A View from the Driftwood
The morning began with fog.
We are staying in Port Townsend, Washington, on Admiralty Inlet, where water from the Strait of Juan de Fuca enters Puget Sound. Most mornings, we can watch a stream of fog moving in from the strait, but yesterday morning it completely swallowed Whidbey Island and the Cascade Mountains that rise behind it on a clear day.
The sun appeared above the fog bank and cast a streak of pink and orange across the silvery water. I took a photograph, but it doesn’t quite capture how unusual the scene looked.
Later in the morning, I hobbled down to the beach and found a piece of driftwood where I could sit and watch the water. The white sky seemed to merge with the white fog and silver water, creating an almost colorless backdrop. Whenever a bird flew past, it appeared briefly as a dark silhouette against all that white.
At low tide, a large gathering of birds had collected on the spit near where I was sitting. Birds periodically joined the group or lifted off from it, giving me plenty to photograph.
Then, suddenly, they all left.
I photographed the flock as it rose over the water, then turned to see what had caused the commotion.
A bald eagle was perched on a piece of driftwood not far from me. Bald eagles sure know how to break up a party.
A crow soon landed on the same log. I watched, curious about what it intended to do so close to the eagle. After a moment, the crow flew down to the rocky beach and began searching among the stones and seaweed, just as I’ve watched the crows do here every day.
It found something.
Apparently, the eagle noticed too.
The eagle launched from the log, chased the crow away, took whatever the crow had discovered, and then returned to its perch. So much for doing the hard work yourself.
What I didn’t know while all this was happening was that Regis was watching from behind me with his camera. He photographed me sitting on the driftwood with the bald eagle flying nearby. The perspective makes the eagle look much closer to me than it actually was.
I wasn’t just photographing the story. I was in it.
As the Crows Fly
I spent time watching the crows feed on the beach and became enamored with one crow family with three young. The full-sized youngsters were chasing their parents and begging for food. Besides their begging behavior, the gape —the conspicuously colorful inside of a young bird’s mouth—was a clue that I was looking at a youngster. They were as big as their parents, but their mouths gave them away. There is something funny about a bird that looks perfectly capable of taking care of itself following Mom or Dad around demanding to be fed.
While wandering around looking for river otters, I came upon rhinoceros auklets with multiple fish in their mouths. The water is clear, so I was able to see the little birds swim in the water. Rhinoceros auklets are relatives of puffins, and they have special structures called palatal denticles—backward-pointing projections in the upper mouth—that allow them to hold onto fish they’ve already caught while continuing to catch additional ones. These birds dive under water to pursue small schooling fish and propel themselves with their wings and steer with their feet.
Since the auklets were carrying multiple fish, they were likely transporting food rather than feeding themselves. During the breeding season they carry fish back to their chick in a nesting burrow. They often gather offshore late in the day and wait until darkness before returning to the colony, which probably helps reduce theft by gulls.
I saw a couple adult gulls with three large young perched on a concrete structure in the water.
Perhaps one of the coolest things was being able to do slow-motion video of a gull swallowing a still-wriggling fish. I think the slow-motion in the video makes it easier to notice that the fish is still struggling inside the bird. Slow it down and suddenly there is an entire event taking place that our eyes weren’t fast enough to appreciate. Birds have a flexible esophagus, and a struggling fish can remain visibly mobile as muscular contractions move it toward the stomach. Many fish-eating birds orient larger fish headfirst before swallowing, which also folds the fins in the direction least likely to catch on the way down.
Living Lawn Ornaments
We have seen plenty of wildlife on this trip, sometimes after putting considerable effort into finding it. In Port Townsend, we don’t have to look very hard. The wildlife is all around us.
Black-tailed deer, which are native to the Pacific Northwest and are the black-tailed form of the mule deer, seem to be everywhere. They are particularly fond of the forest-edge habitat of western Washington and a town like Port Townsend provides many things the deer like: shrubs, gardens, lawns, patches of wood and relatively easy movement between them. Does and fawns wander through yards, bucks browse beside houses, and deer appear along the streets. While I have seen many deer statues placed in yards as lawn ornaments, you can not beat the real, living animals instead.
