The meadow awakes

 End of April. In the protected meadow at Oyster Bay Shoreline Park, the first leaves and flower buds raise their heads above the dry moss. There's yarrow, just leaves, so far; white flowers so tiny they're just specks; the first nodding heads of meadow grasses, hints of miners' lettuce and red sorrel. The wild strawberries are in full bloom.

Wild strawberry. As found, with grass and stems from last year, beginnings of this year's diversity.

At the side of the path, a clump of large, yellow flowers with big leaves dominates the scene.

Puget balsamroot, Balsamorhiza deltoidei.

I had seen these here 5 years ago. It's good to see they're still holding their own.

Deltoid balsamroot is an S2 provincially imperiled species that is red-listed, which means it is at high risk of being endangered or lost in the near future. Its current distribution is limited to populations scattered throughout Victoria, Cowichan and Campbell River. (Invasive Species Council of BC)

Also red-listed:

This park is also home to Coastal triquetrella (Triquetrella californica) moss. This is an S1S2 provincially critically imperiled species that is also red-listed. This species’ current distribution in BC is known only in two populations; Campbell River and Galiano Island. It was found on the sandy backshores of Oyster Bay Shoreline Park ... (ISCBC)

I don't know if this is the tiny, dry moss that covers the ground in the meadow; an observer on iNaturalist found it on the dunes just across the dike from the meadow.

The people at ISCBC were here two years ago, clearing out invasive species; the horrible (but delicious) Himalayan blackberry, Scotch broom, and purple deadnettle (which I didn't realize was also invasive.) Thanks, guys!

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Finales de abril. En la pradera protegida del Parque Costal de Oyster Bay (Oyster Bay Shoreline Park), las primeras hojas y botones de flores se alzan sobre el musgo seco. Hay milenrama (Achillea millefolium), solamente las hojas por ahora; unas florecitas blancas, tan pequeñas que apenas se presentan como puntitos blancos; las primeras cabezas de gramíneas, brotecitos de lechuga del minero (Claytonia sibirica) y de aceredilla (Rumex acetosella). Las fresas salvajes ya llevan sus flores abiertas.

Foto: Fresa salvaje, rodeada de varias plantas, tallos secos de pasto y hierbas del año pasado, y los brotes nuevos de una pradera muy diversificada.

A un lado del camino, una planta con grandes hojas, y flores amarillas como de girasol, domina la escena.

Foto: Raiz balsámica deltoidea, Balsamorhiza deltoidei.

Había visto estas flores aquí hace 5 años. Me da gusto verlas aquí todavía.

La raiz balsámica deltoidea es una especie en peligro en la provincia, incluída en la Lista Roja, lo cual quiere decir que está muy cerca de estar amenazada o perdida en el futuro cercano. En el presente, su distribución se limita a poblaciones separadas en Victoria, Cowichan, y Campbell River. (Invasive Species Council of BC)

También está en la Lista Roja:

Este parque también hospeda el musgo Triquetella californica. Esta es una especie amenazada criticalmente en la provincia, también en la Lista Roja. La distribución en la provincia al presente se conoce en solamente dos sitios: Campbell River y la isla Galiano. Lo encontraron entre la arena al lado de la playa de Oyster Bay Shoreline Park ... (ISCBC)

No sé si este es el musgo seco, muy pequeño, que cubre el suelo en la pradera; un observador de iNaturalist lo encontró justo al otro lado del dique que separa la pradera de las dunas.

Un grupo de parte de ISCBC trabajaron aquí hace dos años, arrancando plantas de las especies invasivas, mora de Himalaya (terrible, pero las bayas son deliciosas), brezales escoceses, y ortiga muerta purpúrea (yo no sabía que esta hierba común era invasiva). ¡Gracias!

Red eye diver

Western grebe.

Lone grebe, fishing off the end of the wharf.

Back end.

I see few of these grebes around here; I used to notice them more often back on the mainland, near Richmond. Cornell says their populations may be declining.

