The End of Summer in the Oregon Alps or an Hydaspe Surprise

Bob Hillis sets a high bar.

     It was the first day of the Labor Day Weekend.  The 2024 college football season would kick off in less than 24 hours, and it was a bright blue morning at Timberline Lodge. 

    Butterfly season was winding down.  On our last outing, to Dougan Falls, Sandra and I met a pleasant trio from the State of Washington Department of Ecology (who knew that such an organization even existed?) that were examining the water quality in the upper Washougal.  While it may have been amusing to watch an attractive biologist slip into her hip waders, the butterflying was far from exciting.  

    Our friend, Bob Hillis, had tempted us back into the field with a picture of Milbert's Tortoiseshell, which he encountered recently at 11,000 feet in southern Utah.  If Bob could see Milbert's (possibly my most wanted butterfly) why couldn't we see something good late in the season?  We were hoping for a Red Admiral and expecting, at the least, Lorquin's Admiral.  Instead, we saw a few tiny, orange Woodland Skippers, Que triste! 

    Luckily, hope springs eternal and Sandra and I were delighted to take this late summer jaunt up to Mt. Hood. From our coffee spot in Timberline Lodge, I had taken a quick trip to the car to fine tune our butterflying equipment and when I returned, Sandra had made friends with a couple from New Zealand.   They regaled us with stories of Sirocco, the famous kakapo.  Kākāpō are giant flightless parrots of renowned skill, sometimes referred to as owl faced parrots.  In the wild they are nocturnal. Sirocco was raised by hand and is virtually the national mascot.  Apparently he is easy to see, but his wild brethren have been much reduced in numbers and are, as previously stated, nocturnal.  So good luck seeing one of them.  

California Tortoiseshell, Tumalo Falls June 2024

    Sandra and I finished our coffee, applied our sun screen and bid our Kiwi friends a fond farewell.  They, in turn, wished us good luck with the butterflies, At that moment, I was sure that we needed all the good luck we could get. 

    Outside, despite being only 9:30, the sun was up, the sky was blue, and it was already warm.  We took the main trail up the hill from the lodge.  It climbed steeply and then turned west.  A sign noted that we were on the Pacific Crest Trail.  This trail was well trod with ankle high barriers and signs to keep on the trail.   After fifty yards we came to a crossroads.  The PCT continued west with seemingly little change in elevation.  Like the hill-topping butterflies, we wanted to go up.  And so we turned right onto a wide path that paralleled the ski lift.  Our new trail was wider, perhaps it would be accessible to an ATV associated with ski lift repair.   Best of all, this steeply climbing road had no barriers to prevent us from wandering.  

Boiduval's Blue, Deschutes Puddle Party, May 2023

 

   We climbed another 150 vertical feet and decided to take a rest.  One can over do this mountain climbing stuff.  Sandra found a rock that was both shaded and sufficiently comfortable. Left to my own devices (my sweetie had claimed the best rock) I crawled up the bank and perched on a spruce root that was retaining the soil.  At this point I decided, in a most self serving way, to hunt butterflies the way Rollo Kuse hunted deer.  

    Sandra's father, Rollo, was famous for his success in dispatching Bambi on an annual basis.  The best story involves him arriving in front of Sandra's dorm at Chippewa State with Bambi draped over and secured to the hood of his station wagon and honking madly until all the young lovelies came to admire the fruits of his hunting prowess.  

    The bottom line is that Rollo knew how to hunt in a way that my pater familias certainly did not.  My dad would arm my brother and me with shotguns while he carried a 30.06.  We would walk in a semi-stealthy fashion through some second growth alders for 45 minutes and, surprise, surprise, not see a fucking thing.  Rollo, on the other hand, would find a deer trail and sit quietly for as long as it took Bambi to wander by.  

This Butterfly Has Flown

    So, as I sat on my shaded perch, with a great view of a small meadow of asters and such, I took heart in the notion that I was not being lazy.  I was being smart.  Like Rollo!  I had a great view of the flies and bees that were working the wildflowers, which only three or four hundred feet higher than the lodge were far less baked.  We waited for a while, and I was in the final ten minutes of what my patience would tolerate when suddenly here came a butterfly making his way up hill.  I called to Sandra as the butterfly flew behind her, she turned and got a pretty good look at a California Tortoiseshell. 

   Well, this got me off my duff and we both traipsed around for a bit.  But like the bird in Norwegian Wood, this butterfly had flown.  We had both seen the medium sized orange insect, though, and we were not skunked.  God bless Rollo Kuse, wherever he is.  Presumably waiting for Bambi in St Peter's Wood.   

