After Mike Patterson read my blog about finding the house wren, he noticed a mistake. “This is a very common mistake that I've seen some pretty high-end birders make,” he emailed to me. “What you photographed is a hatch-year MARSH WREN. Note the yellow gape which gets you to hatch-year. If one looks at the photo and thinks Marsh Wren there's the faint striping of mantle, the hint of broad, rather than fine barring on the primaries.”
Thanks for the correction Mike! Luckily we managed to reach 200 before we left Washington, we found and correctly identified (I hope!) a Snow Goose.
Monday, August 20, 2007
Friday, August 17, 2007
"Mile"stones (Malkolm)
We’ve reached two big milestones in the past few days, the first one a “mile”stone.
We passed our 2,000th mile in Ocean Shores, Washington after a day of birding in the dunes and beaches at the end of the peninsula. We had strolled along a beach, finding species #197, a Red-necked Phalarope amongst a flock of Least Sandpipers. After admiring the shorebirds we turned our attention to the ocean, where we found two more new species, a Red-breasted Merganser and a Black Scoter.
We looked hard for Pacific Golden-Plovers and Snowy Plovers, but the 200th species remained hidden. The next day we cycled to Grays Harbour NWR and walked along a boardwalk through a marsh. There were lots of Marsh Wrens, surprisingly easy to see, for a species seldom seen in the open. However, they were too far away for a good look. Finally one fluttered towards me. It was an overall reddish brown, with little contrast in its plumage. I suddenly realized that they weren’t Marsh Wrens but House Wrens... our 200th species.
We passed our 2,000th mile in Ocean Shores, Washington after a day of birding in the dunes and beaches at the end of the peninsula. We had strolled along a beach, finding species #197, a Red-necked Phalarope amongst a flock of Least Sandpipers. After admiring the shorebirds we turned our attention to the ocean, where we found two more new species, a Red-breasted Merganser and a Black Scoter.
We looked hard for Pacific Golden-Plovers and Snowy Plovers, but the 200th species remained hidden. The next day we cycled to Grays Harbour NWR and walked along a boardwalk through a marsh. There were lots of Marsh Wrens, surprisingly easy to see, for a species seldom seen in the open. However, they were too far away for a good look. Finally one fluttered towards me. It was an overall reddish brown, with little contrast in its plumage. I suddenly realized that they weren’t Marsh Wrens but House Wrens... our 200th species.
Tuesday, August 14, 2007
Optics & Eating (Wendy)
It started out as “Bird Year”. Soon I came to think of it as “Exercize Year”. Those names still apply, but now I am calling this “Eating Year”. Being on our bikes all day is making us ravenous. (Hey, raven-ous, a bird word). I have always been an enthusiastic eater, and now I can eat as much as I want and not worry about my weight. I love it!
The raven in the photo was chowing down on grasshoppers, high on Hurricane Ridge.
Christianne brought new “optics” with her when she visited last week. What a difference good equipment makes! We are very grateful to American Birding Association Sales for donating a pair of Vortex Diamondback binoculars to Bird Year.
The high point for me has been the visit from the Tufted Puffin, that Ken wrote about in his last blog. We work so hard to try find certain birds, and that puffin gave us a great reward.
The raven in the photo was chowing down on grasshoppers, high on Hurricane Ridge.
Christianne brought new “optics” with her when she visited last week. What a difference good equipment makes! We are very grateful to American Birding Association Sales for donating a pair of Vortex Diamondback binoculars to Bird Year.
The high point for me has been the visit from the Tufted Puffin, that Ken wrote about in his last blog. We work so hard to try find certain birds, and that puffin gave us a great reward.
Thursday, August 9, 2007
Puffin Search (Ken)
We’ve been away from internet access since Sequim and there are too many blog choices for me to write about. I could write about the steep bike ride up to Hurricane Ridge in search of the elusive Sooty Grouse. I could write about hearing the haunting hoots of what might have been a Spotted Owl in the old growth forest near the “Heart O’ the Hills” campground. I could write about the clear-cuts girdling Olympic National Park – part of the network of clear-cut forests that stretch through what was at one time healthy habitat for Spotted Owls from California to British Columbia.
