The Goldenrod Crab Spider and the best of Bob Hillis

     Sometimes I feel like Professor Boisduval, who in my mind's eye is a chubby academic sitting in his museum in Paris and receiving specimens from his ace collector, Pierre Lorquin.  In the United States, Lorquin is most famous for his collecting work during the California gold rush, but he travelled widely and sent butterflies and beetles back to Paris from places like darkest Africa and Malaysia.  What a guy.

Double Tail Swallowtail near St George, Utah, June 2026

   In fact, Boisduval was a private collector, but his collection went on to become the Musee National d'Historie Naturelle.  Sacre bleu! As for Pierre Lorquin, his latter day avatar in this fantasy is my bon ami, Bob Hillis.  This spring, despite his complaints (everybody wants to see more, right?) this spring, Bob has sent me some excellent pictures of remarkable butterflies.  

   Most recently, he sent the picture you see here of an Arizona Double Tail, more correctly designated as the Two Tail Swallowtail, Papilio multicaudata.  He found this large swallowtail lying stunned on a gravel road at 7,000 feet in the Utah Rockies.  

   What you see here is this unusual butterfly cradled in Bob's hands.  The picture was taken by his lovely wife, Kim. Bob says Kim deserves full credit as she drives him nightly back to the memory care facility.  It seems that if you want to look at Bob's butterflies, you have to put up with his apocryphal tales.

An AI House Wren in the moist Ridgefield Woods

    When Bob told me his story, I curbed my jealousy and replied that the following day we were going to take Sandra's daughter, Leslie, birdwatching in Ridgefield and I was counting on a Lazuli Bunting lying stunned on the road. 

   We arrived at the Ridgefield refuge around 10 AM.  The first thing we noticed, was that in the intervening few weeks, the water level had dropped dramatically.  We still saw the Gadwalls and Cinnamon Teal, but long legged waders like the Yellowlegs were nowhere to be found.

   We made the obligatory stop at the blind.  Perhaps because it was cold and with a chance of rain, our friends the Black Phoebes weren't around.   On the bright side, the snipe were still making their winnowing sounds

Cascade Beard Tongue

    The Barn Swallows were now feeding their nestlings; four chicks nestled into their mud nest, inside the blind. Wheen an adult would swoop in, and the nestlings would stretch their necks and open their gaping mouths in hopes of getting the first bite. 

   We watched the area outside the blind for a while.  I was rewarded with a quick look, maybe ten seconds, of a small black bird with fluffy feathers as it scuttled from one patch of marsh grass to another.  I assume this was a Virginia Rail chick. 

   On our way back to the car, I pished the moist woods and drew a house wren in addition to the song sparrows, which are the dependable sentinels of the moist woods in the northwest.  The wren looked down at us from a mossy branch before flying away.   

     Yesterday Sandra and I tried to keep up with the Hillises...we went butterfly watching at Dougan Falls.  We made it to our first stop at a mere 1000 feet around 10 AM.  The sky was blue, at a crisp 60 degrees, and the nearby stream burbled merrily.  Cool, clear water, just what the Son's of the Pioneers had in mind.

Goldenrod Crab Spider with buttercups.

    We were early enough that we got to watch the butterflies emerge as the day warmed up.  First came the small, orange Western Meadow Frits, which was the butterfly that first attracted us to this area.  The larger fritillaries tend to emerge later in the season.  This little guy, as elegant as his bigger brothers, must produce brood after brood, as it appears in early May and is present all summer.   Sandra netted one and we  released it after confirming the ID.   Next came a Pale Tiger Swallowtail to be followed by a half dozen more.  They cruised up and down the road, chasing one another and nectaring on a small purple flower that was blooming on the slope. Google lens identifies it as Cascade Beard Tongue, also known as Penstemon serrulatus.  But why would you want to call it a penstemon when you have a common name that excites erotic fantasies among young lady sasquatches?

   I got a picture of the Pale Swallowtail having its way with the Beard Tongue...sadly there were no lady sasquatches to be found.

    The pale swallowtails were followed by Clodius Parnassian.  Sandra netted one of those, as well, and he was duly released to go find a lady Parnassian and entice her with his beard tongue.   It's that time of year!

Goldenrod Crab Spider, June 2026

   We then moved down to the Weedy Car Park, our most trusted spot.  The same butterflies were there, and we took note of a fine crop of thistles that should attract the larger frits in a month or so.  Sandra netted a Silver Spot Skipper that was nectaring among a patch of buttercups.  After we confirmed the ID and the skipper was released, Sandra noted that she had a tiny, bright yellow bug remaining on her net.  Soon this little yellow fellow was photographed and released.  

