October 6th - Mission Accomplished

150 Year List in Kitsap

I figured I should open with a clear specific statement of what mission was accomplished. There are several missions going on at once! So, one of the basic, basic goals for this year has been to see 150 species in Jefferson County, and in Kitsap County. In that regard, I'm "done" with both (spoiler, sorry!). The meat of this post will be stepping through this day and the birds that were seen. But the title of the post implies that I'm at the end of this little project, which is hardly the case. 

So, I thought I'd come back to the goals for the year, and then thought. . . let's even step back to look at the bigger picture. 

My larger goals for birding in the state: 

See 175 bird species in all 39 counties in the state. (11 counties have hit this mark - King, Douglas, Chelan, Klickitat, Yakima, Snohomish, Pierce, Mason, Jefferson, Lewis, and Kittitas.)

For each county in the state, have at least one year where I've seen 150 species. (18 counties down - all 11 above, plus Island, Thurston, Cowlitz, Clark, Skamania, Wahkiakum, and now Kitsap).

Completed "Big Years", including a reveal of next year's plan,
and a decade or more of decisions to make. 

Try to honestly see as many birds as possible in the county "Big Years", ultimately reflected in an average for those years. 

The bottom half of the list, at any rate!
This'll make sure I'm trying to see 
as much of each county in the future 
as I possibly can

It's been interesting to combine these goals. For some of the tougher counties, 150 in a year is the result of careful planning, focus, and sometimes things like backpacking or boating. For others, 150 is almost trivial, and the final goal is there to push me to explore a place honestly. 

Last year, doing four counties at once was a great way to tackle the second goal, especially in the face of my finite life span! I realized I had to kind of get moving on these, or my expiration date would win the race. But to some extent, it hurt the other goals - I don't know that I did a full exploration of those counties, and none of the four have reached the magical 175 mark. So, dropping it to two counties this year (and by design in future years), I thought maybe I could reach that balance between deep exploring and efficiency. 

Jefferson County is sitting at 190 species for the year. I've birded the bejeezus out of it. I have been sitting down and looking at the birds that might be part of a ten-more-birds effort, and just keep scratching my head. I thought at the start of the year that I'd end up at 19x, where x > 5. I'll stand by that. But going gung ho there does not presently seem like it'll be enough. So the attention turned to Kitsap.

Birding Kitsap County a little less was partly intentional. It's smaller than Jefferson, of course. Add to that - some of the most productive birding spots are not accessible to the public. I could try to find as many species as *I* could for a year in Kitsap, but there's that weird gap between that number and the number of species *actually* seen by a handful of birders in Kitsap each year. Those kinds of numbers are ultimately under private ownership.

As the year wraps up, I still thought there would be some merit in letting the 175 goal guide the rest of the year. It's not out of reach, and if I fall a few species short, it's never a distant trip to chase those few birds in the future. 

Those goals in mind, I emailed George. 

A Morning on Peninsula no Peninsula

Some of the easier birds for me to target are going to be owls. The nights are getting longer, and owls don't really depart the area en masse, as scoters do every summer, or swallows ever winter. George had been hearing Great Horned and Barred in his yard during the week, so I made an early run. Leaving home at 4:15 and arriving at his place about two hours later. 

It being October, I stopped about half-way up his drive and tried calling for Northern Saw-whet Owl. On my way up, I stopped again, figuring I'd listen for a bit and look for signs of stirring up at the house. They came in the form of a flashlight and a hello shortly after! 

I'll admit, any time that owls are convinced enough with my calls, I'm flattered. I was equally flattered when George told me he'd just had Northern Saw-whet Owl! I am now going to confess that I have been working on my whistle for this species for 17 years. 

Back in '07, I joined a Soos Creek owl prowl in King County. Just a few years into birding, I was pretty excited to learn that I could find owls so close to home. The evening started with local experts telling us a bit about the habitat and the owls. I can't remember all of it but have no doubts that we had a chance to see owl pellets and/or feathers in the presentation room. Then we set out to find some owls. The group leaders had tapes of calls. They played them at thoughtful intervals/location/duration/etc, and then we'd stop and listen. Then off to the next stop. 

That night, I got to hear a Great Horned Owl, and we even got a good look at a Western Screech-Owl just a foot or two off of our path (to this day, my only visual of this species). As they occasionally tried for Northern Saw-whet Owls, I got the call note in my head. At one point walking between spots, I tried to softly whistle the note to myself.

