More buggy goings-on.

I was experimenting with setups for insect photography tonight, so I went out and "shanghaied" a couple of subjects.

Here's another of those rhododendron leafhoppers, like the "fire bug" from last week, but upside-down, under glass and in bright light. Now I can see that the bristles that seemed to be part of the body are on the back legs.

And I caught a very active harvestman, or "daddy long-legs", as we always called them.

The eyes are odd: they are close together, and stick up above the body, like periscopes. In this next photo, his mouth appendages are easily seen.

When I first dumped him into the plastic container where I photographed him, he was quite agitated. He did not calm down until he had straitened out each of his legs, using those mouth parts. Here he is working on the end of one:

When I was done, I took both my "volunteers" back outside and set them free.

And, in other news, I keep checking on my American house spider. She is guarding her eggs conscientiously.

Tomorrow: back to Serendip.

Excursion to Serendip

"So, what do we call the place we went yesterday?" Laurie asks. Well, it was part of Tsawwassen, on Boundary Bay, just south of Boundary Bay Regional Park, a few blocks north of the US border. The school in the area is called Boundary Beach. "South Boundary Bay Beach?" Not really good enough, and too long for a file name. After going over my memories of the afternoon and the photos we brought back, I've decided to file them under "Serendip".

It was a spur-of-the-moment thing; we were already in the car, going -- somewhere, anywhere -- when we decided to go to Boundary Bay Beach. But when we were almost there, I felt like driving just a bit farther, to new (for us) territory. We found a walkway to the beach in a quiet residential zone and parked.

And there the discoveries began, still on the street. And they ended, at tea-time, with a middle-of-the-road garden on a dead-end street, as we tried to find our way home.

For tonight, I'll start there, at the end.

The last flowers we saw were Astrantia major. A new flower to both of us, small and papery, in a tangle of stems and leaves, the flowers in all stages of growth and decay, and beautiful.

The 12 bracts on the outside are deeply veined, tipped either with green or pink or brown, and badly insect-bitten. The true flowers are tiny, and arranged in an umbel, like a cow parsnip or Queen Anne's lace. I loved those tiny "barrels" that some of them (not all) rest on. I read that they are often called the "pincushion flower"; I can see where the name comes from.

Here, one flower head has pincushions; the other one pins (delicate stalks).

Bending close to try for a close-up of the flowerets, I saw a flash of orange-red; some sort of insect. An ant, I thought at the time. I followed him around for a bit, trying to get him on camera. He didn't make it easy, and I clicked wildly every time I saw a flash of red on my screen. Mostly, I missed.

So I was pleased with two of my photos. I had more than one red insect. And they were more like beetles than ants.

Three of them. And there soon will be more. Here's a closer view.

Ah! Young love!

(Now comes the hard part: I'll be spending some time on BugGuide trying to identify these beetles. I'll update this when I do.)

Update: Boris Buche at BugGuide ID'd them for me: they are Common red soldier beetles, Rhagonycha fulva. They eat the aphids and other small insects from umbelliferous flowers, like these pincushion flowers. And UBC Botanical Garden has a photo (on fennel) and more links. Follow their link to the flying beetle -- amazing!

Three Carnivals

Past, present, future;

"I and the Bird, #54" was posted 3 days ago, at The Egret's Nest. If you haven't seen it yet, do it now. A class assignment, on which we all earned an "A".

Yesterday, the Gypsy posted the second July "Good Planets". Wonderful photos, as usual. I had to save Divajood's Alaskan forest to my hard drive. Sheer joy!

And coming up, the 23rd edition of "Circus of the Spineless", at Words and Pictures. The deadline for submissions is tomorrow, the 30th; send yours to roger.butterfield (at) gmail.com .

Happy reading!

Waterfront Protectors

Tugboat, New Westminster Quay

Railway bridge, Burnaby Foreshore

Waiting their turn. Ladner Harbour

---

Digg Del.icio.us

Rainbow Colours

Backyard Bugging:


First, in the daylight.

My hostas are blooming. They don't make much of a show; only one flower opens at a time, on each of a few stalks, while yesterday's droop and tomorrow's are still in bud. I grow them mainly for the leaves. Still, that one small flower is worth photographing.


Zooming in, I discovered that it is playing hostess to a party of ants.

