Salmon at Kennedy Creek

On Saturday morning we awoke to a deep frost, crusting the grass and roofs with white crystals, cold and still. It was foggy too, with clouds of billowing fog sneaking fingers through the neighborhood trees. I sat inside by the big window, in my warm jammies, reluctant to even think of going outside. But my friend JoAnna and I had made plans to go to Kennedy creek, to see the annual flood of Chum salmon making their way upstream to spawn. This was an invitation from nature not to be refused.

Kennedy creek is a beautiful healthy creek that flows out of the Black Hills in northwestern Thurston county. If you head northwest on highway 101 towards Shelton, about ten miles out of Olympia, the highway drops down to sea level and you cross the Kennedy creek estuary. I have spent many happy hours at this estuary, counting shorebirds and watching the tide flow in and out.

On Saturday, the tide was coming in strongly, a new moon high tide swollen with the recent rains. This is the kind of flow that triggers the Chum to go up the river. Here in November, this is their month: all month long they will run the river of their birth, seeking places to spawn.

So here in this amazing place, JoAnna and I found a quiet place by the rain-swollen creek and settled in to watch. At first we saw nothing and thought we'd missed the fish. But as we quietly settled in, suddenly we heard the wild splashing of nearby salmon. The splashing, churning, chasing behavior is usually done by the males, in perhaps a territorial or dominance display. I never see the females do it; JoAnna and I remarked to each other how females in general have better things to do.

Among salmon, there is sexual dimorphism: the females are small and more gray. The males are larger, much more brightly colored in mottled green and red, and among the Chum, the spawning males develop an elongated snout and enlarged teeth, which give them the look of fighting dogs. Hence their other name: Dog salmon.

The name of Chum comes from the Chinook jargon language "Tzum", which means mixed colors, spots or stripes. This certainly fits the Chum in this fall season.

The females look for likely gravel beds in which to make their salmon nest or redd. The gravel must be clean of sediments, well-oxygenated, and protected from the main stream of the creek, to avoid washing out in flood times. This sort of real estate is at a premium in Kennedy creek; where the females find it, they congregate, along with a swarm of males all eager to participate in fertilization.

In general, there is a dominant male who guards the female and sticks close. He often chases off other intruding males - hence the splashy displays. He wins by virtue of his size and ferocity. When his female completes her redd and lays her eggs, it is his sperm that will fertilize them.

Other smaller males, called jacks, cannot hope to win these battles of size and temperament. Their strategy is to lurk in the shallows, making use of their lighter colors to blend into the murky water. When the dominant male has his back turned, chasing off other intruders, the jack sneaks in and fertilizes the eggs. It is strategy that works more often than you might think.

After the eggs are laid, the female is done and she dies. The males hang on a little longer, traveling up and down the stream to look for other fertilization opportunities. Then they, too, die. Sometime in their long journey from ocean to Puget Sound to Kennedy creek estuary, the salmon stop eating. They digest their own stored fat, and later, their own protein to survive just long enough to spawn. As they stop eating, their immune system weakens and their bodies are attacked by a wide variety of pathogens. You can see in the picture, the dead male is a blotchy white-red: the white is a fungus that overwhelms the salmon's immune system.

Along the banks of Kennedy creek, bloated white carcasses of salmon lie. They provide a crucial last service to the ecosystem; in our temperate rain forests, rain washes away a lot of the nutrients. The bodies of salmon fertilize the streams, providing nutrients to all of the forest. The caddisfly larvae in the stream, the young salmon smolts, the nearby threads of fungus, the tree roots all feed from these dying salmon bodies. And when the caddisfly molts into an adult fly, it is the nearby Wilson's warblers who catch them to feed their young, while the young salmon grow up and head out to sea. All these animals carry within themselves the life that was gifted to them by the death of the salmon.

JoAnna and I sit quietly in this frosty morning, looking on this dance of life and death. Overhead, the Bald Eagles lurk in the trees, their high-pitched loony cackle drifting through the lichen-shrouded trees. There is the damp sponge of Earth in fall, the leaves dropping off the trees, the smell of damp and fungus and dying fish, all wrapped around us. And in front of us, in the greatest nature show of all, we watch the last days of these magnificent animals, creating the future in the waters of Kennedy Creek.

