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