    We had never seen anything quite like it before and wondered if it was a tick or a small spider.  This led to some terrible jokes as we negotiated the bumpy road out of the forest.  If it was a yellow tick, would it carry Lemon's disease as opposed to Lime's Disease?  If I can't keep up with Bob Hillis in finding rare animals and excellent photography, perhaps I can give him a run for his money in bad puns.

    When we regained the internet, we found that this was a Goldenrod Crab Spider, Misumena vatia.  Only the females are bright yellow, and they are the vicious ones.  They live on yellow flowers (note that I included a picture in which you can see the similarly yellow buttercups behind the net).  When an insect, like a bee or butterfly comes to nectar on the flower, the spider leaps, grabs its prey with those powerful front legs and injects the unsuspecting insect with a powerful neurotoxin.  

   Sandra was very careful handling the spider, but she need not have worried.  While the toxin is fatal to pollinators, it is only mildly irritating to humans.  Sort of like Bob Hillis!  And me, too, I suppose.

jeff

Mormon Metalmark, Bob Hillis, May 2026, St George, Utah 

    

Mount Hood in Early June...Birds, Butterflies and the Mountain

    Caitlin LaBar had thrown down the gauntlet.  There were two rare ladies out there for the plucking.  and to see them, you needed to go to altitude.  

My new best friends.

     With that admonition to guide us, Sandra and I headed up to Mount Hood.  We picked the day that was supposed to be the best in a PNW spring of cool rainy weather.  We made it to Timberline Lodge in time to enjoy a cup of coffee while we watched the sunny day unfold on the snowcapped mountain.  Part of the fun is seeing who shows up for coffee.  That morning we were joined by a couple who sounded like they were from somewhere far away but claimed to be from Lake Oswego (the affluent suburb of Portland). 

   After I polished off two cups, it was time to take a walk outside.  My new best friends were there, and I talked them into letting me take their picture.  The gentleman introduced himself and it turned out they were originally from Mumbai.  I noted that (Bombay) was one of the world's great cities and he smiled and said that it was one of the world's biggest cities.  I guess that's why they moved to Oregon, where I suppose he works for Intel or maybe the university.  

   And, by the way, it isn't like Portland doesn't come with its own set of problems. Maybe Portland is the Bombay of the Pacific Northwest!  The Indians have Bollywood and we have Portlandia...the similarities go on and on.

Chipping Sparrows breed right up to the timberline.

    Having ascertained that the weather outside was delightful, I was able to talk my sweetie into a walk, get some of that fresh mountain air in her lowland lungs.  Almost immediately I spotted a small bird on the ground. He was working his way around fallen spruce boughs and some low-lying purple heather.  Through the binoculars I was pleased to see that this was a chipping sparrow.  Who knew this species would occur at 6,000 feet?  As we listened, I could hear its rapid trill.  What a treat.  

   We walked about a hundred yards up the trail, gaining maybe, 150 vertical feet.  From that vantage point we could look back down on Timberline Lodge with its iconic weathervane and Mt. Jefferson peaking over the roofline, less than 50 miles away as the sparrow flies.  It's a lot further by car.

   The day was getting warmer and it was time take the Caitlin LaBar challenge.  We boarded the faithful Mazda and descended half a mile and 500 vertical feet to the National Forest campground.  We made a u turn and parked outside the locked gate.  I immediately saw a butterfly, but he was gone by the time I hopped out and retrieved my net.  We plunged into action, wondering how many butterflies we would need to net before we found an American or West Coast Lady.  

An AI of West Coast Lady nectaring on Prostrate Speedwell

    While we were trooping around the emerging plants near the campground entrance, which should be a glorious aster meadow of asters in a couple weeks, I noted that the heather that I had seen above the lodge had been replaced by a low lying purple flower with light yellow centers.  I took its picture and then asked Goggle lens to identify it.  The ID came back Prostrate Speedwell.  I had to smile, in as much as this sounds like a favorable visit to the urologist.  

    Hee I am showing you one of my AI mash ups with a West Coat Lady nectaring on Protrate Speedwell.  If C. LaBar had only been correct, we could have showed you an original photo.  Quel dommage.

    Sadly, that solitary insect was a most cruel red herring.   As the gate was locked, we had the campground all to ourselves and we worked it diligently for over two hours.  In that time we saw one orange butterfly as it flew away.  We did see another chipping sparrow, but that was thin gruel when you hoped for a West Coast Lady.

A curious Gray Jay drops by for a look.