I wonder: they don't seem to be going anywhere near the pollen. Do they have any role to play in the fertilization process? Or are they just opportunistic feeders?

On the wall, I discover another visitor; a tiny yellow fly, about the size of a fruit fly. From the rear, his abdomen looks like a miniature lemon.

And at night:

I was out checking on the American house spiders, and discovered this beastie on my patio doors. The photos were taken with a desk lamp (so the camera could find something to focus on) and the flash, looking from outside in.

First, just the plain bug. I'm not sure what it is yet; a green and red bug, with wings, about 1/4 inch long. Strong, defined markings, big black eyes, outlining on the head. Some kind of "toothed" edge to the body or wings at the bottom, barely visible in this photo, more evident in the next, if you click on it to get the full size.

Here he is, with his reflection in 2 double-glassed panels. Too bright in the flesh, progressively paler with each reflection. (And it looks like I need to be washing those windows again!)


And sometimes there's an advantage to the "El Cheapo" brand of digital camera; look what it did with a bit of conflicting light in the distance! Again, click on this to get the full effect.

I still don't know what this is, but for now, I'm calling it my "fire bug".

*Update: It is a rhododendron leafhopper, Graphocephala fennahi, the only graphocephala in the west. Thanks to Lynne, of Hasty Brook.

Fresh Laid Eggs!

I've been wondering about my American house spiders (see previous post); they seem so lethargic most of the time. I decided I would check them at night, and see if there was any difference.

Just after dark last night, I looked. They were in their normal spots, but moving around, gently.

At 10:30, the female was fiddling with her web, pulling at the strands.

I had to work late: I didn't get out again until almost 2 AM. And we have eggs! There is a large egg case hanging in the web. Larger than the spider herself; how does she manage that?

I went out with a lamp to take photos. She didn't like that, and got quite protective, moving in front of the egg case and hanging there staring at me. So I didn't get too close.

I got a couple of blurry photos. Here's the best one; I'll try again tomorrow, in daylight, and when she has calmed down.


(Update: a newer photo:
A bit clearer, anyhow. I still didn't get too close.)

So I know I've missed a round of spider sex. I'll have to do more night-time snooping.

Mom's Last Request

My mother had no "wish list". Not that anyone knew about. For birthdays and Christmas, she insisted that we spend little on her, and give her only useful items. She worked hard at being sensible and practical, at "pulling her own weight".

When she was 80, and in the middle stages of Alzheimer's disease, her self-control snapped; she asked me to bring her a birthday present, something she wanted "just because": a bird book where she could look up the birds that came to her yard or walked on the beach. I bought her The Audubon Society Field Guide to North American Birds (Western Region). And while I was at it, a bird feeder for her window and the feed to go in it.

She didn't use the book long; a couple of years later she could no longer read the words or find the photos she wanted. But Dad still drove her to the creek to feed the ducks and she laughed with delight like a little girl.

Years have gone by. Both Mom and Dad are no more. And now I sit, evenings after supper, hearing the robins "Cheering up" the cedars and the flicker in the shrubbery, watching the chickadees come down for their evening bath and sitting, fluffed out to dry, in the rhododendron. And I laugh with delight.

Cleaning out old photos last week, I came upon this one: Mom, 1959, somewhere along the highway in Mexico. Smiling at a friendly parakeet.

Spider watching

For the last couple of weeks, I've been pestering a spider I discovered just outside my patio door, poking my camera lens at her, aiming bright lights in her direction, and often shaking her web in the process. At first, I was just trying to get a photo, any photo; she is in a very awkward situation, up in a dark corner where, standing on tiptoe on a chair, I could barely get closer than 6 inches. And stretching like that, my hands shake. But she interested me, so I persisted. I've been taking a couple of photos every day.

She hangs in her web, a tangled mass of threads going every which direction, always upside-down. And usually with her face to the wall. Not until today, after two weeks of trying, had I managed even to see her eyes.

After a few days, she attracted a boyfriend. Ah! Spider sex! I would get a photo! So I've been checking them out several times a day, with no luck, so far. He hangs out in her web, approaching to about 2 inches, but I've never seen him closer. Not yet. (Laurie says I'm intruding on their intimate affairs; I say they don't care. They're not complaining, anyhow.)

An early photo.

