June. . . August. . . September

I lost my father in June.

And I'm sorry, I really am, that I've got you here at the intersection of life, birding, and Klickitat County, just to be greeted by loss. We can go back to winding, dusty roads, to the Ponderosas, the sage, and the firs, and to the deep wide Columbia. We can go back to the fields of flowers, the deep canyons, and the oaks, to the wineries, the huckleberries, the whitewater and yard signs. But. . . I lost my father in June, and I needed a few minutes.

I'd say it changed the course of my year, but this was in the back of my mind when I chose Klickitat. Dad's health. . . well, my mother called it a dumpster fire, and one of my brothers noted that he was "working towards a blackout on his health ailment bingo sheet". I wanted to see them more, but also wanted to make sure not to be a burden. Being in the next county made it very easy to weave in some visits, and to leave, but to still be a phone call away. This choice has left me with no regrets.

Balance. Balance is so important. It's easy to lose sight of that when I make some of the choices I make during these years - heading off at 3 AM to get to an owling spot, driving a few hours out of the way to make it into town on a snowy day, heading off on hikes without any GPS on hand - but there really is an effort to find balance. 

The biggest way balance shows up is through my decision not to chase birds. There have been some interesting reports coming through, of shorebirds, terns, gulls, owls, and flycatchers. Hopping in the car would have meant more birds for the year. It would have meant more pictures, more stories, and more details in the picture I'm trying to paint of the county for the year. 

Balance means changing plans, and putting this behind friends, family, and work. That said, all three of those groups know the importance of this time for me. 

I do ask my daughter, who is working her way through high school, if it's ever too much time away. As I was getting ready to start a similar year (10 years or so ago), I'd dragged her into watching The Big Year with me, and she actually yelled "NO!" at the TV when Owen Wilson makes the decision to go chase a bird instead of meeting his wife at the hospital. She has good guardrails. :) So, I do ask her often, and we're good. It's nearly the only measure of balance that I really need. 

This year wasn't accidental, ultimately. This post was not a surprise. I needed a few minutes (months) for sure - but I'm ready to head back in earnest, and to blog in earnest. I've learned to trust the process over time. I know there's value in these explores. I know there's value in typing and sharing. 

So, I'll try!

June 

I'm having a little laugh here as I type this because I have to remember. . . what the heck *did* I do in June?? But it's coming back now. 

My son needed a ride back to Ellensburg for college. Perfect! It always made it easier to "bundle and save", and I'd really wanted another crack at Pa-knick-knack Road (I think it's called Panackanic Road, but the sources I've come across seem to be flexible on that point - so shall I be). He had time with friends in the Seattle area that lasted a little longer than I'd expected, so it was a late drive. 

It was already dark, in fact, when I entered the county (in the wee hours of May 30th, despite the title above). I actually pulled off at Satus Pass, a spot where Flammulated Owls had been reported in years past. I couldn't complain about any traffic noise at that hour! I found a spot to hop out of the car and stroll along the road at night, throwing the occasional hoot or toot out into the warm night air. While I didn't get any owls, I did add my first Common Poorwill of the year (species 169 for the year - a tally I'll continue to keep in parentheses). 

I didn't arrive at Pancreatic Road until roughly 3 AM! I loved this. I think there's Venn Diagrams that I could use that would help me describe how weird that is. Driving at 3 AM during a new moon down back roads off of back roads with no shelter for the night besides the car, in order to look for owls to add to my Klickitat County year list. There's a sliver of people, I suppose, where that might sound like a great night. 

The stars alone made it worth the drive. 

I spent much of my life looking closely at the stars - pointing lenses upward in search of star clusters and galaxies. I found the Pleiades when I was in junior high, and continued from there, finding the whole extent of the Messier Catalog. There's something difficult about completing things, at least for me. I did get a healthy case of the "now-what?"s, and it was likely not too long after that when birds became the answer to that question. 

But still, there is a warm familiarity that I feel on a cold starry night that is hard to describe. The treasure map over my head turned with invisible slowness as I got out of my car, looked and listened for owls. Occasionally, I'd look up at it, tracing through the Milky Way, and along the back roads that led to this nebula, that globular cluster.

The back road below my feet held a lot of promise as well, with reports of so many different kinds of owls right there on Picatrix Road. But birds aren't stars. That is something that makes it more interesting, more surprising, and more frustrating all at once! You may have a map to a flammulated owl sighting. You might even follow that map to a flammulated owl! But birds fly. Birds use a measure of care - they're not always ready to say hello, simply because you drove to where they are. And on this night, it was as quiet as stars.

I caught a few winks in my car, and tried again as twilight started creeping back in. This included a little walk across a long meadow that stretched north from PiquantSnack Road. Chipping sparrows offered the best views, as well as some Western Bluebirds, and Hairy Woodpeckers. There was no shortage of birds here, but I added nothing for the year, not so much as a Common Nighthawk - something I had really expected that I'd find. 

I looked it over one more time, "Well played Pandemic Road. . . well played. . ." I told it admiringly, as I finally made it back to Fisher Hill Road. A Townsend's Solitaire flew along a fence line in front of me, improving a poor view I'd had of one a month earlier. 

