Hunting the Horny Back Toad

It's the most wonderful time of the year!

Gosh, what a dreary weekend.

We did nothing today.  Well, other than driving down to Golden Gardens while on errands.  Nothing to see there but many, many, many American Wigeons.  Mallards, too, in lesser numbers, but we ignored them.

Outside of that . . .

Hmm.  Nothing, really.  Spying on Zip.  Um, laundry.  Which, of course, means that the cocktail hour has begun.  (Laundry and booze just go together.  It's a fact.  Google it, Jack!)  And I'm listening to music, though I'm on a seventies tear today, so you probably wouldn't be interested.

Regardless of that, there are a few things I thought I'd share with you.

1. Someone should do a dance remix of Cat Stevens' "Angelsea".
     
2. "Come On, Come On" is the best Cheap Trick song ever!
     
3. Zip!
     
   
   Through the blinds.
   
   
   
    
   The blinds lifted.  Oh, Mein Gott!  Look at all the spirit orbs!  Our whole front yard is haunted!  Aaaaaiiiyyeeeeee!!!

Bucko does not like the pigeons.  I don't mind them so much.

 

Late this summer (when the above photo was taken), I was quite taken with one of them, the one in the fetching charcoal suit.  But I haven't seen that one lately.  And those remaining have pecked up all the grass underneath the seed feeder, so they're not really on my Friends list at the moment.

My experiment with teaching the crows to talk a couple of years ago was a failure.  I just couldn't spend enough time with them to really get anywhere.  Either that or they just didn't particularly find it useful to learn, since we feed them regardless of their vocal skills.  They do, however, seem to get somewhat excited whenever either of us steps outside.  They all fly down to land on the nearer wires and branches.  Occasionally, they'll make ratchety clucking sounds.  I can never tell if they're vocalizing to me or despite me.  Lately, they've started swooping right over my head when I'm outside, less than a foot above me.  I don't know what this means, but I'm not worried about it yet.

Now that the majority of the nectar flowers have died off, the Anna's Hummingbirds are more regularly visiting the feeder.  Zip (or perhaps just the Zip® Model - I don't know how many of them there are) doesn't seem to mind our presence very much.  He'll feed even when we're right there on the porch.  The Hermanetta® and Skipper® Models (no sign of PJ) are more reticent when we're in the vicinity.  Zip's an early riser.  For the past two mornings, I've found him outside before the sun was up.  He chitters and flies up to the nearest maple, but if I stand still, he returns within moments.

The Song Sparrows have returned for the winter!  I ignore Song Sparrows when we see them on our outings or even if I'm just taking a walk around the neighborhood.  But seeing the pair at our house always thrills me.  So cute!

As Ballard is slowly, methodically being re-treed, I'm hopeful that someday we may even start to get some more "exotic" species.  A Brown Creeper would be nice.  Yeah, I'd like that.

"I'm getting tired of this rain."

That was Bucko a couple of nights ago.

"Well, you're going to be a lot more tired of it by the weekend," I said, since the Weather People have scheduled some rain for every single stinking day until beyond then.  (Though today didn't turn out so awful, truthfully.)

What's getting to me is the dark.  This whole sunset-before-five business is wearing me out.  I've been going to bed around eight most nights.

Now, if it were a couple of weeks from now, and I could legally listen to Xmas music, it would be a different story.  But the spirit still hasn't moved me, so I just accept my lot and climb under the blankets  and eventually slide off into Sugarplumland.

But for now, let's slide back into June, okay?

The morning after we went to the Spruce Railroad Trail, we got up early, packed up, and hit the road.  Goodbye to P.A.

 

Out on Highway 101 before Lake Crescent, we passed more whimsical sculptures.

 

We made a stop at some day-use area on Lake Crescent, the name of which I can never remember.  I was surprised to find that the water wasn't blue at all.

 

It was clear!

Crazy, I know.

And then, after Lake Crescent, on the outskirts of Sappho (!), we turned onto Hwy 113, which would connect us with Hwy 112, which would take us to Neah Bay, our destination for the day.  Now, we could have just hopped on Hwy 112 on the other side of Lake Crescent, but Bucko doesn't like that part of the highway, and besides, we wouldn't have been able to drive by Lake Crescent, so we went the (slightly) longer way.