Laurie eventually dug out a step-ladder for me. That helps; now I can get a couple of inches away, but only by breaking strands of the web, upon which she heads up, out of range. As soon as I get off my ladder, she comes back to taunt me.

Oh, the trials of a bug watcher!

Anyhow, searching through BugGuide, I found photos of the Western Black Widow that looked very similar, as to body shape and colouring. I tried again to get a look at her underbelly for the hourglass (not getting too close, just in case); she wasn't having any. I posted her photo on the ID Request page, and Eric Eaton relieved my mind; she is an American house spider, Achearanea tepidariorum. Perfectly harmless, he says.

Back to my observation post.

She is a fat spider, with a great mounded abdomen, marked in browns and blacks, with a whitish upside-down vase-shaped mark at the top. The male is tiny and skinny, about 1/4 her size, all legs and quite visible palps.

He hangs around at the edges of the web, sometimes approaching slowly, tentatively. She seems not to notice. I wondered at first if it was because she was still immature, and not interested yet, but one of the websites I consulted says that the webs of immature females are more tightly woven; hers certainly isn't.

The web seems almost too tenuous to catch anything, but last week she had a large brown moth which kept her busy for hours, sucking away at its soft parts. Another time she was eating what looked like a worm; how one would get up there, I have no idea. SpiderPharm tells me that a good part of the success in catching large prey is due to her potent venom. Oh. I'll keep my fingers away.

Yesterday she had a crane fly.

In this second photo, you can see a few of the scanty lines she uses as a trap.

And the male, tiny as he is, had moved down the wall a ways to deal with a moth ten times his size.

On a close-up (click on this for a clear view), you can see the moth scales and the silken lines that bind them.

Reading up on these spiders, I learn that males and females will inhabit the same web and mate repeatedly. So I guess she won't eat him after the first try. I may get a photo yet.

And then I'll be looking for egg sacs and spiderlings. What fun!

Update: Next post about these spiders: Fresh Laid Eggs!

I found a couple of excellent photos here and here. Somebody has excellent cameras!

Shameless!

Christmas cactus, in full bloom:


And excerpts from a book-length poem by Erasmus Darwin (Charles' grandfather), "The Botanic Garden":

THE ECONOMY OF VEGETATION.

CANTO I.

STAY YOUR RUDE STEPS! whose throbbing breasts infold
The legion-fiends of Glory, or of Gold!
Stay! whose false lips seductive simpers part,
While Cunning nestles in the harlot-heart!--
5 For you no Dryads dress the roseate bower,
For you no Nymphs their sparkling vases pour;
Unmark'd by you, light Graces swim the green,
And hovering Cupids aim their shafts, unseen.

"But THOU! whose mind the well-attemper'd ray
10 Of Taste and Virtue lights with purer day;
Whose finer sense each soft vibration owns
With sweet responsive sympathy of tones;
So the fair flower expands it's lucid form
To meet the sun, and shuts it to the storm;--
15 For thee my borders nurse the fragrant wreath,
My fountains murmur, and my zephyrs breathe;
Slow slides the painted snail, the gilded fly
Smooths his fine down, to charm thy curious eye;
On twinkling fins my pearly nations play,
20 Or win with sinuous train their trackless way;
My plumy pairs in gay embroidery dress'd
Form with ingenious bill the pensile nest,
To Love's sweet notes attune the listening dell,
And Echo sounds her soft symphonious shell.

XI. "Come, YE SOFT SYLPHS! who fan the Paphian groves,
And bear on sportive wings the callow Loves;
Call with sweet whisper, in each gale that blows,
The slumbering Snow-drop from her long repose;
445 Charm the pale Primrose from her clay-cold bed,
Unveil the bashful Violet's tremulous head;
While from her bud the playful Tulip breaks,
And young Carnations peep with blushing cheeks;
Bid the closed _Petals_ from nocturnal cold
450 The virgin _Style_ in silken curtains fold,
Shake into viewless air the morning dews,
And wave in light their iridescent hues;
While from on high the bursting _Anthers_ trust
To the mild breezes their prolific dust;
455 Or bend in rapture o'er the central Fair,
Love out their hour, and leave their lives in air.
So in his silken sepulchre the Worm,
Warm'd with new life, unfolds his larva-form;
Erewhile aloft in wanton circles moves,
460 And woos on Hymen-wings his velvet loves.

