October 17th - Jefferson Half-day

Picture from a viewpoint along the Mount Walker Road
Courtesy of my copilot for the day, Maggie

Needs alerts

A sliver of my post-trip needs alerts

Kind of an uninteresting place to start, but it defined some of the planning for this trip. I had been birding Jefferson County with . . . near alarming frequency in August and September! Following a productive September trip, I passed on some interesting potential chases - Pectoral Sandpiper, American Golden-Plover, Red Knot, Short-tailed Shearwater - I knew they might have been good birds to add, but I needed to add balance to my life by not hopping in the car until October!

On eBird, you can set up alerts, giving you an email anytime a bird is reported that you need for a given list. I have quite a few set up! I get a daily email letting me know of birds reported that I need on my Kitsap Year List, for example. I get an hourly one letting me know of birds reported for my King County Life List. For Jefferson County, I get a daily alert for my year list. 

Day after day, it was giving me Eared Grebe. Not any Eared Grebe, but the same darn Eared Grebe that I'd missed on my last trip. One that was there day after day after day at Kah Tai Lagoon. I kept thinking the dang thing might leave, but there it was. Then. . . a couple of Clark's Grebe sightings here and there out on the Strait of Juan de Fuca. I pulled the trigger. 

Morning obligations

Outside of my obligation to take care of laundry, I had reviewing obligations to handle in the morning. For a late-morning-through-afternoon situation, I thought it would be a good time to reach out to Maggie, a new birder to the area that I'd met on a previous trip. The goals of the trip were for me to find this grebe, and for us to get her a Northern Pygmy-Owl. 

Outside of a single year of my life (spent in my "home" state of New Jersey), I have never lived outside of Washington State. Even college was in-state. Maggie, on the other hand, has spent time living in Indiana, Texas, Florida, Oregon. . . so her list of birds-not-seen is considerably shorter than mine, and in the state, the birds with the most real estate on that list are owls. 

Some of this is geography - some species are just not seen in the states listed - but some of it is also a disinclination to be out and about at 4 A.M. Fair enough! But Northern Pygmy Owls are active enough during the day and have been a fairly regular find for me on Mount Walker. So, we agreed on Kah Tai Lagoon, Mount Walker, and a lazy trip back through farmland to try for sparrows, raptors, and maybe a shrike. 

Kah Tai Lagoon

I grabbed a parking spot in the McDonalds lot behind the lagoon. Good time to actually fast forward a bit. At the very end of the day - maybe 7 hours later, I found a note on my car. The spot I'd used was needed for a regular delivery. The McDonalds employee met me outside when I arrived and was almost. . . Canadian about it. Like, they apologized for the note, and they clarified that it was otherwise perfectly fine for someone to leave a car in their parking lot for 7 hours. I found that this kind of an interaction fit the general speed in Port Townsend. 

Maggie arrived, and we set off on our grebe hunt. 

The weather report was mixed for the day - we weren't expecting balmy weather, but it was still surprisingly brisk. Maggie for her part had at least made an attempt to layer in appropriate Pacific Northwest fashion, and I was ribbed a little as I shivered in my two layers - a simple shirt and a rain shell. 

After some scanning we found several Pied-billed Grebes, some American Coots, a trillion American Wigeon (admittedly, failing to scan for the Eurasian that has been continuing here!), and one "other" grebe: 

This is a photo that has been bugging me, and I honestly don't know what to make of this bird situation. I am regretting that I didn't stay for more pictures, but this bird was pretty content to stay at a distance, and it spent much of its time (as grebes do) under the water. But here's the thing. Back in mid-September, people found an Eared Grebe out on Kah Tai Lagoon. There were some great pictures and notes about field marks. And since then, it has been reported almost daily, with no reports of Horned Grebe during that time. 

But this bird in the picture is giving me Horned Grebe vibes. The back is fairly flat, rather than being all bunched/hunched up as you normally see in Eared Grebes. But. . . how variable is that with posture? Could an Eared Grebe strike this pose? Same with the peak of its head. It seems farther back, behind the eye, while Eared Grebes have a peak that is pretty far forward. Gun to my head, I'd call it a Horned Grebe. 

But. . . what? Am I saying that one Eared Grebe was swapped out for exactly one Horned Grebe, and nobody noticed? Like. . . "The Podiceps Trap", coming soon to a lagoon near you! Even though Horned is the more common species, it seems equally far-fetched that the timing would allow for only single sightings of an Eared Grebe with no Horned that entire time. 

