosa pine..  He stayed there for a while, presumably nectaring on pine sap.  Amazing as it may seem, this species is known to suck that viscous substance through the infinitesimally narrow lumen of its proboscis.  This defies explanation!  But they must be good at it, for the California Tortoiseshell is a fairly common species in the pine forests of Central Oregon.

   This north trail wound for a quarter mile through dense, moist woods and was worthless for butterflies.  When we broke out onto the Larch Trail, we saw the same Great Arctics and Clouded Sulfurs as before.  I captured one blue, which turned out to be an exceptionally natty silvery and Sandra netted a Western Meadow Frit, that tiny and widespread orange jewel that is a dirt bird for PNW butterfly watchers.

Lilac Bordered Copper, Metolius Preserve, June 2024

   So this walk wasn't really producing.  As we approached the tiny stream which bisects the preserve, I netted a small blue.  And when we made it back to the dusty car park I captured another tiny butterfly perched on a weed, whose name may be important, yet lost to the non-botanist.  Both of these required an intervention by Caitlin LaBar.

   The first she called a Western Tailed Blue.  I am loathe to question her identification, but the picture in her book is not similar to the one you see here.  Nevertheless, I guess we will accept the expert's opinion.

   The second may be the prettiest little butterfly we got on the trip.  If I had perused Cait's book with a bit more vigor, I could have identified the Lilac Edged Copper all by myself.  Her picture and mine match up perfectly.  The first picture you see was one taken early in the process.  We really wanted the butterfly to open up, revealing his or her dorsal wing surface.
  

Fully revives and ready to fly!

   To paraphrase Jeffe and El Guapo from the Three Amigos, Well, Guapo, when will the butterfly open herself up to you? ...    Tonight!  Or I will kill her!

   And so Sandra put the little dear in the freezer for a mere three minutes.  This period, although to us it seemed judicious, was enough to just about kill her.  We laid it out on the picnic table on the warm lanai and eventually it regained some color, sat up and flew away.  But not before we got the shot.

     So keep a good eye out when you are in those weedy car parks, and use your refrigerator for frosty beverages, not butterflies!

jeff

    

Tumalo Falls and the Califoria Tortoiseshell

   Last week our family spent four days at Black Butte Ranch.  In addition to Sandra and myself, this included our two grandsons and their parents. And by no means can I exclude Ridley, their eleven month old Irish-Golden Puppy.  We saw lots of butterflies and I have lots of material that should keep you amused for a week or two.  

Two Lepidopterists at Tumalo Falls

    In this first installment, however, I'm going to talk about the end of that vacation and our one day in Bend.  Following a hectic cleaning, loading, replete with hugs, we set sail in the Bot-mobile for Tumalo Falls.  

    Its a scenic hours drive from Sisters to the falls, less than that if you are coming from Bend.  As waterfalls go, its a good one and being positioned close to the tourist mecca that Bend has become, it is an exceedingly popular attraction.  Twenty uphill minutes from Bend, one enters the National Forest, crosses a one lane bridge, and then drives about five miles on a dusty gravel road to arrive at the falls.  We did so on a Sunday in late June, arriving around 10 AM.  

   I had thought that this might be early enough to avoid the crowd, but there were cars parked on the road for at least half a mile before the final ascent to the small falls parking area.  Luckily, as we arrived, someone pulled out and we were able to park right by the falls.  In three previous visits we had not been so lucky. 

California tortoiseshell, Tumalo Falls  June 2024

    Immediately we saw medium sized butterflies fluttering about.  One was silly enough to flutter against a sign and fell easy prey to my net.  After stuffing him in the Kimmy bag (named for the delightful Mrs. Hillis, who gave us our first insulated bag when she moved to St George, Utah, taking her husband with her) Sandra and I took the short walk to the falls lookout.  We took turns with our fellow tourists taking pictures of the falls and one another.  In addition to making new friends, it provides you with a glimpse at two aging lepidopterists in the field.

    We walked up the path towards the falls, along with many tourists, some on bikes and the rest shepherding a dog or two.  While many of the latter cleaned up after their pooch, enough did not that there were regular doggy deposits.  As my first lep mentor, Daniel Rubinoff, noted, butterflies like stinky stuff. And indeed, these deposits created foci for butterfly activity.  At one, I got what I was sure would be a good photo of the California Tortoiseshell taken point blank range and netted a second.

