Morro Bay and Beyond

    Leaving Mount Shasta City, Sandra and I took a long drive to Oakland, where we visited with my nephew and then two days later we had another long drive to Los Osos.   Los Osos is a short distance from SLO, formerly known as San Luis Obispo, and a very short drive from Morro Bay on the Central California Coast.  Peter and Marla are good friends, very good biologists and consummate observers of the natural world.  How lucky is a mediocre birdwatcher to have friends like these.

West Coast Lady, Vanesa annabella, Los Osos, August 26 AI

   If southern Oregon was a bit of a disappointment, our time near Morro Bay would be the exact opposite.  As soon as we had our car unloaded, we were ushered out onto the patio.  Marla is a wonderful gardener and has lots of plants blooming, even in August, the better to attract butterflies.  As I approached, Peter said. "Look at the Vanessa."  The butterfly in question actually flew to a small flower right by my feet to reveal himself to be a West Coast Lady.  

    Caitlin promised us both West Coast and American Ladies in the spring and, try as we might, we did not get either.  There is nothing like a failed quest to whet your appetite and so, the West Coast Lady, after the California Sister, was my most sought after butterfly.  I wasn't quick enough to take a picture, so I'm showing you an AI rendition of this handsome bug.  Note the large blue spots on the dorsal hind wing, which were perfectly visible as I looked down on this beauty.

Green Heron, Morro Bay, AI

   Almost simultaneously, Marla spotted a blue a few feet away.  Apparently, we don't net butterflies in the Krottje Sanctuary, and no one was quick enough to get a look at the wings, so this guy remains un-named.

   After a cool glass of water, it was decided we would go down to the local refuge, which is only a mile or so from their home.  The four of us walked down a good trail to the wet meadow facing Morro Bay.  Here we saw mallards and Green Winged Teal and a large congregation of Greater Yellowlegs.  And there was another couple birding the same spot.  Marla quickly made friends and the lady of the duo asked if we had seen the little green heron.  Well, none of us had and so she directed us up to a shallow pond close by.  

    It was a stroll of about fifty yards, and we quickly spotted the small heron.  He was standing knee deep in the dark water under the branches of an over hanging willow.  Peter, the excellent photographer, started snapping away.  While we watched, the heron deftly caught a small fish, and it was down the hatch.  I hope you will look for Peter's blog onebreathkohala, where there are lots of wonderful pictures, possibly including this heron with his fish dinner.  

Sea Otters Relaxing in Morro Bay, August 2026,  AI enhanced

    I'm not such a good photographer.  Sandra got a pretty good picture of the Green Heron,  and I made an AI image which I'm sharing here.

    The following morning we headed out for a day of nature observations.  The first stop was on the north edge of Morro Bay, where we found a bevy of sea otters.  We were observing from a rocky prominence that had been turned into a park, with good footing thirty feet above the water.    There were seven otters congregated in a group about forty yards away.  What a great look!

    We watched the otters for a bit, waiting for something to happen.  Maybe one of them would commence hammering a clam balanced on his chest with a stone.  But mostly they were just chilling out, enjoying the peaceful morning.  The water was glassy, and Peter noted that it would be a good morning for kayaking.  No wind makes of a good paddle.

Elegant Tern, Cayucos Pier, AI enhanced

   Our next stop was Cayucos, a seaside town just up the coast.  We drove past numerous beachside lodgings and through a small, quaint commercial district, ending up at the community fishing pier.  This would be one of two substantial piers we would encounter this day.  Peter and Marla had heard of a Black Tern among the myriad Elegant Terns and had seen it on two occasions.  The Black Tern is a rare bird on the west coast, but not uncommon on the east coast where, in a much earlier phase of my bird watching career, I had ticked it off.  This was lucky, because this individual had flown the coop.

    Our host explained that the horde of gulls, terns and pelicans were attracted by in shore anchovies.  We watched for half an hour as the terns and pelicans plummeted into the water, sometimes reappearing with a small fish.  As we were thirty feet above the water, the terns were just about on our level.  They would careen by, sometimes begin their steep descent just ten yards away. 

   At one point a pelican came and perched on the railing.  All us humans gave him some space and he remained for several minutes, the perfect seaside model for amateur nature photographers. 

A juvenile Pelican posing on the pier.

    As you can see, this is a juvenile pelican, without the handsome coloration of a breeding bird.  He is still quite good looking and carries that wise visage of a bird the size of a turkey that dives from great heights headlong into the water to earn his daily bread.  It's crazy enough when the terns do it, but how do the large pelicans survive the impact with the sea, much less retain the capacity to scoop up a beak full of anchovies?

    From Cayucos we rejoined the coast highway and made our way to one of Marla's secret spots.  Harmony, population 15, is a secret butterfly spot but thrives as a destination for tourists in search of knick- knacks.  There is even a wine operation that relies on the tourist trade to sell some palatable, if not spectacular, grape juice.  And in between the weathered buildings that have been rejuvenated for the purpose of merchandising, there are flower gardens.  On occasion our hosts have encountered a worthy butterfly here.  