Or it's possible that there were two birds here, and they just did a great job of never being visible at the same time. The other pictures of this bird are not great, but I'll leave them here. There are often other field marks that people use with some skill that I'd just miss. I'd love to hear that this bird was an Eared Grebe - it'd be the 191st species for the year! But my sense of humor can weather it if it turns out that it's just a Horned. And I'd be glad that I hadn't just put it in as Eared in eBird, leaving a note like "continuing".

Maggie is about where I am for sorting out these grebes, so at the time, we were both content with the idea that the single bird I'd found out there was the single bird that had been previously reported. She carefully double-checked our species list with me - something that I slack on more and more as the year goes along! Then it was back to the cars to make the run up to Mount Walker. 

Mount Walker

Fries and Diet Coke in hand from the McDonald's, Maggie did the driving here. Three weeks or so from an election, and passing a bazillion yard signs, the conversation naturally drifted to politics. Passing Fat Smitty's at the 101 junction may have been the tipping point for that conversation! The establishment itself is a locally famous burger joint that I still haven't visited this year. They proudly advertise their conservative leanings, via flags and signs. I have heard interesting mixed reports - from people that have been made to feel uncomfortable while there, and others who, despite their orientation/color/political inclinations, have felt nothing but welcomed. 

From takeout-guide.com

I haven't been in, so it's not for me to say at all, and it's definitely a stop I hope to make by year's end. I have a sometimes Pollyanna-ish view of the world and think that people are people. I like it during these years when I can get myself out of my echo chamber and get a chance to at least eavesdrop on conversations happening in the other echo chambers. Given the placement right on the Highway, any birders making runs off to UberHotSpots like Neah Bay have at least passed this place, so I really should get in. It's why I do these years honestly.

That, at least, is part of the running shtick in these blogs. Maggie and I discussed this at length throughout the day. It's. . . a lot of driving, birding, backpacking, kayaking, golf-cart-driving, and apparently squinting at grainy photos of grebes. But why do I do it? There are honestly a lot of answers. There are times where I'll put my tongue in cheek and resoundingly affirm that "I'm not really all that interested in birds." And there's a half-truth in that. Not that I don't have an interest in birds, but that *if* I had no interest in birds, there would still be 11.736 things about every day I spend on the road that would make it worthwhile. 

This conversation would count as one of those things. Maggie shared a lot about her family, her "birding path" (if I want to make us birders sound like a weird cult, which . . . I'll allow, tongue partially in cheek), and the important difference between being gungho and hellbent. As she followed career opportunities to different parts of the country, her bird list grew. At some point, it certainly became a situation where adding to that list could be done through carefully mapped out trips to this place or that place or jumping in the car and chasing a rarity. But her interest in that type of pursuit just isn't there. Gungho, but not hellbent. Same here.

At Mount Walker, we drove the winding dirt road to the top, got out at the North Viewpoint parking area, and looked out at the fog encircling us. 

It wasn't the day we'd expected. Reports seemed to provide a little more hope for clearing. But for an attempt to find Northern Pygmy-Owl, the setting was just fine. The fog was honestly beautiful anyway in this setting. As we walked towards the north/south viewpoint intersection, we were passed by a jogger. Hiker? She evaded classification, as she explained that she'd hiked up and would be just running off and on for the trip down. 

"So, what are you looking for?"

This was another fun little interaction. She actually lived near the foot of the mountain in the outskirts of Quilcene, which got us talking about various roads, and access to places like Devil's Lake. 

"As you go down (I can't remember which) road, there's a sign that says "no access to Devil's Lake". That's how you know it's the right turn." She explained with a wink. This actually brought me back to very early in the year, birding with another local Jefferson County birder. More than once, we walked past some signs that seemed to at least hint that we shouldn't walk past the signs, but. . . sometimes in Jefferson County you do, it seems. Not always! But sometimes. That's not stressful at all for an out-of-town birder, right? 

Douglas Squirrel

As we continued, Maggie mused over how odd it was that people in our state actually want to start conversations, relative to people in the Midwest, who generally keep to themselves. My brain did a little double-take on this, as Seattle is quite famous for its Freeze. But maybe there's a nuanced difference. Perhaps Seattleites (and how far out does this generalization reach?) excel at the elevator talk, but balk at the idea of actually coming over for the potluck. And the midwest may be quite the opposite - cheerful greetings and "howdy"s, but let's keep moving along, and I'll see you at the potluck. Unless you're from outside of this town of 300. And then no.

I'm no expert, but it's fun to try to sort through this stuff. In the spirit of "howdy", I occasionally gave a few Northern Pygmy Owl whistles (happy to see that Merlin on Maggie's phone, at least, was fooled by my efforts). During a silent part of the walk, we got greeted back! A quick trill from one of the little guys, followed by a clear, single toot. 

High fives were had, and we continued to the South Viewpoint. 