Catatonic Tortoiseshells   A Memorial Day Centerpiece

    Soon it was time to head back down and we parked at our favorite spot on Tumalo Creek, about a mile from the bridge.  This had proved to be a hot spot for butterflies in the past. On this day we worked the forest and the banks of the small river for about an hour.  We added an Anise Swallowtail to the list, which was thin gruel, indeed. 

    And so by 1:30 we were checked into our hotel.  Desiring cooperative subjects, I placed the butterflies between two iced beverage bottles and we retired for a short nap.  An hour later we rallied and set up our stage for butterfly photography.  Sandra retrieved the first of our subjects and placed her on a stick we had brought along from Black Butte. She placed the first butterfly on the platform and it fell over like a poorly balanced poker chip.  The second had a spark of life and listed at about 60 degrees.  

   At this point it seemed like we running a butterfly morgue, but over fifteen minutes they both righted themselves and we were able to get lateral pictures, proving them to be female California

A ventriloquist act with butterflies?  We've already got the stick.

Tortoiseshells.  

   Before the day completely got away from us we took a quick drive out to the Inn at 7th Mountain.  My thought was that if butterflies were coming to the flowering shrubs around the lodge at black Butte this might be the same on the slopes of Mt Bachelor.  On arrival we saw an Indra Swallowtail on the wing and a Western Tiger Swallowtail nectaring on a rhododendron.  I thought we were in business.  Sadly this was not the case.  I located the pool, with many plantings attracting a plethora of bees, (hence verifying the presence of nectar) but no butterflies.  

    Back at the Holiday Inn  the tortoiseshells were as we had left them and I thought that if they didn't revive I might take them home and spray them with something to create a permanent display.  During 60 Minutes they came to and started fluttering against the window, earning them a reprieve.  

    But now all I have is a stick with no butterflies.

jeff

     

Sexual Dimorphism and the Sagebrush Checkerspot

Andy Kaufman and Danny DeVito..Those were the days!

Bob Hillis, one of the best friends of the blog, has surpassed me as a lepidopterist.  Not that this is any Herculean accomplishment.  And it's no shame, either;  Bob is one heck of an animal finder and has a flair for identification.  Having said all that, Bob is playing the game at a distinct disadvantage.  His only field guide, as he lepidopterizes, are the mountains of Southern Utah is Kaufman.  

   We're not talking about Andy Kaufman, who portrayed the lovable Taxi mechanic Latka Gravis.  Thank you very much.  Andy died very young of lung cancer and, although there is no evidence that he knew a butterfly from a fly in the ointment, it's possible that up in St. Peter's arboretum he is waltzing around with a butterfly net, in pursuit of a tiger swallowtail.  Or perhaps those guys in the short white coats are chasing Andy through the arboretum with a somewhat larger butterfly net and a straight jacket.  Who knows?

The Checkerspot page from Kaufman, held down by RTP.

   At any rate, Bob Hillis is being assisted, solely, to the best of my knowledge, by Kenn Kaufman and his tome, Field Guide to Butterflies of North America.  Kenn, like many of us, began as a bird watcher and bird artist and segued to butterflies.  He is three years younger than yours truly and chooses to live in Ohio.  Make of that what you will.  At any rate, along with Jim Brock, who is a life long lepidopterist, Kenn has produced the bible of butterfly watching for our continent.  To the best of my knowledge, no one else has attempted to capture pictures and maps of all the butterflies of North America in a single volume.

    In a way, Kaufman's field guide is similar to Arthur Singer's North American Birds. where all the birds in (you guessed it!) North America are presented with distribution maps.  Kaufman does a pretty good job of getting all the butterflies into his book.  After all, there all only 750 species of butterflies to be found in North America.  But unlike birds, butterflies have extremely complex patterns and are remarkably different over even a small geographic range.  

    These regional differences are such that experts like our friend Caitlin LaBar are unwilling to pass judgement on some of the butterflies Bob Hillis finds in Southern Utah.   Cait annually terrorizes the butterflies in the Rocky Mountains, south of Helena, Montana, roughly 800 miles due north of St George, Utah.  So one might expect her to be an expert on Utah butterflies, as well.  But when it came to separating the Utah crescents, she flat out refused.  "Find a local expert."  she said.

