Central Oregon 2023, Butterflies Birds and More! Part 1

          Last week Sandra and I took our annual sojourn to Central Oregon to look for butterflies.  This was paired with a family vacation, so although we spent some quality time in the out of doors, we were incarcerated with a pair of raging beasts for at least an equal period.  

A Mother Merganser and Her Ten Ducklings Ply the Deschutes

     We blasted out of Portland, made the uphill turn at the Dalles and arrived at Sherar's Bridge on the Deschutes a bit after 10 AM.  This is the spot where we had such terrific luck a month before and we were both excited about the prospect of another puddle party at our favorite  sandy boat launch.

    As we stepped out of the car a mother merganser and her family of ducklings scuttled across the river, which made for a nice picture.  Who among us doesn't like baby ducks? 

A Tiger Swallowtail makes a touch and go on the mud.

   But as far as butterflies go, the short answer was virtually nothing.  A few Tiger Swallowtails made touch and go landings, but nothing else wanted a piece of that nutritious mud.  An Ochre Ringlet teased us in the grass nearby, but there were no other butterflies.  Not only that, but the parasitic wasps, upon which I was determined to make my reputation as the bad boy of Northwest Entomology,  were not in the hackberry bush.  Reputation denied!  

    As we sat stewing in the BOT-mobile, a pair of fishermen arrived to launch their inflatable into the rushing river.  They were a friendly sort, and like virtually everyone we meet, they were very accepting of our pursuit of butterflies.  As they were now occupying the boat launch for what I must concede was its intended purpose, we bid each other good luck and Sandra and I headed down the Deschutes.  

   Our only fruitful stop, from the standpoint of lepidoptera, was a campground about three miles further down river from our favored boat launch.  There were a few things flying, and in one of the stream side willows I took a poor photograph of a Dark Wood Nymph.  This blurry picture served a purpose, in that to identify the species one must compare the oculi on the ventral forewing.  In this case the top bullseye is larger than the one below.  Tick it off.

    On the way back to the car we spotted a couple butterflies lounging in the dusty grass and succeeded in netting one.  This was to be our single trophy on the day.  Later we had a chance to cool and photograph what turned out to be a female Sagebrush Checkerspot.  I suppose I should be proud for identifying this on my own (Caitlin LaBar confirmed the ID) for this is one drab butterfly.  I mean, how did she expect to attract a mate without the tiniest hint of make up?  Perhaps we did her a favor by taking her to Sun River where she could shop with the glitterati for a more stylish outfit! 

  

   By comparison, the male Sagebrush Checkerspot is a real clothes horse.  You will recall that we photographed this foppish butterfly on the aforementioned boat launch a few weeks earlier.  If this drab female is too depressing, I suggest that you refer back to the previous blog for a peek at the resplendent male.  

  Figuring that the fishermen must be well on their way down the Deschutes, Sandra and I made our way upstream to the boat launch.  When we arrived there was nothing doing, so we pulled into the shade and enjoyed a bite to eat.  Sandra then wandered down by the river while I searched for birds in the vicinity of the wasp-less hackberry bush.

   And as in uffish thought I stood / An ungulate with eyes aflame, / Came wandering 'pon the rimrock ridge, / and nibbled as it came.

My First Bighorn Sheep, Sherar's Bridge 2023

    And what was this strange large beast?  "Sandra!" I called out, ""You better get up here.  There's some large animal on the ridge!"

    By the time she got to me, the one had been joined by two more.  The trio were at least a quarter mile almost straight up, but so large were they that it took my sweetie but a trice to spy them.  We traded off the binoculars and I used the telephoto to its best advantage in getting the pictures you see here.  

    As we watched, more animals emerged.  Moving in a leisurely fashion, nibbling at the dry grass, they wandered from left to right.  As they did so, more appeared, including two or three kids.  These large, bulky ungulates has swept back horns, not particularly large, certainly not curling around like Princess Leia's coiffure.  Never the less, I was fairly sure that these were Bighorn Sheep.  They certainly weren't Mountain Goats, or domestic goats, for that matter.  And they were big, with bulky white hind quarters, the better to announce their presence.  

A pair of bighorns high up on the rimrock.

     "How many species of large hoofed mammals roam the high desert of Oregon, anyway?" I asked in my most uffish soto voce.

    So how many butterflies do you trade for a flock of Bighorn Sheep?  Especially if it is the first time you have seen this species?  Not just in the wild, mind you, but maybe anywhere.  Is there a Bighorn Sheep in the Desert Museum in Tucson, which I visited thirty five years ago?  If so, my aging memory was unable to pull it up. The Portland Zoo, where Sandra and I are members, has Mountain Goats and Black bears, but no bighorns. 

   

 And so, as Sandra and I made our way down U.S. 97 on a glorious summer afternoon, past Mount Jefferson, the Three Sisters, through Madras, Redmond and Bend, we had something delightful to discuss.  A whole family of Bighorn Sheep! 

A Bighorn Family High on the Rimrock.

 

     Stay tuned for our next installment.  We promise a few more butterflies and other delights in the offing.

jeff

 

 

 

 

 

 

A Visit with Chris Marshall

Realkrit's Blue Butterfly, Utah 2023  photo Bob Hillis

   Recently my compañero, Sr Roberto Hillis, queried regarding the use of  a net, from a philosophical standpoint. in the pursuit of Lepidotera.   He had just spent over an hour taking a picture of a small, elusive butterfly,  Realkrit's Blue, and was wondering how we felt about the use of nets in pursuit, identification and photography of butterflies. Before going on, I gotta tell ya that Bob is seeing some killer shit in the Rocky Mountains. I mean, who has ever heard of Realkrit or his obscure (by West Coast standards) little blue butterfly?   Bob and Kim have invited all of us to join them in St. George, Utah next May for a butterfly extravaganza.  Let's get ready to party!