"See. . . this is why I do these trips." I said as we looked out on this strange and beautiful view. Above us, dark clouds, and below us was Dabob Bay (and Hood Canal at a distance), the water bright from reflected sun. This, and it was all seen through immaculately clear air. It was almost eerie, being in and under a cloud, and being able to see Seattle better than I'd seen it before from the viewpoint. 

Maggie showed me ocean spray, and I had her taste some late season salal (some of it still delicious), and we returned to the car. 

Jefferson County Farmland

This was a fun part of the trip. It was very undirected. I didn't have much to chase but had an inkling that farmland would at least have some possibilities. Snow Goose, White-throated or Harris's Sparrow, Northern Shrike, Peregrine Falcon, and Rough-legged Hawk were the unlikely suspects that at least tickled my brain as we explored. This included Boulton Farms Road, Uncas Road, West Valley Road, and Egg and I road.

Boulton Farms was the most interesting stop, with plenty of zonotrichia Sparrows to sort through. At the end of the road, we also happened on a field with Canada, Cackling, and Greater white-fronted Geese. My only Greaters for the year had been a heard-only flyover, so I didn't mind adding the visual for this bird. 

Uncas was interesting as always. Not much going on bird-wise, but it was nice to revisit the trees there with a tree geek. Maggie gave me. . . lord, I've forgotten it, but it may have been "Spiky Spruce, Friendly Fir" as a little mnemonic device. There were possibly multiple species of both trees present, as well as multiple species of pine, which got us talking about the needle-counting method for telling them apart (something I'd come across years back in Douglas County).

Such a variety of conifers packed into close quarters

It was easy to trust the Shrike search to the midwest girl with the Loggerhead Shrike tattoo. As we drove, she pointed out perches, and my brain slowly folded this in with places that I've seen them over the years. Only one raptor really grabbed our interest, a Red-tailed Hawk that didn't immediately appear to have the backpack straps as we passed it. 

As interesting as the raptor search got

Day's end

Naturally, we finished off the day at Finnriver Cider. The discount has been a nice draw (I got in at the Crow level for the year - just committing to six bottles a quarter), and they always seem to have something interesting cooking. On this particular day, it was only their own kitchen available for food, rather than the usual pizza, oysters, tacos (they were busy with a catered event). The sun dropped in the sky as we shared some life stories, and we "settled up" the way my old friend Pete and I always did. Just sometimes saying "I'll get this" and letting the other person doing the same when they want to. I always enjoyed birding with Pete for that reason. Accountants may not see the appeal. 

And accounting-wise. . . where am I?? I don't even know. I know I have seen 190 species for the year. I have sent my grebe pictures out so that better eyes and better brains can pore over them (although, they'll likely *hate* having to look at such grainy photos. . . I tried to append my inquiries with sufficient apologies). I. . . I have no idea. I'll be surprised by nearly any comment. Maybe except one, "I can't tell from the pictures." Hopefully, one of the responses will at least tell me something about grebes - not for this bird, but for the next one I'm going to see.  

Follow-up! Good news and bad news on this grebe. I got information that'd make me comfortable, gun to my head, in saying that the bird in the picture is an Eared Grebe. The Jefferson eBird reviewer looked over my pictures and old pictures of the grebe from September and saw a lot that pointed towards it being the same bird. He also pointed out that posture (such as the hunched back or forwardly peaked head) is more variable than people realize. So, basically, the Horned-looking pictures that I'd provided did not rule out Eared at all. Add to this, another birder saw the Eared Grebe just a day or two after my visit.  

So why not count the bird? I have struggled a good bit over this one! The one thing that might have made it possible to go with Eared is apparently bill-shape, which is not shown clearly enough in any of the images. So. . . the only things I have to "count" the bird are based on logic, more than observation and identification. I may have been able to put it in an eBird list and marked it as "continuing". But a running gag in my blogs is that "I don't know what birds look like." It's a little hyperbolic, but it's times like this where I think it rings true enough. I've relied on other marks to identify grebes in the past, and have never really gone to bill-shape, which... if you think about it... is hard for a grebe to change through changes in posture! 

So, I'm letting this one go for now. But I do hope to get back to that bird (please stick around, buddy), and to give it some better looks, try to get better pictures, and do a little studying of field marks in the interim. Everyone's list is their own, so I'm not saying this is the "right" way to do it. Some people may have counted this bird, and not counted, for example, the Lincoln's Sparrow that I discussed in the last post. Throughout, this is just an effort to be transparent, and to discuss that often completely unimportant, but in other ways completely essential question - how do you know what that bird was? 

 

Adding birds at the speed of a wooly bear 

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.