The Senoi people of the Malaysian peninsula teach their children that, when the child encounters a dangerous animal or monster in their dreams, the child should turn and face the monster or animal the next time it appears in their dreams. In general, the children are taught to confront and conquer all forms of danger in their dreams. This fascinating cultural practice comes to mind when I think of my experience of the last few days. Most of the time, when I go out in search of butterflies, it is a supremely enjoyable experience. I'm in a beautiful natural landscape with birds singing, wildflowers, lovely blue sky, and fresh air imbued with the smells of the wild. The conditions are comfortable, and I'm drawn to do this just because it is a source of pleasure. Most of the time. However, not all butterflies evolve ecological niches that are so accommodating of humans and their needs and likes (at least those of this human). Some butterflies live out their lives in the bleakest of landscapes, in the harshest of conditions, at the peak of sweltering, withering summer heat. The Mojave Sootywing is one of these. It's a small dark brown skipper with small white spots on the forewings. As its name implies, it is primarily a bug of wickedly hot deserts in Mexico and California, and its range just edges over the state line into SE Oregon's great basin country. I'd been looking for the Mojave Sootywing for several years in the area around Summer Lake in late July and early August. In that grand-scale landscape, late July and August offer up temperatures from 95 - 100 degrees F, exceedingly dry air, and skin shriveling winds. This harsh ecoregion supports only plants that can handle its extreme conditions, such as saltbush, rabbitbrush, tumbleweed, and sagebrush. Many of these denizens of the alkali flats and salt scrubs of the great basin have thorns to discourage the deer and antelope from eating them. Rattlesnakes are very common in this area. And because the managed wetlands of Summer Lake are nearby, the silence is broken by the whine of hoards of mosquitos. I don't know about you, but for me it's just not a particularly pleasant place to spend a day or two in late July. In spite of these prospects of discomfort, I'd resolved to spend up to three days searching for the Mojave Sootywing near Ana Reservoir, around Summer Lake, and if necessary, at the Hart Mountain National Antelope Refuge. These three locations are known for past sightings of Mojave Sootywing, so focusing there would theoretically increase my odds of finding it. Corvallis lepidopterist Dana Ross had found the Mojave Sootywing at Ana Reservoir, so I made that site number one. I'd previously made the trek down to the Summer Lake area to look for the Mojave Sootywing in 2004, 2006, and 2014 and came up empty all three times. This time, however, I was better educated, better prepared and planned to arrive earlier in the flight period of the sootywing. On July 26, I left Eugene early, trying to reach Ana Reservoir by midday. As I came over Picture Rock Pass, my heart sank as I saw a thick cloud of smoke in the south end of the valley, coming from the Garner Complex fire near Roseburg. About 1:30 pm, after a brief stop up in Picture Rock Pass, just a few miles from the reservoir, I arrived at Ana Reservoir County Park. It was about 97 degrees. Everyone else in the area was either fishing or swimming in the reservoir. I headed off into the scrub with my wide-brimmed hat, camera, binos, field notebook and water. Below the reservoir, is a round, bowl-shaped drainage that I've come to call "the bowl," which slopes down to the Ana River below the dam. The bowl is where Dana Ross and several others have seen the Mojave Sootywing. It is also where there are a lot of mosquitoes and rattlesnakes. I spent about two hours spiraling and criss-crossing through the bowl and the surrounding scrub, through the thorny saltbush, thistles, teasel, working up a pretty good sweat, slapping away at the mosquitos buzzing my ears. I saw very few butterflies in total and only four species: Mourning cloak, Lorquin's admiral, Woodland skipper, and Yuma Skipper (another specialty of this site, which I'd seen on several occasions). At about 3:30 pm, I was overheated and spent, so I headed to my lodgings for the night at the Summer Lake Hot Springs Resort. That night I reviewed my overall search plan, and concluded that since I had never looked for the Mojave Sootywing at the Hart Mountain Refuge, I should get up early and make the 3-hour drive down there the following morning. Bob Pyle's wonderful new butterfly guide "Butterflies of the Pacific Northwest" noted Hart Mountain as a good site for the sootywing. I wrote to Bob and asked if he knew any details of where in the large refuge it had been found and he apologized and said he didn't. So I called the refuge office and described my search with a request for any advice from the refuge biologist. Zack, the affable and helpful maintenance guy for the refuge, made a few inquiries on my behalf, and reported back that I might try looking around Flook Lake. My own analysis told me that searching along the edge of the refuge adjacent to the Warner Lakes would be another likely area, so I planned to visit both. The drive to Hart Mountain was lovely in the early morning light, with almost no other traffic on the road. The route took me through Paisley, Valley Falls, Plush and a lot of wide open sage scrub. As I drove along in the wide open spaces alone, I listened to a fascinating audio book on social neurobiology--all about how our brains are designed to help us navigate the complexities of our relationships with other people. I guessed that those functions in my brain wouldn't be needed much today. Flook Lake is on the east side of the refuge, and I decided to check it out first. The route to the lake took me steeply up the west side of Hart Mountain, and then across the relatively flat and very dry central plateau. At this time of year Flook Lake is not a lake but a shallow depression where a lake might be seen during the wet part of the year. Within 5 minutes of my arrival there, I circled right around and headed back the way I'd come. The Flook Lake area was indeed very dry and salty, but there was no plant there taller than six inches, making it obvious that the host plant of the Mojave Sootywing, Fourwing Saltbush (4-6 feet tall) wasn't anywhere in the area. So I headed down to the Warner Lakes area to continue the search. The Warner Lakes area is quite beautiful, especially looking down from Hart Mountain. It's a complex mosaic of blue lakes, dark green wetlands and white alkali flats. When I got down to the edge of the refuge, I decided to try the road along Flagstaff Lake which seemed to have the best access to the salt scrub habitat I was looking for. This was a really interesting area, with scattered huge mounds of rabbitbrush covered with golden-yellow flowers and on some of them, hundreds of butterflies. I had never seen so many Ruddy Coppers--in fact that day I saw ten times more of them than I'd seen altogether in my previous 10 years of butterflying all over Oregon. One particular gigantic rabbitbrush shrub about 200 feet from the lake was like the motherlode of butterflies. There were probably a couple hundred Ruddy Coppers, dozens of Purplish Coppers, and a smattering of Western Whites, Queen Alexandra Sulphurs, Western Branded Skippers, Mylitta Crescents, Coronis Fritillaries, Great Basin Wood-nymphs, and a small Euphilotes blue that I haven't identified yet--all on one shrub! Really fun to see, though not what I drove all the way out there for. So I packed it in and started the 3-hour drive back to my cozy cabin at the Hot Springs. That night I debated with myself about whether to keep searching for the sootwing, and be uncomfortable and possibly get further frustrated and discouraged, or to abandon the quest and go somewhere more pleasant in the Warner Mountains with greater butterfly diversity. This debate (in my mind) between the possibly disappointing and certainly uncomfortable unknown and the predictable and pleasant known went on all through my dinner. I watched myself leaning toward the more pleasant and dependable experience I would have in the Warners, and giving up on the Sootywing search--because the latter would be harder, more unpleasant, and if I wasn't successful, disappointing. As I was washing the dinner dishes, I rallied. No, I said to myself, I need to keep looking. If I give up now I am guaranteeing that I won't find it yet again this year. I'm going back to Ana Reservoir tomorrow, and I'm starting early and will look all day if I need to. That is how I'm going give myself a chance to find it. Next morning, I woke up uncharacteristically early for me, around 6:30 am, with the morning sun pouring in the cabin windows. I made a breakfast of chicken sausage and pancakes with blueberries, strawberries and yogurt. I packed up all my gear and checked out of my cabin. It was 8:30 am. The drive to Ana Reservoir took about a half hour, and I pulled into the park a little after 9 am. It was already hot, but nothing like my afternoon visit a couple days ago. As I got out of the car, I felt optimistic, not in the "I'm going to be lucky" kind of way, but in the "I'm really going to give this a full effort today" kind of way. I mentally handed over the possibility of finding the Sootywing to a higher power and resolved to enjoy the search, regardless of the outcome. That surrender seemed to take the pressure off in my mind, and I felt more light-hearted about the search. It helped also that thanks to a shift in the wind, the sky was now pure bright blue, instead of smoke-haze tan. Over the first hour, I was heartened by the fact that I was seeing a lot more butterflies and more diversity than I ever had before at Ana Reservoir. I had seen four species in each of my previous visits, but I had more than that in the first hour. As the day went on, I continued to see more and more species ( total of 17 species for the day), but no Sootywing. I took a break from the heat and sun and refilled my water bottle at about 11:30 am. I had a small snack, and cranked myself back up for another round of spirals and zigzags through the bowl and surrounding scrub. It was getting really hot now, and I pondered how long I should keep trudging through the thorny scrub in this heat. I'd been searching for 2 1/2 hours, and I said to myself "okay, this will be the last circuit through the site." I'd covered the area of the bowl very thoroughly, multiple times, and it seemed that if the Sootywing was here, I would have found it by now. As I headed back down into the bowl, a quiet wave of confidence washed over me for a moment. I started up at the rim of the bowl, and zigzagged down and across, skirting the blooming rabbitbrush shrubs, and the patches of blooming thistle. At the bottom of the bowl is a grassy wetland area that was mostly dry, but thick with mosquitos. This morning I had put on bug repellent, so I headed right into the middle of the mosquito zone. I circled around the wetland area, and crossed the little creek a couple of times, and saw many Sylvan Hairstreaks, Cabbage whites, and western branded skippers. I told myself, "this is the last circuit, then I'll go." I crossed the little creek again, and immediately saw something fly fast and low to my right, something that appeared different from what I'd been seeing. Time for "Tai Chi mode," the very slow walking and moving that hopefully won't scare away whatever it is. I came around a clump of grass, and there, nectaring happily on a 12" tall thistle was a fresh female Mojave Sootywing. Bingo! Shazam! Woot-woot! That's half the battle--now if I can just get some decent photos! I started snapping photos as I very slowly moved closer. After 6 or 8 photos, she took wing and zipped off, never to be seen again. Now my attitude completely changed. I knew it was here, now. I decided to break for lunch and keep looking, since ideally I wanted photos of both the male and female, and of both the upper and underside of the butterfly. Standing on a rise, I scanned the area east of the bowl to see if there was more of the lush and low wetland habitat, and there were a couple patches along the river. I circled back up and out of the bowl and crossed over to the other side of the Ana River. Along that far bank, I saw a couple of males, but got only one blurry and out-of-focus photo. A few minutes later, I spotted another fresh female, and got lucky as it stayed perched while I slowly moved in for a shot of the creamy and lights-spotted underside. As I was leaving the site a half-hour later, I pondered how my decision to make the uncomfortable choice paid off. As I drove the three hours back to Eugene, I thought about other areas of life in which I sometimes chose the stay-comfortable route, when the willingness to be uncomfortable might well have yielded a more satisfying outcome. Like the Senoi parents coaching their children for the next nights dreams, I took home an appreciation for facing the monster, and a memory of an experience that would help motivate me to make that choice again.

