Trees

Cemeteries are nothing new to me.

With my mom tracing our family tree, it was not unusual for my her to make plans to spend a day or so of the annual family vacation meeting with people to talk about genealogy.  This tactic, of course, predates Ancestry.com, or for that matter, the home computer.  In some capacities, it became a family affair.  In the field, it was not rare for us to get a quarter if we found a tombstone that had been on her hit list.

So here I am  over, three decades later, still appreciating cemeteries. It is not just about who is buried there, but the character overall. To me, new is often sterile while old opens up a whole new world.

If Ohio were a target, Granville would be just about a dead-center bulls-eye.  Located a short skip outside of Columbus, the town is rather, um... sleepy...as you might say.  A metropolis, it is not, with a population of only 5,000 people. In fact, it has been that way for over 200 years.  

A few months ago, my work travels took me to Newark, Ohio (just down the road from Granville).  With plans to meet a friend for lunch, the route took me past the Old Colony Cemetery.  Perched on a small hill just a few blocks from downtown, I knew I had to get back there and investigate.  A quick Internet search on my phone (something my mom couldn't do when I was a kid!) showed that 18 Revolutionary War, 39 War of 1812, and 16 American Civil War veterans are buried there. The Old Colony Burying Ground is listed on the National Register of Historic Places.  Quite the place, huh?

With the conference's opening night schedule largely optional, I was gushing with the opportunity to photograph the grounds after dark with a full moon for my lighting.  My buddy Bruce enters his stuff in photo contests and he recently had one where he had to use the moon as the only source of light.  Inspired by the activities of his club, I thought I would give it a whirl.  

What could be more fun than full moon photography in a cemetery that is older than dirt?

It probably would have been a benefit if I had checked the rules before I went there. To my dismay, access to the grounds is prohibited after dark. Sure, I could have argued that the moon was so bright that is is functionally "not dark" and that I should therefore be allowed to enter, but I don't suspect law enforcement would approve.  

With limited options for subject matter and composition, I found myself in an interesting situation.  

The maple tree dominated the scene.  It was my hope to include it somehow. 

Further, the cemetery has a sidewalk below the grade of the grounds (remember, it is on a hill). The overall impact was that I was not just looking at the tree, but looking up at the tree, hence the foreground.

Further yet (and perhaps the most important factor), the light was coming from two directions.  I was facing east with the full moon beyond the tree.  The tree was also lit from the front; behind me was a series of street lights. 

With my rig on a tripod, I set the exposure for 30 seconds. Sure the image was a bit under-exposed, but I was able to lighten it a bit in post processing.  (There is more here to that story - buy me a beer sometime and I'll tell you.) Some larger stars showed up as streaks so I erased them.  (Yes, some people poo-poo that, but I say "Nay! Mind your own business!")  A quick click in Photoshop Elements converted the image to black-and-white.

Voila.

I can honestly say that this is now one of my favorite images.  Generally speaking, I don't have a single favorite anything. Just ask Natalie. Not a favorite beer. Not a favorite bird.  I'm a bit more even keeled than to go out on a limb and say "That so-and-so or such-n-such is my favorite!"  I just don't do it. 

That said, I can't overlook the connections here... 
 

A kid.  His mom.  Old cemeteries.  Genealogy.  

Said kid all grown up.  Fancy camera. Old cemetery.  Neat botany. 

Mom still grown up.  Still tracing.....

...a family tree. 

Day 12: June 25 - Relaxation and Frustration

After a casual morning, the bulk of the day was spent in and near Sedona.  Sadly, again, Diana could not join us. 

If one is looking for great scenery, great food (like the Secret Garden Café or Taos Cantina), and has high hopes of acquiring a locally-crafted coffee mug per some childish vacation rule, this town is wonderful.  Tlaquepaque (Tuh-LOCK-uh-POCK-ee) is great for artists and allowed me to secure yet another mug for my collection.

The Oak CreekCanyon Brewery is here. While we did not visit the brewery, their brews are available throughout town.  I recommend the Pale Ale (#1,273).  The Pale Ale (#1,274) from the Grand Canyon Brewery was pretty well done, too.  

On the other hand, if one wants to get swept up in the nonsense that is New Age stupidity, book your flight to Sedona now.  Astrology. Palm readings.  Oh goody.  Maybe you could go find the vortex at the Airport or Bell Rock and strengthen your masculine or feminine side.  Maps will get you there.  Oooooooohh.  It is even claimed that these spinning bundles of energy explain the twists and turns of a juniper tree branch. Yes, that’s right, folks!  Mystical tornadoes from Oz, that you can’t see, twist trees! 