Around 1900, Western Grebes were extensively hunted for their silky white breast and belly feathers, which were used in clothing and hats. This aquatic species is also sensitive to pesticides, to other causes of poor water quality, and entanglement in fishing line. Western Grebes nest in colonies and can be flushed by boaters that approach too closely, leaving their nests vulnerable to gulls and other predators. On their coastal wintering grounds they are vulnerable to oil spills and are caught in gill nets. According to NatureServe, their status is of particular concern near the edges of their range, in Kansas, Oklahoma, Wisconsin, and British Columbia, Canada. (Cornell, western grebe) (my emphasis)

Update: This article was posted in a comment: Declines in marine birds trouble scientists. It adds lack of food sources to the causes of disappearance of the birds.

Baby turtle release

It's been snowing here, half-heartedly. There's maybe half an inch of snow melting on the lawn.

Meanwhile, in warmer climes . . .  My son and his family are travelling in Mexico, on their way south. A couple of days ago, in Copala, Guerrero, they were present to watch newborn sea turtles make their way down the perilous sand to the water. These are my daughter-in-law's  photos, posted with permission.

A bowl of new hatchlings.

These are Olive Ridley sea turtles. Every year, thousands of females arrive on appropriate beaches along this coast to lay their eggs, about 100 or more in each nest. The nests are covered with sand and left to hatch, incubated by the warmth of the sun, for about 6 to 10 weeks, depending on the temperature.

This hidden life is not without its perils. Storms and high tides may wash the eggs out of the nests. New waves of females looking for a handy nesting spot often disrupt an established nest. And many animals, from crabs to snakes to foxes, and even humans, dig these eggs up for food. Recently, they are even imperilled by tourists, who dig them out of curiosity.

Known predators of olive ridley nests include raccoons, coyotes, feral dogs and pigs, opossums, coatimundi, caimans, ghost crabs, and the sunbeam snake. Hatchlings are preyed upon as they travel across the beach to the water by vultures, frigate birds, crabs, raccoons, coyotes, iguanas, and snakes. In the water, hatchling predators most likely include oceanic fishes, sharks, and crocodiles. Adults have relatively few known predators . . . Humans are still listed as the leading threat to L.olivacea, . . . (Wikipedia)

The turtle is listed as vulnerable, and several agencies, governmental and non-g. are working together to preserve them. One of the methods used is to collect the eggs from the nests and incubate them in protected hatcheries. When the baby turtles hatch, they are released on their home beach that same day, usually in late afternoon or evening. The youngsters hurry down the beach to reach the sea, as they would have if they had hatched alone. But they are shielded by the human observers from their usual predators, and survive the trip.

Releasing the turtles.

Beginning the trek. Note the legs; they're shaped more like fins, more adapted for swimming than for crawling. The turtles paddle down the beach rather than running.

They're tiny; about three inches long

It's a long way to go, but the end is in sight.

Almost there!

When they reach the water, they pause for a moment, waiting for the next wave, which washes them out to sea.

The hatchlings begin their climb out of the nest in a coordinated effort.  Once near the surface, they will often remain there until the temperature of the sand cools, usually indicating nighttime, when they are less likely to be eaten by predators or overheat.  Once the baby turtles emerge from the nest, they use cues to find the water including the slope of the beach, the white crests of the waves, and the natural light of the ocean horizon.  Artificial beachfront lighting can be a major problem because it attracts these tiny creatures inland away from the water. . . . 

If the hatchlings successfully make it down the beach and reach the surf, they begin what is called a “swimming frenzy” which may last for several days and varies in intensity and duration among species.  The swimming frenzy gets the hatchlings away from dangerous nearshore waters where predation is high. (From SeeTurtles.org)

I would be tempted to "help out" by releasing them a few inches above the water line, but it may be that the initial scramble helps to get their systems working, possibly like the cry of a newborn human is essential to fill the lungs with air. (Just a wild guess, not a hypothesis of any sort.)

My grandsons watching the last few turtles heading for the light across the water.

There's a video that shows the paddling motion of the turtles feet quite clearly, here.

Photos by Angela Bernaldez.

A ladder for fishes

Woodhus Creek, part II. (First post)

The wide, sandstone-paved section of Woodhus Creek ends abruptly, top and bottom, entering and leaving through narrow openings in the forest.

Looking upstream. The creek flows from that black hole in the centre.

