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The End of Summer with Sandhill CGrouch Marxranes at Ridgefield NWR

     A couple weeks ago, when Daniel Rubinoff was helping me with the butterflies of the Bay, he noted that butterfly season must be over in the Pacific Northwest.  This was almost a challenge.  Sandra and I got out and saw some skippers and a California Tortoiseshell at Dougan Falls.  The tortoiseshell actually made it into the net, but was released when identified as the common butterfly of 2026.  Then, on a trip to see our friends and relatives north of Seattle, I saw a Painted Lady nectaring on some small white flowers our friend Jackie has growing around her front porch.  Jackie is a wonderful gardener, so if anyone could attract butterflies in September, it ought to be her.

Green Heron with crest, Ridgefield NWR, September 26 AI

    But now, butterfly season is ending and it will soon be time to start writing blogs about the Hawaiian reef.  We were going to make a stab at Mount Hood a few days ago but the predicted high was only 59 degrees at Timberline, too cold for butterflies.  So today, we decided to take a trip to the Ridgefield NWR.

   The target species for today's adventure were migrating Sandhill Cranes, which appear in moist grasslands near Portland in mid-September.  Gemini, notorious for telling you what it thinks you want to hear, suggested the cranes were at Ridgefield this week.  Well, we would see.

   We arrived at the refuge around nine.  It was overcast and cool.  Soon we were on the two and a half mile loop road through the marshes and meadows.  Immediately, on the mud surrounding the very first pond. we saw a green heron.  It is a testament to this refuge, which encourages you to stay in your car, that such a furtive bird was walking along in the open.  We got a very good look, albeit through the car windshield, which made photography a non- starter.  Unlike the bird we saw in California, this guy had a raised crest.  Arthur Singer in Birds of North America, draws it both ways, with the crest lying flat, as we saw in Morro Bay or elevated.  Now we had seen both in about a month, albeit 800 miles apart.

   As is my wont, I have created an AI portrait of this green heron.

   We passed a few cars stopped to look at heaven knows what. After the first big corner Sandra spotted a small hawk in the top of a dead tree, which turned out to be a Kestrel.  Not a rare bird, but it was a beautiful look.

   We bypassed the trail to the blind, and made it the Kiwa Tril, where one is encouraged to disembark and watch birds afoot.  On the trail we saw a large family of Wood Ducks.  This was, only a few months ago, an exciting species for us.  However, we have seen them at this refuge almost every time we visit and they have now descended to the realm of dirt bird.  How the mighty are fallen.

Groucho Marx: Say the magic word, win a Sandhill Crane!

    As we walked down the trail through the moist forest, I was struck by how quiet it was.  Occasionally you hear of someone, mostly from a city like New York or Los Angeles, entering a wild, unpopulated area and remarking on the incredible silence.  However, silence requires more than just a spot away from cars, chattering people and their cell phones. Things like wind and waves make noise.  Here on the Kiwa Trail in the mid-morning, it was still as could be.  There wasn't even a hint of breeze to rattle the autumn leaves and the still, moist air further dampened any noise. 

   A bit further on, the silence was broken by a quiet tapping.   It was the soft drumming of a small woodpecker or possibly a nuthatch, emanating from an old, gnarled tree right by the trail.  The poor tree had a large moss covered trunk but someone had removed most of the branches about seven feet up, creating a mess of new growth.  

   As we walked forward, Sandra spotted a small woodpecker in a tall alder.  As we looked up, a bird flew out from the trail side tree, possibly an ancient apple, and landed below the other, who flew down, as if to greet, or perhaps chase, and then flew back up.  These were a pair of downy woodpeckers.  We got a better look at the female, with her clear white back, in the upper branches and just a flash of red from the male, working now in the lower branches of the alders. Presumably they had reared a brood this last summer and are enjoying the empty nest syndrome, hammering away to their hearts content.

Sandhill Cranes, Ridgefield September 2026 SKG photo

   As we were leaving the trail. we were passed by two ladies who outweighed my sweetie by many a stone.  As they made it to the car park, one said, "Let's see if the cranes are still there."  Cranes!  That was the magic word for the day! 

     Looking over a shoulder or two, I spotted three Sandhill Cranes about a hundred yards away.  They were a soft buffy gray and if you didn't look carefully, maybe you could miss them.  One could only conclude that I had missed them. And so, to paraphrase Lloyd Christmas, The plump, though slow and prone to lower extremity joint malfunction, can still be excellent and helpful birdwatchers.

   Sandra and I watched and photographed this trio for about twenty minutes.  At first, they were hunting in the tall, moist grass.  Then they took a walk, marching in a line, heads bobbling back a d forth just a bit.  Sort of like the Bangles in Walk like an Egyptian..  And they were coming ever closer.  

   At this point they stopped, perhaps sixty yards away.  Knee deep in grass, they tilted their heads back and all three gave that warbling, trumpeting call you associate with cranes.  I know I've heard it before, maybe in real life, possibly only on the television.  But really, how much experience does one have with calling cranes?  Not bloody much! In the distance we could hear a faint answer, as if there was a group of cranes a mile away.  Our trio responded with another chorus.  Sandra said, "They're talking to each other ."  And she was right.

Sandhill Cranes Flying in the Ridgefield NWR, AI

   At about this point, a flight of eight cranes flew overhead.  Some of them calling, perhaps to our trio, who called back.  Suffice it to say, we were in Sandhill Heaven.  