Janet
Resources: webpage of Kennedy Creek salmon wildlife watching area:
wdfw.wa.gov/fish/chum/viewingchum_kennedy.htm

Autumn Meadowhawks

Yesterday was the last day of summer. This string of endless sunny days has been a phenomenal opportunity to go out and watch animals that love the sun. For us, right now, that means dragonflies.

So my friend Jay and I went out to McLane Creek beaver pond once again. We decided to go out a little earlier this time; females and males use the pond differently at different times of day, and we wanted to see if we could observe these shifts in the daily use of the beaver pond.

When we got to McLane around 1:00 pm, it was about 60 degrees, and the sun was shining fully on the pond. It was very quiet, dragonfly-wise. We watched a few drab-colored female dragonflies whisking around the surface of the pond, occasionally dipping their abdomens into the water, most likely dropping off eggs. From my reading, female dragonflies tend to avoid the ponds (and the herds of sexually eager males), so those that are ready to lay eggs (oviposition) show up early and later in the day, when the males are less likely to be around.

As the afternoon warmed up, we started to see Shadow Darners (see previous blog) and Jay made a skilled swing with her net and caught one. Here is a photo of her gently extracting him from the green net bag, holding two wings on one side to prevent his escape. We took a few quick pictures, then let him go on his way, watching as he seemed to shake off the indignity of capture, then return to his previous circuit of the pond.

Around 2:00 pm we were surprised when several tandem pairs of red Autumn Meadowhawk dragonflies started to appear. In reading Dennis Paulson's book on Dragonflies of the West, it appears that when some Meadowhawks are ready to mate, they "hook up" with their partners near their night roost sites in the woods, then fly in tandem to the ponds, where the male flies the female low over the water, where she then curves her abdomen down and deposits her eggs.

The male has a special pair of claspers at the end of his abdomen, which are readily seen in this photo. When he makes hopeful ventures to a possible perched female, he is said to flutter and do a kind of courtship dance. If she is duly impressed, she cooperates, by allowing him to hook his claspers on her prothorax, a kind of narrow neck area behind her eyes ( it gives a whole new meaning to the phrase "hooked up"). This is called the tandem position.

If she is willing to mate, she then curves her abdomen up and touches the tip to the second segment of his abdomen, which is the genital bump. He then transfers sperm to her to fertilize her eggs. This is called the wheel position. They may then return to the tandem position, where he flies her to the pond to lay eggs, ensuring that HIS sperm are the ones that fertilize her eggs.

We saw many pairs in tandem, and watched a few hovering over the pond, no doubt laying eggs. It was amazing to see. Even though we were not able to net many dragonflies that day, we saw a lot of interesting dragonfly behavior that was new to us. For nature watchers, this is nirvana.

As the afternoon wore on, we saw more male Autumn Meadowhawks, by themselves. There was a lot of basking going on (perhaps post-coital). They were sunning themselves on the railing of the dock, on nearby cattails, even on my knee, briefly. September is late for dragonflies to be out and mating. I have read that the Meadowhawks who flourish in northern climes do so in part by spending a lot of time basking in the available sun. We certainly saw signs of that on this field trip.

By 3:30, activity was slowing down a great deal, and it was time for us to head home. That night my sleep was deep, drugged as I was with hours of sun and fresh air. Through my dreams, red dragonflies danced and wheeled in the last sunny hours of summer.

Janet

A Passion for Dragonflies

One of the best things about being a nature watcher is that there is so much to see and so much to learn, that it would take a lifetime to learn all the things out in nature. This could be considered discouraging, but in fact, it means that there are always new things to focus on. Which I love.

A few weeks ago, Glen and I signed up for the Northwest Naturalists' weekend workshop at North Cascades Institute, on Diablo lake in the North Cascades. This is a yearly event; for this year they brought in two of my favorite expert naturalists: Bob Pyle (butterflies) and Dennis Paulson (dragonflies). We followed Dennis around on an all day field trip to Lake Campbell and Pipestone canyon in the Okanogan, to explore dragonflies. These were pretty new to us. We were astounded by the variety, the colors, the behaviors. We decided that when we got home, we would seriously pursue dragonflies. Which we have been doing.

I say "we" loosely. Since I am in recovery from hip surgery, my contribution is to strain my brain for good places to go to watch these amazing animals. Glen is the chauffeur, the tracker, the stalker, and ultimately the catcher (and yes, these insects are HARD to catch). We have also had our friend J come along; she has studied these animals for some time, and is a dab hand at catching them.