    Unfortunately, that was not the case on this warm morning. We saw Scrub Jays, Vultures and House Finches in the bushes on the edge of the village.  Thin gruel here for the avid observer of wild animals. We did enjoy a look around an old cabin that was now selling a variety of toys and glass.

Slumbering Giants.  Elephant Seals at San Simeon.

    The next stop promised to be spectacular.  Peter navigated us to the elephant seal resting area just north of the Hearst Castle.  Hearst didn't actually build a castle, but rather a sprawling mansion that dominates the skyline out in this rolling, dry country.  

    There was a massive parking lot associated with the elephant seals.  At this time of year they are not breeding, so we did not get to see these massive pinnipeds engage in any sort of combat.  In the fall they come ashore to molt and what we saw was a number of very large seals flopped on the beach.  The males could be identified by their large noses.  During breeding season, they inflate their proboscis and this is what we remember from wildlife shows on the television.  At this time of year the noses are deflated.  Still, they made quite a sight.

    We had lunch at San Simeon, ordering incredible sandwiches from Sebastian's General Store.  I had tri tip beef, Sandra had turkey and Peter and Marla shared a shrimp.  We all had scrumptious leftovers.  The greeter at Sebastián's turned us on to a pair of juvenile humpback whales in San Simeon cove.  We were able to walk out on another serious fishing pier and see one of the whales feeding.

    This was turning into quite a day, but we had one more stop.  At Harmony Headlands State Park Peter was hoping for snakes.  He didn't find any, but Marla pointed out a Gray Buckeye in the weeds by the trail, and yours truly netted him with a single swipe.  As you will see in the next blog, episodes like this can lead to an overdeveloped self-confidence and impending disaster.  

     We took this victim back to the house, where after a well-deserved nap, Sandra and I took our cooled butterfly into the garden and got this nice photo.  A pretty good end to very interesting day on the Central California Coast.  

jeff

Our editor insisted that we include her picture of the Hearst Castle..photo SKG

   

     

Southern Oregon and Mount Shasta August 26

    This week Sandra and I made a pilgrimage to Oakland to visit my nephews, and onward to Morro Bay to visit our good friends Peter and Marla.  This divided up the trip into a few discrete sections, and I will be submitting a few blogs to cover out adventure.

   Following a four hour drive from Portland down to Grants Pass, we got off the interstate and drove down a slow road that, after about fifteen miles, hugged the Rogue River.  This area was supposed to be extremely scenic.  In August it was hot and dry with the Rogue descending between rocky shores.  We had left early and got to an unimproved boat launch with wet sand a little after noon.  This should have been prime time for butterflies.  

Sylvan Skipper, Grants Pass, August 2026 AI

    We saw a few small white butterflies that we took for Cabbages and a single Tiger Swallowtail.  There was nothing puddling on the riverbank.  Rumor has it that if you were in this spot in early May, it would be swarming with California Sisters.  On this hot day a guide fixing a young couple up with a kayak provided the only diversion.  We drove another fifteen miles down the river, found one more boat launch and no butterflies or birds of note.  

    At 2 PM we checked into the Holiday Inn Express in Grants Pass.  As I was unloading the car, standing in the blessed shade of a flowering cherry that must have received a substantial amount of life-giving irrigation, I came face to face with a small withe butterfly with remarkable fringes on the trailing edge of both wings and a hint of tails. As we sat in the lobby waiting to be checked in, I checked out Cait's guidebook and discovered that this was a Sylvan Hairstreak.  I went back out into the furnace and tried for a picture.  I saw two more small butterflies among the blossoms, but they were far up in the tree. 

Mount Shasta from 6,600 feet, August 2026

     I am including an AI recreation of this sighting.  As you can see, with the fringe, the tails and that orange spot on the hind wing, it is a pretty remarkable little butterfly.

    In the evening we made it down to the Rogue as it meanders through Grants Pass.  There was one Tiger Swallowtail and a few locals swimming in the stream which I felt to be about 65 degrees.

    You might think that this was all this stop might offer, but as is so often the case, the people you encounter are at least as interesting as the wildlife.  

    In the morning we repaired to the breakfast room to be greeted by the most raucous scene you could imagine.  There were about a dozen young women hollering and laughing, as if they had just closed down the Dew Drop Inn and were continuing the festivities at breakfast.  As it turned out, this contingent was a lesbian motorcycle club.  Who knew that there was even such a thing.

    That day we had a short drive to Mount Shasta.  Google AI had promised us a wet meadow fed by a glacier, with wildflowers in the middle of August and butterflies galore.  One needs to be wary of AI...it tends to tell you what it thinks you want to hear.  Mount Shasta was dry, even at 8,200 feet.  There was the merest suggestion of a glacier, no wet meadow and no butterflies at Panther Creek.  This must be a popular spot, however, because we saw no fewer than five signs admonishing the bereaved not to spread ashes in this area.  The authorities called them Cremains.  Lesbian bike gangs and cremains.  What a trip!