The bucks caught my attention because I don’t see them nearly as often as does and fawns. Their antlers also looked a little whacky. It turns out August is a good time to see antlers in various stages of development. They are still covered in velvet, the soft-looking tissue that carries blood and nutrients to the rapidly growing bone beneath it. Black-tailed deer have branching, forked antlers while they are growing. Some of those racks look unfinished. One buck we saw had particularly lopsided antlers like one was growing out of the side of its head, perhaps the result of an injury while they were growing. He will shed the entire rack this winter and begin growing a new one next year.
Perhaps the deer have simply lived among people long enough to figure us out. We watched a doe and her fawn cross a downtown street in the crosswalk. Living lawn ornaments, yes. But, apparently law-abiding ones.
A Whale of a Day
I went on a whale-watching tour with Puget Sound Express yesterday out of Port Townsend, Washington. The boat leaves from the marina right next to our campground, making this one of the easiest excursions of the trip—and certainly one of the most memorable.
Our first encounter was with two gray whales feeding in shallow water at the south end of Whidbey Island.
Most eastern North Pacific gray whales spend the winter in the warm lagoons of Baja California, Mexico, where they mate and give birth, then migrate north to feeding grounds in Arctic waters. But some take a significant detour into Puget Sound. A small group of repeat visitors, known as the “Sounders,” has been documented feeding around Whidbey and Camano islands since 1990.
Gray whales are bottom feeders. Around Whidbey Island, they move into shallow water at high tide and suction sediment and ghost shrimp from the bottom, using their baleen to filter out the food. We were able to watch the two whales feeding in remarkably calm water.
The Sounders have traditionally been spring visitors, usually feeding here during their northward migration. In recent years, however, some gray whales have been staying later and using these waters at different times of the year. Seeing two feeding here in August made the encounter even more special.
From there, we headed into deeper water and found a humpback whale.
The naturalist identified this whale as Graphite, a humpback born in 2019 to a female named Slate. Humpbacks that feed in the waters of Washington and British Columbia migrate thousands of miles between northern feeding grounds and winter breeding grounds, primarily in Hawaii and Mexico.
Researchers can recognize individual humpbacks by the pigmentation, patterns and scars on the underside of their tail flukes. Graphite raised its tail for us several times, giving me both photographs and video of an individual whale whose history has been followed for years.
When I visit Hawaii, apparently I now have two whales to look for—Picasso from my Alaska trip and Graphite from this one.
But the day wasn’t over.
We left Graphite and eventually encountered about ten Bigg’s orca’s, formerly called transient killer whales, traveling in three family groups. They were named in honor of Canadian scientist Michael Bigg, whose work demonstrated that individual orcas could be recognized by their dorsal fins and saddle patches. Bigg’s orcas hunt marine mammals such as harbor seals, seal lions and porpoises, while the endangered Southern Resident orcas eat salmon.
At times there seemed to be orcas everywhere. A dorsal fin would appear in one direction, another group would surface somewhere else, and then another whale would rise behind us. After watching gray whales quietly feeding in shallow water and a solitary humpback traveling through deeper water, suddenly being surrounded by orcas was an entirely different experience.
Gray whales. A humpback. Bigg’s orcas. Three very different kinds of whales, all within about four hours on a beautiful day on the Salish Sea.
Words don’t adequately describe what it felt like to experience all three in one morning.
I have photographs and video from each encounter—and, appropriately, everyone gave me a tail. (The orca tails are in the video.)
In Search of Bighorn Sheep
One of the reasons we stayed at Ginkgo Petrified Forest/Wanapum State Park was to look for bighorn sheep. We searched for them several times without success and decided to give it one more try on the evening before we left. We drove to a spot along the Columbia River where we have seen them in the past. Nothing.
We finally gave up and turned around to leave. And there they were—a group of females with several lambs.
Bighorn sheep are well suited to this dry, rugged landscape. They get much of the moisture they need from the plants they eat and can travel considerable distances between water sources. Their sure-footedness allows them to move easily across steep, rocky terrain, which also provides an escape from predators. Here along the Columbia River, the sagebrush, bunchgrasses and other plants of the shrub-steppe provide food and cover. We watched the ewes and lambs make their way through the vegetation and head up a steep hill.