So we have been to various areas on the Black river, to Scatter Creek and to McLane creek. Here are some photos of some of our first successful catches (we catch them for a few minutes, take a photo and then release them). We then go home with our pictures and I spend several days pouring over books and photos, to identify them. It's been a lot of fun.

Enjoy!

This is a male Paddle-tailed Darner Aeshna palmata. Dennis caught it at Lake Campbell on August 14th. Look at that striking green face and the HUGE blue-black eyes. Darners are the biggest and most visible dragonfly species, and my personal favorites.







This next one is a Blue-eyed Darner Rhionaeschna multicolor. Dennis also caught this one at Lake Campbell in August, but we recently saw this same dragonfly flying at McLane Creek beaver pond. This one is very easy to identify: of the ten species of darners in Thurston County, this is the only one with huge blue eyes and lots of blue splashed everywhere.






This next dragonfly is one of the group of the medium-sized red meadowhawks. It is called the White-faced Meadowhawk Sympetrum obtrusum. It was perched on some low vegetation along the Black River. J did a fabulous sneaky stalk on this dragonfly, dropping her net on it from behind. It has the bright red abdomen of all meadowhawks, and a distinctive pattern of black triangles edging that abdomen. And of course, a white face. Unmistakable.

Glen and I saw a lot of this species of dragonfly at McLane creek a few days ago. We were walking along a shaded path on the wooded edge of the beaver pond, when suddenly in front of him he saw and caught this dragonfly. It is a Shadow Darner Aeshna umbrosa. I struggled to identify this one, but with the help of Dennis Paulson's fabulous field guide to dragonflies, was finally able to figure it out. Shadow Darners tend to be quite dark, with limited blue splashes on the abdomen. They also prefer to hang out in shadowy edges of slow-moving streams, and this is exactly what we saw with this darner.

Finally, we did not catch this dragonfly, but we saw several big males flying over the pond at McLane Creek. This is the Common Green Darner Anax junius: the biggest dragonfly we have in our county, it has an unmistakable olive-green head and bright blue abdomen. We watched a few of these patrolling the pond, no doubt looking for females ready to mate.








Janet

Resources:
Dragonflies and Damselflies of the West by Dennis Paulson
Dragonflies through Binoculars by Sidney Dunkle
North Cascades Environmental Learning Center - wonderful nature classes on many topics

Alligator Lizards

Three weeks ago I had hip replacement surgery. It has required me to take it easy, to allow healing to take place, to limit my activities. And in general, in this time of beautiful Indian summer, it has been a real pain. And boring, too.

So when Glen stumbled upon this Northern Alligator lizard sunning herself on the back porch, I was wildly enthusiastic. Well, I probably would have been pretty enthused anyway: I love all the "herps" ( lizards, amphibians, frogs, snakes, turtles). Twenty years ago I was a volunteer zookeeper assistant at Point Defiance zoo, and worked in the building that housed these animals. I got to see and work with some amazing snakes, tortoises, geckos, etc. These are animals that truly are from another planet.

But my fondness for herps was planted even earlier. In 1955 my parents moved to the outskirts of Olympia, near what is now Olympia High School. From our place looking east, all you could see was abandoned cow pasture and a few cow-chewed Douglas firs. This was the playground for me, my six siblings and all the neighborhood kids.
We saw Pacific chorus frogs in our apple trees, and chased after garter snakes. Nearby Hazard lake had salamanders and bullfrogs. All in all, it was a wonderful haven for herps and children alike.

One time we caught a huge bullfrog roughly the size of a dinner plate. I took it into the house to show my mom, and was surprised to see my normally unflappable mother become unglued when the bullfrog jumped out of the shoebox onto my arm. My surprise turned to a calculated glee as I stalked closer to her, menacing her with the bullfrog, despite her freaked out attempts to assert parental authority and get me to back off. It remains one of my better memories.

Anyway, back to alligator lizards.

Lizards are cold-blooded animals, so they especially like heat and sun, both of which are generally in short supply in western Washington. What this means is that lizards are also in short supply here; only the Northern Alligator lizard is considered widespread and common. It likes damp Douglas fir and Hemlock forests with sunny edges, where it can sun itself, and also catch its insect prey. If you, like us, find a lizard in your back yard, chances are very very good that it is this lizard.