   Heading down the hill we encountered another butterfly on it's way up.  This was a medium sized yellow butterfly that circled for a while, getting quite close to both of us but never landing.  And never finding his way into my net.  As he flew by, I could make out the black dorsal wing linings, making this an Orange Sulfur Butterfly.  

    Robert Pyle tells us that "This is the most abundant butterfly in the high cascades in the fall, often seen moving up mountain roads..."  Sounds like Bob has it pegged.

Hydaspe Fritillary, Alpine Campground, Labor Day 2024

    We wanted to continue down the ski lift path, but at the intersection with the Pacific Crest Trail it became even steeper and appeared to terminate at the ski lift hut.  And so we turned back onto the PCT.  Here we encountered many hikers and their children and their dogs.  We also became reacquainted with the fences keeping us on the trail.  And the signs warning us to behave...or else.   A short piece down the trail we spotted several larger blues in the abundant white wildflowers.  

    We took turns with the binoculars, getting pretty good looks.  We were unwilling to step over the trail guards though, so we couldn't get a chance at netting one.  The female nearest to us was quite dark ventrally.  Several males were fitting around about twenty yards down the hill and it was easy to appreciate their gray blue surfaces.  Most likely these were Boiduval's Blues.

    Named for a famous Frenchie, who sat in his Ivory Tower in Paris naming the species that he received specimens from our hero, Pierre Lorquin, Boisduval's Blue is possibly the most common blue in the Pacific Northwest.  It is slightly larger than most other blues, is found in a variety of habitats and appears later in the season at higher elevations..  The picture you see here was taken at a dirt boat launch on the Deschutes near Maupin, Or. in the spring of last year.  Also present were Sagebrush Checkerspot, ,Coronis Fritillary. and Oregon Swallowtail.  With a gathering so auspicious, I trust they were drinking something better that plain old mud filtered water.  A Willamette Valley pinot, perhaps?

    One might easily think that three species for the morning was three more than we had a right to expect. So we were pretty happy as we descended 500 feet to Alpine Campground.  Immediately as we arrived we saw dark medium sized butterflies in flight.  It took a while to track one down, but I got my first on the far side of the highway, on the gated dirt road leading to a meadow.  A quick look at my catch and I knew it was our new best friend, an Hydaspe Frit.  

   Caitlin had said that this was our most common frit, but until this year Sandra and I had hardly seen one.  We encountered them in the vicinity of the Washougal in June and July and now here they were in great numbers at 5,400 feet.  Pyle and LaBar agree that it is found from lowlands in late spring to hill topping mountains later in the season.  Cait is apparently unavailable; perhaps she is out tormenting the butterflies of Montana.  When she gets back I'm sure she will tell us if it is surprising that we saw this butterfly in great numbers at Alpine Campground.  Look at our pictures taken back at the ranch.  In addition to some diagnostic ventral views, this guy gave as a great look at his dorsal pattern , as well.

    We were lucky to have such a day near the end of the butterfly season.  Football season is now upon us.  So raise a glass of something delicious and give us a Go Huskies! 

jeff

Anna's Blue to the Rescue

The Original Snorkelkids ca 2009

      It was coming up to the middle of August and the Butterfly Buddies (we used to be the Snorkelkids) were jonesing for one more lep to add to the summer's list.  We called on Auntie Cait, the Queen of Kelso, and all she had was head east of Mount Hood and look for a Golden Chinquapin in whose branches you might find the Golden Hairstreak.  But don't hold your breath; "its a difficult butterfly to locate."

Fifteen years later on Mount Hood

     As you know, I'm not a botanist.  If I had any confidence that I could tell a Golden Chinquapin from a Golden Goose, we would have been down in Eugene in early July looking for California Sister.  Suffice it to say, the Sister remains safely on the wish list.  Stay tuned next June when we search out muddy boat launches on the Rogue River where my children tell me those little devils run rampant. 

     So, with that exceedingly faint bit of encouragement, we got out on the road and headed for altitude.  By 8:30 on Monday morning we were sitting in front of the coffee urn at Timberline Lodge.  Through the window we could see cavorting Pine Siskins and some very streaky finches,   The bird guides convince me that it is a fool's errand to identify fall finches, Cassin's , Purple and House.   There were a few fat ground squirrels filling their cheek pouches with the alpine bounty, for the wildflowers uphill from the lodge were still thriving.  

