Soaring to New Heights

My 139th and final species for 2018,
the golden-crowned sparrow.

From an Anna's hummingbird on January 1 to a golden-crowned sparrow on December 27, 2018 took flight and became a record-shattering year of bird-watching for me.

Starting with the Anna's hummingbird bright and early on the first day, the year wasted no time earning its wings. By the end of the first day, I had 18 species sighted, and before February began, I had 37.

I flew past my previous best of 120, set in 2017, on August 7 and kept going. A final trip to the Billy Frank Jr. Nisqually National Wildlife Refuge on December 27 gave me 12 new species to end the year, putting me at a total of 139. The last of these birds, the golden-crowned sparrow, presented itself at the end of the day just before I reached the refuge parking lot. It seemed like a good punctuation mark for a great year.

The year featured 14 species I had never previously seen. These included the lesser scaup, the blue-winged teal, the field sparrow, the Lincoln's sparrow, the white-throated sparrow, the lark sparrow, the Harris's sparrow, the wood thrush, the hooded merganser, the ring-necked duck, the northern shoveler, the northern pintail, and the greater yellowlegs. One particularly spectacular life-list addition was the sandhill crane, which I blogged about seeing here.

Besides the new personal best and the life-list additions, I had another major highlight. During 11 days (May 4-14), I saw 43 species. That's almost four species per day and nearly one-third of my total for the whole year. It was such an exciting time. I just kept racking up the identifications, and when the run was over, I knew it would be a special year. At that point, I already had 107 species on my list, that new record close at hand.

Last year, my bird-watching reached new heights, and it's up, up, and away for 2019.

Sandhills and Mountains

I saw four volcanoes yesterday, and they weren't even the biggest sightings of the day.

One of the sandhill cranes that flew over as I walked the
Kiwa Trail at the Ridgefield National Wildlife Refuge.

The drive to and from the Ridgefield National Wildlife Refuge had views of Mount Rainier, Mount St. Helens, Mount Adams, and Mount Hood. That, by itself, is enough to make a day remarkable. At the refuge, however, I logged my very first sighting of sandhill cranes, turning remarkable into breathtaking.

Yesterday's spectacular views began to take shape several weeks ago when I visited the Web site of the Black Hills Audubon Society. They had planned a trip to the refuge at Ridgefield with the hope of seeing some sandhill cranes. Previously unaware that the cranes visited the refuge, I became interested in making my own trip there. With birders reporting sightings of the cranes at Ridgefield over the weekend and with sunny weather coming this week, I made up my mind to go. I'm so happy I did.

Mount St. Helens watching over the
Ridgefield National Wildlife Refuge.

On the drive to Ridgefield, a haze shrouded the Cascade Mountains, hiding Mount Rainier, but the three volcanoes to its south proudly made their appearances as my mom and I neared our destination. The towering giants served as an exciting prelude to what the refuge had in store for us. We heard the sandhill cranes before we saw them, and then, after photographing a green heron and some cedar waxwings at the beginning of the Kiwa Trail, we sighted our first group of cranes about a third of the way down the trail. Never having seen a sandhill crane in person before, I felt like I had just discovered some priceless artifact. As we continued down the trail, another group of cranes flew over head, we saw a great egret, and Mount St. Helens peeked over the hill. We had amazing sights all around, and at the center of it, I found those cranes and the sense that they had given me an experience everyone should have at some point in life. Something special exists in those birds, a charisma and a power that compels us to take notice.

Before leaving the refuge, we also saw a pied-billed grebe. After lunch in Ridgefield, we began our return trip. Mount St. Helens, Mount Adams, and Mount Hood remained out for viewing, and Mount Rainier finally presented itself.

Four volcanoes, three birds added to my 2018 list, which now stands at 124 species, and, to top it all off, my first sighting of sandhill cranes: a day to remember for sure.

Taking the Next Step

A view of Mount St. Helens from the hummocks.

My hike near Mount St. Helens 11 days ago began last summer, and it's not over yet.

On a Father's Day trip to the mountain in 2015, my dad and I found some information about the trails in the area. After last year's successful hikes at Mount Rainier, Olympic National Park, and the Ridgefield National Wildlife Refuge, I spent part of the winter planning excursions in the Pacific Northwest for this summer. The details about the Mount St. Helens trails provided a number of great options.

The hike from the hummocks northwest of the mountain to Johnston Ridge seemed particularly interesting, and I quickly settled on it. By Christmas, my mom and my cousin were on board for the hike.

As it moved from the Toutle River Valley up Johnston Ridge, the Boundary-Hummocks Trail displayed a surprising range of features and ecosystem types. The hummocks, formed by deposits left from the massive lahars (mudflows) triggered by the volcano's 1980 eruption, contained lush ponds shaded by alder. The ponds provided homes for beavers and birds and fed thriving thickets of ferns, cattails, and horsetails. Below the hummocks, the Toutle River continued its task of cutting through the sediment deposits.

Johnston Ridge, which received much of the 1980 blast, featured different terrain. A few trees had returned, but much of the land was open, giving us a great view to watch the day's clouds shuffle around the mountain. The clouds became the stars of the hike. They began to clear at about 9:30 a.m. Around noon, they re-formed near the mountain's middle like a Hula-Hoop. By the late afternoon, they covered the summit. Rather than taking away from the view though, the clouds seemed to enhance it with various personalities. Last year, during the hot, dry summer, we saw no clouds around the mountain. The clear view was fantastic, but this year's clouds made for many unique perspectives not possible without them.

When the hiked ended, I felt like I knew Mount St. Helens more intimately. I'd walked in two very different environments in the span of just a few miles, and they had revealed a lot about what has been happening around the mountain in the last 36 years.

In truth, this one trail represents just the tip of the iceberg with regard to the network of paths around the mountain, so an adventure that began in 2015 and continued this year has plenty of next steps.