    About an hour into this futile pilgrimage, we sat on a picnic table in the shade of some spruce and Douglas Fir.  As we rested, we heard chipping Sparrows trilling and the curious call of numerous Varied Thrush.  You can imitate this call by simultaneously humming and whistling, so it's sort of a monotone melodious buzz.  The shade was nice, the warming air smelled of growing conifers, and it was just about perfect.  At that moment a pair of Gray Jays landed in the fir right by the table, 

   Is this heaven?  No, it's Oregon. (Field of Dreams, loosely)

    A bit later, Sandra decided she had had enough of this nonsense and retired to the car where a crossword puzzle and a comfy seat were preferable to futile searching.  I went across the highway to what I thought was my secret butterfly meadow up a fenced dirt road.  In what I had assumed to be my personal space, I found that the orcs had arrived and left two sawhorses and a couple large plastic pipes.  This can't be a good thing.  Are they going to drain heaven?

   Well, there were no orcs and there were just a few butterflies.  A potential lady that fled into the woods and a Sulphur, Western or Orange, that floated by ten yards away.  

Lupine Blue, Government Camp, June 2, 2026

   By the time I got back to the car, Sandra was ready for lunch.  As little was happening on the mountain we descended to Government Camp and took our picnic to the back porch of the ski school.  There, in the shade, we enjoyed the view, ham sandwiches, some apple slices and cookies. As we dined, a few small butterflies flew by, a blue and two small rufous.  

    After lunch we trooped the ski area cum meadow.  After half an hour we were about ready to give up when Sandra caught our one prize for the day.  Here you see a Lupine Blue, certified by the oracle of Longview.  We took one picture in the laboratory then moved outside where we let him crawl on a rhododendron leaf.  The outside light really improved the photo.  He opened up for about two seconds, revealing a pewter blue wing and the characteristic orange markings.  He then closed up and flew away.  

   Congrats to Sandra for saving us from a skunk. 

Here is an AI image of a Lupine Blue nectaring on a wild buckwheat flower.  Curiously, I saw this flower growing in the ski school field.  I had no idea what it was or that it might be important.  The Lupine Blue uses the buckwheat for nectaring and as a host plant.

  We had one more goal for this day.  In two weeks, we will be hosting our nephews at a condo in Welches, a resort community about ten miles down the mountain from Government Camp.  We wanted to check out the condo, so we pulled onto Welches Road and, thinking I knew the way, proceeded to drive deep into the forest.  I thought it was only going to be a mile or two, but we went much further than that.  The road got narrower and giant potholes appeared.  I felt like Frodo and his hobbit friends as they descended into the valley of the Withywindle.  I could almost hear the trees considering our doom.  Would Tom Bombadil come to save us?  

The Red-headed Sapsucker

    Finally, we reached a spot where a dozen cars were parked.  Just past this spot, an orange striped barrel indicated a pothole that extended almost all the way across the road.  We manage to get around the pothole, turn the car around and escape.  As we ascended from the valley I thought I could hear Goldberry singing, something about the master of the wood and you were lucky you didn't break an axel.  

   Back at U.S. 26, we stopped at a gas station where the attendant, who may well have been related to old Bombadil, told us that the condo, Shadowhawk, or something like that, was only a mile down the road.  We retraced our route, with only a modicum of trepidation, and found the condo.  As we parked. a red headed sapsucker flew onto the trunk of the tree right by the car.  This handsome beast is one of the three varieties of the Yellow Bellied Sapsucker and not particularly unusual in western Oregon.  Perhaps it was the shade, but this guy had a particularly red head.  

   We disembarked, found our condo-to-be and walked to the Salmon River where there is a gravel trail leading above the stream.  More adventures await.

jeff

     

     

Captain Clark Park, Butterflies, Birds and Bathers

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

A male Yellowthroat sings for his supper.

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Orange and black is the bomb.

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

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

A Yellow Warbler on a spring morning.

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

    

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

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

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

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

     I doubt that Captain Clark had it so good.

jeff

Spring Comes to Southwest Washington

      It being the season, this week Sandra and I went butterfly watching three times.  The first excursion was to Dougan Falls.  Our daughter, Leslie, was kind enough to join us for the 45 minute drive up the Washougal.  We stopped to purchase a pass at the Washougal River Mercantile, only to find out that the state, in its wisdom, has eliminated the Merc, along with numerous other locations, as a place where a Discover Pass might be purchased.  