   Eventually the trio of cranes got so close, perhaps only forty yards away, that Sandra was able to get this excellent picture.  The image of the birds flying is pure AI.  If you want, you can make a print and put it in your study.  Ahh, life on a fall day in the PNW.

jeff

Oakland Highlands and Alameda Shoreline August 2026

     On our last full day in Oakland, we all bid Andrew farewell as he headed off to work.  Shawn was taking the day off to spend it with us, so he and I hopped in his car, and we set off for Tilden Park.  Tilden Park, over the ridge from Berkeley, is the spot where I became a birdwatcher back in the summer of 1971.  What a long time ago!  

Nuttall's Woodpecker female, Tilden Park.  2026  AI

    Although he was using the mapping feature, we somehow got lost and stopped to regroup at a trail head about a mile north of Grizzly Peak.  This spot looked as likely as any, so I suggested we take a walk here and see what we could find.  We walked for about half a mile as the warm morning sun filtered through the leaves of eucalyptus and live oaks.  We saw a fair number of people, which wasn't surprising.  Despite being part of Tilden Park, this trail bordered a tony neighborhood. 

     We met couples on a morning constitutional, parents pushing a tram and mountain bikers.  Meanwhile, the bird action was minimal.  A couple times I found a suitable gallery and I pished.  My reward was a single Scrub Jay and a couple brown towhees.  Thin soup, indeed.  

   Eventually we got lucky.   A woodpecker was tapping on a large eucalyptus about twenty feet above our heads.  Finally, we got a look, and it was a Nuttall's female.  I hadn't seen this bird in a gazillion years, and I hadn't studied the forest birds before the trip, but still the old squash was able to plumb its depths and come up with Nuttall's.  Imagine my pride when, back at the car, the bird book validated my identification.  Vanity thy name is Jeffrey.

Gray Hairstreak, Alameda, Ca.  August, 2026 SKG

   You will note that Nuttall's Woodpecker has a ladder back, which easily distinguishes it from the Downy, which is just a little smaller.  And you will note that this bird, being a female, has no red crest.  

   This was about it.  But one good bird is better than none, and it was a very pleasant morning walk.

   Soon we were back for a quick lunch. Shawn stayed home to catch up with life while Sandra and I headed down to the Elsie Roemer Bird Sanctuary in Alameda.  

    We timed our arrival to correspond with high tide.  Several other birders had the same idea.  We were rewarded with a dozen Black Oystercatchers, which was a bird for the trip,  but something we used to see back north with some regularity.  A chunky black bird with a red pencil for a bill, the oystercatchers stuck around until the tide receded and then flew off.  By the way, I'm pretty sure that despite the name, they have never actually caught an oyster.  Besides the oystercatchers, it was all the same birds we saw a few days before.  So much for high tide.

Acmon's Blue, Alameda, AI

     It was a gorgeous afternoon with little wind as Sandra, and I set out upon the trail south of the refuge.  As we hadn't seen any butterflies a few days before, or at least that's my excuse, we didn't bring a net.  Only a few yards down the trail we found several small butterflies.  I got a good look at a blue, which had orange markings on the dorsal hind wings.  I left Sandra to watch over the flock by night and high tailed it back to the Mazda for a net.  

   Of course, by the time I got back only one butterfly remained and it wasn't blue.  Sandra pointed it out and suggested that I drop the net over the butterfly.  This is sort of like shooting a duck when it is sitting on the water.  Although it sounds less sporting, this method is not foolproof.  Unless the rim of the net sit seamlessly on the ground, the butterfly may find a gap. And escape! Damn butterflies!

   I chose to take a swipe, which is pretty good in this situation, and I had enjoyed a recent success with the buckeye near SLO.  Needless to say, I missed.  All was not lost, however, because in my absence, schmoopie had taken a picture.  It wasn't until we got back to the car and I got a good look that I realized she had taken an excellent picture.  Probably the best picture either of us has taken of a wild butterfly this year.  Don't you love how my sweetie captured those tails?

   A bit further on, we had a great look at an Anise which fluttered around both of us but never landed such that it could be photographed.  And that was about it.  I stuck around the patch of weeds that had harbored the blues, but they never came back.

   Back at the ranch we sent pictures to Daniel Rubinoff and Cait, both of whom replied Gray Hairstreak, which is expectable at this time of year in Northern California in the weeds.  Our consultant, Dr. Rubinoff, noted that it is widely distributed, but a late appearing butterfly, so perhaps we should be looking at the weeds in our own area in the late summer. 

    This might have been the end of the story, but I had been troubled by the blue.  Since he cut his teeth on the Oakland butterflies, I questioned Dr. Rubinoff.  He replied that Acmon's was a good choice, but that he was in Panama for the next two weeks at a field station, so he couldn't give my question the full effort that it deserved.  Other sources note that in California, Acmon's produces several broods and flies into October.  Mid-August is a sweet spot for this gem.  It nectars and lays eggs on buckwheats, deerweed and clovers.  I cobbled together an AI image of an Ammons like the one ai saw for your pleasure. 

A moth from Panama courtesy of Dr. Rubinoff

 

   But for even more pleasure take a gander at the butterfly pics that our hero, D, Rubinoff sent back from Panama!   

Jeff