I stopped once for a little view of Mount Adams. 

And then I returned to this great hummingbird feeder I'd visited with my friend Kevin during the previous month. I took a picture of a hummingbird. And then my camera stopped working. 

I have, as noted above, been way too busy, and that has affected my ability to troubleshoot, diagnose, locate receipts, contact the camera folks, etc. But this thing would go "click" and present me with a black image. This was not a result of leaving the lens cover on (but I appreciate you thinking of that! It's not a bad guess).

But that is yet *another* hiccup in my year! I did find the camera receipt and will be looking into how repairs work. We are working with the kid from the bench, my poor li'l flip phone. It has been doing its best for me, and nothing more. I'm thankful for it. 

I finished watching the hummers come in to the feeder and flit back away - long enough to be satisfied that there weren't any Black-chinned Hummingbirds mixed in with the Rufous, and Calliope. 

This feeder was sitting across the road from Conboy, which would not have been a bad stop itself! Trout Lake, however, was my real destination for the morning. I drove up North from town, a little farther than Kevin and I had previously explored. I made a point to stop at a few bridges along the way, as Harlequin Ducks use the White Salmon River to breed in the summer. They are nearly impossible to find for about a month, as they use secretive nests on fast-moving rivers at mid-elevation. But June was not a bad time to look. I came up empty here too!

A little farther up the road, I parked for a hike at Trout Lake Natural Preserve. The parking threw me off a little, and I had a mild concern that I had parked illegally, but I think I was okay. The walk was, in the end, about three miles out and back along a flat, tree-lined trail. Most of it was up from Trout Lake, with the occasional creek crossing. In terms of birds, it was just peachy: Added for the year: Gray Catbird (170), Willow Flycatcher (171), Veery (172), and Swainson's Thrush (173). It was all of the birds you would not quite expect in early May but would certainly expect in late May. 

The trail brought me to Trout Lake Creek, where the trail slowly changed from wide and clear to sketchy, to an all-out bushwhack. Along the river should have been good for Bullock's Oriole, I thought. Above the trail should have been good for Olive-sided Flycatcher, I thought. But imagined birds are not (as it turns out) countable. American Redstart and Hermit Warbler had also been had in recent sightings, but I could turn up nothing but Black-throated Gray and Townsend's. 

Pacuvius Duskywing

Convinced that a Bullock's Oriole was hiding around here somewhere, I finished the hike, drove to the other side of the lake, and walked the shorter path along the South - eventually getting a Bullock's Oriole (174). 

From Trout Lake, I grabbed the road running north and west from town, towards Skamania County. It didn't take many clear-cut (clearcut? clear cut??) stops to find one with an Olive-sided Flycatcher (175). 175! This was a happy total for the year. 

I knew at this point that I was headed back towards Goldendale. But how to get there? In the end, the answer was Wahkiacus Heights Road. Zero regrets. This was one of those trips that I really needed. I didn't know what kind of habitat to expect, or what kind of roads. The answers: This road is largely lined with clear... with lots of places where they cut down all of the trees, along with second growth ponderosa pine and garry oak, scattered over rolling hills. It was plain, and it was pretty. 

Approaching Wahkiacus, the oaks became more frequent, and I started rolling down the windows, then started stopping. On the last little stretch of the road, there are some deep winding switchbacks lined with oak. This is where I got Ash-throated Flycatcher (176), and my first new state bird from Klickitat County, a Blue-Gray Gnatcatcher (177)!

Back up towards Goldendale - because I have a sense of humor, I made a stop at the Goldendale Sewage Lagoons. I pulled off of the road, stepped out of the car, closed my eyes, and *felt* the laughter of a hundred Blue-winged Teals, swimming around in the ponds and laughing at me from behind their protective gates. Shorebirds were likely gone at this point, but there was still a buzz circulating around the bars of this exclusive club. I opened my eyes, took one more look at the little pond outside of the Lagoons (Say's Phoebe, Killdeer, Mallard), and continued to Goldendale. 

BBQ, Bought a couple of mugs, Hotel. Sleep. 

My lunch destination was Bickleton. I'd secured a mug at the Market Street Cafe on an earlier trip. When asked about payment, I was told, "Just bring back two mugs." I don't think they expected this. I dropped them off at the front counter with an explanation, before dashing off to the bathroom. I could hear the gal behind the counter cracking up and explaining what had happened to the kitchen. Mission accomplished. 

I crossed the street to the Bluebird Inn. I had a great chat with the bartender, who had (as with so many people), left the county, and had returned. The hardest part, it seems was the sheer distance to big town. The Market Street Cafe had *some* provisions, but people really had to plan on getting snowed in at any point during the winter months. I had a great BLT and a pint of beer, and went to pay. . . 

"Oh, we don't take credit cards."

So there we go. I came to Bickleton to pay a debt, and still came out behind. They take your information and hold onto those unpaid tabs, calling people up once a month or so. My ticket noted, "I'd like to pay in person!" (spoilers - I did!)