    As we descended, we came upon an area with some goldenrod, a few fast-flying California tortoiseshells and a few woodland skippers.  That was as good as it would get.

     This may be one of the dreariest blogs I have written, but it sets the stage for more adventures, so I beg you to bear with me'

jeff

Ridgefield NWR in Summer

     With Oregon in the throes of horrific forest fires, more than one threatening our favorite butterfly locations, Sandra and I turned our attention to a local favorite, the Ridgefield National Wildlife Refuge.  We arrived at the refuge at about 10 AM.  The sky was blue, which is a heck of a lot better than smoky and the temperature was a pleasant 65 degrees.  That is great for birds and people with light jackets but may be a trifle brisks for butterflies. 

Wild and Crazy Great Blue Heron, photo SKG

     As we previously noted, the refuge has numerous shallow ponds for waterfowl and waders that provide a roadside attraction in the spring.  However, by the time June rolled around those ponds had dried and it was more work to see fewer species. 

    As we approached the refuge, we were slowed by a lady taking a picture of a Great Blue Heron perched on the railing of the bridge we cross to get in.  As we started our tour through the refuge, Sandra got this picture of a wild and crazy heron from the car.

    For some time, as we made the drive, there were patches of tall grass, but mostly expanses of dried lake beds with little to offer the bird watcher.  

   We finally made it to the trail and to the blind, which was so productive in the spring.  On the way in, we had a very good look at a Western Wood Peewee.  This bird has a name that might produce a few minutes of amusement to six-year-old boy, but not too much else to recommend it. Small, brownish, with a lighter belly, no eye ring and dusky wing bars,   Aside from voice and habits, like tail raising, that is how we identify small flycatchers.

         A Black Headed Grosbeak female with breakfast.  AI

 In the blind, we saw a mother swallow come to feed her single remaining chick.  The water around the blind had been replaced by grass and there were no Black Phoebes or Virginia Rails.  On the trail back to the car, I spotted a pair of house wrens.  Wrens are more interesting than Song Sparrows, which was the only other birds we saw along the trail.  

   We drove a bit further and were pleased to note that the Kiwa Trail was now open.  This is one of only two spots where you are encouraged to get out of your car and walk through the forest.  The trail had been closed through the spring and early summer, ostensibly to protect breeding birds.  If you are a birdwatcher, you know that spring and early summer are exactly the time you go out looking for song birds.  That is when the males are singing from exposed perches and parents are moving around, gathering food for the chicks. 

    I suppose that I'm all in favor of protecting breeding birds.  To take the opposing position would be like affirming your belief in child abuse.  Which I'm definitely against.  But as a bird watcher, it seems excessively counter productive.  I mean, what are we?  Blood thirsty pirates on a rampage to rob nests?

Common Jewelweed, Ridgefield NWR, August 2026 

    We parked in the lot designated for the Kiwa Trail.  The trail head is defended by a really sturdy gate, the better to protect breeding birds.  We passed these forbidding portals and found ourselves on a well-maintained trail through small parcels of forest, ponds and fields.  Imagine all the birds singing in late May.  In early August it was pretty quiet,  

   The sun was out, and it was getting warmer.  We walked ahead for about fifty yards when I spotted a large sparrow in an alder beside one of those ponds.  We got good looks through binoculars at a female Black Headed Grosbeak feeding on blackberries.  The vine wound up through the alder twenty feet above the pond. I had been feeding on blackberries just moments before, so I had a lot of empathy for the grosbeak.  As every boy who lives in southwest Washington knows, blackberries in August are delicious.  

    In honor of the best bird Sandra and saw on this outing, I created an AI image so you could revel vicariously through our experience.  Gemini and I had a dispute about how much yellow is in the belly and eyeline of a female Black Headed Grosbeak. (Gemini wanted more yellow.) The first image Gemini threw out was probably the most realistic looking, but I insisted on getting the colors right and I hope you still enjoy the picture.  

    And I hope you are able to get out this summer and enjoy some blackberries. 

    Luther Burbank, back in 1885, imported some seeds from India.  Inside the packet was a living sprout of what we now call Himalayan Blackberry.  Although this plant originated in the Levant and grows all over Europe, this famed agronomist, in his Santa Rosa garden, seems to have been unacquainted with it and assumed it came from northern India.  Hence the name and berry that we all know and love.   Unless, that is, the thorny vines have taken over your back yard, in which case you may not love them quite so much.   

    Back by the pond, right beside my perch, my eye was captured by a single orange blossom.  As I looked carefully, I saw that this flower was cup shaped with frilly petals at the opening and subtle purple dots inside the cup.  It was delightful and we have a chance to share our photo of Common Jewelweed.  This plant is native to the eastern US.  It has spread sporadically across the country, so it is much less common than Burbank's Folly.  It produces these lovely orange cups in the summer, as opposed to the spring.  It grows in shady moist soils.   Perfect for Ridgefield NWR.  