Highway 113 is pretty dull, but it's not as twisty as 112, so in little time we were to  112 and then Clallam Bay.  From there, the highway runs right alongside the Strait of Juan de Fuca.  Sheer, unadulterated beauty.  (Well, a little bit adulterated, here and there.)

The bird of the day was the Bald Eagle.

Now, Skagit County gets thick with eagles in the winter, but the eagles along Hwy 112 are thick no matter the time of the year.  I remember on one trip up that way, we counted over twenty of them in fewer than five miles.

This trip they weren't quite so thick, but there were plenty nonetheless.

 

 

The adorable town of Sekiu (pron. CQ) must be the eagle capital of the lower 48.

 

Oh.  And Sekiu?  The adorable town of Sekiu?

It ain't so adorable in summer.  There's a large RV park and marina right there as you enter town, and it was filthy with RVs and tents and people.  Oh, my gosh, people everywhere!  Walking the streets.  Sitting around in their underdrawers.  (I may be misremembering about their dress.)

Lots of eagles though.  If you didn't mind staying in a tent-and-RV city, it could be interesting.  Eagles were everywhere flying over the camping area, mere feet above the underdrawer-clad people playing bunco for nickels on their fold-up tables.  The people didn't even look up though, just reached for more Rice Krispies™ to pour into their Bud Light cans.  (Possibly I misremember the activities and breakfast items too.)

We passed one dead juvenile eagle on the side of the road.  The hordes of people just walked past, seemingly oblivious.  That was kind of a downer.

We stopped briefly at the marina.  Eagles perched on the pilings and swooped and glided around the fishing boats.  I didn't take any pictures because I was a little freaked over the crowds.  Drive, damn you, drive! I silently willed Bucko.

When leaving town, we saw that a sizable crowd of people had now gathered around the dead eagle.  They gave us the stink-eye as we drove by, as if we were responsible.

We made it to Neah Bay without further incident.  (Or with.  I don't know.  I have no pictures for the rest of the drive, and it was so long ago, I don't really remember if we saw anything interesting.)

Lookee.  You can see the mountains of Vancouver Island across the strait.

We went up to Padilla Bay (via Skagit flats) yesterday.  No birds were seen.  Not a one.

Well, okay.  Maybe a few.  A whole bunch of Great Blue Herons.  An eagle or two.  Countless hawks.   A tremendous flock of snow geese (from a great distance).

A young coyote.

 

Which is not specifically a bird.  Specifically.

It had caught and was eating a vole or something.  It was very cute (once it had finished gnawing on the rodent).  I wanted to pet it.  But I did not.

Well, it definitely feels like November now.  We've been having Weather.  Lots of rain and wind.  With lightning and thunder and hail.  (Oh, my!)  That had me pretty excited last night, but today I've taken a downward turn.  Part of it is that, dagnabbit, it's too early to listen to my Xmas tunes.  I've been giving myself permission the past few years to listen before Santa makes his appearance at the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade, but this is just a little too early.  I'm just not, you know, feeling it.  (Which means that I may be sane, I guess, so there's some hope for me.)  I think I'm just anxious for it all to begin.  All the merriness and spirit and fa-la-la-la-la.

I can be very impatient sometimes.

Oh, and all this congressional falderal over healthcare today.  And the atrocious Stupak amendment.  My outlook has become decidedly bleak.

So forget all that for the moment.  Let's go back once more to late June.  To our P.A. trip.

Let's see, when I left off, Bucko was up from his nap and we were ready to set out for . . .

Wait.  Some backstory.  Usually, we go to a lot of the same old places, but I had something new in mind.  You know that we like the old rail trails.  I've been a member of the Rails-to-Trails Conservancy in the past, but I let my membership lapse recently due to, you know, the economic downturn and stuff.  But!  We still like to check out the trails whenever we find ourselves near them.  And I'd had my eye on this trail near P.A. for quite some time.  The Spruce Railroad Trail!  (Pretty name, don't you think?)

Hey, did you click that last link?  Did you see in the upper right corner that gray-shaded box that reads "No Photo Submitted Yet"?  Well, guess what.

They lie!