   Bob Pyle is the leading lepidopterist in the Pacific Northwest.  Despite the fact that he lives in the middle of nowhere, miles and miles from any institution of higher learning, the academics from around the country, not just here in Oregon and Washington, defer to him.  Keeping in mind that he is not intimately associated with a collection, one should, I suppose, accept his position on the taking of butterflies for identification and photography. 

Robert M. Pyle, the Dean of Lepidoptery

   Bob Pyle says, " Compared to habitat destruction the taking of a single butterfly is insignificant."  Or to put it another way, it is just fine for Bob Hillis to net that butterfly, take it home and cool it, take its picture and release it, knowing fully well that it is not going make it back to the spot where it was captured.  Adios amigo.

   Sandra and I have collected butterflies for photography a few times, but now that we have a better camera,  we sometimes find ourselves taking the camera into the field and leaving the net sitting on the floor of the back seat.  At least here in the PNW,  photographing butterflies in situ is a sport unto itself.   And with the right equipment its not too difficult ...most of the time.  

    Of course, if we are going on a hike, we take a net or two, two sets of binoculars and two cameras.  Thus, we are ill prepared for netting if a strange  butterfly zips by.  We are taking better pictures, but, as you will see, we are missing out on some identifications.  And as a final philosophical caveat, I hate killing things, so maybe this is OK.

   A situation like this came up yesterday.  It was a cloudy day, but it was the day we had, so we wandered up to Dougan Falls.  We got there a bit before noon.   It was cloudy, breezy and the thermometer in the car said it was 63 degrees outside.

The Western Meadow frit, Dougan Falls, June 2023

  Our fist two stops yielded no butterflies.  Luckily, as we waited at our favorite spot, the sun came out, and things started to move.  I spotted a Western Meadow Frit on a pile of dirt.  He cooperatively flew to a thimble berry leaf where he flattened out and pirouetted until his wings were in the perfect position to catch some rays.  
 

   He was a happy little sun bather and I had the camera handy.  At my leisure I took a pretty good picture.No net required. 

  Then, from across the gravel road, Sandra hailed me.  She had a small dark butterfly and together we chased it down the road until it flew into the forest.  We stopped for a moment and then she said, "Look, there's one right around you!"  And indeed this little black bug was circling me.  I got a pretty good look for a couple seconds at this small flying insect.  The nets were in the car, so we had no opportunity to capture it.  Of course, it flew into the forest, preventing photography.  I then retrieved the net and waited for ten minutes, standing in the road with my butterfly net, looking like a refugee from the local mental institution, but no more little black butterflies appeared. 

Clodius Parnassian, Dougan Falls 2023

   Playing the sour grapes card, Sandra wanted to write it off as a moth.  It was chubby, all right, but I think it was a skipper, possibly a duskywing, of which their are two species on the wing at this time of year in Skamania County.  Its debatable whether we would have successfully netted this fast flier, but as it was we never got a chance to try. 

   The sun continued to go in and out and we were treated to another hour of butterflies.  There were lots of tiger swallowtails and Lorquin's Admirals.   And at one point we were visited by two or three Clodius Parnassians, one of which did somewell positioned  nectaring, so I could snap this picture.  Look carefully and you can see the cherry red dot peaking out under the right forewing. 

    We've already brought these butterflies home, chilled them and taken some excellent pictures, so there was no reason for any netting.  Suffice it to say, their little ghosts  linger over my guilty conscience. 

   Which brings me to the next part of the story...  Last Wednesday Sandra and I visited the Insect Museum at Oregon State University in Corvallis.   We had been invited, after a fashion, by Paul Hammond, who is the bull goose Lepidopterist at that fine institution of higher learning.  We sort of wandered in unannounced, and were pleasantly surprised to be greeted by a friendly giant wearing a necktie.  

   This well dressed colossus introduced himself as Chris Marshall, the curator of the insect museum at OSU.    We talked about butterflies and he was regretful that Paul Hammond wasn't in.  It remains to be seen if Paul would have shared this sentiment or Chris's cordiality.  We looked at his exhibits in the hallway and we talked about me donating a paper mache butterfly to the Insect Museum.  I don't know which was cooler, the weather outside or Chris's reception to my offer.  Actually, he was very nice and we may send him a butterfly just to see what he does with it.  

  Later in our visit he told us of  a convocation that OSU holds each October in which people interested in butterflies convene at Cordley Hall to share their experiences.  There are academics, talented amateurs like our dear Caitlin LaBar, and a variety of other characters.  Chris mentioned one gentleman who, at this gathering, sells jewelry made from butterfly wings.  

    Chris kept saying that he had to get back to work, but made no strong effort to shoo us along,.  I asked for a picture and he went to one of the large metal cabinets in which the butterflies are kept, brought out a tray and posed with Sandra.  Count if you can, the butterflies in that tray, then multiply it by several thousand, for there were so many rows of these large metal cabinets.  Do you remebber Carl Sagan ,the astronomer, saying, "billions and billions and billions?"  Such is the infinite number of deceased butterflies in the museums around our United States. 