Welcome back to the Butterflies of Oregon blog! Now that spring has arrived in the Willamette Valley, you will be seeing periodic updates on my butterfly adventures in the field. It has become a bit of an annual ritual for me to kick off the spring butterfly season with a couple of trips here in the valley to seek a couple of my favorite early season butterflies. One is the Moss's Elfin (Callophrys mossii), a lovely dark brown-to-maroon member of the hairstreak family. I often find these in late March to mid-April on steep, south-facing rocky slopes south of Springfield where Sedum oreganum (aka Oregon stonecrop), Moss's elfin's hostplant grows. This year, I went to a site I hadn't visited in years--a series of steep rocky slopes next to Lookout Point Reservoir in Lane County. These last few days of sun and warmth have brought out the early spring butterflies, and these sites are especially warm due to the south facing rock faces. In the photo above, notice the patches of bluish green plants along the tops of the rock outcrops. Thats Sedum oreganum. Here's a close-up (see below). After searching a couple of rocky, seepy spots, I began to see the very dark, small, and fast-flying elfins. All were fresh and newly eclosed (emerged from their chrysalis). They always perch with their wings closed, but that's good since the underside of the wings is the most beautiful side. Fortunately, they often congregate on the vegetation at the bottom of the slopes, so its not necessary (nor advisable) to climb up the slope, where your precarious position would not only put you in danger, but make it very hard to get a decent photo. Trust me, I know. These warm, rocky slopes also attracted several other species of early season butterflies, including Common Checkered-skipper (Pyrgus communis), Propertius Duskywing (Erynnis propertius), Spring Azure (Celastrina echo), Mylitta Crescent (Phyciodes mylitta), and California Tortoiseshell (Nymphalis californica). The following day, I headed north, to the Cardwell Hill area in the hills west of Corvallis in Benton County. I was hoping to see an early spring Oreas Comma. Their primary hostplant in our area is straggly gooseberry (Ribes divaricatum), which grows in these valleys in the foothills of the Coast Range. Here, my search strategy was to walk along the road, closely scanning each wet, seepy area along the road margin. On a warm, dry day in early spring, virtually all the butterflies were in these sunny, wet places. The species flying included Propertius Duskywing (Erynnis propertius), Spring Azure (Celastrina echo), Mylitta Crescent (Phyciodes mylitta), Satyr Comma (Polygonia satyrus), Green Comma (Polygonia faunus) and California Tortoiseshell (Nymphalis californica). The Spring Azures were out in force! But alas, no Oreas commas to be seen--I have seen them in this location earlier in the year, but not yet in early April. Since these butterflies were all "mud-puddling" or sipping mineral-laden water from the moist areas, I had to get down in the mud as well. On a gravel road, this means kneeling on wet, muddy rocks. So having sturdy pants and knee pads is a really good idea. Only I'd forgotten to bring my knee pads on this trip. Thanks to the very conscientious Benton County residents who were sheltering in place at home, there were very few people around to hear my cursing as the rocks poked into my weight-laden knee caps! After a couple weeks of gloomy, rainy sheltering in place at home, these sunny days out in the field lifted my spirits noticeably. Even though I am in fine health, I did intentionally go alone, and I visited places where I knew people would not be gathering--because I want to be part of the solution to COVID-19, not a "spreader." May your adventures be safe, socially distant, and lovely!

The Illinois River valley in Josephine County may well have more species of white butterflies in early spring than any other part of Oregon. The list includes mustard white, western white, gray marble, California marble, Sara's orangetip, Julia's orangetip, and the somewhat elusive spring white (Pontia sisymbrii). Wait. What? Julia's Orangetip? In case you haven't heard the news, the white butterflies with orange forewing tips in most of Oregon are now considered to be Julia's Orangetip, which is a truly northwestern butterfly. Sara's Orangetip is now essentially a California butterfly that just creeps over the border into southern Oregon. But I digress, that's a topic for another day. The matter at hand is another of the whites of spring, namely the Spring White, and it shows up in April down in SW Oregon. It was to search for that bug that I made the three hour drive down to Selma, Oregon this past week. The Spring White can look very similar to the Western White, and it's necessary to closely scrutinize the ventral hind wing to look for a pale double track of lightness across the dark bars on the hind wing--that's one of the key identification characters for this species. Unfortunately, I had not sufficiently scrutinized a photo I had mistakenly identified as a Spring White some years back, and it briefly appeared on this website. The authorities were notified of the imposter, and it was removed to an undisclosed location. It wasn't a great photo, but it was surely better than nothing, I had thought. Oops--not better than nothing. Hello, square one. With a rainy spell holding forth in Lane County, it was very appealing to throw my tent in my car and dash down to sunny SW Oregon in hopes of filling one of the holes in my photo collection. Mind you, "throwing my tent in the car" involves hours of packing and preparing for every possible eventuality, but I have been able to hone that process down over time to less than half a day. I hadn't been down the Illinois River Road in many years and I was eager to see how it had changed with recovery from old wildfires and from more recent ones. The weather forecast was for partly cloudy and upper 60's for a couple of days, so I threw the dice, and hit the road. In spite of cloudy mornings, the Illinois River valley did not disappoint. White butterflies were in good numbers whenever the sun was out in full. Since I was there in pursuit of photos, and decked out with two cameras and binoculars, I did not carry my net. Which meant most of those fast-flying white butterflies that whizzed by me landed in the "white sp." category. Many of them looked like the pure white dorsal pattern of Mustard (Margined) Whites, but I couldn't be sure enough to make the call. What I could be sure of were the scores of mostly haggard California Tortoiseshells along the river, and several species of blues taking their mineral supplements at the roadside seeps. Unlike my past visits to this area, the muddy spots at the road's edge were much more popular for puddling butterflies than the sandy spots along the river. A very fresh Indra Swallowtail repeatedly begged me to take it's photo, landing at my feet with its wings nicely composed. I obliged. This was just after one of my cameras was put out of commission for the day by "some guy" who got a little too excited at seeing a new species, and stumbled while kneeling down for a photo. His right hand shot forward to steady himself, but alas, there was a camera in that hand, and there was this large object in the path of his movement called Earth. The UV filter on the lens was shattered and bent so that it could not be removed by hand, making the camera temporarily unusable. I cursed that guy for his klutziness, noting that while he looked a lot like me, it couldn't be me because I'm not that much of a klutz. The butterfly that inspired his dance of ignominy turned out to be a Dotted Blue (Euphilotes enoptes). In the cool, cloudy mornings both days, I kept reminding myself that I didn't need to see a lot of butterfly species--I only needed to see one butterfly (as long as that one was a Spring White). That's how I persuaded myself not to turn around and head home when it started raining the second morning. That "mantra" appeared to gain power with each repetition, and the sun did emerge in the afternoon. Surprisingly, I saw a total of 18 species that day. It has often been said of affirmations that the brain only picks up on the positive part of the statement (e.g., "see a lot of butterfly species"). It's a small sample size, so I won't draw any conclusions. The majority of the butterflies were at or close to sources of moisture, either along the river's edge, or at roadside seeps, including Acmon Blues, Silvery Blues, Spring Azures, Propertius Duskywings, and Common Checkered-Skippers. Mylitta's Crescents, California Tortoiseshells and Common Ringlets were patrolling in drier spots, while Pale Swallowtails, Mustard Whites, California Marbles, unidentified whites, and a lone Orange Sulphur were rapidly crossing through the area. I was pleasantly surprised that in the nearly 20 years since I'd visited this area, it didn't seem to have changed character very much. The areas that had burned all those years ago may have burned again, but regeneration was going on all around, and wildflowers were in full bloom along the road. The tally for the two days was 24 species, which for mid-April is respectable. Its not quite the 35-species-in-mid-April-on-the-lower-Klamath-River kind of respectable that Andy Warren once found, but its respectable nevertheless. In reviewing my notes on flight times for the Spring White in southern Oregon, it looked like it might be better odds to go a week or two earlier in April next year, at the end of a week or two sunny weather. If you've had any Pontia sisymbrii sightings in Oregon this year, I'd love to hear from you. Below is an accounting of what I observed and identified over the two days.