From Project Gutenberg.

Shallow Waters

We've been gradually making our way around the coast of the Fraser Delta. Ladner Dikes, Tsawwassen, Boundary Bay, Mud Bay, Blackie Spit, Crescent Beach (not necessarily in that order, although that is how they line up on the map). Between Crescent Beach and White Rock, almost on the US border, there is a long, rocky stretch, accessible only on foot. We made a start on it a couple of weeks ago.

The tide was halfway out and the shore looked rocky. While Laurie went back to the car for his boots, I went wading. The water was shallow and warm; I walked for quite a ways, straight out, with the water never coming up to my knees. Looking back, I could see the whole coastline laid out for me.

Looking southeast: the beginning of the wooded area. There is housing under those trees, but well shaded, and back a bit from the cliff face and the railroad track that follows the shore from here to the US border.

Looking northeast:
A bit beyond me, a woman was walking her dog. In the water. Still not up to her knees.


The water was really clear, almost transparent. In this next photo, it was several inches deep over the shells and sand. The wavelets warp the image, but don't change the colouring.


Laurie came back, booted for walking on rocks, and we went on south. After a short stretch of sand and snails (more of those invasive Asian snails), the shore turned to rocky shingle. It made for slow going. We passed a few sunbathers, up close to the bank where there was shelter from the wind, and a circle of teenagers with a cooler; otherwise, the beach was empty.

Bad hair day.

An uprooted tree, long denuded, just begged to be climbed.

By teenagers.

And not-so-teen-agers. Here's Laurie: "Lord of all I survey!" he claimed.


Seaweedy rocks, stepping stones to nowhere.

The railroad runs right above the water line here, straight south, and then curving back east to the WhiteRock Bay.

A staircase supported on huge blocks of concrete crosses it about the level of 24th Street, then winds on up the cliff face. We'll have to start there, next time.

Graffitti on the concrete. Of course. ME, it says. Signed work.

On the way back, we had the beach to ourselves. The tide was coming in.


Or almost to ourselves. If you look at this photo full size, you will see how the sand is speckled all over. Those dots are the invasive Asian sea snails, on their mission of world conquest.

Mixed feelings

I have mixed feelings about these photos. On the one hand, this is pollution. Possibly deadly to plants and animals, probably a sign of the lack of concern on the part of the neighbouring farms and businesses. I worry about it, and rail at the blindness that makes short-term monetary gain so urgent that we merrily go about fouling our own nests, or the laziness that refuses to take the few extra steps to discard our leftovers where they won't endanger our neighbours.

But somehow, in spite of that, they have their own sad beauty. I love the way the sluggish current swirls those soapy suds in the first photo, the patterns they make.

Another ditch. A study in blues and browns.

At Steveston pier, Richmond; bits of rope fiber, wood and other flotsam between a boat and the wharf. The to-and-fro of the waves has pushed them into a feathery pattern.

One more. A ditch dug between new industrial development and the Fraser River, through old bush. Oily, slimy water eroding away the soil. No fish, no ducks in these ditches. But beautiful reflections, browns and greens.

When I was a little kid, I used to love wading in oily puddles, watching the kaleidoscope of colours on the surface of the water. Pure enjoyment.

I didn't know any better.

Now I do; I still see the beauty but it makes me angry, too.

Two trees in the bog

Dead shore pine, Richmond bog.

Live birch, ditto.

Update: Hugh Griffith added a comment that deserves to be read as a part of this post. Therefore, I am reproducing it here:

In two pictures you have told the story of the bog. The shore pines are declining (along with the bog as a whole) and the birches (a genetic mish-mash of native paper birch and European species) are taking over.

Poor bog.

Thanks, Hugh.

Jawbone of an Ass

... or something similar. A horse, maybe.

And this introduces a mystery.


I picked up this bone in the bush outside of Chase, in the BC interior, a few years back. And carted it all the way home because it intrigued me; what was it from, what was it doing out in the bush, with no other bones in the vicinity?

At home, I put it aside and forgot it. Cleaning out old junk a few months ago, I found it again, and put it out on the patio; better there than in my cupboards.

I kept hearing this odd clicking from outside, after that, and finally investigated. There was a black squirrel chewing at it, banging it against the table it was on. I have watched since then, and he comes back every day or so to have a go at it, chewing away as if he were a dog.

