Serving Waitsburg, Dayton and the Touchet Valley
Serving Waitsburg, Dayton and the Touchet Valley
This stately male purple finch rested momentarily while feeding and chasing other males among the willows.
A male yellow-rumped warbler dries himself after a quick bath at the water's edge.
This black phoebe was gathering lichens for its nest and quickly became one of Trumbo's favorite birds in the marsh. It was quiet, kept to itself, and snatched up the pesky insects that made photography a challenge.
A curious Douglas red squirrel chattered as Trumbo photographed.
Rhododendron blooms were full and colorful among the greenery on the Oregon Dunes.
"This will be a fine walk as long as the mosquitoes don't eat me alive," I thought as I stepped out of the truck. Scotch broom was in full bloom, each flower glowing brilliant yellow like tiny lanterns. Fuchsia balls of rhododendron blooms peeked through the understory beneath wafting strands of seafoam-green "old man's beard." The white flowers of an errant apple tree appeared ahead, leaning across the forgotten roadbed, which had grown over with moss, lichens, and Scotch broom to the point that only a narrow strip of a scant yellow center line was visible.
Rhododendron blooms were full and colorful among the greenery on the Oregon Dunes.
The marsh was on my right. It was littered with deadfalls and grasses, likely influenced by saltwater intrusion. Dank puddles stood here and there, and I surmised that they were pumping out mosquitoes like smoke billowing from a burning tire pile, judging by the cloud that had formed around me. Their buzz was nearly as loud as the symphony of birdsong that echoed through the trees. Interestingly, the birds were nowhere to be seen.
A massive sand dune rose to my left, its crest covered with various conifers, evergreen huckleberry with tiny bell-shaped flowers dangling from the stems, ferns with fresh fiddleheads, and a groundcover of seashore lupine not yet in bloom. The Oregon Dunes are a marvel to behold. Imagine the Palouse wheat country as a conifer forest on the hilltops, fading to pure sand on the slopes and draw bottoms. It's a unique environment that supports a plethora of wildlife. The interior of the dunes was beyond the mosquitoes' reach, as if wards had been raised at the peak of the dune, though they were quickly replaced by gnats.
"Sheesh! If it's not one thing, it's another. Oh well, the wildlife isn't cooperating here anyhow," I thought, then skidded across the dune to relocate.
Bluebill Lake was a mile farther, so I bet on the lakeshore as a place to find life. The Bluebill Trail wound around the lake through ten-foot-high shrubbery and a canopy of evergreens. Again, the birdsong was nearly deafening, but the birds were completely inaccessible. Cornell's Merlin app suggested a variety of birds I'd either never seen or wanted to see again – the main species being the purple finch.
I slithered along the trail, slowly and quietly, like a snake. The birds were in the canopy, flitting restlessly in mating behavior, their colors washed out against the sky by the heavy cloud cover. When the marshy northern end of the lake with a small bridge appeared, I hurried to the water's edge to find myself among a flurry of birds, red squirrels, and chipmunks.
A curious Douglas red squirrel chattered as Trumbo photographed.
A song sparrow hopped up the trail as a flashy rufous hummingbird dipped down to sip from the tiny huckleberry flowers. Tree swallows drifted over the water, their reflections dancing across the tops of beautiful emerald lilies bearing cupped yellow flowers. The water was black and thick with vegetation and wood debris. Memories of Louisiana rushed in, and I half-expected to see a longnose gar surface to gulp an air bubble.
A golden-crowned kinglet flitted among low branches, holding my attention long enough for a purple finch to appear at the ideal distance for a photograph.
Swinging the camera toward the stunning male finch, I worked the shutter, taking in his feathered details as he fed among the catkins. His appearance was similar to a House finch, but his coloration spanned his full underbelly, softening his brown breast streaks. It was exciting to see this new finch species.
Movement at the water's edge caught my attention. A yellow-rumped warbler bathed in the shallows behind tall green grasses. It then hopped into the willow branches to preen, offering candid flashes of its yellow flanks and rump, gray helmet with a yellow cap, and black eye bands. The show was soon interrupted by a black phoebe as it flitted softly into the willow branches to gather old man's beard for its nest, adding another species to the list.
A male yellow-rumped warbler dries himself after a quick bath at the water's edge.
What began as a frustrating morning among invisible wildlife ended in a flurry of activity among beautiful, fascinating new bird species. And Mother Nature had one more trick up her sleeve. While pausing to photograph a red squirrel, I heard a shrieking, cackling sound streak across the trail behind me.
My head swiveled quickly, expecting a velociraptor or something equally vicious to burst from the wall of foliage. But the sound streaked across again in the opposite direction, this time followed by the sound of the family space car from the old cartoon The Jetsons – a telltale sign of the rufous hummingbird, another first for me. I'd never heard that shriek before, likely because there are so few rufous hummingbirds around home, but there were hundreds on the Bluebill Trail.
Oregon's Bay Area offers a welcome summer respite, and this singular adventure doesn't scratch the surface. The Oregon Dunes are just minutes from Coos Bay, as well as several beautiful State Parks along the rocky coastline. You'll find gorgeous beaches, off-road vehicle adventures, sea lion haul-outs, and enough other wildlife to experience peace on earth. Stop by the Dean Creek Elk Viewing Area on Highway 38, and visit the Ko-Kwel Casino for fine food, lodging, and more.
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