One of the trip leaders quickly held his hand up. The group paused and looked at him in anticipation. He pointed through me to the trees behind me. 

And folks, there was probably a brief moment in there where I could have said "OH! My bad, that was just me." Maybe I was leaving a chance that he'd heard something else. Maybe I was just too sheepish to mea my culpa in that moment. At least 1% of it was seeing the nearly military hand signals, and wanting to see how this would play out. In any event, this is my first fully public apology to the participants on the February Soos Creek Owl prowl in '07. I honestly didn't know at the time that I had a knack for it!

Up at George's place, I more quickly resolved things, and good laughs were had. I did some calling. I did some sitting and listening. At times, early on, I thought I was picking up distant Barred Owl calls, but didn't want to follow up on them with return calls. I am still wrapping my brain around call-and-response patterns with owls. Does this owl respond to the call of that owl? Does it quiet down after hearing that call? Do they need to hear it for a long time, or is less better? I want to know in part to have better chances at finding owls. I want to know also to keep calling to a minimum. 

The time ended with no clearly calling owls, and we packed up the car to try for one more. 

Japanese Anemone - a sentimental flower for me

Point no Point

I've been trying to figure out how to couch this. I think. . . I'd mostly just birded with George in places where we weren't walking more than a hundred feet or so. This morning, all morning, there was some serious walking going on. And George walks at a pace about 1.78 times faster than my comfortable walking pace. In short, he kicked my arse over every inch of the peninsula all morning. 

Rather than head to Hansville and walk the beach, he parked us at this upper back parking lot. I instantly recognized it as one of the places I've accidentally ended up over the course of the year. I called out to George to point this out, and he was already booking it down the path. "The tide waits for no man!" He called. 

My eyes went wide, and I honestly tried for a bit to keep up. At this point, I figured there was a tide to reckon with, and that lolligagging (or not racewalking) would make this a fruitless attempt to find the Barn Owl in "that hole". My lungs, my feet, my. . . sweat glands. . . they could all handle a brief dash. This took us down the reverse of this path I'd followed in April. Just. . .rather than a long slow stroll up and down the stairs and along the path, it was at 1.78*vmax. 

Nest cavity in the cliffs

George let me know there were 90 steps, and which part was steepest, and it was fun to think of how many times he must have been up and down those stairs. Give his life list in the county (the next one he finds is #300), it's clearly not the first time he's dashed up or down those stairs!

Down the stairs, down the beach, and we got to a spot where we could see the hole in question along the side of a cliff, just ahead of the rising tide. 

So. . . Barn Owls don't have to live in barns. I knew this but allowed my brain a minute to disconnect and reconnect a few neurons. Doing it in the presence of habitat and nests is a powerful thing. Again, no owls this morning, but it was neat to get to the spot, and to reimagine these owls!

Rick-rolled on the beach. . .

Up the beach, we looked for Red-throated Loons on the water, and Lapland Longspurs on the beach. Instead, we got Red-necked Grebes on the water, and American Pipits on the beach. I also had looks at some Heermann's Gulls aggressively pursuing Bonaparte's Gulls, doing a dance that had me thinking that the darker Heermann's Gulls were jaegers. Nope! They just do that too. 

Surf Scoters and Red-necked Grebes

Returning along the marsh, rather than the beach, we picked up some Virginia Rails and Marsh Wrens and tried to pull up some Lincoln's Sparrows to no avail. It was probably on the way *back* to the car, when George walked out of sight down the path, that George was much like the tide when he was out birding!

Chokecherries? Bitter Cherry? Food for the waxwings, anyway

Back to the Roost

At George's place, we could see that two other targets had returned - Greater White-fronted Geese (147 for the year) and Cackling Geese (148). A stroll around the property allowed us to get a good angle for pictures. 

From here, our search began for Lincoln's Sparrows. At some point, we got separated, and I got on a call note that I thought sounded good for Lincoln's. There a few aggressive-ish sparrow calls that are probably worth lumping together, musically: Dark-eyed Junco, Fox Sparrow, and Lincoln's Sparrow. Two facts about these calls: They are very similar to each other, but they *are* different. Actually, maybe as a third "fact", subjective as it is - no other common local sparrows make calls that are quite so similar to any of the birds in this group. 