Wow……..

Now if only real tornadoes would carry these hucksters away, or least pilfer their voter registration cards from their wallet or purse.  Rational, honest people are  trying to cure cancer and deal with a host of other worldly woes. Stop your nonsense. You are perpetrating a fraud. Go directly to jail. Do not pass go and quit collecting 200 bucks from the folks you bamboozle.  Stop it. 

Just north of town sits Slide Rock State Park.  Originally one of the regions first homesteads (European, anyway), the enterprising Pendley family (their home is pictured below) managed some impressive irrigation projects to allow the growing of produce in the valley.  Before long, vacationer cabins were built and it became a destination for those fleeing the heat. By the 1980’s, the State of Arizona bought it for use as a park.  

After cooling our feet in the racing waters (that have carved slippery chutes that give the park its name), we enjoyed a short hike along the cliff trail.  (No rails, by the way.  If you walk over to the edge, it is a 20-foot drop to the rocks below.  L-a-w-s-u-i-t?).  While not really bird-productive, the park provided Natalie with her life bird Say’s Phoebe.  It was putting on a show on the walk back to the car.  The viewing distance was less than 30 feet.  

Even though I suck as a photographer, the gorgeous red rocks of the region make for some wonderful colors as the sun sets.  

If you really want to see what Sedona can be through the eyes of non-idiot photographers, go here. 

In any case, Nat, Marge and I were back in Scottsdale after nightfall.

 

Day 11: June 24 - Mountain Tops and Desert Bottoms

Sunrise found us walking the campground in hopes of securing the still-needed Buff-breasted Flycatcher.  The walk of a few hundred yards to the Amphitheatre turned up nothing.  With spirits sinking, we hiked back to the car to munch Pop-tarts and juice for the hike to other campground locations where the bird had been reported.  With my head buried in the backseat looking for chow, a peculiar “chee-lick” was coming from the trees overhead.  For the next few minutes, we enjoyed fair looks as a Buff-breasted Flycatcher (Life Bird #662) zipped from tree to tree. At times, it was not one hundred feet from the tent.  Odd. 

Still needing Mountain Chickadee for Natalie, we returned to the summit.  Hiking a different trail versus the night before, within ten minutes, the eye-browed little bugger was putting on quite a show! 

Returning to the car (and soaking in the damage and subsequent rejuvenation from the July 2003 Aspen fire that engulfed part of the mountain), we stopped and gawked at the flight of a raven as it approached us.  Not 100 feet away, 8 feet off the ground, and to our left, we realized how big it really was.  In a quick second, we realized ravens don’t have yellow beaks and white stripes on their tail.  The Zone-tailed Hawk maneuvered with ease as it avoided dead trees before it disappeared over the cliff edge. 

I can assure you most birders in the North America who have recorded Zonetails have not had the pleasure of seeing what we saw that morning. Most folks have to study Turkey Vulture kettles and find the bird that is not a vulture; they look very similar.  I would argue that they are so similar that birders have called Turkey Vultures a Zonetail.  Easy to do, I think.  Or maybe the birder hims and haws.  They aren’t always sure. We were.   What a prized sighting.  We never even needed binoculars.  Awesome. 

Retiring from the mountain and hoping to not make arrogant bicyclists hood ornaments, we moved on to the Sonoran Desert Museum on Tucson’s west side.  Meeting Marge again, lunch and walking around the grounds of this outstanding facility made for time well spent.  A trip for a southeast Arizona newbie would not be complete without time here.  If you are going to look for birds in the desert, it just makes sense to understand how deserts function, doesn’t it?

The free-flight hummingbird enclosure is a trip.  I would highly recommend it for photographers.  The little sugar-fueled engines pose quite nicely. In many cases, I needed to back up as my lens was too big!  (Of course, this place would be great for the liars and frauds that infect the birding community.  It would be so easy to take a photo of one of these little gems and claim you took the picture someplace else.  I wonder if that has ever happened? Photographing a captive bird so you can claim it as a wild one? Oh, silly me. Of course it has...)

Right up the road is the west section of the Saguaro National Park.  More deserts. More fascination.  A quick stop at Signal Hill highlighted rock art likely pecked by the Hohokam Indians  (hoho-kum) a thousand years ago.  So cool.  Standing not too far off in the distance was a Harris’s Hawk.  It’s kinda cool to think about the ancestors of the hawk being there watching the Hohokam carve those stones.  Neat.