Here is a closer look at the end; see the tooth marks?

Why would a squirrel be doing this? Any ideas? Anybody?

Down by the Riverside

We decided, on Sunday afternoon, to revisit an old haunt; the Fraser River Foreshore Park, on the Burnaby side of the river. It includes several miles of walking trails, some parkland, some attempts at restoring fish and waterbird habitat, some pumping stations. Good birding, quiet walks, varied vegetation, and the ever-busy river.

We had forgotten, though, how busy it gets on Sundays.


All down the central park area, BBQs were going full blast; the air was scented with hotdogs and hamburgers. We turned east, away from the crowds, into the "unimproved" areas.

Looking down river.

Our trail led through shrubby woods, mostly cottonwood and alder, with some mountain ash to add colour. Birds, invisible, sang in the trees; one tune was new to me.


We crossed a small wooden bridge and turned inland past a long field. Swarms of dragonflies and a few swallows swooped low over the tall grasses. A goldfinch passed me, going fast.

Back under the trees, we came across a family under a large wild-cherry tree, picking. They offered us a handful; the cherries were ripe and sweet.


A bit further on, we found several saskatoon shrubs, or serviceberries, as they are often called. These are among my favourite berries, when conditions are right.


Saskatoons are unpredictable; some plants produce excellent berries, some never do. I don't know what it is that causes this. It doesn't seem dependent on the weather, but location may have something to do with it. The best saskatoons I ever tasted, I found at a campsite near Lytton, if I remember correctly, beside a small lake . And the worst, on a bush on my own property in the Bella Coola valley; seedy, bitter and otherwise tasteless.

But these ones were good. Ripe and sweet.

Saskatoons make excellent jelly. They are loaded with pectin and Vitamin C. Simmer them briefly, strain out the seeds, and add them to an apple or pear jelly for variety and colour. Or mix them, fresh, into vanilla ice-cream -- yum!

Weekly Five, Plus Two

A bunch of science photos for you this week. Good stuff I've found.

Notes from the Technology Underground: a water-bear, or tardigrade. One of my favourite beasties. And, as Bill says, they're "the world's toughest animal." (See my posts on it, on my old blog, here and here.)

Coturnix visited the Lawrence Hall of Science, and posted a long series of photos, mostly one per post for some reason. Check out the whole series. I especially liked the reptiles and the photo of Janet Stemwedel in a box.

A man alone, a grandfather, builds Stonehenge by himself, using only ancient technology. See the video. Absolutely amazing! From Measured Against Reality.

About colours: from Science Daily, Color is in the Eye of the Beholder. And from Cognitive Daily, Do women perceive color differently from men?

And two extras, non-science: I and the Bird # 53 is at 10,000 Birds. It's the second anniversary edition, and loaded with goodies.

And Good Planets is up at The Gypsy's Caravan. It includes a cute photo of a baby merlin being weighed in a rescue centre (and not looking too happy about it.) I followed the link back to Bird TLC; very interesting.

And this: a load of sand or gravel going by New Westminster Quay on a barge. A little fuzzy because I had to run to keep up with it.

Treasure Hunt

We read about them in Lulu Island Blog: sundews. The last time I had seen any in the wild was 20 years ago, in the mountains above North Vancouver. And these were right close by, in the Richmond bog. We had to go and find them.

I didn't have high hopes; they are tiny, elusive plants and the bog is big. But we would enjoy walking there, whether or not.

We started at the Richmond Nature House, off Westminster Highway. Signs outside warned us: no dogs, no bikes, no feeding the animals. Do not pick the plants, not even berries. And no smoking; bog fires are easily started, hard to put out.

In the Nature house, a very small boy was watching a very large garter snake in an aquarium. He (the snake) was flicking a red tongue out at the boy; when Laurie peered over the top, the snake rose up to investigate, sticking the tongue out even more, an inch or more. The tip was forked and black.

On to the trails. Fireweed, birch, twisty pines, salal, the occasional mountain ash. And acres and acres of blueberry, mostly the invading high-bush blueberry, quite a bit taller than it was the last time we walked there. Underneath, the Labrador tea struggles to maintain its foothold.

Blueberry. Beautiful, but invasive.