Sharp-shinned Hawk

I followed this bird around for a bit and got a recording. I could hear one or two similar calls from the road behind me, but I really hoped to get a picture. These are gorgeous sparrows, but they're just so skulky - it's almost fair to say it's one of their field marks! Also, the calls are to me distinct, but I know that they're close enough for a lot of people that it'd be nice to have some visual details to add. 

I finally got to see the bird in flight, as it went from cover in one bush to cover in another. It was too lightly colored to be a Fox Sparrow, and it lacked the darker contrasting head found on a junco. Brief as it was, this bird told me what it wasn't in flight (in addition to the calls that had told me what three birds it might be). 148. 

I relocated George who was now making some efforts to find a Red-breasted Sapsucker, another common bird I'd been missing. 

"Find anything?"

"I think I had a Lincoln's Sparrow."

"You *think* you did?" George chuckled. 

"Yeah, there were . . . maybe 3 or 4 of them calling back there."

"The most I've *ever* had here was two or three. Maybe you've got better ears than me, but. . . "

And this was kind of the running conversation of the morning. :D

I'm sticking with this bird. It sounded enough like a Lincoln's Sparrow to get and hold my attention. It acted like a Lincoln's Sparrow, and when seen, brief as it was, it ruled out the only important confusion species. All of this in a spot where they'd been seen the day before, at a time of year when they are passing through a lot of areas. Still a BVD (better view desired) bird, but an easy count.

Back to the birds

George and I tried for Red-breasted Sapsucker. This one was again, heard-only, but distinct enough for it to be George-approved. 150 for the year! Then we returned to the driveway and adjacent fields, trying for Lincoln's Sparrows. No visuals were had. I heard some distant Lincoln's calls, but nothing close-in that repeatedly sounded good. A Fox Sparrow had my interest for a call or two, but quickly showed itself, as they do. 

From here, it was off to Foulweather Bluff. There was one quick stop at the end of Twin Spits Road - a spot I've been to a few times, with nothing too interesting showing up. And then George stopped at this wooded, unmarked turnoff and told me to boot up. 

I trusted him but was pretty suspicious putting on my mudders and stepping into a typical PNW forest. He zipped off down the trail, pausing once when we heard the massive "THOK THOK THOK" of a Pileated Woodpecker. The occasional side trail drifted off to our left. Up the trail in front of me, but still in sight, he caught my eye to make sure I saw him taking it, then went out of sight. I kept up as fast as I could without breaking into a jog, took the trail, and found that it led to a little opening to a peekaboo view of a marsh. 

Scopes came out, and we looked at every log and all the shoreline for a Spotted Sandpiper. None showed up, but I did find a Cooper's Hawk (151), swooping in acrobatically at something, and then perching on a log. "There's your 150!" George smiled, as he packed up the scope and walked off to the next stop on the trail. 

Cooper's Hawk on a distant perch

I like long walks on the beach

I had not a clue that this path came out here. This was, for all intents and purposes, Narnia for me. All these sightings from "Nature Conservancy, Foulweather Bluff," made no sense to me until I got to see this spot. The forest opened up to a long beach, which we walked towards a little marsh. 

The comma was added to this sign recently.
Your clamming dog remains unwelcome here

Along the way, we stopped to talk about the mountains visible in the Olympics on the horizon. I also came across a tiny little transparent bloop on the sand that seemed to have the texture of a jellyfish. "Do we have jellyfish in the water here?" Regardless of the answer to my question about that little bloop, I quickly got my answer. 

This is a Lion's Mane jellyfish. It's the biggest jellyfish I have seen. Then ten feet later, it fell into second place. 

Also a Lion's Mane - the color changes with age

Apparently, in the fall, these little suckers wash up on local shores. Most of them don't, of course, and some of them can grow up to 7 feet in diameter with tentacles over 100 feet long. This information. . .I'm still wrestling with this information. I'm looking at the room I'm in as I type this, and I'm trying to handle the fact that this thing would take up most of the room. Give me time to process this. 

George disappearing from view faster than a Lincoln's Sparrow

I loved this little spot - it became very clear why all of the shorebird sightings had rolled in from here during the fall. Too late now! But if I miss 175 this year for my Kitsap life list, it seems like a well-timed visit to this little marsh could rectify that. 