   While he allowed that he, too, doesn't like to kill anything, I got the distinct impression that Chris thinks its just fine to catch and preserve insects.   

The Redoubtable SKG meets the Colossus

   Chris and I looked through a few drawers, attempting to find the butterfly from Malaysia named for Pierre Lorquin.  I saw some beautiful butterflies, but not the right one, and finally it was time to go. 

   While this was interesting in its own way,  and perhaps a little depressing, I hope it gives Bob Hillis  a perspective on the loss of one butterfly from the environment.  So let's lift up our chins, do what we can to protect the diversity of host plants and enjoy the miracle that God has given us in the fascinating multitude of insects.

jeff

A chilled Lorquin's Admiral gives his all as a model.

   

   

The Skippers of Klickitat Canyon

    Roughly speaking, there are two groups of butterflies.  The Papilionoidae, also known as scudders, and the Heperiidae, known commonly as skippers.  No one uses the name scudders, but all insect watchers know what skippers are. These are the lesser butterflies.  They tend to be smaller, less colorful and are built around stout bodies.  If one is building a list of the butterflies he has seen, he definitely wants to identify the skippers; they count as species on the list.  But if you are just sitting around browsing the field guide, it is unlikely that you will pick a skipper as your target species for your next adventure in the field.

Two Banded Checkered Skipper, May 2023

   A month ago at Dougan Falls, we were watching the profusion of Echo Azures when I noticed a small butterfly, nectaring on dandelions,  that I initially thought might be the female echo.  It was reminiscent of Metalmark, but it was tiny.  That evening it was identified as a Two Banded Checkered Skipper.  So you see, like it or not, those skippers creep onto your list.   

   Recently we asked our mentor, Caitlin LaBar, about Klickitat Canyon, one of her favorite sites relatively close to Vancouver.  She gave us instructions and we got all excited to go.  And then, as we researched the butterflies we might see,  we discovered that the specialties of the area were skippers.  There were three species of skippers, the  Propertius and Pacuvius Duskywings, and the Northern Cloudywings.  Cloudywings, duskywings? Sounds downright gloomy, doesn't it? But by the time we had fully appreciated the skipper situation we were excited for a walk in Klickitat Canyon and the trip was on.

Pacuvius Duskywing, male Klickitat Canyon May 2023

   The day we picked was cool and a strong wind was blowing in the gorge as we made our turn off Highway 14 at the Lyle trialhead.  We had been directed to a portion of the trail roughly ten miles up the Klickitat and we enjoyed views of the rushing stream as we drove on an excellent road.   

    We disembarked a bit after 10 AM and, encumbered with a net, binocs and cameras, we headed down the Klickitat.  This area is far enough east, that Garry Oaks are the mainstay of the riparian forest.  It is far from coincidental that the duskywings require the oak leaf litter for "hibernal sites", and according to Bob Pyle, the range of the Propertious coincides almost exactly with that of Garry Oaks.

Propertius Duskywith female. nectaring.

    As many of you know I spent two and a half decades in Salem, Oregon, where Garry Oaks form the backbone of the forest. The official flower of Salem, however, is the poison oak.   One Christmas, early in our tenure there, I contracted poison oak while cutting the family tree.  It was an unforgettable experience and I became an expert at identifying this annoying shrub.  But despite my caution, I managed to get poison oak a couple more times. Thusly indoctrinated, I was immediately cognizant of the lush growth of poison oak just off the trail.

   Luckily, the skippers were all over the place and posed on rocks, flowers and in the leaf litter.  So cooperative were these insects that it wasn't necessary to chase them into the forest.   We got many pictures and Caitlin verified that we recorded both of these extremely similar species.  When it came down to it, I found these duskywings to be rather attractive, in a conservative, subdued sort of way.  As you will notice, there is considerable sexual dimorphism in the duskywings. The Norhthern Cloudywing, which we missed, is a seriously dull bug, described by Pyle and LaBar as "muddy dark brown".    

Propertius Duskywing chilling in the oak leaf litter. 

   As the morning progressed, we were graced with a myriad of tiger and anise swallowtails, numerous ochre ringlets, and a few Lorquin's Admirals.  It was really quite delightful. 

jeff

Sandra found an Oak Tent Caterpillar!

The Butterflies of the Deschutes

     Sandra and I just returned from a quick excursion to the Deschutes River and Timberline Lodge.  We met some wonderful people, saw some great butterflies and ate too much at breakfast.  It was a perfect trip.

The Deschutes River rushes through the Oregon Desert

    Our route took us to the Dalles on the Columbia River.  From there we turned south and ascended a steep passage through rolling green wheat fields, arriving in Dufur before 9 AM. There we stopped at the ranger station representing the Mount Hood National Forest, hoping to get some inside information on the roads, especially the one leading west where I planned on driving by Camp Baldwin, my Boy Scout camp from five decades in the past. 

    In the office there was a lady of approximately our age and a young gentleman we took to be her grandson.  Given the progress, or lack there of, the young gentleman ( he looked to be about 10) was remarkably patient and well behaved.  The lady was Caucasian and the youth looked to be two thirds Warm Springs Indian.  Across the desk was a plump lady, probably not a ranger as she lacked a spiffy uniform and a hat, who was doing her best to prevent the lady on our side of the barricade from procuring a wood cutting permit.  

Oregon Swallowtail, white abdomen, yellow dusting, eccentric spot.