Over the pond, dragonflies danced. The tiny blue damselflies with the brilliant head and rear end, some sturdy-looking brown dragons, and one of the blood-red meadow-hawks that I had seen before by Crescent Beach. Try as I might, though, I could not get a photo; I would focus the camera on what seemed to be a favourite spot for them and wait. They would be elsewhere. As soon as I turned to where they were now, they went back and parked at the old spot. I'm sure they do it on purpose.

Pond. No dragonflies.

But we were looking for sundews. I kept my eyes mostly on the ground at the sides of the trail. There were tiny flowers, several kinds. You have to look closely at this next photo, taken down at the base of the reeds, to see the flowers; some kind of miniature shooting star. (Update: Hugh Griffith -- see comments -- identifies it as a cranberry flower. Thanks, Hugh!)

Mosses. Pale green spagnum, and this rose-coloured mat.

'shrooms. Several varieties, mostly deep in the underbrush. This one was just beside the path.


Looking up for a change, I saw a bleeding tree, with tiny trapped flies.

And, yes, we found the sundew! One small patch, a few feet across, 1/2 inch high, hiding among mosses and grasses. Almost invisible, but there it was.



The day was hot and dry; even the bog paths were dry. But when I sat on the moss to take these photos, I found out that the water table is barely finger-nail deep. The sundews' roots -- I tested -- sit in soggy soil. And they pull that water up to the tips of their leaves, and stand there looking dewy-fresh, even in the heat of the day. All done in order to trap unwary insects, coming for a drink, only to be eaten.

It's a dog-eat-dog world. But beautiful, in spite of it.

White

Just white.

Finders keepers

It is too hot. Way too hot. Too hot to think, too hot to write, too hot to read.

Too hot for this West-coaster, anyhow. This afternoon, in the shade, after watering the garden, it was still 88 degrees F. That's 30 °C, just about a record for this area. They promise us more of the same tomorrow. I'm not looking forward to it.

'nuff grumbling.

Life is still full of pleasant surprises. Like this one:

And it's chocolate chip, too!

Ouch!

A few minutes ago, I looked up from my desk, and saw a tiny bird splatted on the cement deck outside. He was on his side, with one wing off at an odd angle; he looked dead.

When I nudged him gently, though, he righted himself and pulled back the wing. Alive, at least. And quivering.
He sat like this for some few minutes, eyes closed. I finally picked him up, intending to put him in a warmer, safer spot, and he struggled, then was still. But his eyes were opening.

Five minutes of sitting like that, sheltered and warm, and he recovered:

When I opened my hand then, he flew away, blundering at first, then steadying. Good.

Look at the detail of those baby chickadee feathers:

Graffitti

Human:And snail:

Amazed by a Dead Fish

I found two of these fish yesterday, belly up, in a tiny creek in the intertidal zone. Bullheads, as I have always called them; I think the "correct" name is sculpins. Pacific staghorn sculpins? Those are common here, according to the references I found. But so are several other varieties.

I had never seen the underside before, at least not to pay attention to. They're boring fish, after all; they're dark and/or camouflaged, and they just skulk on the bottom and startle waders. Too small to eat, too sluggish to jump, too common around here to merit a second glance.

But upside-down, in the sunlight, they're beautiful! Look at this detail!

This was taken with the fish still under an inch or two of clear water. Do click on the image to see the pattern close up. Those rows of little white dots are not just coloration; they protrude like tiny gleaming bone tips.

Here's a closer view:

I guess I should have flipped at least one of the fishes over and photographed the topside, for identification purposes. But somehow it didn't feel "right" to disturb their rest. Silly me; by now, the crabs will have eaten them anyhow.

But I'm entitled to be absurd sometimes, I think.

And in spite of that, I still hope someone can come up with a good ID for these little guys.

Birding at Blackie Spit

We are gradually working our way around Mud Bay/Boundary Bay, walking a different stretch each week. A week ago, our choice was the inner part of Blackie Spit, on the tip of Crescent Beach.

Maps from Google and Park sign.

Blackie Spit is reported to be one of the best bird-watching sites in Canada, with up to 200 species sighted in one year. Our count, so far, runs far below that; we've been here at the wrong times, probably.

Our first glimpse, this vist: an overview of the tidal flats of Mud Bay. The white dots down there on the sandbar are seagulls.