This was our special place, a room built for us by Ma Nature, unspoiled ... but, no; what's that wall at the right side?

Solid cement walls. No sandstone here.

A fish ladder, about two feet high, with strong cement baffles. It goes from the middle of the flats, up and around the bend, disappearing at the entrance to the bush.

Gentle stream, outside the barrier.

But why is a ladder needed here, where the water flows sedately over smooth stones, meandering from pool to still pool? A spawning salmon could climb this in his sleep! A minnow could navigate it! Why put a fishway here, of all places?

It might help to look at our 2010 photos. We came in June, while the spring floods were not fully abated. A good part of the creek bed was still underwater. And some of this water was white.

A few dry patches, a bit of turbulence. Nothing major, though.

Google maps helped a bit. The creek runs downhill through a narrow, deep gorge, turns a sharp corner, and spills onto the sandstone at high pressure.

Google photo; from the highway, 600 feet above our spot, the creek funnels down to its mouth.

Turbulence and jagged stones, just below the entrance.

In the fall, Coho salmon and cutthroat trout* come up to spawn in the shallow streams beyond the freeway. The water is deeper here then, up to the top of the ladder. It races out of the gorge, and hits a confusing choice of channels. Look closely at the photo above; water enters that pothole from three different angles, churning around as it finds the exit. Now imagine two feet of water above that.

These are smallish fish; the adult Coho averages about 8 pounds and a bit over 2 feet long. The cutthroat trout goes from 1 to 4 pounds, and up to 20 inches long. (Compare with the Chinook salmon; over 30 pounds and 3 feet long.) Both spawn in small streams, where the hatchlings and fry are protected from larger fish.

The Woodhus Creek salmon have grown to adulthood in the ocean. When the cold weather comes, they head up the Oyster River to the entrance to the creek, then up the canyon to the watershed above the highway, always coming back to the streamlet where they hatched. The stocks have been in decline in recent years; the cutthroat trout is blue-listed in BC, the Coho is yellow-listed and endangered. They need all the help they can get.

How the fish ladder works: this ladder is a Vertical Slot Fishway. It slopes upward, divided into individual "rooms", each opening onto the next on the perpendicular to the direction of the stream. This creates doorways with strong enough current to orient the fish, and corners with little current, for a resting spot. The total flow is longer than the stream bed, which makes the slope less pronounced.

Detail of the ladder. Even a small cutthroat can make it safely home here.

Ok. I'll go with what I wrote above: "a room built for us by Ma Nature, unspoiled ...". With the addition of the builders of the fishway, ORES. The salmon and we thank you!

*Oncorhynchus is a genus of fish in the family Salmonidae; it contains the Pacific salmons and Pacific trouts. The name of the genus is derived from the Greek onkos ("hook") and rynchos ("nose"), in reference to the hooked jaws of males in the mating season (the "kype"). (Wikipedia)

A visit to O.W.L.

Sarah, the barn owl, would greet visitors to her home, if only she weren't so drowsy. While we stood in an admiring circle around her, she opened her eyes briefly, then nodded off again.  An owl needs her beauty sleep!

Sarah, off duty. She is an educator, working with children in the schoolroom.

We, Laurie and I and a couple with a young son, were in the office of O.W.L., the Orphaned WildLife Rehabilitation Society. Our guide, Rob, explained the operation of the society while Sarah slept on her perch by the window. Staff members and volunteers came and went, discussing schedules and the needs of their charges. A chart on the wall keeps track.

I counted 107 raptors presently on the site. The chart divides them into groups; 4 severely injured birds at present in Intensive Care,  some in interim cages, training cages, flight cages. There are flight training sessions in store for red-tailed hawks and a pair of great horned owls. Another section lists the birds soon to be released. The last column names the permanent residents; some are educators, trained for visits to schools and other field trips; the others are unable to be released because of some severe disability. These last are the ones we would be visiting.

Rusty, rough-legged hawk. He was hit by a car and has a broken wing.

O.W.L. takes in injured raptors, mostly from the Lower Mainland, up to 200 per year. It has full medical facilities and a variety of recovery and training cages, and is building a pool cage, where eagles and osprey can recover their fishing skills before release.