    Let us compare this to bird identification.. If my nephew sent me a picture of a towhee (or virtually any other bird)  that he saw in the East Bay, I should be able to identify that bird with total confidence.  I might resort to a field guide, but with location, time of year and a good picture, I should have little problem.

    Last week Sandra and I went to the Deschutes River just south of the Dalles to look for late spring butterflies.  It was a very windy day and we didn't do very well.  But in a car park near the river we captured two small butterflies that looked remarkably different.   A bit later we returned to our favorite boat launch and witnessed the single species puddle party you see above.  If you turn up the sound, you can hear the Deschutes. 

   Now, if I wanted to be especially catty, I would ask you to identify those cute little flappers from the page in North American Butterflies.   They are Sagebrush Checkerspots, which are about 300 miles out of range according to Kaufman's distribution map.

Sagebrush checkerspot female, Deschutes River, May 2024

  

 Next I'm presenting you with a couple of my pictures.  The first was taken at the puddle party on the banks of the Deschutes, which at this point in its journey is a fast moving rapids strewn river descending through a desert canyon.  That alfresco shot provides a very good look (if I say so myself) at a male Sagebrush Checkerspot.  If one was using Kaufman, he would have a pretty good chance of making the identification, if he was willing to overlook the distribution map.    If one is using Pyle and LaBar (Cait's book) it should be an easy identification, assuming you have the patience to match up the numerous orange and yellow patches to the picture in the book.  

    The second picture, taken back at the ranch in highly controlled circumstances, is the female Sagebrush Checkerspot.  If one was using Kaufman they would have no chance.  His book portrays a Northern Checkerspot that looks a little like this butterfly.    Cait's book has a photo much like this one that matches perfectly if you have the patience for a careful examination. 

Sagebrush Checkerspot male, ventral

    The last two pictures are ventral shots of the Sagebrush Checkerspot, male on top, female below.  They are very similar but not identical.  As you may have surmised, I really wanted the female sagebrush to be a northern, which is less common in that area but was recorded last year.  I was over ruled, and more careful examination confirmed my consultant's identification.  

    If I had Kaufman's book as my only resource, I surely would have got it wrong. 

    So wherever you are, if you want to identify the difficult butterflies, the best answer is find someone who is an expert and willing to help. And if you are lucky enough to receive their help you can parrot Latka Gravas and say, "Thank you very much."

jeff

Sagebrush Checkerspot female

On the Trail of the Mylitta Crescent

     Two weeks ago we published our most recent edition, regaling you with a day spent with butterflies on the Upper Washougal.  Little did we know that even as we published we were being over taken by new information that would make said blog, at the minimum, inaccurate. 

Pale Tiger Swallowtail, Dougan Falls, May 2024

    Just before completing the blog my lovely wife and I had taken what we thought to be a Western Meadow Fritillary out front for a photo op. The WMF is a common summer butterfly.   Small and orange, we can reasonably expect to see this butterfly all summer throughout our area.  

   Out front we placed the chilled insect on a  rhododendron leaf and attempted to take its picture.  However, the little fella squirmed, fell into the rhody.  Before Sandra, who is the team insect handler, could retrieve the tiny insect, it had warmed sufficiently and taken wing.  We bid it a Via Con Dios as it ascended to the heavens.  

   At this point it wasn't much of a loss.  We hadn't got the picture we dreamed of, but we already had many pictures of the Western Meadow Frit.  We put the blog to bed and waited for the accolades to roll in.  

   Almost immediately, before we could bask in the glow of any accolades, we received an email from Yoda. 

    I had emailed our pictures to Caitlin LaBar and it had taken her two days to get back to us.  And this is what she said, "Based on size, I'm sure that what you saw were Western Meadow Frits, but on the same day in Cowlitz County I saw lots of Mylitta Crescents."

The pale swallowtail shows off his proboscis.

    Just a week or two earlier, we had been helping Bob Hillis identify a Pale Crescent (not that he really needs any help) that he saw in Utah.  And I was envious.  Would we ever see a crescent?  I had my doubts.    And now here was Ms LaBar, employing a coy subtle turn of phrase that I was unaware she possessed.  In a very sweet way she was suggesting that we look at our pictures again and maybe change our identification. 

    She never called me a moron, but it might have been appropriate. 