Gray Partridge, Swainson's Hawk, and Sage Thrasher were my biggest hopes for the trip out of Bickleton. I went down familiar habitat along Sand Ridge Road, and bingo! A Sage Thrasher (178) hopped up and sang from a bit of sage for me. I was happily surprised by the activity, despite the time of day (roughly 1 or 2 at that point). Birds were still singing, including Sagebrush Sparrows, which I had already for the year, but are generally hard to find in the county. 

The biggest failure is one I may regret all the rest of my days. I saw a snake in the sage and did the best I could to make some mental notes on the length, color, behavior. . . and when I got home, I thought I'd seen a racer. In the process, I found that there were places to report observations of snakes as well. I added my observations to the mix and smiled at my contribution to citizen science. 

I got an email a day or two later that got a great conversation going back and forth about the snake. In the end, this was the response that got me: 

"Hi Tim,

 

Thanks for your response. I’m not sure what else it could be, I’m no snake expert either, but I’ve noticed we’ve been getting a lot of Rubber boa observations lately. Here is a link to the WDFW’s old herp atlas: https://wdfw.wa.gov/sites/default/files/publications/02135/wdfw02135.pdf

 

We’re working on updating this document and putting it into a more user-friendly format, but generally the identification information is still valid and useful.

 

It’s always fun to meet other wildlife enthusiasts!"

Rubber boa? Rubber boa??? I'd been talking with friends just days earlier about how I'd love to see a Rubber boa some time during my travels. I looked at the images of Rubber boas, as well as the range. And I had no definitive way to say what I had seen. That sucks. I honestly thought those suckers lived in slightly more treed locales. Ah well!!

Hale Road, in the same part of the county, had some reports for Swainson's Hawk at a pretty specific intersection. I drove the road to that intersection and scanned the farmland, eventually finding a Swainson's Hawk (179) perched on the only tall tree near a barn. 

All roads lead to the Columbia! I descended at Roosevelt, drove West to Rock Creek, and found a pretty nice bunch of new birds, including Eastern Kingbird (180), Yellow-breasted Chat (181), and Bank Swallow (182). An American White Pelican I'd seen back in May was still hanging around in the deep and wide water near the south end of Rock Creek. 

My next two stops were essentially non-birding stops. Maryhill Winery was a chance to get some food and wine, hop on some wifi, and do a little bit of work. I continued my "where ya from" interrogation of the entire county, finding more Klickitat County Yo-yos working at the winery. Being right along the Columbia, and a fairly large operation, the people working here were a little younger, and not necessarily people that were deep into careers in the wine business, but they were all friendly and happy to talk about the county. 

The wine was great! Semillon is one of my favorite white wine grapes, and one that isn't as easy to find as others (Sauv blanc, reisling, chardonnay, pinot grigio, etc). Theirs was delicious, as was the pizza. Overpriced. . . I mean, of course it was! But the view was amazing, and hey, I had wifi. There are worse places to work!

Next stop - the Stonehenge Memorial. I love this little place. It's not the same size as the original, but many of the same features are replicated. It was designed by Quaker Sam Hill as a war memorial. The day was beautiful, and my good old flip phone was enough this day to capture that. 

I started this with a note that I'd lost my father in June. He was 77. I lost my first son almost 20 years ago. Loss is hard, and I think this memorial provided a good bit of time to reflect. Dates of birth and death, side by side, served as an obvious reminder. Some of the young men memorialized here were equal in age to my son. It is good to remember those we have lost. It is good to love those we have here. 

One more stop before I left the county - Bingen Pond. I actually turned my focus on the sailboard launch on the east end of the park. Purple Martins (183) played and churped along the water's edge - a beautiful finish to the day. 

In memory of my father, Vincent Patrick Brennan, I leave you this: 

A child of salt and sacrifice was born

Gift to a proud brother.

The boy grew up in the sands, in the streets,

Skinny legs carrying him around the stickball bases,

Clever grin spread beneath his Pollack nose

A nose and a smile that won the heart

Of a fiery redhead girl.

Wedding bells and bassinets.

Growing family and heading west.

Adventure called and he answered.

Fruits and roots, trees and tomatoes

The young man learned to feed the world.

Forklifts and factories, warehouses and blueprints.

“If you put it. . . here,” the man explained,

“You can feed more people. Feed them for less.”

Pinochle and plackis, Manhattans and Merry Christmases.

The man danced with his redhead bride

On a floor filled with friends and family

Collies, kids, and chaos.

Open doors, love, and adventure. Always adventure.

The man had become a mountain,

Father of seven, they ran away from him like snow-melted rivers.

His slopes guided their early paths.

His greatest joy, and his greatest pain

Were these rivers running free

The giver, the lover, the healer, the writer, the teacher, the farmer, and the protector,

Away they ran from his slopes, away from him to carve valleys

Away to crash over dangerous cataracts, to feed lush meadows.

“If you work harder. If you love others more. If you do it like this,” the father explained,

“You can help more people. Use your gifts.”

The old man lay in the bed.

His hand held by the woman whose heart was his always.

Children one by one, coming to comfort his brow,

To see his wink again, to hear him say,

“Please… please use your gifts. And I love you. I love you so much.”

Miss you, Pops 

Timothy 9/19/2022