From under the railway tracks, we watched Canada geese stream by. This is the tail end of the flock; there must have been over one hundred in all.

Laurie liked these grasses, standing deep or lying every which way. The tide comes in right up to their roots and the wind blows erratically along this shore. The grass just flops wherever it ended up when the wind stopped, I guess.

Down on the spit proper, sparrows sang in the trees and swallows dipped and soared overhead.

It's good country for swallows; plenty of standing water to breed mosquitos and noseeums, a wonderful diversity of vegetation, home to all sorts of bugs. The dragonflies like it, too. Last year, I saw several blood-red dragonflies; I was on the lookout for them this time, but was disappointed. Maybe next visit.

There are a number of swallow nest boxes on pilings out in the delta, where they are safe from predators. Well used, it seems.


Left over traps, now catching barnacles.

Pickleweed, and a crab shell. (See my previous post on Salicornia pacifica, with a recipe.)

Sandpipers. I tried to get close, walking slowly and gently, but this was the best I could do. One step more, and they flew away.


And I watched, but didn't photograph, a grey heron, flapping lazily down an avenue of barnacled pilings.

You can just barely see four of the sandpipers flying, above the last pilings.

A park guardian. (Look at it from a distance; can you see the face?)

We had done the circuit of the permitted area. Ahead of Laurie, in this next photo, is the off-limits section. I could hear the twitterings, down there in the grasses, but couldn't identify any of the vocalists.

Along the way, I picked up assorted shed feathers; crow, eagle, and something small and dark, not a sandpiper. They went in my feather collection at home; later, I will share them with my granddaughter, maybe help her make a headdress.

A dead tree. Just because I liked it.

All in all, a quiet afternoon walk, with bird song.

Oil Pumps

Sorting through old documents, I found this poem by my mother. I think, though it is over a quarter-century old, it is still relevant.

OIL PUMPS

by
Lorna Anderson - 1980

Up and down
like giant carrion in the fields,
they suck the blood of prehistoric forests
and rotting dinosaurs.
Between their claws they spew and spit
the foul black mucus
into troughs and tubes
that bear it to the flames
that heat the blood of pale and fearful man,
who cries for "More! More!"
struggling to survive upon a dying earth.

Oh, the places we've been!

I've been too busy to post about some of our recent wanderings; I'll have to play catch-up for a bit. Coming up: Ladner Harbour, Bear Creek Park, Blackie Spit; water, weeds, barnacles and boats.

And today, Tsawwassen's Fred Gingell Park and the beach below English Bluffs.

Fred Gingell Park is the red dot and red circle on these maps. Tsawwassen is that spit of land on the southwest side of Boundary Bay. It crosses the border into the US just below the park. The long causeway out into the Strait of Georgia leads to the ferry landing; Victoria, Nanaimo, San Juan Islands.

We were feeling particularly energetic and adventuresome last Friday; it was the eve of our national holiday, the sun was shining for a change, and traffic was light. A day to take on a real challenge.

The thing about Fred Gingell Park is that it is barely a park at all. It is a small lawn, a lookout point, and then an impossible staircase down to the beach far below.

Looking straight across to Vancouver Island.

Looking south. Probably at the San Juan Islands.

The top of the steps. "Use at your own risk."

Heading down...

And down ...

And down ...

Almost there ...

Ah! The beach!

About time; my knees were getting wobbly. It's been a while since I did that.

We walked south on the beach, towards the US border. Other than a few kids on their way back up, a couple of women walking a dog, and a man working on his temporarily beached boat, we had the shore to ourselves. A heron stood on a rock watching the tide and the ferry come in, never moving all the time we were there.

Another rock, another poser.


Not a seagull, as I thought at first; up close it turns out to be splintered wood decorated with barnacles.

Between English Bluff Road and the beach, there is a row of hillside houses.


A single-family dwelling on five levels, plus the staircase down to the beach. And another up to the driveway. The owner's legs must be stronger than mine.

We walked almost to the end of the houses and back. And faced that uphill climb.

I made it! Stopping for breath every little bit, feeling my heart pound in my chest. Wobbly. But I made it, and not as slowly as last time. Yay for me! Laurie, of course, sailed half-way up, then came back to encourage me, not even puffing. Show-off.