Woodland Skipper, Ridgefield NWR

    As we got ready to head back down the trail, Sandra spotted a small orange skipper, then we saw a bunch.  Being a veritable Nimrod, it was hardly a moment before she had one in her net.  With one in the bag, it wasn't long before we had a chance to take a picture of one of the skippers on a low lying thistle.  Here you see the photo we took back at the laboratory of this Woodland Skipper. The only other butterfly on the day was a Western Tiger Swallowtail.  So not much for butterflies.

    On our way out we saw veritable legions of Common Egrets.  This bird has always been around, but if you saw one or two on morning of birding, you felt like you had done well.  And what are all these tall white birds eating?  Small fish, unfortunate frogs.  Kermit beware!  

jeff
 

Dougan Falls and the Great Spangled Fritillary

       Last Friday Sandra and I made the drive up to Dougan Falls.   The Washougal is not nearly as full as it is earlier in the year, but as we shall see, there is still plenty of water going over Naked Falls.  As is our custom, at Dougan Falls we made the right turn, heading up the Washougal.  We drove the three bumpy miles on gravel and stopped at our best butterfly spot, the weedy car park.  It was still early and although there were lots of wildflowers, which was a pleasant surprise for the last day ii July, there were no butterflies out yet.  

Woodland Skipper, Naked Falls, July 2026

   We made it up to Scout Creek, a couple miles and another three hundred vertical feet higher, and, as the morning warmed up, we watched a few butterflies there.  Scout Creek was now completely dry.  There were a few thistles in the dry river bed that did not attract any insects while I watched.  Right by where we park the car, Sandra captured a Woodland Skipper. 

    This is the common skipper at this time of year, and we saw lots of them. When they lie flat on a thimbleberry leaf, or what counts for flat in this family of skippers, you can easily appreciate the orange and dark chocolate dorsal wing pattern.  The picture I'm showing you, taken back at the ranch is a lateral, showing the ventral wing pattern, which is not very pretty.  Of course, pretty is in short supply in most species of skippers. 

    Before we left, I chased a medium sized butterfly up the road without getting a very good look and we enjoyed some late season Parnassians flopping about as they will.

Great Spangled Frit, Naked Falls, July 2026 

    Back down at the weedy car park, it was now close to 11 AM and things were warming up.  Just sitting in the car, we could see several larger orange butterflies zipping back and forth among the wildflowers.  It was fairly easy for me to catch one of these Great Spangled Fritillaries as it nectared on one of many thistles.  We got a fine look at it in the net...the silver spots on the ventral hind wing were dramatic.  Unfortunately, when we got it home, the silveriness had faded and, as you can see, those spots look white.  Quelle domage!

    I got a pretty nice picture of a great spangled spread out in the weeds.  t

The few times I tried to sneak up on one on a thimbleberry leaf (a much prettier picture), he flew away before I could snap the shutter.

   We are told that most cell phones do not have an actual shutter.  Behind the lens, there is a digital sensor that is continually receiving the image.  When you touch the shutter button, the camera is instructed to start and stop recording the light data.  It records the image really fast in rows of pixels from top to bottom.  I like to program my phone camera to simultaneously emit a shutter-like noise.  As we have seen, this is nothing but an aesthetic sound effect...there is no shutter.

  For scientific purposes the pictures we took back in the laboratory are vastly superior.  Here you see a dorsal picture of this brave fellow stretched out on Schmoopie's lovely hand.  

    We took several pictures of him in the lateral position.  By touching him just so, my lovely assistant was able to induce our friend to rotate his front wing forward and spread them just a bit to create this wonderfully handsome and useful image you see here.  Getting a look at the entire front wing is a bit of a trick.  

    And for completeness sake, I'm including our best photo of him in the lateral position showing off the pattern on the ventral hind wing.  As above, most of the spots that appear white in this photograph were quite silvery when the butterfly was first captured.  There are a select few who are able to squeeze the abdomen just so, impeding the flow of butterfly blood back to the thorax, rendering the butterfly more cooperative for a picture in the field.  My lovely assistant is unwilling to squeeze the butterfly (and who can blame her!).  And we just don't know if, in the process of impeding blood flow one would cause those silvery spots to blanche.  

    Regardless, what you see is what you get.

    The day was moving along.  There were plenty of Woodland Skippers and a few Clodius Parnassians flapping their large white wings.  Sandra had retired to the air conditioned comfort of the faithful Mazda, and I was still out trying for one more butterfly.

    On the far side of the car park, where the thistles were attracting the great spangles to a remarkable effect (there were now five chasing one another to and fro), there were other wildflowers. Fireweed, of course, with its tall violet blooms.  And another wildflower that we hadn't seen before.  This was an herb on long, branching stems.  There were relatively small white, daisy-like blossoms with yellow centers on each stem.  

    As I watched, a larger blue butterfly landed on one of these flowers.  I was pretty close, armed only with my net...no camera.  He was just far enough in, about six feet, that I couldn't reach him.  He flitted to another blossom a few feet away, still out of reach.  All this time I was getting good looks but no bug.  Back at the ranch, I attempted to name the butterfly and this new wildflower.    The butterfly was clearly in the Lupin/Acmon family.  Without the insect in hand, it would be impossible to tell which. 