    After a few minutes of obfuscation,  the officious secretary went in the adjacent room to look for yet another means in which she could prevent the applicant from legally cutting firewood.  As it appeared that she was never coming back, we made friends with the gray haired granny.  I asked her, "Back in 1968 did you happen to be a cute young thing and attend a dance thrown for the horny young counselors at Camp Baldwin?"  Actually we asked if she thought the route past Camp Baldwin was a good way,  on this warm sunny day at the start of the Memorial Day Weekend, to get to Mount Hood.

   No, she said, that road was still closed do to snow.  Ordinarily it would be open by now, but we just had so much snow last winter. 

Sagebrush Checkerspot, Deschutes River, May 2023

   Well, all thoughts of peri-pubescent dance parties in the mess hall went out the window and we moved on to Plan B.  What about the BLM road on the far side of Sherar's Bridge?  She wasn't sure about the condition of the road, but she did acknowledge that the road to the south would take  us to Maupin, where the was indeed another bridge across the Deschutes and a nearby road that would take us to Timberline Lodge on Mt. Hood.  She added that the road was not just on BLM land but that there was private property and Indian land interspersed.  

   We bid the nice lady and her patient grandson good luck with the firewood and headed south.  On a signpost just out of town we saw a meadowlark, no longer a common bird. Fifteen miles down a steep canyon, we made the turn onto Sherar's Bridge Highway.  The road passed through dry, rocky ranch land.  We saw a sparrowhawk hunting in the field to our right and, after a bit, a covey of quail ran across the road.  Soon we passed under a railroad bridge and into the canyon of the Deschutes, where we were greeted by a wildly rushing river and signs telling us we were on the Warm Springs Indian Reservation,  day use fees must be payed.

Sagebrush Checkerspot, ventral Deschutes, May 2023

     Obviously, we were in the middle of nowhere, and the question is, "Why?"   As you know from last year, we have made internet friends with Caitlin LaBar, co-author of the book Butterflies of the Pacific Northwest.   Last year she was kind enough to direct us to Peterson Prairie on the Washington side, where we saw a fantastic display of fritillaries.  A couple weeks ago I wrote to Caitlin, saying we were going to Mount Hood and did she have some advice for sites there.  She responded by giving us tantalizing details of her recent trip to the Deschutes:

  Today I drove down to the BLM Rec site along the Deschutes north of Sherars Bridge and hit the jackpot: 15 species! Lost count of Anise Swallowtails (over 60), at least 3 Oregon Swallowtails mixed in, a handful of Indra, several Silvery and Acmon blues, couple Gray Hairstreaks, two Echo Azures (first I've ever seen there), and some brand new Northern Checkerspots just popping out, along with a few Sheridan's Green Elfins and few other random things. The swallowtails were mostly on the sand beaches at various boat launches and day use sites, and the checkerspots and greenies were on an old road grade trail that is kind of hard to spot along the road ...

Coronis Fritillary, an oblique view, Deschutes River, May 2023

  And now, here we were, ten miles downstream from Maupin...butterfly central.     

 We crossed Sherar's Bridge, leaving the Native American's behind, and turned north onto the BLM road.  This was an excellent gravel road winding through a spectacular desert canyon. We stopped for some pictures and I heard a Rock Wren chuttering from the cliffs above.  We passed one boat launch, where there was no sandy beach and a mile or so further down the canyon, we stopped at a second boat launch.  Armed with our net, camera and binocs, we made our way towards the beach and immediately saw an orange butterfly.  Ten steps further and I saw several butterflies on the beach.  

    The most obvious butterfly was what I took for an Anise Swallowtail.  We got this excellent picture along with a lousy shot in the lateral position.  It took our debriefing with Caitlin to point out that this is an Oregon Swallowtail.  The body is basically white with three narrow black stripes, there is yellow dusting on the cell and the black spot inside the orange is eccentric, touching the edge.  In the anise that black spot is right in the middle, like a bullseye.  

Echo Azure, ventral surface, Washougal River May 2023

   Blue butterflies were all around.  A few years ago, I was unaware of these small blue insects.  But if you really pay attention, you see them frequently.  They are small and the males all have a blue dorsum.  There are many species, at least a half dozen in our area.  The trick is to find one in what I call the resting position, with the wings folded up, and get a good look, a really good look at those ventral surfaces.   Such accuracy is required that a photo is a big help.  Or, if you are lucky, you can see see a female, which are diagnostically colored but, in our experience, seldom seen.  

Boisduval's Blue, Descutes river May 2023

    A few weeks ago near Dougan Falls, Sandra and I found the Echo Azure.  As above, Caitlin saw it here on the Deschutes three weeks ago, as well. 

 

    In my case, I created my own little puddle party environment by urinating in the dust where these little buggers were fluttering in profusion.  And it worked!  To paraphrase the Big Lebowski, "Every time someone micturates in the dust do I have to identify a little blue butterfly?"   Above, you can see the picture, taken by The Dude, of the little blue Echo Azure at his leisure in the moist dust. 

    Back on the Deschutes,  it took a while, but I finally got one good picture of the ventral surface of these blues.  And here it is.  Boisduval's Blue.  No piddling required.

 

 

    As you may recall, Boisduval was the a big schmoo in the museum in Paris during the age of discovery.  He sent Pierre Lorquin all over the world and described and named the specimens that Pierre sent back.  Pierre Lorquin is my hero, but this particular butterfly (not especially uncommon) is named for the boss.

A good look at the ventral surfaces of Boisduval's Blue!