   When we consulted Caitlin's book and re-examined our several mediocre pictures of the tiny butterfly, we had to conclude that we had seen Mylitta Crescent.  Not realizing what we had, I had been satisfied with a poor effort in the field,  had already deleted some of those mediocre pictures and permitted our prize specimen to escape!  

    This was not strong work.  We might never see this butterfly again! I should have written another blog heaped with retractions, but my shame and hubris won out, and we swept our faux pas under the rug.

Mylitta Crescent male, May 2024

    However, Sandra and I didn't exactly give up.  We visited the scene of the crime, four miles up stream from Dougan Falls, a week later.  We saw no frits or crescents on that rare sunny noon, but I managed to net a lone Pale Tiger Swallowtail.  We have seen this species in Central Oregon and the Columbia Gorge, but never on the Washougal.  And we got the nice picture you see here of the team insect handler gently displaying our catch. As an aside, her dexterity enables us to document many a potential victim and grant them a reprieve.  Kudos to sweetie. 

    What then ensued was a week of cold rainy weather. Cancelled Little League games became the norm and we shuttled our portable heater from one room to the other.  Butterflies need not apply.

    Finally, yesterday the sun came out.  Weakly, but with enough force to kindle the embers in our lepidopterous hearts.  And so, after throwing together some sandwiches, cookies and apple slices, we made the pilgrimage to the Upper Washougal.  It was cool when we arrived and puddles graced the small, weedy car park.  The recent rain had the merit of keeping the dust down on the gravel road, but rain puddles are generally not a harbinger of good butterfly watching.  "Puddle Parties" is more of an expression as opposed to the desirability of actual mud puddles..  We waited for a while, drove up to Timber Creek, consumed our humble repast and, by the time we returned to our weedy car park, it was a bit after noon and the sun was out for real.

Mylitta Crescent, Upper Washougal May 2024

    It took a few minutes of strolling back and forth with our nets, looking like a pair of escapees from the Camas Home for the Bewildered, before we saw the first small orange butterflies. Two small butterlies fluttered amid the emerging fiddlenecks before ascending in a pas de deux to the alder tree tops.  But more followed.  One lit on a branch of dead cedar and stayed for a photo.  He subsequently fell to my sweetie's net.  From the pictures and observation of our prize, now fluttering in the vegetable bag (to which  we transfer our butterflies for transport) this was easily identified as a male Mylitta Crescent.

   We soon captured another small orange butterfly that seemed to have more red tone and less dark wing margin. With this tiny fellow happily housed in his own vegetable bag, the four of us made the 45 minute journey back to the ranch for  a well deserved rest.  

     This butterfly catching can be exhausting!

Western Meadow Fritillary, Upper Washougal May 2024

    The butterflies spent a pleasant night in the kitchen refrigerator, which Sandra (the ringmaster in our little circus) has concluded is colder than the one in the garage, rendering our performers a bit more tractable. 

    Acutely aware of our previous failure, Igor and I set up a laboratory in the spare bedroom...large brown towel, Green paper backdrop and some sticks left over from the models we prepared for the upcoming exhibit which is less than a week away.  

   First up was the butterfly we had identified as the male Mylitta Crescent.  Luckily, I took a few pictures of the butterfly in Sandra's hand, where the butterflies seem to feel remarkably at home.  She then transferred the little devil to a small branch, which in the pictures (due to the extreme diminutive size of these butterflies) looks like a log.  We procured a picture on the log, but the one in her hand Turned out to be superior. So that is what you see here..  The butterfly reposes in the wings up position.  and isn't he handsome?  These insects are indeed tiny jewels. 

Mylitta Crescent

    After his photo session, this mylitta became active and flew across the room.  Luckily, he perched on the room side of the Venetian blinds and Sandra was able to capture him by hand (as opposed to resorting to a net, which affords its own brand of comedy) and return him to his genie's bottle (aka the vegetable bag.)

   I must confess that the bag is not as well appointed as the bottle the adorable Barbara Eden called home in her 60s sitcom.   And, to be honest, I would probably prefer to look at pictures of the young Barbara Eden in her genie costume.  However, we don't always get to choose.  

      The butterfly seemed happy enough in his bag.  And he certainly couldn't complain about inadequate AC, especially after the bag was returned to the refrigerator.