A Buckwheat Blue on Oxeye Daisy AI

    The flower grew in large groupings.  The stems were about three feet in height and branching.  The flowers were about an inch across, white petals with yellow orange centers.  I originally thought this might be chamomile, which is introduced, and grows wild in the Pacific Northwest.  However, after some research on AI and in Wildflowers of the Pacific Northwest, by Turner and Gustafson, a field guide that Sandra has recently collected and I may now recommend, I decided that this was Oxeye Daisy.  It's a common herbaceous plant in the late spring and summer in Oregon and Washington and a known source for nectaring butterflies.

   Here I present the image I created of the Epothilones blue butterfly on the Oxeye Daisy.  It's totally AI and so useless for the purposes of identification.  Maybe we should print it and sell it on Etsy. 

    The drive out was an eye opener.  We must have seen thirty cars parked along the Washougal, with countless people prepared to make the hike down the steep bank, many carrying those large inner tubes that are all the rage.  And we met about two dozen more cars driving in.  And this was about noon on a Friday.  The Dougan Falls area is hoppin'.

    Lastly, I'm leaving you with a snapshot Sandra took through the car window while doing her crossword puzzle, in air-conditioned comfort:  Demented Lepidopterist Rampant!

Jeff

Black Butte 2026....the Butterflies

         Our first morning at Black Butte we headed out to watch butterflies.  As it turned out (please see the previous blog along with the cartoon that was added the morning after the blog was initially published) the yearling bear was the highlight of the trip. After seeing the bear, we headed to Wizard Falls Fish hatchery, which had been recommended a few years ago and was less than a half hour drive from the Metolius Preserve.  

California Tortoiseshells puddling  7/26

    After talking to the folks in the adjacent SUV, we had a choice...walk upstream or downstream.  We chose to walk on the trail through the Ponderosa Pine forest going upstream.   Being in the forest, we didn't see any butterflies or birds.  Soon, we had a glimpse of the river with a fly fisherman in waders.  I suppose this is what many people who vacation along the Metolius think of as they plan their trip.

   A bit further on, another trail lead down to the river.  There I saw this group of California Tortoiseshells puddling.  There must have been ten or so.  This is far from an uncommon species this year, but as I have never seen them puddling before I'm including this photo.  I don't know if one should keep a separate list for species seen engaged in this activity, puddling, but its food for thought.  

    At this same spot we saw a small blue in the streamside bushes, which evaded my netting, and a Silverspot Skipper, with two bright orange dabs on its front wing.  Our consultant is out of contact, but when she surfaces, she may have something to say about that skipper.

    A gentleman hiker told us that a quarter mile further upstream there was a boggy area at the falls.  We decided that we weren't up to that hike and headed back to the car park.  There we set up camp on a shaded picnic table where Sandra hung out while I explored the trail leading downstream.

The butterfly spot downstream at Wizard Falls

    About a hundred yards downstream I came upon a tail leading to the river. It was a beautiful spot and there were some butterflies.  I netted a larger pale butterfly and took him back. Having seen Great Arctic the previous year, and it being a pretty distinctive butterfly, we were able to identify it.

  Having secured that guy, I went back for a second try.  On the way, I saw a Lorquin's Admiral.    This butterfly is one of the quintessential species of the riparian Pacific Northwest.  The car park before the Wizard Falls bridge was the first place we saw one a few years ago.  

   At the river, I got an excellent look at a Snowberry Checkerspot perched in the grass away from the stream.   I tried to capture it and failed.  Immediately I saw a small blue in the flowering shrubs.  Its much easier to net butterflies when they are teed up like that.  In that situation, my catch rate goes up above 50%!  Which is to say, I'm not very good at this in any circumstance.   Oh well. 

   Before we get further afield, I want to tell you about that checkerspot.  When I had a chance to look at the field guide, I noted that there were two checkerspots that looked, to my novice eye, identical.  Snowberry and Anicia.   In fact, I decided that looking at one from above, so viewing the dorsal surface, almost nobody could tell the difference. There is too much overlapping variation. As it turns out, to make the identification you have to capture the checkerspot, take a picture of the ventral surface and look for the "Edith line" as it meanders through the columns of orange and cream colored spots.  Under the most controlled situation, I have yet to master the art of finding the Edith line.  

Great Arctic, Wizard Falls, July 2026

   Being a good lister, or collector, which is the root of birdwatching and related hobbies, I hoped for an Anicia.  Caitlin's text suggested that the Anicia was found on the east side of the Cascades, where we were now standing, And the snowberry might be found only on the west side.  Sadly, this was incorrect. iNaturalist, to which Ms. LaBar is an expert adjudicator, shows that snowberry has been collected at the nearby Metolius campgrounds. Unfortunately, for me, the lister, the Anicia is not found on the Metolius.  It is further east. Rats! 

   Anyway, I took the one back to Sandra, we got him in the bag and proceeded to have a nice lunch beside the fish hatchery car park.  This is pleasant place, but although we could hear the river, there was no view.  You can't have everything, can you?