But I think I’ll write about our search for a puffin. We were hoping to see a Tufted Puffin near La Push on the Washington coast. In the early summer, puffins nest on the rocky islands just offshore from the mouth of the Quilayute River. We set up our new scope and searched the grassy summits where their burrows should be. No puffins. We scanned the ocean below the rocks. There were Common Murres, Surf and White-winged Scoters, Pigeon Guillemots, cormorants and Marbled Murrelets – but no Puffins. We asked if we could rent a sea-kayak, but there were none to be had.
We hiked along First and Second Beaches where there were hundreds of gulls but no puffins. Then Malkolm and I decided to walk back to the marina in what I thought was a one in a thousand chance to find someone with a row-boat or a sea-kayak that we could borrow or rent. Maybe it had only been a one in a hundred chance. When we got there we found a sea-kayaking company just finishing a float down the river. We convinced them to rent us a single and a double.
I still didn’t expect to see a puffin. After a couple of hours of paddling though, a Tufted Puffin appeared, right beside our kayaks. We floated about ten yards away and watched as it preened its feathers. Its triangular orange bill glowed in the late afternoon sunlight. It stretched its wings and flapped, ducked its head under the surface and flapped again. About 15 minutes later it finally dove and disappeared.
Wendy said she thought the puffin had made a special visit to us. I don’t know about that, but it was a special time for the three of us, no matter what the puffin’s intentions.
But I think I’ll write about our search for a puffin. We were hoping to see a Tufted Puffin near La Push on the Washington coast. In the early summer, puffins nest on the rocky islands just offshore from the mouth of the Quilayute River. We set up our new scope and searched the grassy summits where their burrows should be. No puffins. We scanned the ocean below the rocks. There were Common Murres, Surf and White-winged Scoters, Pigeon Guillemots, cormorants and Marbled Murrelets – but no Puffins. We asked if we could rent a sea-kayak, but there were none to be had.
We hiked along First and Second Beaches where there were hundreds of gulls but no puffins. Then Malkolm and I decided to walk back to the marina in what I thought was a one in a thousand chance to find someone with a row-boat or a sea-kayak that we could borrow or rent. Maybe it had only been a one in a hundred chance. When we got there we found a sea-kayaking company just finishing a float down the river. We convinced them to rent us a single and a double.
I still didn’t expect to see a puffin. After a couple of hours of paddling though, a Tufted Puffin appeared, right beside our kayaks. We floated about ten yards away and watched as it preened its feathers. Its triangular orange bill glowed in the late afternoon sunlight. It stretched its wings and flapped, ducked its head under the surface and flapped again. About 15 minutes later it finally dove and disappeared.
Wendy said she thought the puffin had made a special visit to us. I don’t know about that, but it was a special time for the three of us, no matter what the puffin’s intentions.
Thursday, August 2, 2007
Oars, sails and tides (Malkolm)
I leaned over the gunwale of the “Bear”; a replica of an 18th century longboat, like the ones Captain Vancouver used in 1792 when he explored these waters. The boat is part of the fleet used by the Port Townsend Sea Scouts, a group of adventuresome young sailors. The water of Puget Sound lapped peacefully against the side of the boat as we sailed forward.
“But how far forward?” I wondered. I glanced at a nearby peninsula to check our progress. We were no farther along the peninsula than the last time I looked. “Strange.”
“We’re not making much headway,” yelled a sea scout. “I think we’re going backwards!”
We were stuck in a strong current, created by the tide flowing out of the inlet that we were heading for.
“Take in sail! Out oars!” called the skipper, Norm. “We’ll head to shore.” I grabbed my oar, my blistered hands screaming in protest. We inched forward, all the effort that we put into each stroke seemed to be stolen by the current. But gradually we got closer, until finally the hull scraped against the bottom. We jumped ashore and examined the situation. Finally we decided to skirt the shore where the current would be less and then cross the inlet to Port Townsend.
Thankfully the plan worked and an hour and a half later the longboat and her exhausted crew slid into port. We had sore arms and blistered hands, but a great story to tell.
“But how far forward?” I wondered. I glanced at a nearby peninsula to check our progress. We were no farther along the peninsula than the last time I looked. “Strange.”
“We’re not making much headway,” yelled a sea scout. “I think we’re going backwards!”
We were stuck in a strong current, created by the tide flowing out of the inlet that we were heading for.