Back on the trail, we got back to the cars, and George's lead was growing. I was having a laugh about my slowness as I exited the trail. "Found your second wind?" George asked. "No. . . " I laughed. I was frantically trying to get my feet out of my shoes, and he started up the road (!!!). I finally got into my other shoes, and saw him pull off the road ahead, waiting until I was on the road before continuing. 

Driftwood Key

Off to a spot I've hit twice this year - hoping especially for a Spotted Sandpiper. As we moved to looking for other birds, George called out, "Lincoln's Sparrow!"

I'd gone up to the scope spot with my scope. . . not my binoculars, and not my camera. But this bird, this *Lincoln's Sparrow* mind you, cooperated. I eventually got the scope on it, perched on a post. And it just kind of sat there and posed for us. "Now you can count your Lincoln's Sparrow."

At some point it really sunk in that this particular sparrow had some kind of exhibitionist streak. Upon discussion, I jogged back to the car to get my camera, came back and snapped some pictures. 37 of them focused on the objects behind the bird, and finally one clear one. 

Lincoln's Sparrow - seen only

"That was the most cooperative Lincoln's Sparrow. . . "

George started this, and I thought "in history," to finish the sentence. But George has birded a bit more than me. I was prepared for ". . . that I've seen in a long time," but. . . 

". . .in history."

Agreed.

The rest

George and I did try Point Julia, finding nothing really new, but enjoying some more Common Loons in both breeding and alternate plumage. He encouraged me to try Port Gamble for Spotted Sandpiper and Red-throated Loon. I had some lunch at the Port Gamble Cafe and grabbed a mug. 

From the overlook into Hood Canal, I did find one of my targets, a lightly colored Red-throated Loon - its slight bill turned slightly upwards in view of a few Common Loons. 152!

And I took a nap in my car. I'd been up so early and had been booking it around at every stop. I was just weary at this point, and possibly picking up the hints of a cold. I did dip into Jefferson. There were no breadcrumbs to follow for new birds, so it was kind of a lazy look through some of the farmland roads (Beaver Valley, Center Road, West Valley Road). I had plans to stay with a friend I haven't seen in decades. . . but the hints of a cold, my exhaustion, and the thin prospects led me to simply head back home. 

September 21st - Lazy Morning, Port Townsend to Kingston

Port Townsend sunrise

No rush for me this morning. I'd had some good birds over the last couple of days, and I just needed to get to Wenatchee by evening. My son, a music major at Central, had done an arrangement of a song that was going to be performed by the artist, accompanied by an orchestra, for a film. It's a lot of layers, but needless to say, I had no intentions of missing it!

The first steps out of bed were the roughest part of my entire day. Plantar fasciitis barks loudly at me after intense days like the ones I'd had backpacking around Marmot Pass. But I was hungry enough to find motivation. I stopped at the Bayview Restaurant for breakfast. There was a lot of the standard fare on the menu, but I went to my go-to, a Denver omelet. It's right there with a BLT for my diner standards. 

Deer through the window at breakfast.
This may have surprised me nine 
months ago!

Food tastes good when you're hungry. Simple fact. This food was ten-star delicious. And it's one of those places where the waitress knows people as they come in and can already guess who is going to have the blueberry hotcakes. 

I spent a lazy hour or two at Point Hudson looking at the saltwater. I could have run other places, but many of them may have involved like. . . 50 meters of walking, or something outrageous like that. I had no intentions of anything that rigorous today. The Heermann's, California, and Olympic Gulls on the little spit ensured that I wouldn't even have to handle any new identifications for the morning. 

I take crap-tastic pictures when I'm chatting :D
Harlequin Ducks, at any rate, have returned!

Birders can spot birders. There's field marks. But I was admittedly confused when I spotted someone with binoculars around her neck, and a trash picker in hand. Had I known it was International Coastal Cleanup Day, I'd have been quicker on the uptake. She was a recent transplant from the east coast, and she immediately wanted to clarify what the gorgeous sooty-toned gulls on the spit were. 

It was nice to go through the IDs on the other gulls - most of them a completely different set from the regulars on the other coast. She'd also not heard about the Red-footed Booby in Port Townsend, so I pointed at the building a mile or two down the beach (all the instructions needed for finding this cooperative visitor!). Before I left, we exchanged contact information, and I was told to tell her when I'd be in town next. "We'll go birding!"