With the monsoon season approaching, afternoon thunderstorms were becoming more of a threat.  A powerful storm was off to the north and we got the rain.  (But with it comes one of the coolest experiences one can have in the desert – the smell after the rain.  I won’t even try to describe it. You’ll just have to try it for yourself.)  Coming down in sheets, birding, sightseeing and photography became kind of hard. Driving the roads, we started to appreciate some local folklore.

According to the Pima Indians, a grandmother lost her grandchildren.  Versions vary as to how this happened, but in the end, the children began the Saguaro Cactus.  That explains (in their mind, anyhow) how the cactus seems to take on an almost human physique.  With that in mind, I would argue that somewhere out there is a lost pugilist…..

Now, you might be thinking that we had been drinking before our trip to the desert to come up with that silliness. No. That came after….

Fine gourmet pizzas and beer were had at the ThunderCanyon Brewery in Tucson.  Deep Canyon Amber, Thunder Canyon IPA, Sandstone Cream Ale, and Windstorm Wheat (#1,269-1,272) were all average or better.  The IPA was the best of the bunch.  There is just something refreshing about a good IPA when the temperatures are brutal.

After dinner, we motored off to Scottsdale.  The night was spent at Marge and Diana’s house.

Day 10: June 23- A Lemon and A Lemmon

The day’s original plan involved taking two cars birding.  By the day’s end, we would move along while Joe and Corrine would return home.   Sadly, Joe’s situation reversed itself and he was feeling crappy again.  Realizing he needed to take care of himself and house guests can be a drag in times of duress, Natalie and I bid farewell. 

We were off to Montosa Canyon.  Right around the corner from Madera Canyon (it is a part of the same mountain range),  this place has been harboring Black-cappedGnatcatchers and a Plain-capped Starthroat for few days.  Granted, the reports were less than ideal. Folks more familiar with the hummer where getting it but were reporting short observation times (ie: nano-seconds) as it zipped past at light speed.  I guess if you are familiar with the species, that might do.  I wouldn’t know a Plain-capped Starthroat from a baseball-capped ball player, so we were hoping for a solid look.  Reports were mixed with the Gnatcatchers, too.  Some positive. Some not. 

Upon exiting the vehicle at the culvert (the landmark used for days), the wasps moved it.  Big.  And many.  One report suggested a birder was carried away and eaten.  Okay, not really, but they were huge (the wasps, not the birders).  I have been around wasps plenty and they are always distracting, but these were monsters. 

While they showed no signs of aggression, they were certainly inquisitive.  The car. Me. Natalie.  Once they landed on her back, all bets were off.   That now introduced the issue of the accidental sting.  If they land on you, you move to use your binoculars and, for example, the binocular strap pinches them, they will sting. I know. I’ve seen it happen.  Realizing that the risk was there and their abdomen was the size of a baseball bat, it took us less than three minutes to abort the plan.  Really.  Out and back into the car in three minutes.  For these Michiganders, birding under these circumstances was simply impossible.

Starthroats and Gnatcatchers will just have to wait.

Well, as you have probably heard, one should turn lemons into lemonade if life takes a bad turn. In this case, per the plan, we turned lemons into a Lemmon.

Mount Lemmon is found northeast of Tucson.  Driving from Tucson (2,300 feet above sea level) to Lemmon’s peak (9,150 feet above sea level) is the same as driving from Mexico deep into Canada.  As one ascends the mountains, habitats change and therefore, the birds do, too.  Driving the 27-mile Catalina Road to the top is a standard one-day route for birders.

Knowing target birds were high on the mountain, we quickly made our way to Rose Lake Campground.  After securing camp (luckily)and lunch, we birded the campground hoping to find Olive Warbler and Buff-breasted Flycatcher.  After about 2 hours, we concluded all specimens of both species had been sucked into Mitt Romney’s skull (otherwise known as a vacuum). The Buffys were breeding near the amphitheatre and we still couldn’t find them!  Damn it!

By 3:15pm, Natalie’s aunt Marge, a birder, had joined us.  (Marge’s partner, Diana, couldn’t make it.)   Driving down from Scottsdale for an afternoon of fun, we proceeded to gain altitude.  The thought was that the afternoon heat was silencing the birds again.  With cooler temps and a different selection of birds, perhaps things would change further up the road.