“Take in sail! Out oars!” called the skipper, Norm. “We’ll head to shore.” I grabbed my oar, my blistered hands screaming in protest. We inched forward, all the effort that we put into each stroke seemed to be stolen by the current. But gradually we got closer, until finally the hull scraped against the bottom. We jumped ashore and examined the situation. Finally we decided to skirt the shore where the current would be less and then cross the inlet to Port Townsend.
Thankfully the plan worked and an hour and a half later the longboat and her exhausted crew slid into port. We had sore arms and blistered hands, but a great story to tell.
Tuesday, July 31, 2007
Boots Boothroyd, Seawall & Cellphones (Wendy)
Malkolm has a firm bicycling heritage. My dad, now 86, has always loved the freedom of cycling, the wind in his hair. He hates bike helmets. (He believes they increase your chance of a serious neck injury, plus they interfere with the wind in your hair.) Boots rides a 10 speed with a very high seat and skinny tires. We all rode down to the White Spot for dinner. With his bum in the air and head crouched low, he disappeared down the hill like a bat out of hell. I cautiously followed, praying he wouldn't hit gravel. I don't want to see blood spurting out from his head of fine windblown white hair.
We spent 5 days in Vancouver. We rode on the seawall in Stanley Park on a sunny Saturday. The path was full of holidayers and healthy Vancouverites out exercizing. We actually were able to overtake a few of the cyclists, which made me feel like a real athlete.
As we headed out of town, a well dressed cyclist rode slowly ahead of us, up the sidewalk of Lion's Gate Bridge. She was talking on her cellphone. She was not paying attention to the road. As Malkolm passed her she swerved, and knocked him into the guardrail.
There ought to be a law about cycling and cellphones.
We spent 5 days in Vancouver. We rode on the seawall in Stanley Park on a sunny Saturday. The path was full of holidayers and healthy Vancouverites out exercizing. We actually were able to overtake a few of the cyclists, which made me feel like a real athlete.
As we headed out of town, a well dressed cyclist rode slowly ahead of us, up the sidewalk of Lion's Gate Bridge. She was talking on her cellphone. She was not paying attention to the road. As Malkolm passed her she swerved, and knocked him into the guardrail.
There ought to be a law about cycling and cellphones.
Wednesday, July 25, 2007
A real rest day (ken)
Our hardest cycling day so far was the trip over the pass between Lillooet and Pemberton. We sweated up 13% grades only to lose the elevation we’d gained on a steep downhill. Getting to the summit was like a game of Snakes and Ladders, laboriously fighting upward only to slide quickly back down. When we finally reached the top, we were met by a three-day rainstorm. Fortunately we were heading for a port in the storm – Rachel Shephard’s house in Brackendale (near Squamish).
We’ve known Rachel for decades and we’ve done lots of fun trips together from sea-kayaking in Baja California to climbing in Yosemite to paddling the Nahanni River. We dried out and re-energized at Rachel’s. We went for a walk with some of Rachel’s birding friends: Chris & Bev Dale and Jim Meyer. We found Red-crossbills and Chris also gave us lots of helpful advice about birding destinations on our way to Washington.
We`ve had several unrestful “rest” days so far. Cycling up a creek and hiking for hours up a steep dirt road in search of ptarmigan. Cycling up a dusty logging road in a heat wave looking unsuccessfully for a Black-backed Woodpecker. Today we`re having a real rest day at Wendy`s parent`s place in West Vancouver. Our only exercise was a meagre 26 kilometers to Stanley Park where we saw a Mute Swan and a Wood Duck.
We’ve known Rachel for decades and we’ve done lots of fun trips together from sea-kayaking in Baja California to climbing in Yosemite to paddling the Nahanni River. We dried out and re-energized at Rachel’s. We went for a walk with some of Rachel’s birding friends: Chris & Bev Dale and Jim Meyer. We found Red-crossbills and Chris also gave us lots of helpful advice about birding destinations on our way to Washington.
We`ve had several unrestful “rest” days so far. Cycling up a creek and hiking for hours up a steep dirt road in search of ptarmigan. Cycling up a dusty logging road in a heat wave looking unsuccessfully for a Black-backed Woodpecker. Today we`re having a real rest day at Wendy`s parent`s place in West Vancouver. Our only exercise was a meagre 26 kilometers to Stanley Park where we saw a Mute Swan and a Wood Duck.
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