They are active in the day, but tend to be secretive, so it's not common to find them. As I talked with a couple of friends who had seen them, I was told that they like houses with high exposed foundations, especially if those foundations are sunny. These flat concrete surfaces act as a rock face against which the lizards can soak in sunshine, but also pick up the stored heat the in "rock". Since our house is built on a high foundation, this probably helps bring in lizards.

The other factor is Schneider creek. I have written about this creek and its proximity to our house in previous blogs. Schneider creek emerges into a deeply forested ravine about one block from our backyard. This may provide the wet woodlands that Alligator lizards like; I speculate that these lizards use the forest edges of Schneider ravine, and venture into connected sunny backyards.

This particular individual is a fat female. Females bear live young as late as early September, and it is possible she is pregnant. Or not; she has clearly had a prosperous summer, and laid down lots of fat stores, which will help sustain her as she goes into an underground den to hibernate in October, slowing her body metabolism down to get through the winter months. Come next March she will re-emerge from her den, eat voraciously and find a mate. And so the cycle begins again.

Janet


Resources:
• Washington Herp Atlas: www1.dnr.wa.gov/nhp/refdesk/herp/
• The Reptiles of British Columbi: www.bcreptiles.ca/lizards/alligator.htm
• Reptiles of Washington and Oregon; authors Storm, Leonard, et al
• Many thanks to Bill Leonard for answering my questions.

Shaggy Manes in the garden

About 5 weeks ago, we decided to plant our vegetables in concert with mushrooms. We wrote about it on April 26th (see the blog). We dutifully followed the instructions from Fungi Perfecti, enriching the garden soil with steer manure, worm castings, etc. then putting down layers of alder sawdust and mushroom spawn.

Since then we’ve been wondering what to expect as far as mushroom production. The household skeptic (Glen) has been uttering dire predictions of complete failure. I say that we don’t know what is happening in the ground under our feet and it might be a year before we do know.

So it was with great pride that two mornings ago Glen went out to the garden for the daily sunrise inspection and found two mushrooms pushing out of the sawdust. Glen brought in a photo he’d taken. I felt a burst of pride in our “children” and got all excited. Then a few hours later I went out to look for myself. The mushrooms had continued to grow and develop, making them easier to identify. What we had was a species of edible Coprinus species mushroom called Shaggy Manes.

I admit it - I was disappointed. Where were the mushrooms WE planted? But this is the classic lesson for nature watchers, and one that I have to learn over and over again. It can be covered by that classic proverb: Man proposes, God disposes. I go out into the natural world all the time with my carefully wrought plans about what I am going to see. Then nothing I planned on shows up, but instead, there are other powerful things to experience and learn from. I need to let go of expectations.

And I do love Shaggy Manes. I’ve seen them rise at McClane creek, along the trail edges where all the nutrients wash down and collect. In moist, foggy fall mornings, under the shadow of the trees these mushrooms rise like ghostly battalions, foot soldiers in the battle of decay & nutrient recycling They are a powerful life force and will not be denied; we have seen them push through asphalt in their drive to fruit, produce spores and ensure the next generation.

I wrote Fungi Perfecti about what had occurred. Jim Gouin kindly wrote back and concurred that indeed these were a Coprinus species of mushroom, and that the spores of this mushroom had most likely hitched a ride in on the steer manure. He also told us that the companion mushrooms that we had “planted” in April were now active in the interface between soil and alder sawdust. He suggested we leave it alone for now, but come fall, dig down to that boundary and see the mycelium thriving.

I am looking forward to that day.

Janet

The Lure of Kale

I am very fond of kale, how it overwinters through almost anything, pushes out scores of dark tasty leaves in the lean frosty days of early spring, and infallibly follows with handfuls of succulent stems and flowers like undisciplined broccoli. When allowed to proceed to the next step, kale then bursts forth with hundreds and hundreds of bright yellow flowers and finally thousands of seed.

These yellow flowers are a bounty for any number of insects, lured by pollen and nectar and even tasty greens. On just a couple of plants in ten minutes of watching I have easily observed at least five different species of bee, as well as hover flies, jumping spiders, and cabbage butterflies, (these butterflies a mixed blessing I admit). A dedicated nature journalist could easily tally dozens of different species over the course of its six week bloom time.