I submitted a photo!  I did!  I submitted two of them!  Months ago!  But they didn't publish them.  And that's left me wondering:

• Was it because I haven't renewed my membership?  Hmm, well, they've published other of my photos in the past when I wasn't a member.
• Did they not like my photos?  Well, my photos are far from great, I'll admit, but they're as good as many of the others you see posted on other trails.
• Could it be that the photos of the trail didn't really look like they were taken on a rail trail?  Well, this much is certainly true.

Because much of the trail doesn't look like a standard rail trail!  I mean, later, when we were there on the trail, we (i.e. Bucko) asked some guy riding a bike about the other end of the trail and he mentioned that it went through some old train tunnels.  So, I guess at that end it was an old rail trail.  But at the end where we started, it's more of a hiking trail.  Narrow in places and up and down and up and down.  Clearly no train could have traveled that route.

Oh, but now I've gone too far forward in my backstory.  So let's go back again.  Back to before we went into the backstory.

Okay, so we went to the Spruce Railroad Trail (a.k.a. Lake Crescent Trail - aha! Maybe the Lake Crescent Trail is the first part with the narrow and the up and the down, and it connects with the railroad trail!) which traverses the north side of beautiful Lake Crescent.  First you have to drive quite a ways back on the East Beach Road.  If you looked at that map in the link above, you see how the lake looks kind of like a llama-worm facing east?  Well, the actual trail begins somewhere near the tip of the llama-worm's ear.

You start by passing through some lightly wooded areas interspersed with meadowy sort of spots, but that's short-lived.  Very soon, you're in deep woods.  With gigantic sword (?) ferns!

 

You see those ferns on the left?  Many of them were taller than me and their bases were several inches (to feet) lower than the trail.

Well, not long after this, the trail started with the up and down stuff, which wasn't really very bad, not bad at all, but it still seemed more than a train could handle.  Eventually, the lake came in view.  No spectacular views yet, but you could tell it was there.

When we finally did get near the water, I was astounded at the color.  Amazingly blue.

 

(And my camera isn't exaggerating here.  It really was that blue.)

As we rounded the curve to the real north shore of the lake, the views opened up more often.

 

There were a few side trails down to the lake.  I scurried down a couple of them to see if there was anything interesting going on.

 

Not especially.  Just, you know, pretty lake and mountains and stuff.

Oh.  Have I mentioned how blue the lake was?

 

Yeah, maybe I did.  Earlier.  But I remarked on it repeatedly as we were hiking too.  It was kinda blowing my mind a little.

When we'd arrived, we were the only people in the parking lot, but as Bucko was doing his whatever, two other cars showed up.  Two couples.  One of them only went a short way then turned around, but the others, a more stalwart pair, were (probably) far ahead of us.  Though when I topped one mini-hill, I was startled to see a footbridge and just on the near side of it, the stalwart couple, the female half of whom was bent over at the waist, facing away from me, jeans at her ankles - getting dressed.

I hurried back to Bucko and whispered to him.  "There's those people up there.  The woman is getting dressed."

"Is she naked?" he asked.

"No, she's in her drawers.  We should give them a minute."

And so we stood there for a bit and admired the scenery.  And after a suitable length of time, we continued on.  I cleared my throat and whistled and hummed and spoke in stentorian tones.  And when we topped the rise, she was still in the same position and still struggling with her jeans around her ankles.

They noticed me this time.

"Oops.  Beg your pardon," I said.

"Oh, it's all right," she said.  "I'm not naked.  These are panties.  They're just nude."

And I'm like Well, okay, if you're all right with it, then I'm all right with it, and I hurried past them and onto the bridge.

 

Once she was dressed, we (i.e. Bucko) talked to them for a while.  They were from Oregon and had read about the trail in some trail guide or another.  Their guide said that the swimming hole by the footbridge -

 

- was not to be missed.

"The water's freezing!" the woman told us.

Once they'd gone, Bucko and I found a place to perch and look out over the lake.  I'm not really good at perching though, so I kept jumping up and ambling up and down the trail looking for birdlife.

It was around this time, I believe, that the cyclist came by and told us (i.e. Bucko, who asked) about the other end of the trail.

And see?  That's another thing.  According to the TrailLink map, the trail only stretches about halfway down the length of the lake.  But this guy said that he started at the other end of the lake.  At Fairholme.