The next morning we left the dry shrub-steppe along the Columbia River and continued west. The arid landscape stayed with us until we reached the Cascades. We crossed Snoqualmie Pass and descended into what seemed like another world. Brown hills and sagebrush gave way to forests and lush green vegetation. By the time we reached the Olympic Peninsula, the temperature was cooler, everything was green, and we were surrounded by the waters of Puget Sound. Following is a two minute video of that drive.
Collies in Paradise
We have driven 3,000 miles towing the trailer, and that doesn’t count all the miles we’ve traveled separately in the truck exploring along the way. Much of our cross-country drive was through hotter-than-usual weather, with temperatures reaching 102 degrees. It hasn’t exactly been ideal collie weather.
Our most recent leg took us from Missoula, Montana, to Vantage, Washington, where smoke from recent wildfires hung over much of the landscape. Following is a short video of what we saw along the route.
Although it was hot when we arrived in Vantage, the temperature dropped nicely overnight. By morning, it was actually chilly.
Apparently, Raven and Clover had been waiting for this.
Our campsite was surrounded by grass, with several other grassy areas nearby that Regis discovered while walking the dogs. Once they had some room to run in cool weather, the zoomies began—particularly for Clover. They ran, wrestled and played as though they were making up for all the playing they hadn’t been able to do during the hotter parts of the trip.
It brought a smile to my face just watching them.
Afterward, they returned to the trailer and collapsed. Apparently, paradise is exhausting.
The weather on the Olympic Peninsula is expected to be nearly perfect. After weeks of heat, I suspect Raven and Clover are going to think we finally planned this trip properly. They may not want to leave.
Perhaps by the time we start the drive home in three weeks, the rest of the country will have cooled down too.
Following is a short video of Raven and Clover enjoying their version of paradise.
The Bison Range
Today we explored the Bison Range, formerly known as the National Bison Range, near Missoula. The area was established as the National Bison Range in 1908. Today it is known simply as the Bison Range and is managed by the Confederated Salish and Kootenai Tribes.Smoke from nearby wildfires settled unevenly across the landscape. One valley was so hazy that the mountains on the opposite side were barely visible, while another looked almost clear. It was a reminder that mountains create their own weather—and even their own smoke patterns.
As the smoke shifted, I found myself looking beyond the wildlife to the landscape itself. On one mountainside, I noticed a series of horizontal lines etched into the hills as though someone had drawn contour lines with a ruler. Those “bathtub rings” are ancient shorelines. Fifteen to eighteen thousand years ago, this entire valley lay beneath Glacial Lake Missoula, a lake so enormous it stretched more than 200 miles across western Montana. When an ice dam failed, the lake drained catastrophically, helping carve many of the dramatic landscapes of the Pacific Northwest.
Thousands of years later, this same valley played another important role in history. By the late 1800s, American bison had nearly disappeared. Members of the Confederated Salish and Kootenai Tribes helped preserve one of the last remaining herds, and in 1908 the National Bison Range was established as one of the nation’s first wildlife refuges dedicated to saving the species.
Today, the range also protects one of the finest remaining examples of native intermountain bunchgrass prairie in North America. Seeing descendants of those rescued bison grazing these native grasslands made it easy to imagine what much of this landscape once looked like. Knowing that so much of the prairie is still native drew me to photograph the landscape itself as much as its wildlife.
At one point we noticed several mammals on a distant hillside that clearly weren’t bison. Regis raised his binoculars while I zoomed in with my camera.
“Elk,” he declared.
“Deer,” I replied.
We debated it for several minutes until later, an animal walked into a nearby stream where we could see it clearly. It was definitely an elk. Regis graciously conceded that the animals on the hillside were deer.
It’s amazing to think that a place once buried beneath an Ice Age lake later became one of the places that helped rescue an iconic American species from extinction. As much as I enjoyed photographing the bison, I found myself equally drawn to the native prairie that makes this landscape whole.