At the top, we stopped for a last look out to sea. Someone had scratched a sentiment into the top of the wall.
And with those words of wisdom, we called it a day.

Birthday Moth

It's my birthday today.

And I'm getting my teeth done. Fun, eh?

But, here's a consolation prize, delivered a few hours back: a nice brown moth.


It fluttered like crazy at first, until I followed a hint I think I saw on Bev's blog; I put it in the fridge for an hour. Then it sat nicely for its photograph.

Close-up of "hood" markings.

And I've spent half the night trying to ID it, to no avail. I've submitted it to BugGuide; they are always so helpful.

The feathers on its back: a couple of tufts. Brown, with yellowish tips.

*Update: Bob Patterson at BugGuide says it is probably a Large Yellow Underwing, Noctua pronuba. If so, it's similar, but not identical, to the Yellow Underwings they already have.

Quick work!

Useful tip

Summer is finally here, in BC. You'll need one of these:

How to make a soaker hose. From Lulu Island Blog.

OK. I've got the hose. Now, to find a raccoon...

Weekly Five

Scienc-ey links:

Here's a tasty one: Chocolate lowers blood pressure. Great excuse!

Circus of the Spineless # 22. A wealth of bug-and-beastie links. At Burning Silo.

And after the link I posted recently about every bit of plastic ever made still hanging around, this is a tentative promise of good news. Unmaking plastics. Giant microwave turns plastic back to oil.

And turning old tires into oil and pure usable carbon in a microwave. A short video.

A time-waster. Just drag the dots and see what happens. It's a wonder I was able to finish this post!

Chain Link Fences and Rioting Flowers

Riotous blooms:
They try to restrain them:

But they'll climb the fences:

Can't keep a good daisy down:

They'll always escape:

And -- world domination, just ahead!

Canada Day ...

... which used to be called, when I was growing up, Dominion Day.


Because we were part of the "British Commonwealth".

So we finally declared our independence, sort of.

And then re-vamped our national anthem to bear this out:

O Canada! Our home and native land!
True patriot love in all thy sons command.
With glowing hearts we see thee rise,
The True North strong and free!

From far and wide, O Canada,
We stand on guard for thee.
God keep our land
Glorious and free!
O Canada, we stand on guard for thee;
O Canada, we stand on guard for thee.

Huh? The way we sang it when I was a child was:

...O Canada, we stand on guard for thee.
O Canada, glorious and free!
O Canada, we stand on guard for thee.
O Canada, we stand on guard for thee.

See the difference? Someone snuck in "God keep our land", instead of "O Canada".

Way to abdicate responsibility! We are the ones who will keep our land "glorious and free".

Or not.

Home again, home again, jiggety-jog

Bella Coola trip, Part VII: Last leg.

(Part I, Part II, Part III, Part IV, Part V, Part VI)

The sun was shining brightly when we left the hotel in Port Hardy that morning. At the harbour, the water was as smooth as glass.

We had no deadlines; the Nanaimo ferry runs every couple of hours all day; we could dawdle all we wanted. But we were tired, and it was hot. We kept moving.

Except here, where I braked in a hurry. Beside the road, a young bear was grazing in a bed of clover.
Yes, that is clover and he is eating it, like a cow. I never heard of them doing that before.
He ignored us, even though we were only a few feet away. When a second car stopped, he turned and ambled over the top of the hill and out of sight.

We had lunch in a rest stop; sandwiches, boiled eggs, tea and coffee. A river flowed just below us and the air was cool. A pair of Steller's jays hung around waiting for scraps. Afterwards we walked around a bit, stretching our legs, and found great masses of ladies' tresses, Spiranthes romanzoffiana, a native orchid, in the gravelly spots.
We passed Nanaimo in the late afternoon and decided not to take the ferry after all. We were just too tired. We found a motel and crashed.

In the morning, we checked out a couple of local antique shops. Laurie bought some Japanese porcelain, as usual, and I picked up a cute pair of saltshakers. (I don't really need any more: I have some 100+ on display already.)
Is he henpecked, or what?

I also found this big clay duck from Tonalá, Mexico. I love their pottery, traditionally done in earth tones, unglazed, and burnished with a piece of wood.
And that was it; we had lunch on the ferry, were home by suppertime. It was good to be back.