Big tangent time. Strap in, fearless reader. Ten to fifteen years ago, an excellent birder dropped into the Seattle area to be closer to family. Being an east coast native, he introduced himself on the local listserv (Tweeters), and just kind of expected someone to grab him and say "Come on, let's go birding." It took a mildly frustrating amount of time for anyone to say that to him, and as luck would have it, I got him first. I'll blame my birth state - New Jersey - although my parents are the more likely influence here, since I only spent a year of my life out there. 

There were a lot of road trips and birding walks and explorations with Pete, but not near enough, as we lost him almost ten years ago. So, it's such a small thing, but that invitation brought back a fond memory of Pete. 

I made stops at Kah Tai Lagoon, looking for an Eared Grebe (no, but yes on a Eurasian Wigeon! Not new for the year, but always a good bird), and a stop at Oak Bay for a Sabine's Gull (nope, although others have seen it out there), then headed for the Kingston Ferry. I didn't really expect anything new for the year at the ferry terminal but landed one more species - a Heermann's Gull - 146 for the year in Kitsap!

Sitting at 190 in Jefferson and 146 in Kitsap. . . it's really feeling like the home stretch, although I'm going to need some luck in Jefferson to hit the goal of 200. It's going to be fun to try for it either way!

Slipping into Kitsap over the Hood Canal Floating Bridge

October is a month where I've organized "blanket trips" in the past (see Mason and Chelan). It's a little spin on the usual field trip format, with people meeting at a central location in the morning, heading off in different directions in three separate cars, and basically blanketing a county, hitting quite a few good spots between them. Meeting up for lunch, people have a chance to share sightings and to head home. . . or use the afternoon to chase the odd birds that were found! 

Although my legs still hurt from that hike, the calendar tells me that October's not far away. It might be nice to get a little blanket trip together. Date and time TBA, but feel free to contact me through here if you're interested! If you haven't birded much in Jefferson County, it might especially be fun to get out. If you've birded the county a lot, you might be a good candidate for navigating one of those cars. 

Let's go birding!

The end o' September tally!

September 20th - Marmot Pass and an Accidental Ascent (Morning Wordle)

The rocky slopes of Buckhorn Mountain from Marmot Pass

Breakfast at Mystery

A shelf for my coffee - very
welcome discovery

Need to catch up on your sleep? Camp in September in a place that doesn't allow you to build fires. Half the day is dark, and your sleeping bag is the most comfortable place you can find. I made one necessary trip outside of my tent around 4 AM, and then slept until civil twilight (that lovely time before sunrise when you can see well enough to walk). 

Getting out of my tent for breakfast involved a lot of slow decision making. I was sore from the hike up, and honestly didn't want to get out of my tent and stand up if there were still things inside my tent that I needed. No more squats. Once I'd chucked out those important items, I got out of the tent and strolled over to the spot where I'd hung my food bag. It was still there, unmolested. Phew!

I got my coffee and oatmeal out, as well as my snacks for the morning hike, then searched the grounds for a better branch for hanging the food. It may not have been super-necessary in this semi-open habitat, but better safe than sorry. I found a tree with some higher branches, although they didn't extend far from the trunk. On throw number one, this was the outcome: 

I briefly wondered how getting it down was going to go. . . but was otherwise happy with the outcome. I packed things up in the misty morning, rolling up my sleeping bag and pad. My intention was to set out from camp, head up from my camp (5300 feet) to Marmot Pass (5950 feet) in a little under a mile. I'd have a couple hours to poke around up there before coming back to have lunch, pack up, and return to the car. 

The start of the hike - I brought no sunscreen, although 
this was only a mild regret by the end of the morning.
Incidentally, I had *no* bug problems on the entire trip.

Buckhorn Mountain from 
the trail

Heading out of camp, I realized that there are actually quite a few campsites at Mystery. Heading up in September on a Thursday, I'd had the entire place to myself, but I could imagine it filling up in other seasons. Varied Thrushes and Canada Jays were common on the hike, and early on I also got a new species for the year list - Pine Grosbeak! (187 for the year, a tally I'll keep adding parenthetically) The bird was out of sight but gave several of its cheerful warbling calls before taking flight. 

These trips, mind you, have been undertaken with a sense of humor. Yes, I'm hoping to find two hundred species by the end of the year. Yes, when I hiked up Mount Townsend with my son and nephew and found no new species, that did not help me towards my goal! But. . . I got up Mount Townsend with my son and nephew, so the goal helped me towards what I really want - joyful exploration of this beautiful state. 