 
  

     There were many checkerspots, and they were all the same.  Like the "anise" they were warming on the sand and some were puddling, sucking up nutrients from the wet sand.  We got many fine shots including many dorsal and just one lateral / ventral shot you see here.  These turned out to be Sagebrush Checkerspots, a second life butterfly for the Snorkel Kids.

    Another butterfly we saw in profusion was a medium sized fritillary. It was this orange frit that had first attracted my attention as we got away from the car.  We got many good looks and a couple good photos, but these are difficult butterflies.  And so I solicited Caitlin's opinion.  I had thought it was Zerene, but she said that it was the similar Coronis.  Among other things,  it is too early in the season for Zerene.  Caitlin tells us that she has not seen frits on the Deschutes, so this one represents a small feather for our cap.  I'm giving you an oblique view so you can see both dorsal and ventral surfaces.

    The last butterfly we saw at this location was a single buffy individual.  As you can see, I got a pretty good picture.  The butterfly was quite plain, but just enough markings to declare it an Ochre Ringlet.  (Caitlin's ID, so you can take it to the bank)  Usually found in grassy habitats, it seems a bit out of place in the desert.  But of course, there are grasses growing near the river and apparently that is enough.  

A small wasp with a thread waist, yellow feet and a red abdomen.

     These were the last new butterflies that we were able to photograph.  We drove down the Deschutes another couple miles and investigated a couple camp grounds with sandy banks, but no lepidoptera.  We then drove back to the productive boat launch and backed into the shade of a shrub, where we ate lunch in the car with the AC going.   There were a few butterflies flopping around on the sandy boat launch, but nothing new.  Behind the car, though, was a shrub in which a number of small, thin waisted wasps with yellow feet and long red abdomens were plying their trade.  I was nervous to get too close and the camera never focused perfectly on one of the active little bugs.  Here is my best picture.

 

 

   Perhaps someone will know what this is. In the meantime, butterfly season is upon us and we're back in business.

jeff

Sorry if some of the photos are out of order. to try to fix this might cause an editorial dilemma of unspeakable dimensions.  Thanks for understanding.

Follow up on the wasps.  Daniel Rubinoff says:: 

those are ichneumonid wasp males I think. maybe hoping for females to come by. they are lep parasitoids probably 

Wikipedia (that all knowing scientific resource) says that there are thousands of species of these in North America.  The larva live parasitically inside caterpillars.  So perhaps the circle of life has the butterflies on the beach laying eggs in the shrub and wasp caterpillars parasitizing the resultant caterpillars.  

And Bob Hillis writes:  Thanks for the info. I am amazed at how many parasites there are, and how diverse they are. Some have really complex life cycles. I think the ones that infest the brain of their host, in order to make the host behave in a way that facilitates the parasites lifecycle are insidiously creepy. They remind me of politicians.

 

What we saw this week.

    The week began pleasantly enough at the pier.  As Sandra dropped me off, we were lucky to catch a nicely endowed lady in a miniature key lime pie bikini unloading her paddle board.  By the time I made it down to the sand, Venus had positioned her seven year old daughter on the bow of her board and was paddling out for a rendezvous at Milf Island with Jack Donaghy.

     Sometimes living in Kona can be a rough job, but somebody's gotta do it. 

    The water was clear and cold, still hovering around 75 nippy degrees Fahrenheit.  Which apparently isn't bad if you've just flown in from Sioux Falls, but makes me glad for my neoprene vest.  By the second swim buoy I spotted a small Stout Moray racing across the sand.  This guy was white, with spotty black markings, an unmistakable pattern.  I turned and followed him.  I couldn't keep up and he disappeared beneath a coral.  Luckily he was replaced by a huge pictus moray.

The Ironman side is a good place for pictus.

   The pictus is a fairly ugly eel, but they grow big.  This guy must have been four feet long and as big around as my thigh.  (That probably says more about my old white guy wimpy thighs than it does about the eel.)   He swam around and around, permitting me several close approaches.  All of which begs the question, even though this is not the most infamous species, how close does one want to get to a great big, actively hunting eel?  On this day I figured about three feet was close enough.    

   I didn't get a great picture, but on the other hand I didn't get bit.  This large gray eel is unusual anywhere else, but quite dependable on the Ironman side of Kailua pier.  Over the next 40 minutes I saw two more of the unattractive brutes.  

   Additionally, my swim turned up a cushion star and a nice pair of oval butterflies.

Snowflake Moray Eel, Kahalu'u March 2023

   A few days later I went swimming at Kahalu'u.  It was early afternoon and the place was teeming with full contact snorkelers. Luckily, there ware also a few fish.  Right at the opening I had a close encounter with the male Pearl Wrasse.  Once again he was cooperative enough for photography, but you surely had your fill of that fellow in the last blog.

    A little ways away, I spotted a tiny Snowflake Moray.  He was hiding in some rocky rubble, but poked his nose out for a picture.  He was just a little bit bigger around than my thumb and the picture was taken at about one foot.  Little danger of this shy fellow causing any damage! 

   Considering all the people in the bay, there was a nice group of fish on this sunny afternoon.  Rockmovers were plentiful.  There were a few big adults, at least two dragon wrasses and several youngsters who had just left that infant stage behind.  I tried to take a movie of one of these adolescents, still bearing the "antennae" but otherwise looking like an adult, he was  flopping this way and that, as if he were still a dragon and might be mistaken for a piece of seaweed.  My movie making failed, so use your imagination. 