That is the title of a 1973 book by E.F. Schumacher that was very influential for me when I was in my early 20's. It gave me the opportunity to look at American culture and the economic system in the US from a new point of view, and consider what was and was not working well in those systems. It had great value for me and gave me the opportunity to change the way I had been thinking. I invoke the title here with respect and appreciation for that little book. Likewise, I have respect and appreciation for a little butterfly to which that title phrase also applies, a member of the skipper family called the Common Sootywing. This species is widespread in eastern Oregon, and it is often found in weedy, disturbed habitats, where it's primarily weedy host plants grow. It is indeed small. I have found it to be moderately easy to find, but quite difficult to photograph. It is very dark, and this, together with it's diminutive size, makes it challenging to visually follow it during its rapid, zig-zag flight. What makes it even more challenging compared to some other small, fast-flying butterflies in Oregon, is that when it is disturbed it flies so far that it is exceedingly easy to lose track of it altogether. This flight pattern had prevented me from getting a decent photo of this butterfly for about 15 years. I have several records of seeing the Common Sootywing since I first saw it along the middle Deschutes River in 2005. Over those 15 years, I've seen it in Morrow, Wallowa, Jefferson, Baker and Sherman counties. Each time I would try diligently to get a photo, and each time I would eventually give up after many attempts to catch up to where it just landed, unable to get close enough for a shot before it flew off again. That changed last week when I visited Jones Canyon, in Sherman County. Jones Canyon is a side canyon off the lower Deschutes River, an are primarily visited by fly-fishermen. Jones Canyon burned a few years back, and immediately after, the fire left the canyon floor barren in places. Over the years, small seedlings of Sagebrush have come into bare spots along with a few native wildflowers and a lot of weedy species. The fire, destructive though it was, made it a lot easier to photograph this challenging species. The fire not only supported a flush of growth in the weedy species that the Sootywing prefers, but it also cleared out a lot of the tall sagebrush that used to make moving about on the canyon floor more difficult. When I initially arrived at the mouth of the canyon and spotted some sootywings, I was having the same old challenge getting close enough for a photo until I found an area further up the canyon that was flat, open and sparsely vegetated. There were just enough native and weedy flowers in bloom that the sootywings would occasionally stop for some nectar. Because this flat, open area was fairly long, I had long sight lines allowing me to track the Sootywing's tiny black form zipping from one perch to the next without losing them visually. For two hours, I tracked one after another, and again and again, they flew just before I could get a photo. Finally, though, I got lucky. A fresh Sootywing landed not far from me on the far side of a fiddlehead (Amsinckia sp.) plant, so that the foliage blocked its view of my approach. I crept in, staying low, so that its compound eyes, beautifully designed for detecting any movement, would not detect mine. Luck was on my side this day, as it slowly worked its way from one yellow blossom to the next, moving laterally around the plant towards me. I waited patiently until it came into view, and then took a rapid-fire series of photos. Fortunately, one of the photos was clear and sharp (see above). Bingo! Oregon butterfly species #159! Over time I have come to find the brown, tan and occasionally green shades and patterns on Oregon's skipper butterflies more and more beautiful, showing a subtle yet exquisite beauty, driven by the biological need to be recognizable to potential mates while blending with the color scheme of their environment. No flashy colors here, just the simple beauty of utility. The Common Sootywing is one such subtly beautiful skipper. The rich, dark almost-black brown, with a subtle iridescence of green, punctuated by pure white spots together with it's devilishly effective evasive flight skills have earned it my appreciation and respect. Small is beautiful. And then there were 9.

For Oregon lepidopterists, butterfliers and butterfly photographers, spring is the time to venture into stream and river canyons in southern and eastern Oregon. These canyons are often wickedly hot, brown and dry in mid-summer, but can be flush with green and bursting with wildflowers after spring rains. More water, more flowers, and more green growing plants means more butterflies. On the other hand, a dry spring can cause the vegetation to go into summer dormancy earlier than normal, leaving little nectar resource to sustain butterflies. This year, the butterfly season in the lower Deschutes River Canyon seems to be hanging on, even though there has been no water in many of the streams in the side canyons for a few weeks. I was surprised to find 27 species over two days under such dry conditions, which is more diversity than I found last year, when there was more water present. Below is a photo from last year, when there was ample water in Jones Canyon at this time of year. This year? Nada. I surmised that the key to the sustenance of the butterfly season was that there was somehow enough soil moisture to support both host plants and nectar plants, even though it wasn't enough to keep the streams watered. The flight times of several species seemed to be a bit skewed. Sheridan's Hairstreaks are typically more common here in April than in May, yet I saw several on this trip. While some species seemed to be hanging around later than "normal," other species were notably early, such as the boldly marked Arrowhead Blue below. This May 4 sighting was two weeks earlier than my previous earliest sighting for this species in Oregon. Even earlier relative to its normal flight period was this greater fritillary, likely a Callippe Fritillary. Andy Warren's "Butterflies of Oregon: Their Taxonomy, Distribution and Biology," cites late May as the early end of the flight period for Callippe Fritillary. So, if this is Callippe, then it was a good three weeks early! For a butterfly that is a pretty radical departure from the norm. [Update: May 31, 2020. Speyeria expert Paul Hammond clarified that the photo below shows a Coronis Fritillary (Speyeria coronis).] I find that Jones Canyon and Gert Canyon are generally the most productive sites in the lower Deschutes canyon. Gert Canyon did have a few stretches of stream with water, although it was very much intermittment as I traversed the canyon. As you can see from the photo below, the hillslopes remained a bit green on the north facing side, and the riparian zone was quite green and healthy. Gert Canyon did not burn in the fire that hit Jones Canyon a few years back, and that may be partly why it retains a more native plant community. This could explain at least in part why I saw numerous Common Sootywings in Jones Canyon, and none in Gert Canyon, where I spent more time overall. Blues were the dominant butterfly group in these canyons on this visit. I encountered large numbers of Acmon Blues, and a smattering of Boisduval's Blues, Melissa Blues, Silvery Blues, one Arrowhead Blue, and a few Columbian blues, like this one, nectaring on what I believe to be Arrow Leaf Buckwheat (Eriogonum compositum var. compositum), its host plant (I admit to being deficient in the skill of ID-ing buckwheats). Rather convenient to have one plant feeding both the larval and adult stages of the butterfly. The on and off sun during the two days I was there gave me some good photo opportunities. The cloudy periods cooled things off, and caused many species to bask in what filtered sun there was. When the sun would come out, they would continue basking for a few minutes to warm their flight muscles. This fresh female Melissa Blue was very obliging. This picture-perfect male Pale Crescent couldn't get warm enough with the cloud cover and posed for me like a champ. Note the diagnostic squarish black patch near the trailing edge of the forewing. That field mark and its relatively large size easily distinguish this species from the more widespread Mylitta Crescent. Happily I encountered only one tick and no rattlesnakes during my visit. Actually, I enjoy finding and watching rattlesnakes, but have a healthy respect for them. As I have on each of my trips this year, I continued to refine my practices to prevent any chance that I could transmit or catch COVID-19 to/from anyone else, traveling self-contained for everything except gasoline. I've learned to buy my gas through the passenger side window to maintain six feet between me and the gas attendant, and to clean my hands and credit card before and after with alcohol spray. I camp far from any gathering spots and I drive more conservatively than normal to minimize the changes of needing emergency services. Rather than leaving trash behind me, I am picking up and disposing of trash left by previous campers. It is very sad to read of the recent closure of state forest lands because disrespectful visitors have been leaving these areas full of trash and human feces when they leave. While I am breaking the stay-at-home rules, I do so with a concerted and thoughtful effort to make sure that I am robustly addressing the goals and objectives of those rules. I hope you do the same if/when you venture out. My list of species and number of individuals for the two days looked like this: #butterfliesoforegon, #oregonbutterflies