   At this point, I'm going to show you our pictures taken back at the laboratory, which the funders of the blog kindly moved from Vancouver all the way up to Sisters.

Lupin or Acmon Blue, Wizard Falls, July 2026

    You will note that the Great Arctic has seen better days.  The previous year we saw this species a month earlier, so in mid-July we may have been near the end of its flying period.

    The second butterfly, as you can see, was either a Lupin or Acmon.  Unless I am mistaken, these two are almost identical.  Possibly entirely identical, which makes you wonder why there are two species.  Anyway, while we wait for Caitlin to resurface, I'm calling it Lupin and we both got this wonderful picture you see here.  

    A lister might hope for a Volcano Blue Butterfly, whose underside is similar and may be found nearby.  This butterfly had light blue dorsal surfaces...the Volcano is slaty blue, much darker, so this is definitely not that.

    Sandra and I took a day off to watch France fall to Spain in what is turning into Donald Trump's World Cup. In case you are wondering just how corrupt FIFA is, which given the nature of this blog may be the furthest thing from your mind, Donald Trump has become good friends, virtually a confidante, with Gianni Infantino, the head of the soccer ruling body. And Trump has made thirty rings for the winners,,,gold encrusted with dozens of diamonds.  I shit you not.

Western Sulfur, Metolius Preserve, July 2026

    Maybe you don't give a whit about soccer, but you'd like one of those rings.  After all, it's your tax dollars at work.  Well, he made a hundred extra rings, and if you're connected, you can buy one for an exorbitant price.  But we don't have enough money for Social Security and Medicare.  Perhaps Trump is going to give a ring to Stephen Miller.  

   Rumor has it that Trump made a ring for himself, only it very plain gold with curious writing on it.  One ring to rule them all...

    Then, on yet another beautiful Central Oregon morning, we drove back to Camp Sherman.  In the interim. some kind soul had sawed through the tree across forest service road and moved part of it, so we were able to get by.  Soon we were at the car park for the Metolius Preserve.  It was impossible not to notice that there were many cars here, so as we got our nets and binoculars out of the car, we got emotionally prepared for company.

     On the trail, saw butterflies right away.  Many of these were large orange fritillaries and soon we had a good look at the male Great Spangled Fritillary.  Between Sandra and myself, we never captured one of these beauties on this day, though we saw many. This is a later butterfly on the Washougal and we had not seen it here at the Metolius Preserve. This trip was a month later than our previous two visits, so there you have it.

Dark wood Nymph, Metolius Preserve, July 2026

    Shortly after that I captured a medium sized dark butterfly that landed in the lower branches of a fir.  I told Sandra that it was a duskywing, which as you will recall is a group of  dark, butterfly-like skippers.  When we got back to the laboratory, we discovered that I was wrong.  Shocking! It was a Wood Nymph, which is in a group of dark, skippper-like butterflies.  

   Our first photo, which you see here, did not completely identify it.  Luckily, it escaped and flew up into a window ten feet above us, where it continued to flutter for a good long while.  This afforded us the opportunity to get a good look at is front wings, the ocelli upon which serve to identify the species.  Although you can't see it in my mediocre picture, on the front wings there were two bulls-eye spots, the front much larger than the one behind.  Hence, it was a Dark Wood Nymph, a species we saw the first time we visited the preserve but not since.

    Soon, beside the trail, we netted a Western Sulfur, a butterfly we had seen here previously in this spot.

     There were lots of familiar butterflies...many California torts and some Lorquin's Admirals.  Under a pine tree, I had a good look at a Painted Lady.  Caaitlin promised us West Coast Lady this year, but it has yet to flop into our hands.

Professor Peabody leads his troop through the Metolius Preserve.  AI

    Above the ferns, which filled most of the space between the pines on this part of the trail, there were several Great Arctics flapping around in their desultory fashion. Though unrelated, they have that same awkward flight displayed by the Clodius Parnassian.  Apparently, it gets the job done, but it lacks a pleasing aesthetic. What was God thinking?

    We got a very good look at several orange frits, smaller that the Great Spangled, but I was unable to get a good look under their wings or get them in the net, so they will go unnamed. 

Western Tailed Blue, Metolius Preserve, 2026

   Finally, we crossed the bridge and made it to the meadow where we had some good luck in years past.  At this point, someone started complaining that it was too hot.  And it wasn't even 10:30 yet.!

    We crossed the meadow and stood in the shade of a couple stunted Lodgepole Pines.  And as in uffish thought we stood, we heard voices tracking us down from the tulgey wood.  Soon a group emerged into the meadow.  Remember those cars in the car park on arrival.?  We had suspected that such a group might exist.  

   The group was led by a smallish man in a safari get up.  He was a chubby old elf with shortish white hair, and a cute little beard that came to a point.  And he held a small pointer, the better to direct the attention of his minions to certain plants or whatever else he might deem important. 