Hawaiian Dascyllus adolescent, Kahalu'u 2023

   There were several Hawaiian Dascyllus babies with the bright white spot on the flank and a blue dot on the forehead.  With patience I got a flash picture of one of these guys hiding in a depression in a coral.  Around the far side of the bay, by the Rescue Shelter, I found a really nice adolescent.  He was actually fairly cooperative and I thought I had a shot worthy of a Christmas card.  But when I got to shore I discovered that the camera didn't quite achieve perfect focus.  Rats!  Anyway here is a pretty good effort at an adolescent dascyllus.

All of which brings us up to Sunday.  Sandra and I go to the Lutheran Church Which offers the opportunity to sit outside with a group of parishioners who fear that inside poses a greater risk for Covid.  In addition to the reduced risk of contracting an infectious disease, the view from the lanai, where us cowards watch the service on a big screen TV, can be pretty good for wildlife observation.   Recently, while Pastor Brian droned on, us outsiders were treated to a pair of Hawaiian Hawks as they performed an aerial mating ritual.  

Stareye Parrot imitating Saul of Tarsus on the road to Damascus.

   On this morning, we had sung the closing hymn and Pastor Brian was introducing visitors to the day's service.  At this moment, out on the lawn, twenty feet away, I spotted a butterfly We see lots of butterflies from our choice lanai seats: bronzy monarchs, yellow sulfurs and citrus orange Gulf Frits.  But this butterfly was black.  And he had unmistakable red in the wings.  A goddam Red Admiral!  

   "Look at the butterfly!" I directed my fellow lepidopterist, as I bound from my seat and chased it around the corner of the building.   The back of the Lutheran church has a wonderful border of flowers, which I perused with intensity, albeit to no avail.  I paused momentarily to question the pastor's son, who was hanging out, with poorly disguised ennui, with the much younger son of the lady who directs the choir. Suffice it to say, Calvin had not seen the butterfly. In fact, one got the impression that Calvin wished he were anywhere else.

Not a Red Admiral, but a Red Labrid Wrasse

   And so, I snuck back into the tail end of church, where Sandra had explained to our fellow Christians the importance of a Red Admiral.  I mean, All God's Creatures.  Right?

    Two days ago (see? we're getting to the end.)  Sandra and I went to Ho'okena.   We like to say that this is our favorite beach, but as I was injured on our return to Hawai'i, we hadn't been there in many months.  It was a beautiful morning and a little before nine o'clock it was time to hit the water.  

   The surf was small, the water crystal clear.  If only there had been a few more fish it would have been
perfect.  As it was, we easily got the big four, Potters, Flame Angelfish, Gilded Triggerfish and Garden Eels.  These are all seen straight out from the far end of the sandy beach.  After you see the angels in the coral, swim out another twenty yards, turn left and look for the garden eels in the sand, thirty feet down.  

   After we saw those special, if dependable, fish, we really didn't see anything great.  We did see a red labrid in the shallows and a small linckia starfish. It was, unfortunately, that sort of day.

  We decided that nothing could round out the morning better than stopping at Greenwell's Coffee for our picnic lunch.  It had been months and we were sad to find that the large tree that shaded the garden adjacent to the tasting pavilion was no more.  The tasting staff told us that it had cracked in a recent windstorm, requiring removal.. This was a big old tree and it will take many years to grow another.  Treebeard wept.

   After lunch we repaired to the nearby orange tree, renowned as the home of a tribe of Jackson's Chameleons.   The lady in the tasting room said no one had seen one yet on this day and asked,if we found one, to bring her word  so that she might worship it also.  With that sort of encouragement, we did our best work.  As we searched, we enjoyed the heavenly fragrance of orange blossoms. (Better than frankincense and myrrh.).   Aroma therapy was never so effective, and in a few minutes I found a fine male chameleon, horns at the ready, in the upper branches of the orange tree.  

Jackson's Chameleon at Greenwell's Coffee.

    As Sandra was preparing the cell phone camera, and our attention was thus diverted, the duplicitous lizard moved.  Woe is me!  It took another few minutes to find him a foot or so away, now clinging in almost vertical attitude to a branch.  While the lizard contemplated the heavens, we took a few choice, if somewhat backlit, shots, the best of which you see here.  The coffee docent was suitably impressed and we even had the opportunity to show the beast to one of our fellow java enthusiasts.

   The week ended on that happy note, with a cup of Greenwell's joe, a ham and cheese on ciabatta and a delightful look at a most curious horned lizard.  Sandra and I hope your week was equally delightful.

jeff

The Fabulous Fish of Kahalu'u

     With surf conditions good for snorkeling, it still took a couple days for the tide progression to advance to the point where it was deep enough for a morning entry at Kahalu'u.  For those of you whose life is not

Raccoon Butterflyfish, juv. Kahalu'u  March 2023

tied to the tides (did you like that?) the high tide on a given day is just about an hour later than it was the day before.  Yesterday the moon cooperated and I found myself schlepping into the water about 8 AM.  

  At this hour I had the entry to myself, which was lucky because it was still pretty shallow, narrow and rocky.  Doesn't that sound inviting?  In a minute I was through the entry and I was immediately rewarded with a juvenile Raccoon Butterflyfish.  As you may note on the picture, this juvenile has an additional spot on the dorsal fin.  In the adult that spot is incorporated into the curved line that runs upward in one smooth sweep.  I didn't notice this fish here, or anywhere until a few years ago and I still find it enchanting.