When I packed up my Subaru and headed down to Jackson County to visit Kinney Creek this past week, I'd forgotten about the mining claims that existed all along its length. Every few hundred feet is an official yellow and black sign posted on a tree that says "No Mining - Federal Mining Claim." I had to ponder that for a couple seconds before it dawned on me that the sign was in effect saying, "if this isn't your mining claim, you can't mine here." I recalled that many streams throughout the southern Siskiyou Mountains have registered mining claims, which reserve the right of certain individuals to search for gold bits among the gravel in the designated stretch of the stream's bed. While I was there, I watched several shiny, new and very large pick-up trucks rumble up the gravel road, eventually pulling to the side of the road. The occupants of the trucks headed down to the stream, subsequently running some kind of pump system that helped them sift through the gravel, in hopes of spotting a glint of gold in the bright May sun. Then I thought of my own hunt along Kinney Creek and the irony that I was searching for a butterfly called the Gold-hunter's Hairstreak. The Gold-hunter's Hairstreak is by many accounts, "a hard bug to find in Oregon." You won't hear any argument from me on that point. One of the people who told me that was Rob Santry, an excellent butterfly photographer now living nearby in Grants Pass. It was Rob who first found the Gold-hunter's Hairstreak colony in this canyon, and to him I owe a debt of gratitude for sharing his knowledge of the site with me. This species, also known by its latin name Satyrium auretorum, is primarily a creature of dry oak habitats in California, whose range just creeps over the Oregon state line in Jackson and Klamath Counties. Dennis Deck's stunning discovery of this species in central eastern Washington two years ago throws a bit of a wrench into any neat and tidy concept of its range, but I'll save that topic for another day, and skirt that potential black hole for now! This trip in May of 2020 would be my sixth attempt over several years to find and photograph this butterfly, the only Oregon hairstreak that I hadn't found and photographed yet. Just before I left for the trip, a friend said to me, "Neil, just let the hairstreak come to you." I took her meaning to be, in part, to focus more on imagining the experience of having found it, rather than the experience of being disappointed at not having found it, again. As in: start enjoying your success now, instead of waiting until after its happened. That's a powerful form of confidence. I arrived at Kinney Creek about 10:30 am, after the three-hour drive from Eugene. I pulled into a shady spot along the road, loaded up with my cameras, binoculars, and water, and started walking up the road as Rob had suggested. Butterflies were quite active along the road by this time of morning. Within 20 minutes, I came upon a Pacific Ninebark patch bursting with white pompom-like blooms. There were several butterflies circling around the largest of the shrubs, including Western Tiger Swallowtail, Callippe Fritillary, Clodius Parnassian, and California Sister. I stood and just watched the show for a few minutes. After a bit, my attention was called to a familiar shape on one of the lower flower clusters. From decades of experience, my eyes and mind are trained to search out the pattern of a small dark triangle atop a flower in bloom. That is what a nectaring hairstreak looks like from a distance. When my eyes landed on that small triangle I exclaimed (to the no one that was around) "that's him!" It was in fact a gorgeous Gold-hunter's Hairstreak, contentedly sipping nectar from the little white Ninebark flowers. It continued about its nectar-sipping business while I snapped several photos. Then I had the thought "oh good they're here, I'll have lots of chances to get good photos." Frustratingly, the hairstreak kept moving, continuously turning as it sipped nectar, making it hard to get a good angle and a sharp image. Then I imagined what Rob had told me earlier, that he had found them sitting on the road, and I thought, "oh, that will a lot be easier because they won't be constantly moving like this." So, thinking there would definitely be more of them around, I started to leave. I took about two steps, and then something in my mind said, "wait--you don't actually know if there are more. After years of searching, you are in front of one now--stay here, stick with this guy and get your photo." That voice in my head ended up looking very wise ("a bird in the hand is worth..."). I slowly moved back to where he was still sipping nectar and resumed trying to get a good image. After about 5 more photos, he abruptly flew off for no particular reason I could detect. Then I checked the photos on my camera, and it appeared that just one of them was a clear and sharp image. That was quite good fortune, as I never saw another one in three days of searching. That photo is the one above. If I had left at my first impulse, I would have gone home without any good images at all! After spending the night camped along nearby Palmer Creek, I returned to Kinney Creek a bit earlier the following morning. I was still hoping to find more Gold-hunter's Hairstreaks, and curious to see what else would turn up. Within 50 feet of my car, I came upon a roadside patch of a lovely pale pink clover. Something very small was zipping around there, so I stopped to see if it was a fly, a bee or perhaps a small butterfly. When it landed on a clover bloom, I was delighted to see that it was a fresh Columbian Skipper, a species I had not seen since 2003! This skipper, similar to the Gold-hunter's Hairstreak, is found in Oregon only in the far southwest part of the state. It is quite small, and a very fast flyer, so much so that once in flight it is very difficult to follow its path to the next perch. So I was quite happy that I got some decent images that first time I saw it stop to sip nectar. As I walked further along the road I heard and saw many other butterfly species, about 30 in all (see list below). Birds were abundant also, prominently represented by singing Black-headed Grosbeaks, Pacific Slope Flycatchers, Cassin's Vireos, and Western Tanagers. That evening a beautiful teen-aged black bear wandered down the slope above my campsite headed my way. I was tempted to let it come closer for a photo, but instead I made some noise so that it would know I was there before it got too close to make a comfortable retreat. It looked at me once, and then veered wide around my campsite and disappeared. The next day there were two beautiful Gopher Snakes sunning on the road, and even one sleeping Western Rattlesnake. I could tell by the swell in it's mid-body that it was digesting its latest meal. When it finally heard (or smelled) me there taking photos, it backed away from me. I was glad it was a bit sluggish from sleep and digestion. One of the numerous butterflies along the road was the Northern Checkerspot (Chlosyne palla). This species was well represented by males perched on the road bed, chasing off any and every other critter that came near. I didn't see any females until the last day, when I was lucky enough to spot a mating pair, beautifully illustrating the sexual dimorphism (i.e., the males and females look different) of this species. The area along the road was very dry and I hoped to find at least one wet puddling spot where butterflies would gather to sip mineral-laden moisture. I knew if I did find a wet spot somewhere, that I would likely find additional species there. Finally, on the third day, I found a short side road that led down to the creek where I found California Hairstreak, Purplish Copper, Juba Skipper, and Lindsey's Skipper, another southwest Oregon specialty, among several others. Recently, the insect-studying scientists that work on classifying butterflies drew the conclusion that what we used to call the Variable Checkerspot, was probably actually two species, now tentatively called Snowberry Checkerspot (Euphydryas colon) and Chalcedona Checkerspot (Euphydryas chalcedona). The former is found throughout Oregon, and the latter only along the border with California. When I inquired among the experts about how to distinguish these two taxa in the field and where their ranges end in southwest Oregon, I found that more research and study is needed on those questions. They may be separate species or they may be separate subspecies. So whereas previous to my inquiry I would have called the butterfly below a Chalcedon Checkerspot, now I'm really not sure, so I called them Snowberry/Chalcedon Checkerspots. With the temperature hovering in the mid- to upper 90's during the afternoon, I was sweating heavily as I walked up and down the road. This made me very attractive to the many California Sister's and Silver-Spotted Skippers, and they greatly amused me by landing every which way on my feet, legs and arms for a taste of my salty sweat. I greatly enjoyed my three days walking along Kinney Creek, and am thankful for Rob Santry's tips on finding the small colony of Gold-hunter's Hairstreaks there, and for my good fortune in finding and photographing one! Since my goal was to photograph one in Oregon, I kept looking in Oregon, even though they are much easier to find a little further south. I would encourage collectors looking for this species to head to one of the sites in northern California where they are more numerous, since this colony appears to be very small and perhaps vulnerable to even a small amount of collecting pressure. Here's a list of which species and how many I found over the three days:

According to California lepidopterist Ken Davenport, author of Butterflies of the Sierra Nevada, the Western Cloudywing is one of our rarest skippers in North America, and is found only within "a very limited range in California and extreme southwestern Oregon." It occurs on limited sites in six counties in northern California, and in Josephine and Curry counties in Oregon. Oregon Mountain is in the far southwest corner of Josephine County, and that's where we find this scarce little skipper in Oregon. My search on the history of the name Oregon Mountain came up empty, but I surmised that since it sits right on the Oregon-California border, it may have been a landmark that told travellers they had reached Oregon coming from the south. Even now, the only way to reach Oregon Mountain is via the old Wimer Road, built in 1882 by "enterprising Postmaster" P. T. Wimer. It was the only route from this area to the coast until Highway 199 was built in 1926. The partially improved gravel road still follows the historical route, passing on the southern shoulder of Oregon Mountain. My friend Rob Santry, a fine butterfly photographer living in Grants Pass, met me in O'Brien at the country store, where I rescued him from an old-timer who was fully chewing his ear off about a wide range of topics. We agreed to head straight to the stretches of road where we knew rocks and water would attract one of our top target butterflies for the day: the Western Cloudywing. The Western Cloudywing is very similar to the Northern Cloudywing which also flies at this time of year at Oregon Mountain. The latter species differs in both field marks and behavior from its Western cousin. Western Cloudywings fly in fast circles, and land exclusively on rocks. Northern Cloudywings have a fast, but more varied flight pattern, and they often land on plants. The field mark differences are subtle: on its dorsal (upperside) forewing, the second white