Keeping that in mind, there was a list of birds that were possible adds on this trip: 

Clark's Nutcracker and Pine Grosbeak - I saw both as likely.

Gray-crowned Rosy Finch, Townsend's Solitaire, Mountain Bluebird, Golden Eagle - I saw as less likely but possible. 

Ruffed Grouse - I saw as a bird I'd missed for the year. Easier in the spring when they're drumming, or in the mornings on gravel roads, especially on the west side of the county. Here I was on the east side, and probably with these birds hidden all around me!

Canada Jay

If I came back from the trip with two new species, I'd probably be on track to fall just short of my goal. Three? Now the goal would still feel in reach, so I needed some good surprises. lol "needed". . . you know what I mean. 

As I slowly ascended, I enjoyed the comfortable morning, and I started to get views of Buckhorn Mountain peeking out from behind the trees. The path took me to a large meadow at one point, apparently this is the home of the marmots (Olympic variety here), which live in burrows, and sometimes come out onto large rocks to enjoy the sun and the scenery. I didn't see any on the trip but enjoyed the *idea* of them perched on the rocks. I could, at any rate, hear the first human voices since I left the trail the afternoon before - campers up on the ridge ahead.

The low easy path to Marmot Pass is visible here.

I hit a little spot that looked campsite-ish, and there were two paths leaving it. One going up the ridge directly in front (west) of me, and the other heading parallel to the ridge (north). I sighed as I looked ahead to the ridge but tried to put the steep direct climb into perspective. I'd been up and down many flights of stairs earlier in the week as I moved my daughter into her college dorm. I could do this. 

I took that path instead

Amazing view! I was a little puzzled, trying to figure out if I'd made it to Marmot Pass, but I just took a few pictures regardless. From there, I continued along the ridge to the voices I'd heard. They belonged to a couple of mountain goats. Not actual goats, but two older guys who had been backpacking for several days up here, and who seemed completely at home. 

It was fun to chat with them for a bit, to talk about their trip (which included Constance Pass the day before), and eventually about birds. Pine Grosbeak and Clark's Nutcracker both came up as birds that they'd seen and heard on the trip. This gave me some hope!

I had to at least get the picture of his hat
This Chimacum grocery is 
highly recommended

As I wrapped up the conversation, one of them suggested a little side trip. "See that rock over there?" I nodded. "You really should head over there. Great spot to have lunch, and the views go all the way down to Port Angeles." "Yeah, but. . . " I gave him a look that communicated, "Dude, I'm still feeling lucky to have made it up here and am not sure I want to push my luck." "I understand." he said, fully understanding, "but seriously, it's not a hard walk.

I considered this as I started down the north end of this ridge, ending up at the "road signs" at Marmot Pass. It was such a nice morning, such a great open spot. I just sat and sipped some water, nibbled my snacks. It was 9:30 something, and I decided to see how I felt about the northward trail by 10 o'clock. Clouds sometimes drifted up towards me at the pass, but for now they balked at cresting the pass completely. It was fun to see clouds doing the same thing on the far side of the valley (the Copper Creek Valley? I think so).

Osprey in migration over Buckhorn 

The trip up. You can see trails
crossing at Marmot Pass below

Ten o'clock arrived, and I felt good. I took the trail north in the direction of the rock I thought the old fella had been pointing at. Along the walk, I got another. . . expected surprise? Sure. A Clark's Nutcracker (188) flew past silently. Is it weird to be disappointed at a seen-only bird? So many birders will note that a bird has been "heard-only" if they don't get to actually see the bird. The supposition is that without visual confirmation, identification becomes tricky. In many cases, this is true, but this is a bird with such a cool, distinctive call - a harsh nasal call that I automatically associate with high and dry habitat. 

The views slowly improved, especially to the south, where Warrior Peak started to peek out. Then I got to a parting of the paths. One went straight ahead, and one angled upwards. I looked up and thought I was looking at the rock that I'd seen earlier. I debated it a little bit and decided to take the upward path. So that's how I ended up accidentally going halfway up Buckhorn Mountain, just for clarity. 

Things got very talussy... talusful? There was talus. Loose rocks that sometimes meant the loss of some progress as I went up. Once or twice, I got a little off trail, but rejoined it, keeping an eye on the rock formation ahead. As I went up, it was also fun to look back at the marker for Marmot Pass, appearing lower and more distant over time. 