The lesson of the story of course is NOT to replace our gardens with fields of kale, (or any other one plant). The point is how easy it is to increase diversity in even a small garden by letting small bits of the garden go. There is a wondrous array of plants which draw in and nurture insects if we let them. The mustard and carrot family are insect magnets. Herbs like thyme, mint, dill, and lavender attract multitudes. Let a garden get a bit “seedy” and likely it will reveal some delightful surprises.

Glen

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photos by gb
kale in garden
weevils mating

Peregrines at the Port of Olympia

This morning I got a phone call from Ann, who works in a building near the cranes at the Port of Olympia. Ann is a devoted birdwatcher, and for years from her office window has watched a pair of Peregrine Falcons, who have a nest box on the orange southern-most crane at the Port. This year they are back, defending their nest and likely they have eggs they are incubating, soon to hatch.

Ann had several questions about what she's been seeing. Over the years she has gotten accustomed to seeing the same pair of birds: Peregrines mate for life and the adults stay year around to defend and re-use a successful nest-site. Individuals also have distinctive unique markings, so Ann has gotten to know the birds at the Port. This year, however, she called and told me that one of the birds was different: she had noticed it was much bigger than the other. She was wondering what that was about.

Among Peregrines ( and many other birds of prey) there is a factor operating called sexual dimorphism. What this means is that there are strong differences between male and female birds. You can easily see this in mallard ducks: the male has a bright green iridescent head and other bright feathers, while the female is a dull, dun brown, better for camouflage.

In Peregrines, females are often much larger than males. Their feather markings are the same, but there are distinct size differences. As Ann and I talked about this, it became clear that the female of last year had probably died. Ann remembers hearing that a peregrine falcon had been found dead this winter near the Port. The remaining "widowed" male must have courted and formed a pair bond with a new female, who happens to be gi-normous.

Ann has a great window out on the lives of these birds. She was watching the other day and reported a typical Peregrine hunt. The big female was hunting, zooming at high speed just outside Ann's window. Ann did not see the target prey bird, only a burst of feathers when the female falcon dove at high speed right into it (It was probably a city pigeon. Remember when Randy Johnson aka the Big Unit pitched a 95 mph fastball into a hapless pigeon at Safeco Field? Bird explosion.)

The female then deftly retrieved the stunned pigeon (all of this happening in flight, at speed) and took it off to a nearby light standard, where she perched and began to pluck the breast feathers. Ann reported that feathers were flying in great abandon. The Peregrine then ate voraciously, pulling out choice breast meat, then diving in further for the rich organ meats of heart, liver, spleen, etc. This whole process took about 20 minutes.

Finally this female left her plucking post, carrying a choice chunk of meat back to the nest box. Ann did not see what she did with that token: it may have been for her mate, who was perched, guarding the box & eggs. Other falcons such as kestrels are known to cache their extra food, storing it away for times of hunger. So it's possible this bit of pigeon ended up in a falcon cache nearby.

I remember hearing another story some years ago, from a crane operator at the Port. He has a good view from his perch, both of the Peregrines, and of Budd Inlet. It was during nesting season, when the Peregrine pair are especially, ferociously territorial. It was near dusk; the operator was looking out over the inlet and saw a Great Horned Owl, flying low over the water, heading east and making a fatal mistake of moving near the peregrine nest box. He watched as one of the falcon pair saw the owl and took off after it with deadly intent; he saw the falcon hit the owl at high speed, driving it into the waters of the bay. The owl was unable to get out, and drowned.

From the perspective of a nesting falcon, this was a smart move. Great Horned Owls are known to take falcons at night, when the owls' sense of hearing and night vision tips the predatory balance to them. From the perspective of the owl, it would have done better to wait until it got darker to start its night work.

A good place to watch these birds is from the waterfront near the observation tower. Look north for the huge orange crane: it is supported by a large concrete brace. Look at that brace and follow it up to the highest, southernmost edge. There is a gray nest box up on that cement ledge; often you can see the peregrines perched nearby, or flying nearby.

Another great resource is the Falcon Research group: www.frg.org. Based near Bellingham, this group was founded by Bud Anderson, who is a raptor biologist with a special expertise in falcons. Click into the page on Urban Peregrines; it gives a lot of insight into the lives of our local falcons. Also, FRG has a live falcon camera at the WAMU building in Seattle: look at FRG's website to find the link.

Janet
Resources: photos from the Internet