bar from the tip of the wing is generally longer and narrower on a Western than on the Northern. Northern Cloudywings are also generally larger and darker, but you can't count on that every time. So the flight pattern is the first thing you see, and after following the dizzying circular flight, you look at the cloudywing that landed on a rock for the field marks. The sites that we searched for Western Cloudywings all had streams, seeps, and lots of rocks. Rob had heard from Ken Davenport that formations of weeping rocky walls existed at some of the sites where Western Cloudywings are found in California, though in his aforementioned book, Davenport simply says they are found "in wet forested areas along streams and in small damp forest glades." Some reaches of the streams we visited were dry, but there was always water nearby, sometimes higher up the creek bed. Where Shelly Creek flows under the Wimer Road and directly into California there is a big rock slab that the creek flows over, and lots of fractured rock. The geology of this area is fascinating, with shallow rocky soils, serpentine rock outcrops and groundwater seeping out in many places. All these seeps attract butterflies in general, though on this trip it was a bit early for many species, and the butterfly assemblage was dominated by small, dark brown, fast-flying skippers: Western Cloudywing, Northern Cloudywing, Propertius Duskywing, and Persius Duskywing. The first week of June, according to Rob, is the week when Western Cloudywings usually start flying and he was correct. We found them at each of the sites we visited, though the numbers were limited -- we saw maybe 10 or 12 individuals in a day. Rob and I talked about having to use the "stakeout" strategy to photograph some butterfly species, and how it could work well with these cloudywings that keep returning to the same perch. I simply watched the cloudywings for a few minutes and noted which rocks were the favored perches. Then, when no cloudywing was perched, I found a comfortable seat about 8 feet away from one of the favored rocks. I sat down, and waited. Sure enough, if I was still enough, a cloudywing would eventually land, and if I moved minimally and slowly, I could take several photos before some other butterfly or insect sent my quarry into its speedy circles. It turned out that the Western Cloudywing was not the only butterfly on Oregon Mountain for which I needed to use the stakeout strategy. The Gray Marble (Anthocharis lanceolata) is a lovely butterfly in the Pierid family, closely related to the more colorful Julia's Orangetip and Sara's Orangetip. I had found it a very difficult species to photograph well in my previous attempts because they land very infrequently, and if you move towards them at all while they are perched, they zip off up or down the hill and disappear rapidly. Rob and I had seen many whites in flight, and could only guess what species they were because they flew fast, somewhat erratically and without stopping. On the second day, I resolved to see what species they were, so I put away my cameras, and got out my net. I spent about 90 minutes just chasing and netting pierids, and what I found was interesting. About one-fourth of them were Large Marbles (Euchloe ausonoides) and the majority were Gray Marbles. After watching and chasing the Gray Marbles for a couple of hours I got to where I could often spot the slightly hooked shape of the Gray Marble's forewing in flight. So I found a stretch of road where I could see several flying in one area, and just stood and watched them for several minutes to see when, where and why they perched. It didn't take too long to see that they were only stopping to sip nectar, and only on one species of flower. I scouted the roadside to find where these plants were, and planted myself about 8 feet away from the freshest and most robust plant, and sat down. I waited a lot longer than with the cloudywings, because the marbles were ranging over a much larger area, and visiting the flowers only occasionally. However, the strategy paid off, as four times a Gray Marble came to nectar on the plant I had staked out. I had also hoped to discover some Spring Whites (Pontia sisymbrii), which fly in southwestern Josephine County from early April to mid-June, among the pierids on Oregon Mountain. There was one slightly larger white that I saw several times, with a more rounded wing-tip than the Gray Marble, but I strongly suspect they were Mustard (Margined) Whites, rather than Spring Whites, which have strong black forewing tip markings. I don't mind planning another spring trip to southwestern Josephine County for 2021 to search again for Spring Whites. At the end of the second day, I headed down to the lower stretch of Wimer Road, to see what was flying there. I found good numbers of Northern Checkerspots (Chlosyne palla), Field Crescents (Phyciodes pulchella), Propertius Duskywings (Erynnis propertius), Greenish Blues (Icaricia saepiolus) and Cedar Hairstreaks (Callophrys gryneus). The full list of sightings and counts for the two days on Oregon Mountain is below. #butterfliesoforegon, #oregonbutterflies

Just west of the town of Selma in Josephine County, Oregon is a rounded butte called Eight Dollar Mountain. Some say the name comes from the Gold Rush era, when some happy miner found a gold nugget worth $8. For us 21st century folk, that hardly seems worth naming a mountain after, but back in the late 1800's, $8 would cover room and board for one goldminer for several months. Present day visitors to the area will find not only Eight Dollar Mountain, but also Eight Dollar Bridge and Eight Dollar Road. The beautiful Illinois River flows along the southern base of Eight Dollar Mountain, and in past visits that's where I'd focused my attention in exploring the butterfly fauna of the area. I had never thought to venture further west and up Eight Dollar Road to the south flank of Gold Ridge. That is, until I met Rob Santry and he suggested we spend a day up there. We had a lovely, sunny day with minimal wind, and the lower slopes of Gold Ridge were beginning to show a nice diversity of butterfly species in flight. I harbored some hopes of finding Rural Skipper (Ochlodes agricola) and Spring White (Pontia sisymbrii), so we focused on habitat patches that might attract those two species. The views out across the Illinois River Valley were lovely, and we could see Eight Dollar Mountain, Eight Dollar Road and Eight Dollar Bridge clearly--a view worth much more than the $24 implied by their place names. We didn't, however, spend much time gazing at the far vistas because the butterflies kept our attention much closer. At one particular rocky knoll, within 2 minutes of getting out of our cars, Rob called out "Leanira Checkerspot!" That was unexpected! I didn't think we would see them this early in June. At first I was skeptical, because the darn thing flew off before I could get a proper look at it, and all I could see was a partial view of a dark forewing with creamy spots. But Rob quickly quelled any doubts I had by recounting all the key field marks he had seen, and of course he had it right. Prior to that day, my photo collection did not include a singe dorsal view of the western Oregon subspecies of Leanira Checkerspot (Chlosyne learnira oregonensis), so Rob's sighting definitely got my adrenalin pumping. Unfortunately, we were not able to re-find that checkerspot after searching for quite some time. So we continued up the road climbing up to other some spots Rob knew, but I knew I wanted to come back to this one later in the day. We drove further up the mountain eventually arriving at a saddle just below 2400 feet elevation, where there were some nice patches of the butterfly-magnet spreading dogbane (Apocynum androsaemifolium), lots of clovers, and several other wildflowers in bloom, but only a few butterflies. It was clear that spring had not fully arrived there yet, and would be arriving a few weeks later. We had a quick bite to eat and then headed back down the Eight Dollar Road. We stopped at a couple of stream crossings, hoping for Rural Skippers, but found none. When we got back down to that knoll where we'd seen the Leanira, I pulled over with hopes of finding it again. It only took a few minutes before Rob spotted another one, a different individual with less red on the upperside of the forewing. This one was absolutely immaculate and clearly had just eclosed from its chrysalis--it was not flying with great vigor yet, and we knew we had stumbled onto a very photographable Leanira! We both got many photos of this beautiful insect, a species that can initially be mistaken for a Euphydryas checkerspot if seen from a distance from above. Twenty minutes later I found a third individual that was more flight-worn, and later in the afternoon I found a fourth individual about a half mile down the road. Four Leanira Checkerspots in one day felt like a grand slam to me, since I'd previously never seen more than one in a day! Rob and I had talked about having a particular liking for Indra Swallowtails, and we'd seen several over a couple of days. Earlier this spring I had gotten my best dorsal shots of Indra Swallowtail on Palmer Creek in the Applegate Valley, but I still didn't have any decent ventral photos. So, when a really fresh Indra landed near me to nectar on a yellow composite, my adrenalin kicked in again. I tried the same stakeout technique I'd used with good results with Gray Marbles earlier in the trip, sitting down to wait near the flower patch when the Indra veered away, chased off by a testy Snowberry Checkerspot. Sure enough, a couple minutes later it came back to that same flower patch again and I got some nice images of it nectaring on a bright yellow composite flower. Another unexpected gift! After a few hours up on the ridge, Rob had to head back to Grants Pass, so I bid him goodbye, and then worked my way slowly down Eight Dollar Road. After crossing back over the Eight Dollar Bridge, I made a couple stops based on suggestions from Rob. A thick stand of Yerba Santa (Erioodictyon sp.) near the Eight Dollar Bridge yielded Hedgerow Hairstreaks, California Hairstreaks, Zerene Fritillaries, Coronis Fritillaries and others. Yerba Santa was new to me as a butterfly magnet plant, and I'd only noticed it once previously in the Applegate Valley a few weeks before. I'll be keeping an eye out for this plant in the future! In this area, and at this time of year, it was a better butterfly magnet than spreading dogbane, which is saying a lot. My last stop of the day before heading north up I-5 to Eugene, was a quick stop at the Eight Dollar Mountain Botanical Area Boardwalk