A Long Drive
We drove about 400 miles from Rapid City, South Dakota, to Big Timber, Montana. We saw many herds of pronghorn on the Wyoming portion of the drive. The landscape gradually changed as the rolling hills became larger and eventually gave way to mountains. After climbing to the top of one particularly long grade, I turned to Regis and said, “That probably cost us $20 in gas!” Our gas mileage is plummeting, and the downhill coasting does not seem to make up for all those uphill climbs.
One thing we noticed was the number of freight trains. Interstate 90 closely follows one of America’s historic transcontinental rail lines, so it wasn’t unusual to see train after train hauling everything from grain and coal to stacks of shipping containers headed across the country. The railroad and the interstate seem to share the same natural corridor through southern Montana.
It was hot when we arrived in our campground, yet cooler than it has been. I immediately took the dogs to the dog park which was all dirt. The dogs enjoyed sniffing but gave up on it quickly. But, our campsite was surrounded by grass. As soon as Clover got back and hit the grass, she started rolling around and kicking her feet up in the air. Since it got cooler that evening, I sat outside with the dogs and they both started rolling around in the grass and chasing each other. People stopped to see the dogs which led to delightful conversations. Two men were riding their bicycles across country and left from Virginia Beach, Virginia on their way to LaPush, Washington. They are considering getting a ride around Spokane to avoid the wildfires and heavy smoke. We also must travel through Spokane. Another couple shared travel stories with us. The woman had tape on her knee and I had a brace on my knee which led to a conversation about how our lifestyle does not support having parts of our body failing to keep up. That conversation made me realize I had skipped over an important part of this adventure.
What I haven’t talked about yet in our posts is that I started to have a knee issue that popped up suddenly at the end of last year. Late last year my knee suddenly seemed to pop out of place, causing excruciating pain. It slipped back quickly, but that was the beginning of months of trouble. After a few more episodes, I saw an orthopedic specialist and started physical therapy to strengthen the muscles around the joint. I got a shot in the knee and advice from the physical therapist and we took off on our trip on time. While getting into the truck at one point after a stop in the Badlands, I twisted my leg and it was painful. I could not walk without being in pain. I rested my leg and continued some medication the doctor gave me and within a couple of days I was feeling hopeful. But, while in the trailer in Rapid City one evening, I twisted my leg again and the pain was so bad it brought me to tears. I was so miserable that in the middle of the night I plotted a trip back home that would get us there by Friday. I simply couldn’t take the pain and Regis was going to have to do everything by himself. I’d been looking forward to Washington for months. The thought of reaching it and not being able to hike or walk the dogs was almost harder than the pain itself. I did not cancel any existing reservations waiting to discuss with Regis. In the morning, Regis talked me into not giving up. “I’ll walk the dogs,” he said. “You become the car photographer.” Which meant I could not get in and out of the car to take photos. I still limp and walk slowly, and I may not be able to explore Washington the way I imagined. But I am incredibly lucky to have Regis beside me. He has taken over many of the chores without complaint and keeps reminding me that the adventure isn’t over just because I can’t do everything I had planned.
This Took Awhile
We drove the Needles Scenic Highway, Iron Mountain Road, and the Wildlife Loop in Custer State Park. The Needles Highway winds among towering granite spires, while Iron Mountain Road seems almost designed for photographers, with pigtail bridges, tight switchbacks, and tunnels that frame Mt. Rushmore like a picture.
Needles Highway (SD 87) is famous for its granite spires (“the needles”), many of which rise hundreds of feet above the surrounding forest. The granite weathered into tall, narrow pinnacles that resemble sewing needles. Early travelers thought they looked like giant needles sticking out of the hills and the name stuck. The road was completed in 1922 and was intentionally routed through the narrow gaps between these formations, which is why there are several one-lane tunnels that barely accommodate modern vehicles.
Iron Mountain Road (US 16A) was engineered like a scenic experience. It contains: 314 curves, 14 switchbacks, three “pigtail” bridges, and tunnels purposely aligned so that Mt. Rushmore appears framed in the opening as you approach.