Western Checkered Skipper, Metolius Preserve, 2026

   Following him were a group of young adults, a few men and a few young ladies, mostly wearing ball caps and carrying clip boards.  Despite being turned out for a walk in the woods, a couple of the girls looked borderline dishy. Maybe it was the hot sun playing tricks on the old Jeffer. 

    Noting our nets, one of the fellows asked if we were fishing.  This is one way smart asses annoy us butterfly watchers.  As my own dishy colleague had previously noted, it was getting hot and, commensurately, I was getting cranky.  "No we're catching butterflies, you moron!"  I retorted.  Actually, I left out the moron part, but it was understood.

   With that, Professor Peabody raised his baton and the troop marched off into the preserve. 

  As it was getting hot and someone had had about enough of this nonsense, we headed back to the car.  On the way I netted a small white butterfly.  This was a Western Tailed Blue, so identified by Ms. LaBar last year.  I never saw any blue and neither you nor I see a tail, but the spots are right and who are we mortals to dispute with Cait?  Am I right?

Thompson's Blue Butterfly, Metolius Preserve July 2026

   Being a veritable Chingachgook, I soon had my dishy colleague doing her crossword puzzle in the front seat with the air conditioning going.  And I was off to catch more insects.  Soon I had a small skipper that was nectaring on a thistle.

     Up to this point I haven't mentioned the thistles, but there were lots of them and you would have thought they would be the ideal bait for butterflies.  But this little skipper, who we later identified as Western Banded Skipper, was the only one we saw on one of these tantalizing purple blooms.

    I got one more small, plain blue which I am unable to identify in Cait's absence.  Since it is plain and gray, I'm going to call it Thompson's Blue Butterfly in honor of the illustrator at the Waikiki Aquarium who gat the plainest, grayest fish in Hawaii named for him.  I hope that the next butterfly you see is better looking than that!

One ring to rule them all, one ring to find them.
One ring to bring them all, and in the darkness
 bind them.

    

     

Should we call him Paddington? Black Butte 2026 Part One

     Sandra and I arrived at Black Butte two days ago.  We took the long route over Mount Hood, hoping to see some birds and butterflies along the way.  We made it to the lodge in time for coffee and caught the couch with the killer view of the mountain.

Mount Hood, July 2026

   Outside, and this was about 9:30 in the morning, we saw a California Tortoiseshell and a large blue, both too far away to identify.  There was a small pond created by glacial run off where we enjoyed some Red Breasted Nuthatches and Pine Siskins dipping into the water for a refreshing slurp on this dry mountain.  

    Down at Alpine Campground, now ungated with a few registered campers, we saw a few wilting asters, far removed from the purple and gold aster meadows we were hoping for.  Commensurately, there were very few butterflies and we departed without a single catch.  Mount Hood needs some rain and maybe the flowers will come out along with some butterflies. 

   It's a long drive from Timberline down through Madras and Redmond and on to Sisters.  As we left home, Sandra wondered what we would forget.  As we passed Cline Falls, about ten miles north of Sisters, which is unrelated to the nice people who produce delicious Zinfandel down south in Sonoma, we stumbled upon the answer...red wine and ranch dressing.

Ray's...your choice for groceries in Sisters

   So twenty minutes later we found ourselves in Ray's Food Place.  In the last thirty years this old west cow town has been decimated by progress.  The view of the iconic Three Sisters mountains has been obscured by high rise condominiums, The Gallery Restaurant, formerly a diner sporting antique weapons (like a Sharps Model 1874, "Old Reliable") has been turned into a plasticized bar and the Gallimaufry no longer sells liquor.  Progress is harsh.  But Ray's persists.  It still sports its Old West facade, not to mention its high prices.  Despite Sister's burgeoning population, a more competitive purveyor of comestibles remains 45 minutes away in Bend. 
 

    In short order Sandra and I found ourselves in line with our choices.  Just ahead of us were a happy young couple and as we waited in line, we made friends.   I guess these delightful thirty somethings weren't married, because they required separate registers.  The pretty young lady. (nice shorts, nice legs and a terrific smile) had some sort of sodas.  The gent had one of those "hard" drinks, where the manufacturer mixes lemonade and vodka and charges $15 for a four pack.  We settled for Robert Mondavi and Hidden Valley.

Time to turn around and head for Wizard Falls

   The following morning, we hit the road in high anticipation.  What would we find at the Metolius Preserve that had been so prolific in the past?  Leaving the Camp Sherman resorts behind, we made the turn onto the gravel road that leads to the preserve.  About a mile down the road, we encountered a fallen tree across the road.  The sucker must have been 100 feet tall and there was no way we could move it.  We walked on the road for five minutes, with Cali torts whipping by and then we gave up, heading for another known butterfly hang out, the Wizard Falls Fish Hatchery

    It was about an eight mile drive from the spot where we turned around, past the Camp Sherman trailer park, making a sharp left turn at the Camp Sherman General Store and then past a number of large campgrounds on the Metolius River.  Fly fishing on the Metolius is very popular and these campgrounds are all booked solid for the summer.  