   Next came the second small butterfly, which in the field seemed more red than the mylitta.  And look at what we saw in our picture!  No doubt, this was a Western Meadow Fritillary, captured in our weedy car park on the same afternoon in May.  Two weeks earlier, Caitlin had captured two Western Meadow Frits in Cowlitz County ( I guess we already told you that.) so this wasn't a terribly big surprise.  But I was  a little surprised and it's a pretty nice picture of this tiny insect in resting position.

Western Meadow Fritillary

   In due course, he was returned to the ice box

    After a suitable interval, we decided to see what could be accomplished outside.  In large part due to Sandra's expert handling, we got the butterflies situated, each on their own rhododendron leaf.  Though the air temperature was in the high fifties, the morning sun was shining and both butterflies positioned themselves in such a way that they could bask most effectively in the solar rays.  This gave us the opportunity to take these last two pictures.
  

    

     As our photo session wore down, Sandra positioned the Western Meadow Frit in a rhododendron blossom.  I'm going to send the resulting picture to Caitlin as a belated Mother's Day present.  She is, after all, the mother of the butterflies.  On the other hand, if one considers the large number of "children" residing for eternity in her museum, in the maternal affection category she may not be quite on a par with June Cleaver.

jeff

Happy Mother's Day from the Upper Washougal!

The Painted Ladies Return to SW Washington

Timber Creek burbles down to the Washougal

      Yesterday was Mother's Day and Sandra declared that she would like to go butterfly watching on the Upper Washougal.  We hadn't been there for a couple weeks and hoped that some new butterflies would be making an appearance.  It had been sunny here, after a week of cold rain, and the land was warming up.  By the time we made it above Dougan Falls it was almost 10 o'clock and a pleasant 65 degrees.

     At first we saw only Echo Azures, those very small blue butterflies.  We moved further up to our highest favorite spot and waited for half an hour.  Seeing a few whites, but not able to get close enough for a good look.  At this season Timber Creek burbles under a bridge, making for a very pleasant riparian experience.  Later in the season we will hopefully see more butterflies here.  The creek bed will still be lush and green, but no water will burble under the bridge.

    Sandra ate her sandwich as we motored back down to our first spot, which is a turnout often used for camping just above the Washougal.  It was 11 AM when we arrived and as we hopped out I declared that it was prime time.  And indeed it was.

A WMF perches on a dandelion

    There were at least a dozen Western Meadow Fritilaries in the weedy car park.  I'm always surprised by how small these Boloria frits are; this group was just a bit bigger than the azure 1echos, which are small even by the standard of blue butterflies.  As we watched the WMFs, we couldn't help noting that there were around ten slightly larger, paler butterflies mixed in.  They were perhaps 25% bigger that the frits.  

   Sometimes I wonder what I was thinking.  In this instance, I nabbed a single photo with the camera, which takes pretty good pictures of small animals at twenty feet, but I did not attempt to stalk one of the paler butterflies for a shot with my cell phone, which takes better pictures if you are able to get within three feet.  

    Two other butterflies were in the car park.  We saw two individuals of a small black and gray butterfly.  Last year I sent Caitlin a picture of this butterfly, hoping it was a metalmark.  This year I know better. It's the Two Banded Checkered Skipper.  This picture was taken with the camera at about ten feet and a good thing it was, as my trusty nimrod, the semi-redoubtable SKG was unable to net the little devil.   

Two banded Checkered Skipper May 2024

 

    We saw one other lep, a tiny black job much smaller that the the echo.  It had a few teensy white spots.  We'll see of Caitlin can identify it from the description, as it, too avoided Sandra's net.

    Eventually the butterflies flew off, as they inevitably do, and we drove around, past the falls and up Dougan Creek to our favorite final spot.  Not much was happening there, so as we consumed the second sandwich and a cookie with M and Ms, we checked out the pictures in the camera.  As we looked, I became convinced that those pale butterflies back by the Washougal were Painted Ladies.  

    We saw Painted Ladies twice last summer.  The first time was in lavender blooming uphill from my son's house in mid July.  The second time was in late August 500 feet below Timberline Lodge on Mount Hood.  In both instances the butterflies we saw and photographed were beautiful animals with crisp vibrant colors.

Painted Lady, Upper Washougal, May 2024

    So what's the deal?   When we got home I referred to Caitlin's book and then, this morning,  to James and Nunnallee.   And this is what I put together:

    As we all know, the Painted Lady is cosmopolitan, being found as a native all over the world.  It is also renowned as a migrant.  In Europe it is known to migrate from Norway to sub-Saharan Africa. Hence, I call it the arctic tern of butterflies.   And because of these propensities, I speculate that ever so long ago it was a pregnant Painted Lady that landed in Hawaii, becoming the distant Vanessa ancestor of  our Kamehameha Butterfly.  