   Sandra and I walked uphill and as we returned, we met a gentleman from Portugal, of all places.  We took some pictures of him with the mountain and he took about a dozen pictures for us.  It was warm, sunny and delightful.  

Ana's Blue, Timberline Mount Hood, August 2024

   One might have thought that we would proceed to see all sorts of butterflies.  But this was not to be.  We descended to Alpine Campground and walked back and forth for a couple hours, seeing nothing in the way of butterflies.  I explored across the street and found a gated dirt road that led to a delightful meadow where there were bees, but no butterflies. 

   A little after noon we had had enough of all this nothing.  While Sandra worked on a crossword puzzle, I took my net and crossed the street, walking back into that meadow.  Finally, I looked in the correct spot and there was a tiny female blue.  At first she was open and I could see her brown dorsum.  She then closed her wings revealing tiny black spots.    Luck was with me and I netted the little dear.  Back at the car, Sandra transferred her to the vegetable bag.  Through the bag we got a look at a tiny butterfly, white below with some exceedingly tiny black spots and  grayish brown on the dorsum. We saw no dorsal  distinguishing marks.  

Anna's Meadow, across the from Alpine NFS

   After a futile trip around the mountain to Mount Hood meadows, where the day had turned cold and windy, we went home.

    It takes about an hour to chill a butterfly and by late afternoon we were able to position her on the stick and get some pictures.  My opinion is that if we had not resorted to this extreme protocol, obtaining really good pictures of the ventral wings, we would not have been able to identify her.  Certainly prior to the photography we did not notice those delicate orange chevrons.   Of course, we were not the ones to do the identification...the best of our pictures was emailed to Caitlin, with the admonition that when I saw the dorsal surfaces up on the mountain I saw no orange.  

    Cait got back to us right away, saying:

Anna's Blue :)   The ones we have here are mostly brown with only a hint of orange,  less than most other butterflies that have it.

   We then repaired to the book, Pyle and LaBar, Butterflies of the Pacific Northwest.  Here we found that Anna's Blue lives in cool boreal forests above 3,000 feet all the way up to bare rock and ice above timber line.  The male is blue above with no orange and the female is mole-brown (as compared to dry leaf brown) with a hint of orange in the aurorae.  

    The butterfly then spent the night in our inside refrigerator.  This is the warmer of the two;  ice forms around the beer cans in the garage refrigerator and so it is used, vis a vis butterflies, for short periods and in only the most demanding circumstances.   

Anna's female, courtesy of Pyle and LaBar.

    So Tuesday morning we took the butterfly out and placed her under a stemless wineglass, hoping that she would unfold her wings so we could look for that orange aurora.  We waited for twenty minutes and then impatience ruled the day.  We shuffled the glass around, making the butterfly flip open for an instant.  This was too fast for our geriatric eyes, so we took a few movies.  I can now state, with the benefit of cell phone videography, that when a little butterfly flips her wings they are exposed for a mere fraction of  a second.  Not long enough, even with the most dexterous pausing, to get anything but a blurry look at her wings.  In the best blurry view, assuming I was so disposed, I could imagine a hint of orange.

   Now a hint of orange is something you might expect in a tequila sunrise.  I'm showing you the picture my guru uses in her book of the female Anna's dorsum.  Although that is less orange than you might find in Acmon's or Melissa's, its more than a hint of orange.. think maybe a screwdriver.  

    But as with many northwest butterflies.it comes down to subspecies.  In the book, we count 20 species of Pacific Northwest blue butterflies that have orange in the females dorsal wing.  Bob Pyle says, "few in our area (sub species P.anna ricei ) have orange in the aurora, unlike the subspecies found in California.  I guess the Anna's you find on Mount Shasta prefer screwdrivers.  

    When we saw the little butterfly above Timberline Lodge three weeks ago, it was almost certainly an Anna's.  Cait included Anna's in her speculation along with Silvery and Boiduval's.  Now we can all be sure that this unusual alpine butterfly is up at Timberline, which remains fertile territory for butterfly discoveries.

jeff

    

 

   

Summer on the Washougal or the Great Spangled Frit

       It's truly summertime here in the Pacific Northwest.   Forest fires are raging and Mt. Hood rises like a hazy ghost east of Portland.  But with the full force of the season comes the chance to see butterflies that don't emerge until summer.  When you think about the butterfly's imperative, to emerge, breed, insure a new generation,  it makes you wonder why evolution would favor such a late start. 