One of the outdoor cages, housing three short-eared owls. On hot, sunny days, the birds sit far back in the shade, making photography difficult.

Gunther, Ariel, and Willow. Peregrine falcons. One has been shot; another has had part of a wing amputated.

Sampson and Delilah. Great grey owls. Both hit by cars. Delilah has a blind eye.

Demon. A barred owl. Hit a window in a high-rise building. Brain damaged.

He was called Demon because when he is upset, he flies at you with his head upside down, due to his lack of muscle control, a direct result of his injury. A lot of times he sits with his head at a kind of an odd angle and he has been known to fall off his perch because his lack of balance after falling asleep. We have to put his food on the same perch all the time or he cannot find it.

That makes me worry about the occasional sparrow or chickadee that hits my windows.

Mirage, a Gyr-Peregrine falcon cross. Bred for a falconer's bird, broke her wing and never recovered.

Mirage again.

Either Kermit or Piggy, Snowy Owl. Both birds were hit by planes. I never saw a bird smile before!

Turkey vulture, one of three, Pepe, Precious, and Chuck.

It is a daytime bird with a very keen sense of smell, sight and hearing which enables them to find food by sight and also smell food (parts per trillion) from great distances. Its digestive system has the unique ability to kill any virus or bacteria it ingests. This is apparent in its droppings as there is no sign of any type of disease.

I was glad to see the turkey vultures so close, but they moved around all the time, and we couldn't get a clear photo. Rob told us to notice their nostrils; the holes in the upper part of the beak. Unlike all other birds, these nostrils have no central "wall"; from the right angle, we could see daylight on the far side. This allows a better capture of the smell of rotting meat.

He also explained the bald head; the vulture often buries his head in the rotten carcass he's found. (On the road, as we saw up the Sunshine Coast, maybe.) If he had feathers, they would come out carrying a load of bacteria and maggots. The bald head dries quickly and sheds the offending critters.

Turkey vulture, acting shy.

On our way out, in response to a question from the other couple, Rob mentioned that the BC government has cancelled their annual grant; O.W.L. is just one more of the environmental agencies that the provincial government has defunded, in their misguided "austerity" measures. They may have to shut down operations, after 25 years of caring for these beautiful birds.

"What will happen to the birds?" I asked. They will try to find adoptive homes for as many as possible, Rob says. Some will be released, as they are now when they are ready. And some, not able to survive on their own, will probably have to be euthanized.

But first, the society is trying to raise money from private individuals. There's a button on their home page for donations; if you can help, please do.

Wooden owl, guarding the entrance to the cages.

*Update: Larry, at the Birder's Report, has a post about a rehabilitation centre in California. Great photos, and more details about the operation of these organizations. Check it out.

Douglas Adams: Parrots the Universe and Everything

This is a must-see. The video is bad for the first few minutes. It gets better. It's an hour and a half long, and worth every minute of it.

Two snails, and a dilemma

Here's looking at you:
The eye of a snail, investigating that other eye-on-a-stalk on the camera.

This is a more conventional view.

My little garden is shady and damp; slugs, snails and sowbugs love it. The sowbugs I ignore, the snails I remove from leaves and toss into the ivy bordering the path, hoping they won't find their way back. And the slugs, I kill on sight; I have lost far too many good plants to slugs to have any tolerance left.

Why the snails merit any kinder treatment, I don't really know. They are basically just slugs with a shell on the back, and they eat the same plants. Maybe not as voraciously, and maybe they haven't proved themselves quite as prolific. Or it may be that the shells are attractive.

I'm silly that way.

I caught this brown one on a ficus I have moved outside for the summer. New munchies!

These are not as common around here as the banded snail (above). And notice the difference in patterns and colour on the body. Browns instead of blue-black.

The yellow banded snail seems to be possibly one of the Cepaea, which are extremely variable in colour and pattern. (See bootstrap analysis, or Google cepaea images.

I'm not so sure of the brown one. It could be a Cepaea nemoralis, or then again, maybe an Allogonda townsendiana; they both live around here. See local photos of both, taken just a few miles east of us.

And one is endangered, the other a pest. Was I wise to move it to the ivy? Or should I have squished it? Or let it have the ficus?

Why don't these things come with labels on the bottom?