I honestly almost got to the rock in question, but at this point, I could start to see around the corner, and the valley was full of thick clouds below. My hopes for actually looking out at the Strait of Juan de Fuca were not great. I stopped to breathe for a minute before heading down and got my first *real* surprise of the day, a Gray-crowned Rosy Finch! (189) There have been sightings up here, but most of the descriptions had placed the birds in the talus on Buckhorn Mountain - something I of course had not planned to climb. Haha. Ha. 

And then as I started down the hill, I nearly bought the farm on the first step I took. The rocks gave way under my step, and I regained my balance. I stopped, steadied myself, and thought about how lucky I was that I hadn't gone tumbling down the slope. The second step that I took? Exact same thing. Goodness. 

Far enough

So, this essentially became my morning wordle. My brain, presented with the fact that I had to map and plan out every step on the way down, got engaged in a happy familiar way. Honestly, despite memories of someone breaking a leg on talus on a hike with me many years ago in the Olympics, this was a lot of fun. 

I got into a good routine, finding big rocks, when possible, for sure footing. No big rocks? I looked for plants. Neither? I looked for medium sized rocks, and kind of . . . surfboarded them, for lack of a better term. I'd push them down and push forward, letting the rocks slide, but also bringing a lot of rocks up in front of it. No medium rocks, and I'd just scan ahead to my next secure footing, then let my shoe be the surfboard, pushing it down at an angle, so that rocks would build in front of it as I slid down a little. 

That was pretty tedious, I understand. But I've gotten very interested in what hiking does to my brain. I'd love to see brain scans in *all* of the following situations. I know it's not possible, really, but I know it'd be interesting and different for each: 

• hiking in silence
• hiking surrounded by birdsong
• hiking up a long climb with no end in sight
• hiking up a long climb with an end in sight
• hiking switchbacks that each appear to be the end of a climb
• hiking with others in silence
• hiking with others who talk a lot
• getting off trail on a hike
• and this - hiking when each footstep needs to be planned out

There are so many little games out there that help to keep our brains sharp, therapeutical methods to soothe an anxious mind, activities to make us feel exhilarated, anxious, or outright panicked. Hiking can bring all of these things in little unexpected doses. I'd say as long as you don't die doing it (as I have not. . . yet), that it's probably a good thing for keeping that brain healthy.

I was pretty satisfied when I made it to firmer footing. I took some more sips of water, looked at the time, and started back to camp. Three birds added to the list! Not a bad morning. 

Golden-crowned Sparrow, 
offering no directions

As noted above, I firmly believe that the second you're off the path on a hike, one's brain goes to a different (and not entirely bad) spot. I had brought a map with me, and just could not make sense of the direction it seemed the path was supposed to bring me back to camp. This was at the spot where I'd earlier decided to head up the ridge, but. . . how had I gotten there? I could see that Camp Mystery was below me and to the East, however, so in the end, I followed something akin to a deer run through the thin forest - easy walking that brought me back to the trail and the meadow. 

I'd hit noon at this point, and I started seeing hikers occasionally. None on the way down were backpackers - all of them just up for the morning. I got back to camp, boiled my water, had my ramen, packed up and returned down the hill. I tried to pack things a little better for the return trip. I'd had things become loose on the way up, and it had gotten annoying. I fixed some problems, but created others, carrying my sleeping bag in the end, but only for the last quarter mile or so. 

Chestnut-backed Chickadee, checking on my well-being at Camp Mystery

Gosh it was nice to get back to the car. I can also report that my knees and toes were magically intact. I still can't figure out what exactly has improved. I don't think my overall fitness is much different, so I'm just chalking it up to footwear? I'm not looking this gift horse in the mouth, at any rate. Just glad it didn't end the way this trip or this trip did! 

I drove the long winding roads back, and at some point had a moment of silence as I realized I was on the last gravel roads I really planned to see in Jefferson for the year. No Ruffed Grouse, it would seem! But on Penny Creek Road, in the *very* last twenty feet of gravel, a Ruffed Grouse flushed up from the side of the road and flew off into the forest. 190? 190! 

Evening included "the usual" - a trip to Finnriver Cider to pick up my quarterly six bottles, and a night at the Port Townsend Inn.