 

     Nevertheless, there are a few butterflies that don't emerge until August.  One of these late risers, the Great Spangled Fritillary, is one of our best butterflies.  This assumes that you like big orange beauties.  I do.  And I'll bet you do, as well.

Hydspe Frit female august 2024 Washougal River

    It had been three weeks since we last went to Dougan Falls and the Upper Washougal.  In the interim we had been to a couple other butterfly spots, installed a butterfly exhibit in the Camas Library and gone north to see Jeff Dunham and his politically incorrect puppets.  

     On Wednesday we got an early start and were all the way to Timber Creek by 10:30.  Unfortunately our tire pressure alarm illuminated and chimed at 10:29.  We circled the BOT-mobile in the parking area by the dry creek.  Radial tires, right?  They always look like they might be flat.  Sandra and I made the decision not to go further, eschewing the steep climb  on a narrow gravel road and headed back down.  

    Half a mile before the weedy car park Sandra spotted a large orange butterfly on the side of the road.  Here we encountered a male Great spangled Frit that held still long enough for the picture you see here.  Additionally. there were a few really small orange skippers, roughly the size and color of some small berries dotting a broad leafed shrub.  Following the photo, the frit left and did not return.  the small skippers persisted, though and after a few unsuccessful swipes, we finally caught one.

Hydspe Frit female, ventral August 2024

    With our tiny skipper safely stowed, we made it to our favorite weedy car park.  Over the last few months I have been cultivating a patch of thistles, removing the morning glory vines that threatened to choke off these valuable plants.  It was immediately apparent that my efforts had paid off.  Several big orange butterflies were nectaring on the thistles.  We had the opportunity to take a couple videos and a few more pictures.  In one video you can see the frit extending his proboscis repeatedly in to the flower.  There were so many opportunities that it was not too difficult to catch one of them. 

    This was not the only interesting butterfly.  We caught another tiny insect that we were sure was the tail end of the mylitta crescents.  But the coup de grâce was a medium sized frit that perched on a weed near the car.  A stealthy approach resulted in the capture of a hydaspe frit.  Sandra has become an excellent butterfly handler and we got the pictures you see here.  We were sure that this was a hydaspe and Caitlin reported that it was a female.  Her book says females are more yellowish, but perhaps it was the way she bugged out her eyes that gave it away.  

Great Spangled Fritillary, August 2024, Washougal River

    We endeavour to take as few as we can, and so, after these pictures were taken, she was released.  As she flew up into the woods she was heard to say, "Don't forget to take out the garbage!"  Yet another clue as to her gender.  

    With our charges safely ensconced, we made it to the nearest Costco tire station.  There, Sandra supervised the attendant who gave each tire a small dosage, but diagnosed the problem as a false alarm.  Meanwhile, I bought a Costco chicken, so the trip was not a total loss.

    Back at the ranch, we had three participants duly awaiting their turn in the refrigerator.  The frit was called upon first.  He emerged from his quarters in beautiful condition, as you can see.  This species is unusual in that the female is dramatically different, with a brown and white dorsal coat, so there was no doubt that this, and all the big orange butterflies we saw were males.

    Sandra took him outside where he immediately took to the skies.  He landed in the building across the street, which is a remarkable habitat, in that numerous unusual species have been recorded there.    

Woodland Skipper, August, 2024

      Next was the little skipper.  He cooperated long enough for us to get a wings up ventral picture and then, as so many of our butterflies do, made a bee line for the window.  The picture you see was taken on the window sill.  Lucky for him, he let Sandra nab him and he was released outside.

    We have struggled with these orange-ish skippers.  Caitlin declared this to be a woodland skipper.  One would hope that this Identification was made on morphological exam.  But I believe that it was made primarily on local knowledge of the season and location.  Little orange and brow bugs...what can you do.  Probably someone is catching one of them and examining the genitalia. 

   Last but not least came or natty crescent.  Its sort of interesting to note that this species was an early spring butterfly and reemerged as a second generation a month ago.  This fellow was clearly late in his life.  

A natty male Mylitta Crescent, Washougal River, August 2024

    like the skipper, he permitted a ventral view photo and then dashed for the window..  Sandra caught him once as he ascended the pane, brought him down and I got this quick picture between the vanes of the Venetian blinds before he headed up again.

    The next day I was able to show him to my grandson, now in a more tractable state.  Was there an object lesson here?  Allow yourself to be caught and you will be released outside to play.  Persistent defiance and you end up a drying husk in the window well.  

   And on that happy note, we wish you a good summer and many beautiful butterflies,

jeff