and the adjacent Jeffrey Pine Loop Trail down to the river. I was still looking for Rural Skippers, as Rob had seen one in this area in the morning before I arrived. By this point in the afternoon it was getting really hot, and I hadn't brought my water bottle along, so I decided this would just be a quick scouting stop. I walked the short boardwalk through the Botanical Area to the edge of a bog with many Pitcher Plants, and saw a few species including Dun Skipper and Coronis Fritillary, but didn't stay long due to the mounting heat. Then I went across Eight Dollar Road, to the Jeffrey Pine Loop Trail. There I saw only a few butterflies including a nectaring Coronis Fritillary and some Common Ringlets, but was surprised how few butterflies there were along the river's edge. I went to the water's edge everywhere I could reach it to look for sandy or muddy puddling spots, but saw no butterflies in those areas. It had reached that hot midday time when many wild critters hunker down in the shade, including many sun-loving butterflies. I continued down the trail paralleling the river, until I approached a densely forested patch ahead of me, where there was clearly more soil moisture and a little trickle of a stream. As I approached the edge of this forest patch, a bright orange and black comma zipped by so I stopped to try to track its flight. I got a couple glimpses of it, and guessed it to be a Green Comma (Polygonia faunus), of which I had seen many already this spring. Still, it's a lovely butterfly, and it looked very fresh, so I decided to pursue a photo. After a couple of circles around the little opening where I stood, it landed about 20 feet from me. I slowly inched toward it, trying to stay in the shade of adjacent trees so as to avoid startling it. When I saw it closer up, I was impressed by how dark it was underneath, but still assumed it was a Green Comma, since I'd had a glimpse via my binoculars of some bits of sage green in the outer band of the underside. It cooperated very nicely, allowing me to get a series of images, each one progressively closer. Even when I got up close and personal (via my telephoto lens), it didn't occur to me that this might not be a Green Comma at all. It wasn't until I reviewed the series of photos in my car, that I realized it was not Green Comma, but rather the much less common Oreas Comma (Polygonia oreas), of the subspecies silenus! This subspecies is one that I had tried to photograph over and over without any luck, mostly in and around the Willamette Valley. Here I had lucked into a great image of that very bug without even knowing it! To add to the fun and serendipity of the moment, when I got home I and checked the Oregon county occurrence data, I found that Oreas Comma had never been recorded in Josephine County before--so on top of everything else, it was a new county record! With 27 species for the day, including Leanira Checkerspot, Indra Swallowtail and Oreas Comma, and Rob Santry's fine company, I definitely got my eight dollar's worth! You can rest assured I'll be coming back again. #oregonbutterflies #butterfliesoforegon

Back in 2004, I saw one Garita Skipperling (Oarisma garita) in what was then an unkempt lawn in front of an abandoned motel in Minam, Oregon. In case you don't know this species, the Garita Skipperling is a small, weak-flying skipper that is orange-brown above, and light orange below with light vein lines and a neat white marginal band below. It is found in a wide swath from central Canada down to southern Arizona, mostly on the east side of the Rocky Mountains. It turned out that motel in Minam was not entirely abandoned that day in 2004. As I was trying to photograph this moth-like little orange-brown skipper, a man came out assertively from one of the motel rooms and gruffly told me I was on private property, and that I should leave immediately. Which I did. I managed one slightly blurry and somewhat out of focus photo before he shooed me away. In a delicious case of irony, one of the meanings of the Spanish word garita is "sentry box," one of those little structures that shelters a standing guard at the entrance to a protected place. For many years, the only records of Garita Skipperling in Oregon were from Baker and Wallowa counties, but Dennis Deck and Dana Ross have recently found it in Grant County also. These sightings add to a growing body of evidence that it is rapidly expanding its range in both Oregon and Washington. It is a generalist species in terms of its choice of host plants, using a range of grass and sedge species, and it isn't picky about the type of grassy habitat it occupies either, feeling equally at home in wet and dry native prairies as well as weedy fields and lawns. I went back to Minam in 2017 and I stopped again at the motel, since it was the only place I'd seen a Garita Skipperling, as well the only specific place that I'd heard of anyone else seeing one in Oregon at that point. This time I found the motel completely remodeled and re-opened, and the old abandoned lawn looking more like a golf course fairway, lush and green and closely mown. Nevertheless, I casually strolled along the edge of the lawn to take a look, just in case. There were no weeds in the lawn, and no skipperlings. I suspected that these two absences were related. I was back in Wallowa County in July 2019, and I spent an afternoon searching the grassy fields in the Minam State Recreation area, along the west bank of the Minam River. I found Western Branded and Woodland skippers, along with a smattering of other butterfly species, but no Garita Skipperlings. That fall, at the Northwest Lepidopterists Workshop in Corvallis, Oregon, I gathered intel on this species from several butterfly watchers, photographers and collectors, with hopes of finding it in 2020. Recent sightings supported the conclusion that the Garita Skipperling had expanded into the Bear Valley area near Seneca, Oregon, so I made plans to make the 6 hour drive out there this past week. With good information from reliable sources, I was hopeful about finally getting some decent photos of this little butterfly. I arrived in Bear Valley on a sunny, calm and warm day, and after a bit of stretching and walking around, I loaded up with cameras, binos, kneepads and my iPhone (which I now use to list what I see). The first site was a several acre mixed wet and dry meadow site, and I first took a reconnoitering loop to get a feel for the site. There were a number of species flying at 11 am, including Persius Duskywings, Sonora Skippers, Greenish Blues, Field Crescents and Common Ringlets. After writing off the "Field Crescents" as relatively unimportant, one of them caught my eye, and my brain said "not a Field Crescent!" So I about-faced and started to follow it. When I caught up to it I was delighted to find a very fresh male Northern Crescent. I had not thought to look for that species here, so that was a nice surprise! That first day I saw only a couple of Northern Crescents, and both were extremely fresh. It appeared that I had hit the first day of their emergence, which was a nice stroke of luck. This thought inspired me to return to Bear Valley a couple days later in hopes of getting some nice images of this beautiful little Crescent after more had eclosed. My supposition turned out to be correct, and two days later I saw more than 20 of them, both males and females, and all very fresh. In the afternoon of the first day, I was a bit discouraged that I had not found any Garita Skipperlings. I broadened my search to include the drier edges of the meadow, and began to see some additional species that preferred the plants of this drier habitat. Many of the drier habitat plants were still in bud on the first day, but there were a few patches blooming, which attracted Gray Hairstreak, Boisduval's Blue, and some Western Whites. As I continued to search this area, I noticed a very small blue hanging around some patches of buckwheat. I knew right away that they were Euphilotes blues, but which species? When I looked up the buckwheat species I was seeing there, it looked to be parsnipflower buckwheat (Eriogonum heracleoides), which is the hostplant for the undescribed taxon "Cascadia Blue" (Euphilotes "battoides"). I set about getting photos of this diminutive blue, knowing that before long it would likely be described and I could get ahead of the game by photographing it now! Its alway fun to puzzle over Greater Fritillaries (Speyeria sp.) in eastern Oregon, and since I hadn't been in Grant County for many years, I had to work a little extra hard on those. I was seeing a medium to large Speyeria in the upper, drier part of the site, and I suspected Coronis Fritillary, based on the huge silver spots in the disk that I could see flashing in the bright June sun, even at distance. In this part of Oregon, the most likely subspecies of Coronis Fritillary is snyderi, which is found in throughout northeast Oregon. When I got my photos home and checked the Butterflies of America website, I concluded that this is most likely Speyeria coronis snyderi. Paul Hammond at OSU may correct me on that, and I will welcome it if he does! After continuing on eastward into Baker County to search for Nevada Skippers, I came back for a second day of searching for Garita Skipperling in Bear Valley. Sadly, I came up empty. There was one moment when I thought I had glimpsed one perched for a microsecond, but on reflection I decided it was a Sonora Skipper, based on how fast it zipped away. I also searched two additional mixed wet/dry meadows in the Bear Valley area, one of which had Garita sightings in recent years. Still no luck. Other notable species in these Bear Valley meadows included many Sonora Skippers (Polites sonora), a lone West Coast Lady (Vanessa annabella, my first of 2020), my first Lilac-bordered Coppers (Lycaena nivalis) of the year (we usually don't see them in Lane County until July), and my first Milbert's Tortoiseshell (Aglais milberti) of the year. As I reflected on my trip to Grant County, I concluded that I hadn't spent enough time in this beautiful part of Oregon. I'd only made 5 previous site visits there in 18 years of butterflying! I also reflected on how difficult it may be to find and photograph some of these last 7 or 8 species, given the vagaries of weather, changes in flight periods from year to year, global warming impacts, wildfire impacts, and the constraints of scheduling long car-camping adventures with everything else in life. I guess after 19 years, I can say I'm in this game for the long haul. So, I will return. If you live or go adventuring in NE Oregon, and you have or know of recent Garita Skipperling sightings or collections, please do let me know! The more information I have, the more efficient I can be with time, gas, and other resources. If they have spread to Bear Valley, then they may have spread in other directions from the Minam valley as well. Keep an eye out for La Garita Escondida (the hidden Garita)! For these many years, it's been as though there is a sentry barring me from entering the realm of the Garita Skipperling. I look forward to the day when that sentry lets me in. Here are the species and numbers of butterflies I saw over two days on three mixed wet/dry prairie sites in Bear Valley:

Andy Warren describes the habitat of the Nevada Skipper (Hesperia nevada) as dry, windblown summits of peaks and ridges, usually above 4,500' elevation, dominated by Artemisia tridentata (great basin sagebrush) plants stunted by the constant winds. This description is in his immensely helpful Butterflies of Oregon, Their Taxonomy, Distribution and Biology, a 2005 book without which I would be fairly lost in understanding Oregon's butterflies. Andy generously shared details with me about a site where he had found a colony of Nevada Skippers along the Grant-Baker county line back in 2001, and last week I went to see if that colony was still there. What I found was a habitat that exactly matched his description: a treeless, windswept ridge, with stunted sagebrush, with a healthy supply of gusty winds. The question was, were the Nevada Skippers still there 19 years later? These grassy, rolling ridges sat beneath a huge sky with constantly evolving cloud formations, the hills still showing shades of green of late spring and early summer. Many of the grass species had already gone to seed, and as I made my way up the northernmost end of the connected set of ridges, I wished I had brought my "seed gaiters." As I walked, I was gathering a sizable collection of pokey little grass seeds in my socks. It felt like I had acupuncture needles all over my ankles. I had searched for Nevada Skippers previously at King Mountain (Harney County, 2004 and 2018), Millican Flats (Deschutes County, 2006 and 2018), and Ironside Mountain (Malheur County, 2004). In those five trips I had not seen even one individual Nevada Skipper. Every time I seemed to have arrived too late in the season. I hoped to avoid that outcome this time by going within a few days of the date on which Andy Warren had found his large population in 2001. He had written that the males would often perch on a common yellow composite flower, and as soon as I started walking up the ridge, I knew which flower that was. I figured that my best shot at a photo would be to find one happily nectaring on that flower. I searched for more than an hour along the ridgeline without seeing any Hesperia skippers, but I kept telling myself "it only takes one!" Eventually I found three flight-worn and tattered individuals, two of which were so worn they were barely recognizable. My self-imposed standards for butterfly photos say that the butterfly should be whole, and fresh enough that all the wing markings are clearly and easily seen. The individual pictured below was intact enough to clearly see the characteristic strongly displaced check at the bottom of the submarginal white band on the ventral hindwing, so I was glad to at least have that image. I continued searching, hoping there was at least one last fresh and whole individual up on that ridge enjoying some nectar from those unidentified yellow flowers. I was just about to call it a day, as the sky clouded over, and the wind picked up. The Western Whites that were flying along the ridgeline were being blown about by frequent gusts, and the grasses and flowers were dancing wildly in the wind. Just then, in my peripheral vision, the search image of a dark triangle atop a yellow flower grabbed my attention. I swung my binos up and there was a dark and fresh looking Nevada Skipper! "My prayers have been answered," I thought to myself. I very slowly went for my telephoto camera, keeping my movements slow so as to avoid spooking the skipper. Just as I had my camera lined up for the shot, a wind-thrown Western White rammed right into that one flower with that one Nevada Skipper, and bumped it off and into the wind. I cursed that Western White loudly to no one in particular, even though I knew it wasn't personal. I was so close to the shot I wanted! Frustrated but not finished, I searched the area for a good 20 minutes hoping that skipper was still nearby, but I could not relocate it. The wind could have easily taken it a quarter mile away. As I slowly made my way back to my car, it started to rain. Now I had to laugh! Okey dokey--I guess I'll be coming back next year. Clearly I was too late in the Nevada Skipper flight season to find fresh individuals this year. I still didn't know whether the large population Andy found in 2001 was still there, but I knew there was a population, and that I'd arrived at least 5-7 days too late to find them in fresh condition. As I walked down off the ridge, having let go of my single-minded focus on the Nevada Skipper (which is only found on the top of the ridge here), I started to note the other species that were braving the cloudy, rain-sprinkled conditions. Even with the iffy weather conditions, Euphilotes blues were going about their business on a white-flowered buckwheat. I can imagine having a bumper sticker on my car that says "I brake for Euphilotes." That's because I always try to photograph Euphilotes blues whenever I see them and I try to locate and photograph their buckwheat hostplants. Of course 99% of the people reading that bumper sticker would be baffled--which might be the point. I got photos of the blues and the buckwheat, and when I consulted some online resources back home, I concluded that the buckwheat was parnsipflower buckwheat (Eriogonum heracleoides), which likely meant this blue was the as-yet-undescribed taxon Cascadia Blue (Ephilotes "battoides"). I had seen this same blue/buckwheat association the previous day in Grant County, and the occurrence data from Andy Warren's book confirmed that this taxon is present in both Grant and Baker counties. Another species I can't resist photographing, even though I have a growing collection of photos of them, is the Coronis Fritillary (Speyeria coronis). They are just so big and flashy with those super-charged silver spots on the hindwing disk! Eventually, I hope to photograph all the Oregon sub-species of Speyeria in Oregon, and my obsession with these beauties will help with that. This one, just over the border in Baker County, looked most like Speyeria coronis snyderi. I also saw several smaller Speyeria, but never got close enough get a sense of the species (smaller Coronis vs Zerene vs Callippe). For the day, I had 14 species, 6 of which were singletons. Not a banner day for butterfly diversity, but a great learning experience in a gorgeous, windswept high desert habitat. Thank you Andy Warren for your book, your knowledge of this site, and everything else you've done for butterflies in the Americas!

The Mountain Parnassian is a denizen of steep, high elevation meadows with rocky outcroppings that support its host plants in the genus Sedum (Stonecrop). It was to some of those high, steep meadows near Mt. Ashland in Jackson County, Oregon that I headed last week to search for and hopefully photograph Sternitzky's Parnassian. Robert F. Sternitzky was a lepidopterist and illustrator from San Francisco, who mostly collected in California and Arizona in the 1930's. He was recognized posthumously for his contributions to the knowledge of southwestern butterflies by having several butterfly species and subspecies named after him, including a sub-species of the Mountain Parnassian that occurs in Oregon and California. That lovely insect is Parnassius smintheus sternitzkyi, or Sternitzky's Parnassian. In Oregon, the Mountain Parnassian occurs in the Blue Mountains of NE Oregon, and in the opposite corner of the state in the Siskiyou Mountains near the California border. From several previous experiences photographing Mountain Parnassians in Oregon, I learned that finding them was the easy part. Photographing them, on the other hand, was another story. On a typical warm sunny day, Mountain Parnassians constantly fly in seemingly random, criss-crossing patterns across steep meadows that are challenging for humans to navigate. On these rocky slopes, the notion of chasing one of these strong fliers is laughable, and would likely land me in the hospital. They do, on occasion, venture off these steep meadows into flatter terrain, sometimes next to a trail or road, where, with great luck, they will perch long enough for a photo. My friend Rob Santry has had such luck, but I wasn't sure I could count on that. Since I had only two days to get these photos before making the 3 1/2 hour drive back to Eugene, Oregon, I decided it might not be the best approach to bank on getting lucky along the trail or the road. So, as I surveyed the entire area to get an idea of where the parnassians were flying, I stopped at each meadow and watched their flight patterns for several minutes. I was hoping to see some favored spots where they would perch or favorite patches of flowers where they would stop to nectar. In most of the meadows, I couldn't see any particular pattern, but in one them, I noticed that as they made their zig-zag traverses of the meadow, they often lingered near several adjacent patches of coyote mint (Monardella villosa). Knowing that coyote mint is an effective butterfly magnet in many of the high places in Oregon, I started to watch just that spot. Watching for a good while, I did see a couple of parnassians stopping for nectar in that patch, whereas I hadn't seen them stop anywhere else in the area. I carefully worked my way across the slope from the nearest trail and sat down on a rock, ensuring that I minimized my impact on the meadow's vegetation. And I waited. It took about 15 minutes before the first parnassians began to fly near me. If I so much as turned my head to watch them fly, they would zip away to another part of the meadow. I could see this was going to be a very "meditative" experience, in which I would be sitting very still, patiently waiting with my camera ready and pre-aimed and pre-focused at the most likely coyote mint patches. After another 10-15 minutes of sitting still, it happened. A parnassian came to the coyote mint I was aimed at, and stopped to nectar. Woo-hoo! Maybe this was going to work! And work it did. Once that first parnassian "tested the water," others came also. I probably had about 15 opportunities to photograph them from about 1:30 - 2:30 