    The painted Lady is well known to the Pacific Northwest, and is more common than the similar endemic\ West Coast Lady.  As in Europe, the Painted Lady solves the over wintering problem by adultmigration.  According to James and Nunnallee, our Painted Ladies winter in Southern California, Arizona and Mexico.  

Painted Lady, Livingston Mountain July 2023

    When spring comes, the adult Painted Ladies migrate back north.  Suffice it to say, this is an arduous journey and when they arrive, they are, in the words of our very own Caitlin LaBar, "tatty."  Until this morning I wasn't sure that was actually a word, but it is in the Oxford English dictionary.  Shabby, worn, and in poor condition.  And that explains the appearance of the Painted Ladies in the car park.  

    For butterflies, and perhaps especially for these butterflies who may not have long to live, time is of the essence.  On arrival they must get busy and begin a new cycle.  Hopefully those males in the car park were finding some sustenance and whatever else they needed to get the next generation on its way.

   As I put this together, I couldn't help forming an analogy with Sandra and me.  Like the Painted Ladies, we are migrants, returning to the PNW in the spring.  And when we first arrive we are unkempt and exhausted...tatty.

Painted Lady with Asters  Mount Hood  August 2023

     After we finished lunch, we watched a few white butterflies fly up and down the road.  Sandra decided that the way to catch one was to position herself in the path of an on coming butterfly, much a like a catcher intercepting the runner attempting to steal home.  As her butterfly approached, she stood her ground, net in hand.  At the last minute, the butterfly veered off and flew down to the creek.  I declared the butterfly out, as it had left the base path.  

     I left Sandra fuming on the road as I, too, went down to the creek where I photographed a tribe of azure echos enjoying a puddle party in a patch of wet moss.  Having completed my task, I ascended the bank to find my sweetie holding the middle of her net in triumph, a Margined White  successfully captured.  

Margined white, May 2024

    Sandra held the butterfly for a picture and then we let it fly away, ending a perfect Mothers Day Butterfly excursion.

jeff

On the Trail of the Indra Swallowtail

To paraphrase René Magritte:  This Is Not an Orangetip.

      When we were attempting to find Sara's Orangetip at Catherine Creek, we saw a couple black butterflies.  I was hoping that these were Indra Swallowtails.  But our butterfly guru said, "No.  Those are Propetius Duskywings, which despite looking brown and russet when lying on the leafy forest floor, look entirely black in flight.    If you wanted to see Indra Swallowtail, she said, you needed to go just a little bit further east, to Klickitat Canyon. 

    In fact, the orangetip is found in Klickitat Canyon as well, and it was only a half hour further.  Obviously I was penny wise and pound foolish when it came to picking a spot up the Columbia River Gorge to look for spring butterflies.  

    By the middle of last week the Indra Swallowtail Butterfly had become the most wanted spring butterfly.  As things conspired, the ISB had a little help from my entomological incompetence.  But we didn't know that yet and so we asked Bagwhan LaBar for her best tips for finding  an Indra Swallowtail in Klickitat Canyon.  Cait's top recommendation was a strip of decommissioned highway three miles up stream from Wahkiacus.  Now you may be asking yourself, as I did, "Where in the F***icus is Wahkiacus?" 

    The answer is:  Drive an hour and a half east of Vancouver on scenic Hwy 14, sometimes known as the roller coaster of  the Pacific Northwest. Just before you get to Lyle, Wa.,  cross the Klickitat and turn left up Hwy 142.  After ten miles you will pass Fish On Rd (more about that later) and in another 5 miles you will come to a string of well used bungalows, anchored by the Canyon Market, that passes for the metropolis of Wahkiacus.  This is not a one gas station town, so you would be advised to arrive with sufficient fuel.  Our destination,  Haul Out Road, is another three miles up stream, just before the 142 crosses the Klickitat.  Again.