Literally driving as far as we could up the mountain, another Red-faced Warbler put on a show.  One can NEVER complain if a bird like this dances in front of you!

Further along the trail, a distant singing bird turned out to be an Olive Warbler!  Life bird #661 was in the bag.  Whew!  What a gorgeous bird.  Close enough to relish the finer details, but far enough to not bother with a camera, we all enjoyed one of southeast Arizona’s prized warblers.

Lots of color-banded Yellow-eyed Juncos were present, too.  In short, the color bands are unique to each bird. Researchers can track the movements and behaviors of each individual by paying attention to the band.

Of course, Yellow-eyed Juncos don't have to have yellow eyes.  That doesn't happen until they are all grown up.

 

After a quick bite in Summerhaven, the after-hours target birds included nightjars and owls.  More Whiskered Screech Owls and Mexican Whips.  No visuals.

Marge returned to Tucson for lodging while Natalie and I returned to the tent.  A Great Horned Owl was booming for part of the night.   I’m sure those little owls avoided our campground.  Big owls do eat little owls. They don’t “bump fists”, swap stories, and move along…..

Pacific Northwest Day 14 - One More And The Wrap-Up

Sunday, August 14, 2011

After packing and whatnot, Rebecca’s neighborhood was a great place to kill 30 minutes before the lunchtime flight home to Detroit.  All the usual suspects were there. The Fox Sparrow. The Stellar’s Jay.  Those damned crows.  One bird looked like a Carolina Wren! Of course, it’s not.  Bewick’s Wren. Nice. It was the last new bird for the trip.  (By the way, as I understand it,  it is pronounced "Buick" (like the car), not "bee-wick.")

The flight home was as uneventful as one would hope.

So, here is the rundown.

New Birds – 13 (White-headed Woodpecker, Gray Partidge, Tri-colored Blackbird, Cassin's Vireo, Black Turnstone, Sooty Grouse, Northern Fulmar, Fork-tailed Storm Petrel (#650!),
Buller's Shearwater, Pink-footed Shearwater, South Polar Skua, Black-footed Albatross, Surfbird)

Total Trip Birds: 163

Life Birds – 655

ABA Birds - 655 (The two areas match as I have not yet birded outside of North America)

Big Miss - Red-breasted Sapsucker

Total Birds: Washington - 142

Total Birds: Oregon – 53

Total Birds: Idaho - 43

Total Ticks – 4,512 (sum of all ABA checklists)

Lower 48 Ticks – 3,965

Lower 48 Birds – 633

Total States Visited – 3

Total States Lifetime - 44

Total National Parks Visited - 5

Total National Parks lifetime - dunno

New Beers – 45

The map below shows the states I have visited. I know for fact I was in Georgia and South Carolina as a kid.  I was not birding at the time, so it does not count.

The map below shows all the states from which I have had a beer. Keep in mind, I do not have to visit the state to mark this map. That should explain alot...

A gigantic “Thanks” goes to my sister, Rebecca. The spare bedroom. All of your assistance on everything and, of course, the plane ticket.  A very generous gift, indeed.  You have always been generous when I visit.   I have visited you throughout your career in Alaska (twice), Texas, Arizona, northern California, and now Washington. Keep in mind, I have not birded southern California.  There are good birds there I have not yet seen.  Are there any military bases in the area looking for a good nurse? What about bases or hospitals in Costa Rica? Ecuador?  I hope you like the pictures from the horse show. There are more to come.

My next vacation? Who knows.  I know I need to get to Louisiana (or Bruce will kill me!), Alabama, Georgia, South Carolina, Nevada and Hawaii (likely the last one).  We’ll see what happens next….

Pacific Northwest Day 7 - Vacant Ponds And Jumping Horses

Sunday, August 7, 2011

Just for kicks, I programmed my iPhone alarm to sound like a rooster.  At 0415, the damn thing went off. I was out the door at 0430.  Rocketing past Seattle just as the sun was brightening the horizon, I could not help but to be totally impressed with the Seattle skyline at night. What a cool lookin’ town!

By 7am, I was standing on a roadside in a place called the Samish Flats.  The region is completely different when compared to Gig Harbor. Forget pines and hills and such.  Agriculture. Farms. That was the norm here.

Despite the fog, I knew I was in the right spot when I spotted a few cars along the shoulder.  Pulling over, I joined the crowd (of two) and waited for the Wood Sandpiper. 