    About three miles from the fish hatchery, we saw something on the edge of the road.  As we approached, we realized that this bundle of black fuzz was a bear cub. We got within twenty yards and stopped.  He got to his feet, gave us a quick look and ambled into the Ponderosa Pine forest.  We watched him as he strolled down a tree trunk, at one time looking back over his shoulder.  He eventually disappeared into the forest. 

Yearling bear cub on the road

    At no time did we see the mama bear, but she must have been there. Right?  Not only did we not see her, but we didn't hear her, either.  As far as we could tell, neither the cub nor the Mother Bear vocalized.  Sarah Palin, among many others, has characterized herself as a mother bear (or grizzly) but let's face it, the difference between a forty-year-old politician and a real honest to God bear is substantial! 

    And as we watched our Baby Bear disappear into the woods, a large SUV passed us at a respectably slow rate of speed.  

   In my narrative to this point, I may have made this seem a bit nonchalant.  But far from it.  Sandra and I were totally excited and for the next three miles we talked happily about what a wonderful sighting this was.  

   When we got to the fish hatchery, we crossed the old wooden bridge and parked in the shade, next to the SUV that had passed us only moments before.   Sandra bounded from the car and immediately engaged the passengers from the SUV, three attractive forty year old ladies and one guy., presumably the husband who drew the short straw, and ended up as the chauffer.  The ringleader of this group noted that she had bear spray at home but didn't bring it with her on this excursion.  Up to this point, I had thought that seeing this bear, be it cub or adult, was a very rare thing.  Now I had to rethink.  If she had bear spray, she must think it's more than a remote possibility.  But she didn't bring the bear spray, so what does that tell you?

Yearling Bear cub ambling into the forest. 

    Always one to get my two cents worth in, I remarked that we didn't have any have any bear spray, but on the other hand we didn't get out of the car.  Obviously, I had not readjusted my thinking to the point where there were bears teaming in the surrounding forest and that maybe this wasn't a joke.  To be honest, I still don't know where the truth lies.  Should we all carry bear spray when we go hiking near the Metolius?  

    During my childhood, with my father as guide, I saw bears twice, once on a river on Vancouver Island and once at a garbage dump where the guide had a hot tip and so brought the family out for the show. 

     As a teenager I had a much more exciting and intimate experience.  I was a counselor at a Boy Scout Camp on the back side of Mount Hood.  A mother bear was frequenting the garbage cans outside the mess hall, so the councilors decided to camp out in the mess hall and get a look.  Sure enough, the bear showed up.  As we watched through the windows, the camp archery instructor stepped out from who knows where, drew his bow, and as the bear rose on her hind legs, shot an arrow into her chest.  You may wonder what the fuck he was thinking about.  Well, he was the same age as me, 17 or so.  Therefore, we can assume that he was a stupid teenager and he wasn't thinking.  Obviously, he hadn't asked anyone else if they thought this was a good idea.  

    In short order the arrow fell out, the bear wandered off.  The archery instructor called his parents and he was gone before we woke up in the morning.  No one among the hundreds of camping scouts was injured, so it didn't make the evening news. 

    That is the end of my bear experiences. And it exhausted my knowledge of bear biology up to this point.  Here is a bit of information provided by the internet:  

    Cubs in the woods around Sisters are born in the winter while the mother hibernates.  They are tiny and helpless.  By July, they are the size of a small dog or raccoon.  They stay with their mother until the following June, when the mother enters her breeding cycle and discourages the yearling from following her.  These bears, now in the 50 pound range and the size of a medium sized dog, are on their own, doing their own foraging.  They are frequently mistaken for an abandoned cub.  

    It's pretty clear with this explanation that our bear was a yearling, recently out on his own.  So all of our mama bear philosophizing was off base. Teenagers out on their own for the first time don't always exhibit the best judgement. This holds for us, Homo sapiens, as well as many other mammalian species.  Who among didn't do something stupid while our parents were safely at home watching TV?   So, a teenage bear, like a teenage human, has a brain that is still developing and he may be prone to questionable choices. 

Mount Jefferson and the Bear Shaman

   Adult Black Bears avoid contact with humans.  While Ursus americanus has lived in Oregon for over a million years, it has shared the territory with humans for a mere 15,000 years.  This represents thousands of generations of natural selection during which bears that came near humans were in grave danger.  So, contact with an adult bear near Sisters is very rare and probably related to the careless handling of food and waste.  

    I'm hoping that our bear makes a bunch of good decisions, possibly starting with staying off the road. With any luck he will grow up to be a useful member of the bear community.  Perhaps he'll go to Cal and join the football team.  Go Bears!  Right?

 jeff

To commemorate this amazing experience, I spent an hour or so with my friend Gemini, attempting to recreate what Sandra and I saw.  Multiple prompts yielded the two images you see here.  My son, the AI artist, says they are not very good and he is probably correct.  I hope they at least give you an idea of what Sandra and I saw on our way to Wizard Falls.  

And in the Who Knew? department, bears are way more common in Western Oregon than east of the Cascades.  Hence all the bear sightings in places like Forest Park and other places near Portland.

jh

   

    

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