The Green Angelwing nee Comma, May 2026

   On we went, scofflaws to the core, stopping at our favorite locations and nabbing a total of nine species.  Compared to really good butterfly watchers, this isn't a remarkable total.  However, it may be a record for us.  The highlight was a Green Comma that Sandra nabbed at our first stop. You will note that our picture, which you see here, is only the lateral.  Through wanton stupidity, I let the beast escape while hoping for an al fresco  dorsal shot. So you let a butterfly wake up outside and seem surprised when it flies away.  Astonishing!  Anyway, Cait verified that it was a Green Anglewing.

    At our second stop, our beloved Weedy Car park on the banks of the Washougal, we were greeted with the welcoming aroma of woodsmoke.  The smell of burning wood is one of those remarkable atavistic pleasures, like feeding your dog at the table.  Homo sapiens has been enjoying these sensations for a very long time. (in fact, Homo erectus controlled fire over a million years ago.  By comparison, we've only been feeding our dogs scraps for 20,000 years.)   All that anthropology aside, in this day and age it's hard to imagine that one would run across a smoldering fire.  To quote that great bayou philosopher, Pogo the Possum, "What are you wearing for brains?  Yesterday's socks?"   

   We sacrificed one of our water bottles and polished it off with what the Big Lebowski would refer to as a micturation, and left the world a safer place.  While we weren't preventing forest fires, we caught a few butterflies.  We got Leslie to pose with the author along with a netted Pale Swallowtail. We also netted a worn out Echo  Azure and a tiny Mylitta Crescent.  Far from unusual butterflies, but new to this year's list.

     We finished off the day at our favorite spot on Dougan Creek.  Before we departed, Leslie and I took a walk up the road and met a nice lady in her SUV.  There is nothing like an old goat and a pretty young lady, both carrying butterfly nets, to excite curiosity.  We had a pleasant chat, talked about host plants and were pleased to inform our new friend that we had indeed captured a few butterflies.  She wondered if it wasn't too early for butterflies and I replied that, far from it, the butterfly season was well underway.  As you will see, I could have said that for the lowlands of Southwest Washington, it was already too late. 

    A few days later, Sandra and I made the trek up the Klickitat.  We got as far up as Wahkiahio, where we had had very good luck the previous year.  Wahkiahio is such a thriving metropolis that it is easy to miss, so we went a few miles past our turn off before Sandra convinced the driver to consult the Google map.  Soon enough we were back down to Pull Out Road.  Here, things were much drier than we had expected.  There were lots of Tiger Swallowtails and we were pleased to renew our acquaintance with the Ochre Ringlet.  

Lepidopterist Leslie and the Old Goat

    There was one bright orange butterfly which I captured briefly in the binoculars.  Butterflies are complex, frequently defying my ability to identify them under the best of circumstances.  We saw this orange critter two more times.  The last was on a rock wall with seeping water.  I approached him cautiously, got the net poised, and made my swipe.  The seep, aside from attracting butterflies, had watered some blackberry vines and as the butterfly entered the net, the net was snagged by a blackberry thorn.  Out flew the mystery butterfly.  Shazbatt!  

   Suffice it to say, I was unable with my ever too vague description, to coax a guess out of Ms. LaBarr.  In honor of this event, I present you with this bit of doggerel.  We went for the kill at Wahkiachio, but ended up at the business end of a Priapus. Do you remember Dianne Weist looking at plates in The Birdcage?  "I think they're playing leapfrog."    It was sort of like that.

    We had one more chance to redeem ourselves...FishOn Road.  this obscure turnout ten miles up from Hwy 14 and ten miles down from Wahkiachio, is Cait's secret spot.  Two years ago, I saw my first Indra Swallowtails there.  And we have seen other goodies.

    On the fifteen-minute walk from the car to the famous sand bank, we saw lots of Tiger Swallowtails, a number of Lorquin's Admirals, and too many Ocher Ringlets.  They invariably look like they might be something special and we waste a lot of time taking pictures of them.

The Klickitat Puddle Party

    Finally, we made it to the sandbar and, as we hoped, there was a puddle party in progress.  As a final treat I present you with our best picture which should include a butter yellow Tiger Swallowtail, numerous elegant Pale Swallowtails, some drab Pascivius Duskywings, and a few Echo Azures.  

    Imagine, if you will, an Ochre Ringlet on a nearby bush saying. "If you don't take my picture, I won't let you go home."  What an annoying butterfly!

jeff

PS  After we sent her our pictures and field notes, Cait notified us that she had just received a message from her senior author, Bob Pyle.  He had just visited the area described above and said it was all dried out and not worth a visit.  She advised us to look at higher altitudes.  So.  Stay tuned.  jh