    To get that picture I had followed the baby raccoon out to the left.  Feeling the tug of fate, I decided to follow the route seldom taken, navigating the bay in a counter clockwise fashion.  I was soon

Pearl Wrasse male, Kahalu'u March 2023

rewarded, for in the southwest corner, over near Alii Drive, there was a male Pearl Wrasse.  This is the best spot in the bay for this unusual fish.  

 

   I had not seen a Pearl Wrasse, neither the male nor the far more common female, this year.  I'm including two pictures of the male and one of the female, which I found a short distance away. The first thing you might notice, is that as wrasses in Hawaii go, these are not small fish.  The second thing is that unlike many fish, the male and female look remarkably dissimilar.   In addition to their disparate coloration, the male has a curious shape to his head.  Makes you wonder what he might be thinking about.  I mean, he's a male, so probably sex.  But what else?  Global warming, the problem with the Chinese.  The possibilities are limitless.

What does the Pearl Wrasse think about Xi Jinping?

    In the corner, the water was a little cloudy, but not as bad as it is frequently.  Just a little further out it became fairly clear, so we have the picture of the female, and the second male, that are pretty good from that standpoint. 

 

As I look at the female Pearl Wrasse, the one that gives the species its name,  I'm reminded of those bearded wonders from Texas.  ZZ Top, who if I'm not mistaken, sang a song about a girl with a pearl necklace.  Luckily for this fish, she rarely has to deal with bearded rockstars from the Lone Star State.

She wore a pearl necklace at Kahalu'u.

     

      A bit further out the water was irresistibly clear and I took a few pictures of the Red Shouldered Surgeon.  This is a common fish, both here at Kahalu'u and many other spots in Kona.  In these days of climate change, I hesitate to take any fish for granted.  The list of fish that were once common and that  we no longer see at K Bay is not a small one.  And it stretches across virtually every family of fish,

A beautiful Red Shoulder Surgeon, March 2023

from Scribbled Filefish to Milletseed Butterflyfish, and on to Elegant Coris.  When I took my boys snorkeling here, these were solid sure thing fish.  So I say, let's enjoy this beautiful surgeonfish, and not take him for granted for granted.   

Out here where you could almost yell good morning to the surfers, I ran into several Hawaiian Cleaner Wrasse.  For some reason, on this morning they were out and about, plying their trade.  I took a few pictures of an average sized fellow at one cleaning station, and then a bit further on, I found one significantly larger. 

This fish did not behave in the usual manner of his ilk; instead of slipping back under his coral at the cleaning station, he decamped and I followed him respectfully until he turned and gave us this gorgeous profile look.

   And, as this is mostly a show and tell, showing off what we saw in the clear morning water, here is an I'iwi that was hanging around while I pursued the cleaner wrasse.

     Finally I made it back toward shore and over near the Menehune Breakwater.  There I  encountered an adolescent of the Freckled Hawkfish sitting up on a bit of healthy coral.   The juvenile of this species, with his bright green dorsum is one of my favorites.  Although this fish is not as common as he once was, he's hanging on.  In fact, you may recall that Leslie and I saw a fat Freckled Hawkfish on a lava reef out on Paul Allen's Reef just a couple
weeks ago.  The thing is, the adult is not at all common in Kahalu'u Bay.  But the juveniles,with their jaunty green caps, remain fairly regular.  this juvenile is sufficiently different from the adult that I give it a new name, Forster's Hawkfish. 

Freckled Hawkfish, adolescent,  March 2023

This guy is clearly an intermediate.  If I hadn't alerted you to the green cap, you     might have missed it.  And look!  Some ofthose freckles that in the adult are black, this teenager are a handsome crimson.  

    If I do say so myself, this is a pretty good picture of a nice fish at the adolescent stage of maturity.

   Back ashore, I asked the Reef Teacher manning the parking booth, a comely young Polynesian lady, if Yasuko was around.  As it turns out, the spritely little Reef Teacher is spending two weeks in her native Japan.  Reminiscing about our mutual friend permitted me to bond a bit with Brianne.  While I was showing her my pictures of the Pearl Wrasse, a gentleman came to the booth and said, "If you're such a smartypants, tell me this!  Yesterday I saw a crab, or was it a lobster?  It looked funny but it was walkin' straight. 

   I suggested that it might be a slipper lobster.  Being a young technophile, Brianne pulled up a picture on her phone, and the gentleman agreed that was what he had seen.  More common at night, these

We all need a friend.  Cleaner Wrasse and Senorita Jacator

strange crustaceans are rarely seen.  he had watched it crawl around a coral for about a minute.  a truly excellent look at this recluse.

    I complimented the gentleman on his strong work and that concluded a delightful morning at Kahalu'u. Hope to see you at the beach,

jeff

A trip to Hilo with Snow and an Unusual Moth with Kona Snorkeling and Waikoloa Stilts

     This week we have been host to Sandra's daughter, Leslie. Luckily the surf came down, affording us

The Freckled Hawkfish strikes a pose on the PAR.

the opportunity to do some snorkeling.  Sadly, the fish are still not as plentiful and diverse as they once were.  Leslie and I saw one nice fat Freckled Hawkfish  on Paul Allen's Reef.  He was sitting in a rocky depression and was cooperative when I dove to take his picture.  Once quite common, the Blackside Hawkfish (as Mr. Freckle has been recast by the ichthyological illuminatti) is now rather uncommon. C'est dommage.