I put together some video of driving through the tunnels and the needles. When we got to the Wildlife Loop, a herd of bison was blocking the road. Traffic came to a complete stop while the herd kept trying to determine what side of the road they wanted to be on or should they stay in the middle. About twenty minutes later the cars and motorcycles managed to find a path through the herd which sometimes got closed off and another path needed to be found. There were quite a few motorcycles on the road and it would be scary to me to be on a motorcycle while attempting to get by a herd of bison who were often interacting with each other. One motorcycle cut its engine and coasted downhill once he found a path. It worked for him. The motorcycles going in our direction did not have that option since they were going uphill. Once we were able to make our way down the road, I was able to video some of the bison in slow motion which is included in the video. The end of the video is us coming through one of the tunnels where you can see Mt. Rushmore in the distance and that is where the video ends.
After we got past the bison and we were rolling along without windows open, I began to hear a sound that did not fit the environment. I was concerned there was something wrong with the truck. I asked Regis if he knew what it was and he said “Yeah, the motorcycle behind us just turned its radio on and The Rolling Stones are playing.”
We also noticed a surprising number of ponderosa pines with shattered tops or the tops had broken off. It is possible that heavy snow/ice had broken them, but some looked more like lightning strikes. Lightning superheats the sap, turning it to steam almost instantly. The expanding steam literally blows the trunk apart. Ponderosa pines in the Black Hills are struck fairly often because they are among the tallest objects on ridges. Heavy snow or ice usually bends or snaps trees over rather than leaving that jagged explosion at the top. We saw many trees toppled with their roots exposed while most of the other trees had their tops snapped off. It appears to be a difficult place to be a tree.
Different Day, Different Experience
I always mark the full moon on my calendar which was July 29 hoping for the perfect moonrise photograph. With the dramatic Badlands as a backdrop, I imagined a memorable image. Instead, the weather called for heavy thunderstorms and the clouds rolled through. We headed into the park anyway, hoping for a break in the clouds or perhaps some wildlife. When the sky grew increasingly ominous, we reluctantly turned back before the rain arrived. The moon never appeared to us, but the storms brought a decrease in the temperature which was greatly appreciated.
This morning, I suggested to Regis we recreate our successful wildlife loop through the park but skip the overlooks so we could focus more on the wildlife. The skies were amazing making me reconsider that decision, but I hung in there. To do justice to a place like this, you would have to stay at least a year and go in all seasons and different light to capture the amazing landscape.
We expected a similar wildlife day to the day before, but we had a different experience. Yesterday we saw only two bison. Today there were hundreds. I have no idea where they were hiding. We watched red-colored calves—appropriately nicknamed “red dogs”—nursing while their mothers grazed. Clover and Raven were fascinated. They started to bark but were quickly reminded of the rules. The barking turned into pitiful whining instead, especially from Clover.
There were abundant sightings of mule deer and I was delighted to see male mule deer with velvet covered antlers and a mother and her fawn. Antlers are covered in velvet as they grow back after being shed after mating season in the fall. The velvet supplies blood and nutrients to the growing antlers. Later in the summer the velvet dries and is rubbed off, revealing the hardened antlers that will be used during the fall rut. As for the little fawn, it still had its spots. The spots help camouflage the baby.
We had the most delightful experience of coming across a couple of ewes with their lambs. One lamb seemed to have endless energy. Between bouts of scratching, it launched itself into the air and twisted in ways that hardly seemed possible. Watching it bounce effortlessly made it easy to understand how these young sheep eventually learn to navigate the cliffs that protect them from predators.
While searching for burrowing owls, we saw numbers of horned larks and upland sandpipers foraging through the prairie dog communities. We did not see any burrowing owls but the other birds were more than enough compensation and made us forget about the owls.
There was a male pronghorn lying down in the middle of a prairie dog town. When we stopped the truck, the pronghorn lazily looked in our direction.
We have been so fortunate with our wildlife sightings that I made the unusual request to the powers above to let me see a coyote. If I was unable to see one, I would have been content with everything we saw. I figured it did not hurt to ask. A few minutes later, my wish was granted.
Back at the trailer, an Apache jumping spider was waiting on the door. I couldn’t bring myself to go inside until I’d photographed it.
Linda Burek Photography 