Outrageously similar to a Yellowlegs, this bird had been noted in this field on an on again/off again basis for just a few days.  A bird normally found in Asia, I thought it was worth a go.  It seemed a bit sketchy so far as I could tell on its reliability but it was seen late Saturday so I thought Sunday morning would be good. 

Unfortunately, it was a no-show.  Yes, folks, I spent 3 hours standing on the edge of a farm field in agricultural Washington looking for a bird that never showed.  Early on, I had a feeling we were sunk when the fog lifted slightly and the pond (seen in the distance in the photo at left) was empty. All reports stated that the bird was hanging out with Yellowlegs.  I had set 11:00am as the turn-around time and did not waiver (I had plans).  The distant pond in the photo is where the bird had been hanging out.  That said, I scored a couple of trip birds, including Savannah Sparrow and American Bittern.  

As a side note, one of the crowd was a fellow by the name of Gene. As it turns out, he is a spotter on the Monti Carlo, the boat used by the Westport Seabirds outfit.  I was scheduled for a pelagic on 13th.  I asked him for any suggestions.  “Hang on……”, he said with a smirk. Great……

The two hours to Auburn did not seem like a big deal.  Lunch was at The Rock Wood Fired Pizzas and Spirits.  One of those regional chain-brewery places, it fit my schedule nicely, so I gave it a go.  With a "Rock N Roll" theme and pretty good jams, the beer names reflected the music.    Jumpin Jack Black, Light My Fire Very Pale Low Cal Ale, Rock Steady Red, Sledge Hammer IPA, Suicide Blonde and Wild Thing Honey Wheat (#1,055-1,060) were on the sampler. The Sledge and Rock Steady were actually quite nice. 

As you might expect by just the name, the Light My Fire was a complete waste of time, effort, resources, and money.  Why ANY brewery would actually consider such tasteless drivel is beyond me.  It needs a new Rock N Roll name.  Using song titles from Queensryche, a progressive metal band from Seattle that was very popular in the late ‘80s and early 90’s, I would like to suggest any of the following – Warning, Damaged, One Foot In Hell, Man Down!, Spreading The Disease, or Broken.  Take your pick.  All apply.

From there, I was off to play photographer. When Rebecca is not helping moms and babies, she is show-jumping horses. Thinking her brother is a world –class photographer (hah!), she asked if I could take some pictures of her and her jumping class classmates at a horse show. Other photographers have been there (and where there), but they can charge an arm and a leg.  Realizing that A) it is a nice thing to do for my sister and B) I was paid up front with roundtrip airfare from Detroit to Seattle, it was easy to say “yes”. Besides, it gave me a chance to broaden my photography horizons.

I ‘m not exactly sure why, but many of my shots were a bit soft. Also, as any photographer can tell you, photographing someone wearing a white shirt as they move in front of a dark back ground can be trouble, too. The camera sees all the dark and automatically lightens the picture, causing the white shirt to over-expose or “burn out”.   Exposure compensation can help with that quite a bit.  But, add to that complication the idea that the clouds were constantly coming and going so the light was inconsistent all afternoon, and you have some trouble.  These first two pictures are Rebecca.

I found, too, that only a portion of what really matters is what I am doing. The biggest part of the photo is what the rider’s face looks like.  Crazy things can happen in the fraction of a second the shutter fires.  If the eyes are closed, forget it. The shot if ruined. If they look like they ate a bad pizza, forget it just the same.  But, add some concentration and determination with a bit lip and squinty eyes, and maybe you have something….

 

That said, of the 2.9 million pictures taken in 3 hours, a few turned out okay. Becka is happy, so I am too, I guess.

So, if you are a show jumper and need some photos, let me know. I would be glad to help……you find somebody a lot better than me…….

From Auburn, I bid farewell to my sister for a few days. While she went off to ice her butt, I parked my butt in my car, took an accidental lap around the race track,  and headed off to Oregon, my 44th life state but the third and final one for this trip.

After crossing the Columbia River (wow!), a Vaux’s Swift was my first Oregon bird.  It is, apparently, pronounced “vawks”, not  “voh”.  Call it what you will, they’re neat.  I suspect my first bird could have been something different if I had time to look. The road was the little two lane thing (US-30) on the edge of a cliff.  Watch the road or look for birds and die. Hmmmmmm….let me think about that one.

Lodging was pretty easy to secure in Astoria.