   Also this week I taught Leslie how to cut down a banana tree and hang the bunch to ripen.  With any luck, Sandra and I will have ripe bananas before we return to the icy northland.  that's only five weeks away and we sincerely hope that by April 11th the guy upstairs who is running the climate change thing has gotten the snow and ice thing out of his system.

An Elegant Black Neck Stilt at the Waikoloa Dump

    The motivation for cutting down the banana was largely to generate enough yard debris to justify a trip to the Waikoloa Transfer Station.  Two days after the harvest, we loaded up the segments of stump and the leaves and made our way north.  As we hoped, the Black Neck Stilts were still in the fenced drainage pond. All three of us got some fine looks at these handsome birds. 

     They were not nearly as flighty as on our first excursion, flying overhead and screeching at us only a couple times.  They spent some time feeding on the far side of the pond.  Eventually, one of the birds came to the near side and promenaded along the edge.  

   This Christmas Santa left a Panasonic G85 camera in my stocking.  Thoughtfully, the jolly old soul included a 45-150 zoom lens in hopes that I would reward the elves with some butterfly pictures come summer in the PNW.   This banana-driven expedition to see the stilts was the first chance to test the camera out against the wildlife.  Here you see a couple of the better shots.  One can only assume that Mrs. Claus broke out a big box of candy canes in celebration.

    Given the frenetic flying and screeching on our first encounter with the stilts, we had hoped that there might be babies for us to gurgle and coo at.  If there were, we didn't see any.  This pond doesn't have an island or any other site that might protect a nest and there is no reason to believe that a mongoose could not sneak in and take the eggs, but we will continue to watch for babies.  And just think...How cute is a baby stilt!

 

    All of which brings us to yesterday.  Sandra is enjoying the recovery period of her second cataract operation.  And who knew?  It is apparently common that a year or so after a cataract is removed, crystals form in the eye, eventually clouding the vision from said peeper to essentially the same extent as the cataract.  Although she had already suffered this ignominy once, the Kaiser Permanente bureaucracy required her to see an optometrist who then passed her on to an ophthalmologist.  At that juncture, she was given a choice:  She could fly to Honolulu and have it done there or drive to Hilo, where Kaiser has installed a laser and, as it turns out, an ophthalmologist flies over from Honolulu once a week to zap post cataract crystals.

   And so we left the balmy shores of Kailua Kona at 8:30 in the morning and made our way north to the Daniel Inouye Expressway and on to Hilo.  On the way we were stopped for road construction.  Off to our left was Maui, rising above the clouds.  And ahead was Mauna Kea with an amazing amount of snow.  While we were stopped, Leslie took pictures out the window.  Why she did not take a picture of the snow capped mauna will remain a mystery for the ages.

   As we headed up the DIE, we were treated to a striking view of Mauna Loa covered in snow.  

The moth of the Maille Pilau Hornworm,

  It was only a couple months back when Mana Loa was erupting and we feared that lava was going to creep across the highway, precluding this route for the foreseeable future.  Sandra and I made an excursion to see this magnificent event, and so we knew where to look for the lava ridge, now only a mile or so from the highway.  When we got there, we thought we saw snow down in the saddle.  This was the north slope of Mauna Loa, so it seemed possible.  More careful observation revealed that it was steam rising from the area where the lave had bee flowing, which is to say that the lava field is still hot, generating the steam.

   The main thrust of this journey was getting Sandra to the Kaiser ophthalmologist in Hilo.  While she was waiting her turn, Leslie and I went to a couple nearby waterfalls.  The gushing river and the falling rain all combined to remind us that falling water is what Hilo is known for.  

   After the waterfalls we made lunch and dined sumptuously on a bench in front of the Hilo Kaiser Clinic.  As we settled down to eat, what we thought was the most amazing bee came in to nectar on the impatiens that were growing in the adjacent planter.  He was close and we got some excellent looks.  But he was too fast for Lesile to capture him with her cell phone.  Back in Estacada, where she works as a librarian, Leslie has a high school student who specializes in drawing bees.  I, on the other hand, have Daniel Rubinoff, PhD.  He of the Kamehameha Butterfly project at UH Manoa.  Here are the field notes I sent to Daniel:

Or the Burnt Spot Hummingbird Hawkmoth

This bug was not small, perhaps 1.8 cm in length.  It had a strange proboscis that extended dramatically from the face. Sandra's daughter, who was eating with me, thought she saw white markings around the face.  Additionally, it had dramatic orange and black fringes extending from the base of the wings.  And it had a significant, pointed abdomen which came to a point suggesting a stinger.  Do you know what this curious animal might be?  I might call it a hummingbird bee.

    This was a chip shot for Dr R.; he identified the insect as the Maille Pilau Hornworm, or Burnt Spot Hummingbird Hawkmoth.  This  moth is native to the SW Pacific and also well known as an introduced species in Hawaii.  Here I'm including two pictures from the internet  that demonstrates what Leslie and I saw

    Sandra's eye is fixed and we are back safely, high and dry in Kona.   If only we had a few hawkmoths to keep us company.

jeff

   In a subsequent communication, Dr Rubinoff tells us that this moth is not particularly rare and is found on all the main islands, but only in wetter areas.  Like HIlo.  Also, it is not seen with great frequency as it is primarily nocturnal.  However, it appears during daylight hours on dark, cloudy days.  And so, vis vis the Burnt Spot Hummingbird Hawkmoth, Leslie and I were fortunate to be eating our lunch on a dark, rainy day!   j