Wahkiacus Seep replete with Lomatium

     The state has repurposed roads and right of ways all the way up the Klickitat, making for a very long, river hugging hike, if one is so disposed.  Cait has abbreviated the hiking experience for us butterfly watchers.  Fish On Road rapidly becomes a fine dirt trail.  Haul Out Rd is a fine piece of macadam, still bearing a yellow line down the middle.  On the left are rock walls that were sheared away, yielding seeps that ought to be butterfly magnets.  On the right is the scenic Klickitat River. Half a mile in, there is a gate across the road to deter motor vehicles, and it is a truly delightful place for a riverside walk.  Especially if you like to have the highway to yourself.

    And so, starting about 9:30 on a sunny morning, Sandra and I walked up and down the road looking for butterflies.  A few steps from the gate we happened on a handsome rock wall with growths of Lomatium sprouting from ledges.  Our spiritual adviser tells us that this plant, with its long stemmed light yellow flowers and bushy leaves is the host plant for Indra Swallowtail.  I call the resulting picture Wahkiacus Seep. This may or may not be the name of a character from Great Expectations.

  We saw several Ochre Ringlets, which a week or so earlier we may have mis-identified as a female Sara's Orangetip.  (This represents a faux pas as big as New Jersey)  I showed Cait my picture, that you see above, and you could almost here her laughing as she replied something like," I never dreamed you thought that was an orangetip..."  Sandra inaugurated her new net by catching one of these deceitful hussies.  As I was taking her prize back to the car for some well deserved time in the cooler, my sweetie spotted a Pacific Tree Frog.  She was fascinated by her frog to such an extent that she could not here me exclaiming about a puddle full of swallowtails under the seep.    Fortunately for Sandra they were all Anise Swallowtails, small and lovely but not Indra.

The Anise Swallowtail enjoys the seep puddle

    We enjoyed the river, an Audubon's Warbler.  And the frog, of course.  But we didn't see a plethora of Indra Swallowtails.  We my have seen one flying through the trees, but this was far from the definitive view we longed for.

Columbia Spotted Blue, Klickitat Canyon, May 2024

    And so we drove back through Wahkiacus, and on the guru's advice, turned up Klickitat- Appleton Road.  We ascended about a thousand feet.  Cait had been told Indras hilltop up there.  She had never seen one up on top and, although  you can see Sacramento from the top of that hill, neither did we.

    And so we headed back down to the river and down stream to Fish On Road.   We had done some butterflying late last summer on this fine river-hugging trail and I recalled a single sand bar which I hoped would yield some Indras.

   On the way down the trail I saw a small butterfly that allowed me to approach closely and get the picture you see here.  Despite the picture you see here.   I was, of course, unable to correctly identify it.  Cait tells us that this is a Columbia Spotted Blue, Euphilotes columbiae.   She went on to say that this is a common butterfly in the gorge later this year, but this was the first confirmed sighting for this spring.  I think she was actually a little proud of her incompetent protege. I'll try to not let it go to my head.

A Squadron of Indra Swallowtails, May 2024

  Another two hundred yards down the trail we came to the sand bar.  At the water's edge was a young couple and a large German Shepherd.  The puppy was ankle deep in the river, which must have been a few degrees warmer than those chunks of ice that you put in your bourbon and branch at the day's end.  And around their feet on the moist sand there were butterflies.  Lots of them.  Big ones and little ones, flopping this way and that.

      I put on my friendly face as I started down the shale slope.  "I'm looking for butterflies."  I said, and you guys have found the spot."  They were gracious and bid me good luck as the trio passed me on their way back to the trail.

      We were not disappointed.  There were many Indra butterflies on the moist sand, intermingling with a few Anise.  For whatever reason, there were no tiger swallowtails.  Also present were a handful of Propetius Duskywings, our first skippers at a puddle party.  There were a smattering of  Echo Azures.  I found this very interesting.  The literature suggests that this is a butterfly of our western, moister forest. But the sighting has been confirmed by the expert, so it can go in the book without an asterisk. 

Silvery Blue, Fish On Road, May 2024

   Perhaps the most attractive guest at the party was the Silvery Blue you see to the right.  Isn't it cool how the veins luminesce in the spring sunshine?  No wonder people like butterflies!

    The Indras were amazing with their black and white pattern, perhaps looking like a squadron of intergalactic fighters out of Star Wars.

     Regrettably, Sara's Orangetip has resumed its place at the top of the Most Wanted list.  Cait says if we wait a few weeks they will appear at a higher elevation.  We'll keep you posted. 

jeff