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SAN JUAN NATURE NOTEBOOK BY SUSAN VERNON |
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Spring Blues
posted 04/08/05
The skies cleared a bit on the vernal equinox, allowing me to visit several favored wildflower habitats. I was rewarded by early blooming white fawn lilies, calypso orchids, shooting stars, and salmonberry - among other plants. On the west side of San Juan Island, I was surprised to find common camas blooming in the grass under a venerable big-leaf maple; certainly among the first quamash of spring. The purplish-blue flowers - reminiscent of times gone by - were still at home on the slopes above the Salish blue sea.
Several days later, I walked the Lighthouse Trail at Cattle Point to check on seashore lupine that attracts another favorite blue - the Spring Azure butterfly. The lupine was not yet in flower - but I did find two azures in a thicket behind the dunes, waiting out the wind. It won't be long before the grassland at the point will be bursting with the pea-like blue and white blooms of Lupinus littoralis, and the azures will be joined by Silvery Blue butterflies, too. I continued my springtime wanderings with visions of blue in the back of my mind. At False Bay, the shorebirds were moving through on their way to breeding grounds farther north. Two Greater Yellowlegs foraged in a shallow pool on the tide flat until a Great Blue Heron made a slow glide into the realm to reclaim its prime fishing spot. The gravelly-voiced Big Blue won the war of bird words with the screaming tattlers that scurried on their long yellow stilts down the crescent-shaped beach to a less conspicuous location. I stopped at American Camp to see if the Bald Eagles were back on their nest near the Visitor Center - and they were. Then I moved on to Pickett's Lane to see what the previous night's storm might have blown in. A pair of over-wintering Northern Harriers made an especially good impression cruising low and slow over the plain as I scanned for the American Kestrel I had watched hover hunt there all winter. On this gray day, the little falcon was nowhere to be seen.
But, wait! There was something else hover hunting by the Redoubt. It was a much smaller bird with a less familiar profile. I watched as the sprit worked its way along the ridge, then down to the fence line by Pickett's Lane. It perched for a moment, then dropped into the grass, snatched an insect, and returned to the rail. The bird continued this feeding strategy for several minutes, always resting with its back to me, and its wings folded into a slightly scalloped shape. When it finally turned east, I could see its white belly was the only contrast to an otherwise soft gray plumage - a bit darker on its head and back. Still, the flat light foiled my attempts to identify the bird until a brief burst of sun shone through a crack in the clouds to illuminate its blue tail feathers. Of course, it was a bluebird. Bluebirds are not common in the San Juan Islands. I have seen them before: a female Mountain Bluebird by Mt. Finlayson one fall, years ago, had left an indelible impression upon my mind - a fine fall day made perfect by the appearance of the bluebird perched on a lichen-covered glacial erratic overlooking Haro Strait. That bird stayed in the area for several days, never straying far from Finlayson, until it resumed its journey. On another occasion - in June , I spotted a bluebird at the summit of Mt. Constitution on Orcas Island. It was perched atop the twisted frame of an old lodgepole pine growing just below the retaining wall near the stone tower. The small, gray thrush was facing toward the sea, with the blue on its wings and tail clearly visible. When it flew, I saw an ever-so-faint rusty wash on its breast. It was a female Mountain Bluebird; and I was thrilled. According to Lewis and Sharpe's excellent book, Birding in the San Juan Islands, both the Mountain Bluebird and the Western Bluebird pass through the San Juans. The Western Bluebird bred here in times past, until starlings overran its habitat and climate changes took its toll. The Mountain Bluebird remains a migrant - appearing mostly in the spring and fall. Both species nest now mostly east of the Cascades, although there are some breeders in the west, thanks mainly to successful nest-box programs. The bluebird at Pickett's Lane had not yet attained its full breeding plumage, and so the lines of distinction between the mountain and western species was a bit blurred - at least in my mind. I retrieved a fellow birder from Cattle Point who I knew would be delighted with this discovery, but we got only fleeting glimpses of the thrush upon returning to American Camp. Still she swore she saw a chestnut wash on the bird's side - indicative of a Western Bluebird. Early the next morning, I returned to American Camp hoping for a better look at the elusive visitor. The bluebird was hover hunting in exactly the same spot as the day before. Again, I pondered its plumage, but kept a good distance away so as not to disturb the skittish traveler who needed its space more than I needed to confirm its identity. The air was dense with moisture, and the light was no better than the day before. Thus I perceived no more clues to the bluebirds lineage; no chestnut wash to confirm the i.d. Frustrated at first, I soon relaxed, put my binoculars aside and simply enjoyed watching the little bluebird making its living on the prairie. It fluttered down the fence line for some time adeptly snatching insects on the fly until its form became a faint silhouette against the backdrop of the sea. I could have stayed, I suppose, and followed the spirited huntress. But, that seemed like an intrusion, so I wished the bluebird well and headed home. Alas, what's in a name - although I had my suspicions. Far more important was the fact that the bluebird stopped over here; found refuge from a storm; and had the opportunity to refuel before continuing its migration. And, so I am told, at least one other bluebird was sighted on Lopez Island recently taking advantage of a similar island haven. To some people, the "little blue heralds"- as writer Neltje Blanchan called bluebirds - symbolize happiness, or the promise of spring. In Birds of Canada, P.A.Taverner wrote: "the Mountain Bluebird is purely celestial with no earthy contamination." Those of us less eloquent, might simply say that seeing a bluebird - no matter how common the occurrence or elusive its name - is always occasion for a smile. I know I feel that way. Happy Spring!
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