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August 18, 2005  Coastal Meandering The heat wasn’t oppressive. To be oppressive I think the temperature would have to be over 100 degrees Fahrenheit; nevertheless, on a recent trip to the coast, clear skies spelled heat. The drive started off pleasantly. The sun shone, the breeze blew; all courtesy of the 3000-foot elevation of the Cariboo plateau. South of Clinton though, as the car hurtled steadily down Highway 97 through the valley to Loon Lake turnoff, the moderately warm ambient temperature began to feel like a big plush toy sprawled across ones body. The refreshing wind that once rushed through the car windows, became the backdraft from a giant’s barbecue. Clothing, until now unnoticed, felt like a damp straightjacket. I saw no point in complaining about the weather because no one can do anything about it, so I decided to become the temperature rather than fight it. Wasn’t there a nice coffee spot just before Cache Creek? We could stop there, sit under the covered outdoor porch, quaff a big mug of steaming hot coffee and take in the scenery. As we pulled off the main highway and onto the gravel entrance road, a wind, like dragon breath, swirled dust, tossing it in our faces and in the faces of a thousand sunflowers standing by the roadside. We crossed a small bridge over Bonaparte Creek and I spotted a gray bird perched overhead on a telephone line. I attempted to crawl out the window of the car to get a better look but decided it would be better to walk back from the parking lot. I hotfooted it back to the bridge, flip-flops flapping furiously on my feet. The vision of the mystery bird being a Sage Thrasher danced through my head. All was quiet when I arrived at the bridge. There was no sign of the bird, so I lingered, looking and listening. Suddenly from upstream came the call of a Catbird. No sooner had it finished calling than it flew downstream and passed a few feet from me with several insects clamped in its beak. It disappeared into a thicket beside the bridge. Were catbirds still nesting at this time of year? If so this would have to be the second or third nest. This Catbird was probably the mystery bird I’d seen on the way in. I don’t usually call birds using the ‘pish’ sound but this seemed like a proper moment to do. I had barely uttered the sound when the Catbird jumped out of the bush and stared at me definitely not a Sage Thrasher! As I walked back to the fruit stand/coffee shop I spotted several Finches perched in a bare tree behind the establishment. I took a quick look and wrote them off as Purple Finches without so much as a by your leave. Later, while seated I recalled that we were in Cassin’s Finch country and these birds deserved a second look. Luckily they still perched in the same tree. There were several birds, all in female plumage. It takes some scrutiny to separate the individual species of the family Finch at the best of times and here in Cache Creek there were three possibilities: Purple, House, or Cassin’s Finch. I knew they weren’t Purple Finches as soon as I studied one of them in the binoculars. If they were Purple Finch females they would have a very obvious light ‘eyebrow’ behind the eye but this feature was lacking. I also ruled out House Finch after studying the face and body. The markings on the chest were dark fine streaks not like the broader marks of the House Finch. These then were indeed Cassin’s Finches. I watched a number of other birds as I sipped my coffee at the orchard edge: Eastern and Western Kingbirds, many Barn Swallows and Western Meadowlarks. An hour later, we pulled into Spences Bridge, it was obvious that the forest fires still burned. Plumes of smoke rose into the auburn sky adding the smell of smoke to the hot air. Before we hit the one-lane bridge delay I was cheered to see a Lewis’ Woodpecker flying laboriously above a field on the north side of town. A moment later another swooped down to a power pole next to an abandoned gas station. Until now I hadn’t yet seen a Lewis’ this year. As we sat at a standstill waiting to pass the bridge construction delay, I heard a bird singing over the sound of traffic and bridgework, but couldn’t detect the singer. Finally just as we got a green light to go, my binoculars fell upon the bird not far up the side hill on top of a shrub. I glimpsed something about the size of a Sparrow with what I would describe as a Meadowlark-like dark chest medallion. Such a mark would indicate a Dickcissel, so I tried to ignore what I couldn’t stop to verify. A few miles further, where the fire burned in earnest, several Ospreys wheeled above the river, evidently ignoring the smoke. The fire burned on the other side of the Fraser River just across from the highway on which we traveled, so we had a close-up view. It wasn’t until we passed through the worst of the burning area, which was about 6 miles long, that I realized I had never seen a wildfire at such close range. With the steep terrain, logs lying on the ground, and the distance between trees, this wasn’t the ‘wall of flames’ type of fire, but it was nonetheless a spectacle. In sections of the hillside where the fire had passed, acres of burnt soil were still smoking as were the blackened skeletons of ponderosa pine, many of which yet stood. From the tips of the stumps of branches of these smoldering trees, sky-blue smoke spewed forth and trailed off uphill. Nearing the end of the Fraser Canyon near Hope I saw the first of more than a dozen Turkey Vultures I would see on this trip. Steller’s Jays were also very plentiful on the coast. Mid summer isn’t the best time of year to expect great bird sightings on a trip to the coast, especially with the almost month-long stretch of hot weather, but I was pleasantly entertained by all that I saw. To e-mail Tom CLICK HERE To look at previous column CLICK HERE |