So they won't publish my trail pics because it's not railroady enough (That's the reason I'm sticking with for the moment) and according to their map, the only existing portion of trail is the non-railroady part!  Of all the . . .

We left after a long rest.

 

Bucko admired the tenacity of a madrona tree, its roots clenching up, down and across a cliff face.

I just couldn't get over the blueness of the water.

Oh, and for the record, for the dlog, the birds seen on this outing were:

Steller's Jays - many; raucous but tending to be seen only in blue flashes
Great Blue Heron - beyond the footbridge; while Bucko was resting and I was ambling
Winter Wren - in the fern jungle; many more were heard, but I only saw one
Others - I don't really remember, it was so long ago, but I feel confident in saying that we saw countless Oregon Juncos in the woods, a few Common Mergansers on the lake, and maybe, just maybe a Water Ouzel by the shore.

Oh, and maybe I'll try re-submitting some photos to the TrailLink.  Maybe they didn't like the ones I submitted, so I can try some different ones this time.  Or maybe they've run into me on a trail and were slightly freaked over my standoffishness.  Or maybe the internets just lost the first photos or something.  Well, whatever.  It's a challenge.  And whenever I'm challenged, I . . .

Well, actually, come to think of it, I usually go away and have a beer.  So.

Seeya.

We're now into one of my least favorite parts of the year.  It's post-October, but pre-Xmas Music Listening time.

Oh, sure, it's comforting to think that in the coming months we'll be visiting the northern flats to get a gander at the swans.  Or taking daytrips to the snowy woods where we'll encounter many Varied Thrushes and Golden-crowned Kinglets.  Or the wet and rainy woods where the Winter Wrens hop around in the salal thickets.

But until I've got jaunty Xmas tunes floating around in my noggin, it seems so lackluster.

So, what better time to take a trip back in time.  Let's go back to the end of June, shall we?  To when we took a little trip to the Olympic Peninsula.  To when I was just out of my evil 2nd shift gig and not yet into the current gig with my preferred organization.  To when we were somewhere in the early part of our awfully hot summer.

We love Port Angeles.  Really, the whole northern part of the peninsula.  Mountains, old growth forest, rugged coastlines.  What's not to love?

One of the best things about this trip is that it starts with a ferry ride.  From Edmonds to Kingston.  A lovely day for it too.

 

On all of our past trips to P.A., we've stayed at the Sportsmen motel, for no good reason other than that's where we stayed on our first trip over there, and it wasn't bad.  But the rates have gone up quite a lot since then, and as the motel itself isn't really so special without the cheap rates, I decided we should try someplace new this time.  Somewhere a little closer to the center of town.  (And cheaper!)

Bucko wanted a nap once we'd checked in, so I took a walk.  It turns out that we weren't that far from the Victoria ferry dock and the beginning of the Olympic Discovery Trail.  So I walked down there and started back up the trail towards our motel.  It was midday by now and getting fairly warm.  I was glad for all the shady spots along the trail.  I don't recall if I saw many birds.  (I suspect that I did not.)

I was a little worried that there wouldn't be a trail back up to Front St. (which descends steadily into town and was thus getting higher and higher above me as I traveled eastward) and that I'd have to backtrack to get back.  But as luck (or design on the park builders' part) would have it, I came to a park entrance which turned out to climb up the hill to a point just a few blocks from the Aircrest.

Along the way, I passed a whimsical statue.

 

(You can actually see an aerial view of the sculpture in the map linked above!)

I got back to the room (small but clean - completely suitable for our purposes) and found Bucko just about ready for the next part of our adventure.

I suppose I should have been pushing any Washingtonians who read this thing to be sure to vote to approve Ref. 71 today.  (Oops.  Kinda late.  Sorry.)  But I suspect most of you already have anyway.

Bucko and I have never registered as domestic partners, nor do I think we'll be doing so anytime in the foreseeable future.  (But I'm sure we can all agree that we should have that right.)  We're pretty lucky to live in an accepting community.

Several years ago, I had to go to the emergency room.  (Why do emergencies like to manifest themselves when the doctor's office is closed?)  They (Swedish Ballard) got me into the system, and I suppose I must have given them Bucko's name as my partner.