Sloughs: Horseshoe , Gunderson and Finn

We've been visiting brown-water sites. And taking dozens of fuzzy photos of birds.

It all started out when we decided to go to Garry Point Park, at the tip of Lulu Island, where the river meets Georgia Strait. I suggested a slower route, along the south dyke, out of the traffic.

We never got to Garry Point.

First unplanned stop, Horseshoe Slough. It's not on the map, but there was a parking spot, a sign and a trail into a small park.
The water in the slough is a rich, chocolaty brown. I am not sure if this is its natural colour (it matches the mud) or whether it is polluted. But it made for interesting photos, which I will post in a day or two (they're from Laurie's film camera).

And I followed a rabbit back to the parking lot, managed one shot before he disappeared under the salmonberry and elder brush.
We drove on. And had to stop again, when we saw a ring-necked pheasant just across a ditch and fence. She stood there while Laurie dug the camera out, then sat down, leaving just her head and neck visible. I think she must have had a nest there in the tall grass; at any rate, she sat still until Laurie opened the car door. Then she got up, looked our way and flew off.

I memorized the spot: we'll be back.

On to Garry Point! Passing Finn Slough, which I had heard about, but could not find on the map. A wonderful historic site, with a fascinating story, and the subject of an annual photography contest. But it was late, and we wanted tea. Finn Slough will have to wait for another day. Soon. So will Garry Point; we got hung up in Steveston Village over tea and second-hand books.

And yesterday we started out again, and ended up in Gunderson Slough. Last time we were there, it was December, rainy and cold. It was beautiful, in spite of the greyness of the weather; we wanted to see what it is like in the spring. Weeds and brown water. Boats, ramshackle buildings, grubby workshops and docks, rotting machinery, stacks of lumber. And birds! Violet-green swallows, house finches, seagulls and crows, a hairy woodpecker pounding away in the bush, robins, great blue herons. And a stand of cat-tails where red-winged blackbirds proclaim ownership.
Feeding on the cattail fluff.Switching perches.

On a log boom, a heron was finding plenty of goodies. As we watched, he plucked something off these logs every few steps; some sort of large insect, probably. Maybe wasps.

More photos tomorrow, and a bit of history.

So Sad! And a warning: keep a lookout for this.

I'm passing on a message from Bill of the Birds about another of those horrible "unintended consequences".

"... hole-punched sign posts could be inadvertently deadly to perching raptors.

... the owl was suspended by a single talon that had apparently gotten caught in the top hole of the post. Clearly the bird flew in and perched on top of the post. Then, when it tried to leave, found itself caught by a talon through the hole. It had struggled to free itself, and likely starved to death.

... And they asked us at BWD to help spread the word about the unintentional danger these sign posts may pose to any raptor with talons that perches on top. This style of sign post or fence post is commonly used, so how can the danger be reduced?"

Read the rest here.

Gunderson Slough in the Rain

A week ago Saturday, a drizzly, chilly afternoon, we visited one of the last "unimproved" sites along the lower Fraser River, a spit out into the river enclosing a slough and housing a higgledy-piggledy conglomeration of warehouses, rotting boathouses, rickety piers and assorted working boats. The railroad runs along the river bank, beyond that, a truck road; from there, the hill rises straight up, covered in scrubby bush and "weed" trees.

It is not a beautiful sight, but somehow, even in the rain, it has a certain decrepit charm and its own sense of a long, busy history. It has been in use since at least 1870, when the first cannery in B.C. was built on the site; it is now named after a Norwegian, Jacob Gunderson, who worked there in the last years of the 19th century.

Gunderson slough is home, according to a signpost beside the road, to (an) unidentified endangered species. A Google search turns up a mention of bar habitat for bottom-dwelling fish, as well as the red-listed stream-bank lupine and western grebes.

And it is scheduled for modernization; a new split-level highway will follow the shoreline here, just beyond the railroad tracks. Cement or stone walls will retain the banks instead of bush; traffic will double; earth-moving equipment will frighten off the grebes. The sagging old sheds will be gone.

It looks all very pretty on the propaganda the government puts out. I doubt that the reality will match.

Here are a couple of photos, as it is today, in the rain and mud.