Just a couple of years ago, we had to go to the emergency room again, this time for Bucko.  He gave the worker at the desk his information, and once she got his record up on the computer, she looked at me, and said, "And you must be Richard."  When, a bit later, he was being seen to, she was passing by and stopped to say that I looked like I could use a hug, and so she did hug me.  And then I was invited behind the screen to be with him while they worked on him.

All the while, they knew who I was and that I was family, and it was just accepted.

Lucky.

I have to remember not to take that for granted.  So many people in our city, in our state, in our country are not so fortunate.

We took the long way home from Okanoodle that Friday.  I asked Bucko the night before if maybe he wanted to swing up over Sherman Pass on the way out.  (I still retained hopes of spotting a Boreal Chickadee, and Sherman Pass looks to be in the second purple zone of the bird's Washington range map.)  But Bucko wasn't interested.  We drove over Sherman Pass several years ago, and Bucko remembers it as being unattractive, fire-destroyed, and altogether depressing.  All I remember are the low clouds we drove through and the slopes covered with yellowed larches.  (But checking photos from that trip once we were home, I did see a lot of blackened and skeletal trees behind some of the clouds.)  Well, I didn't really feel that strongly about it, so I readily accepted his suggestion of taking 155 over Disautel Pass instead.

It was an uneventful trip.  No birds were seen other than the standard roadside fare: blackbirds, crows, magpees, hawks and kestrels.  Many deer.  Fearsome cows.  As we were traveling east for the first part of the trip, I faced the sun and so couldn't get many pictures.

 

And, as on most of the previous day, the best scenery was on his side.  There were also scant few pullout sites.  Not that we'd be hopping out at every opportunity anyway, as some serious cold was moving in.  We did stop up at the pass, and though the drive up had been quite scenic, the top was not very photogenic at all.  I had to content myself with a few quick photos on the way down.

 

Down through Nespelem and Elmer City and finally into the town of Coulee Dam.

On through Grand Coulee and Electric City and then we were driving along Banks Lake.  Here's Steamboat Rock.

 

And continuing on to Coulee City.  I know, at this point, you'd think we'd have continued south on 17 through Soap Lake and Moses Lake and Othello down to our beloved Lower Crab Creek.  But on the previous day, I-90 near Moses Lake was shut down for a few hours due to severe dust storms, and the morning newscasters were expecting the same for Friday.  Besides, we wanted to see that lovely, lonely section of Highway 2 between Coulee City and Waterville.

We did see some dust devils here and there but none looked too dangerous.  I did suspect that some of the dust blowing around south was coming from this very area though.

 

 

 

Waterville is a strange sight.  It may not be in the geographic center of nowhere, but it's pretty close.  Loaded with small town charm too.

 

 

We swung through East Wenatchee for gas.  I got cranky.  At some point, I recognized a pattern.  I always get cranky when we go to East Wenatchee.  Never fails.  I mean, we only stop for gas there, but it puts me in the foulest of moods.  Maybe because it reminds me of certain parts of south Tulsa?  Hmmm.  Don't know but it's been noted now.  I fully intend to avoid the area in the future.

We continued west on 2.  As part of our Washington State Park visitation quest, we took a quick side trip to Peshastin Pinnacles.  Quick.  The park is about the size of a pic-a-nic blanket.

I talked Bucko into driving through Cashmere where we stopped at the Aplets and Cotlets store.

 

Bucko swears that he's never visited Cashmere before, and I can only believe him since he didn't even know that you can drive all the way through town.  After we left the store, he wanted to leave town the same way we came in, but I'm like, "Duh, you come in on Aplets Way and leave on Cotlets Way.  Everyone knows that."  So, I just can't figure out how I could have visited the town before if not with Bucko.  I've never been on Hwy 2 without him.  Odd.

Oh, and we didn't get any Aplets or Cotlets at the store, but I did get a jar of marionberry preserves and a pound each of raspberrylets, blueberrylets, and peachlets.

After Cashmere, we turned toward Blewett Pass, which can be pretty stunning in the fall.

 

Up in the woods, at the higher elevations, there were some nice, colorful spots, but it was a little too early in the day and we were driving directly into the sun when we weren't under heavy cloud cover.  (No pics!)

And that was it.  Then we were on the all-too-familiar I-90.

 

And soon home was in sight.

Happy November.  We will now return to semi-monthly postings.