pm, by waiting for them to come to me. Often there would be grass or flowers blocking the view, but several times they were unobstructed. One parnassian even came and landed one a coyote mint plant just 2 feet away from me, almost too close for my camera to focus! On this warm and sunny day, the parnassians nectared only with their wings folded up, which gave me good chances for photographing their lovely ventral pattern of white, black and red. I'd also hoped for shots of them basking with their wings spread, but I only saw this once in two days, at about 8:30 am and only for a couple of seconds. It was way down the slope from me, so there was no chance for a photo there. That basking shot will have to wait until next year! One of the other "specialty" butterflies of this area is the Sooty Hairstreak, which in Oregon also occurs just in this small area adjacent to the California border. These little, dark tailless hairstreaks fly quickly around and above patches of manzanita on the tops of the ridges above where the parnassians fly. They use lupines as their hostplants, but for some reason, they seem to prefer hanging out on and around the manzanita shrubs. They seemed easiest to find early and late in the day, but were scarce in midday. In the morning sun, I found them basking with their wings folded up. The Great Basin Fritillary, Speyeria egleis, is another favorite butterfly that I often see in this area. In this area, the subspecies matooni is relatively common, and that was the dominant greater fritillary that I saw on this trip. They were also drawn to the coyote mint, but landed there even less often than the parnassians. The photo above was of the only one that landed to nectar during my parnassian stake-out. The dry, flatter ridge tops where the Sooty Hairstreaks and Great Basin Fritillaries fly feature an abundance of sulphur flower buckwheat (Eriogonum umbellatum), which attracts the Summit Blue, Euphilotes glaucon. This attractive little blue is found throughout most of Oregon's mountainous areas where sulphur flower buckwheat grows. In this genus of blues, identification is primarily based on identifying the species of buckwheat that they are associated with. In terms of their field marks, the Summit Blue tends to be darker below than several of the other Euphilotes blues found in Oregon, and I have found them to be markedly so in some areas (e.g., northern Klamath County). In addition to the meadows along Mt. Ashland Road, I also explored the meadows around and along McDonald Creek, several miles west of Mt. Ashland itself. This lovely (and more moist) area had a different array of butterfly species than the drier south-facing slopes I'd been in, including a couple of lovely Buckeyes, Pacific Fritillaries, Greenish Blues and Sonora Skippers. One of my general observations on this trip was that the overall numbers of butterflies and the diversity of species seemed noticeably low for this time of year for this area. I have observed that same pattern on nearly every site I have visited in western Oregon this summer. Perhaps it was that cool, wet spell we had in the spring. Based on my observations this year, and in other years when unseasonably cool and wet weather occurs in spring, it seems as though the butterflies in the affected areas emerge from their chrysalides over a longer period of time than in years with more typical spring weather. Has anyone else noticed this? Or perhaps someone has studied this as an (epigenetic?) adaptation to climate variability? If you know of research in this area, I'd love to hear about it. Over two days in the area west of Mt. Ashland I saw these 29 species:

Andy Warren's monumental review of Oregon's butterflies (Butterflies of Oregon, Their Taxonomy, Distribution and Biology) not only has been an eminently useful book, but his field work also helped clarify the status and distribution of several blues species in Oregon. Reading the results of Andy's extensive field work with blues last month put the idea in my head of trying to find and photograph a couple of the as-yet-undescribed blues taxa he studied. Shortly thereafter, I saw Jacksonville nature photographer Peter Theimann's online posting that he'd just seen those very species in Klamath County. That was all it took. Seeing a promising weather forecast and having some free days, I packed up my camera, binos, and camping gear and headed south in search of some high elevation blues in the land of pumice. My destination was Crater Lake National Park, where Peter had seen the Volcano Blue (an undescribed Icaricia blue associated with Eriogonum pyrolifolium var. coryphaeum), and the Pumice Blue (an undescribed Euphilotes blue associated with Eriogonum marifolium). A few weeks before my visit, he'd seen both species near remnant snowbanks on the pumice flats below Mount Scott, on the east side of Crater Lake National Park. On August 8, I headed there first, knowing at the very least, that I would get stunning views of the lake on the way and of Mount Scott at my destination (I was not disappointed!). I parked north of the main Mount Scott trail access area, and spent a full hour criss-crossing the pumice flats west of the mountain, gingerly sidestepping the wildflowers. I saw very few butterflies there, and only three blues: one Anna's Blue, and two worn Volcano Blues that I wasn't able to get good photos of. The good news: Volcano Blue was still flying! While the butterflies were somewhat scarce in this area, the tourists were not! A constant stream of (mostly) masked hikers headed up and down the Mount Scott trail, making me glad I wasn't planning to climb the mountain that day. On my way to Mount Scott, I had noticed numerous patches of pumice with buckwheats in bloom as I drove to the east side of the Rim Road. So I simply retraced my route, and stopped at a couple of roadside patches with buckwheats in flower. Within minutes, I saw my first fresh male Volcano Blue in a large patch of it's hostplant, Shasta Buckwheat (Eriogonum pyrolifolium var. coryphaeum). The males were bright blue above, and clear bright gray below, with a bold orange submarginal band and sparkling light blue scintillae. Searching for a few minutes more, while trying to minimize my impact on the dry and fragile pumice meadow, I saw about 15 Volcano Blues, including both bright blue males and deep brown females. They were perching very cooperatively, mostly on Shasta Buckwheat flowers, and it wasn't long before I had a nice series of photos that included both sexes. In my personal "game" of photographing all of Oregon's described butterfly species inside the state, this was like money in the bank--I already had photographed a future species that wasn't even described yet! My next goal was to find and photograph the Pumice Blue, which might prove to be a bit trickier. There are two species of Euphilotes blues that could be flying in the Crater Lake area this time of year: the Summit Blue (Euphilotes glaucon) and the Pumice Blue. The Summit Blue usually occurs lower in the Crater Lake area, and flies a bit earlier, but there are always some outliers. Just to make things interesting, the Pumice and Summit blues not only look similar, but they are usually separated by the buckwheat species they are associated with, which are both variable and similar. In the field, I was initially confusing the two host plants, Sulphur-flower Buckwheat (Summit Blue) and Marumleaf Buckwheat (Pumice Blue). Both buckwheat species grow in rocky volcanic soils, and sport bright yellow flowers. After I refreshed my memory with some key differences from info on my phone, I saw that Marumleaf Buckwheat is sexually dimorphic, meaning it has male and female plants that look different. The male plants are shorter with bright yellow flowers, and the female plants are taller with looser flowers that are bright red and yellow. Once I started to see the male and female plants growing together, it got easier to find the Marumleaf Buckwheat, and subsequently, the Pumice Blues. Thanks to Dave Nunnalee up in Washington state, for compiling information on the buckwheats of Washington and the butterflies that depend on them. His data correlate well with the buckwheats and their butterflies in Oregon. From Dave I learned that Pumice Blue females only lay their eggs on the female flowers, and that the caterpillars are thought to eat pollen from the flower in the early stages (instars) and then graduate to the seeds of the flower later on. Fascinating! Altogether I saw a total of about 30 Volcano Blues and 25 Pumice Blues at a few sites on the east, north, and west sides of Crater Lake, along with 10 other species. I did not see any Euphilotes blues that I could definitely identify as Summit Blues (on Sulphur-flower Buckwheat), but then I did not look thoroughly for them since I had photographed them previously at several other sites in Oregon. My list for the day: I came home quite satisfied that I had found and photographed both of my target species at Crater Lake, and had a wonderful time doing it. And it was not my original plan to continue seeking these high elevation blues species at other sites in Oregon. However, after a few days at home, this idea inserted itself in my head like an "earworm" song that wouldn't go away. Admittedly, I didn't fight it very hard! So I went back to Andy Warren's book and reviewed where he had found them and where else he expected to find them. Then I started to scrutinize maps and aerial photos to find a good pumice field to search on the eastern slope of the Cascades. I knew it might be getting late in the flight period, so I my second goal was to make sure that I went to a location that would be enjoyable with or without the butterflies. My brief research and analysis led me to Wickiup Plain, a large pumice field in the Three Sisters Wilderness that lies at the foot of the west slope of South Sister. Most of the pumice plain sits just inside my own Lane County which added to the appeal. I had hiked and backpacked in the Three Sisters Wilderness many times, but I had never made it to Wickiup Plain, and I was excited to experience a new area of the wilderness. The drive would be two hours each way, and the hike in would be about 3.5 miles, so I loaded up for a robust day of driving and hiking on a perfect day for adventuring in the Cascades. I set out from Eugene on August 10, and it took about an hour and a half to hike up to the lower end of Wickiup Plain from the Devil's Lake trailhead. I had saved a GPS point on my phone so that I would know when I crossed into Lane County, for recording purposes, just in case I found anything new. As I began to enter the pumice field, I saw to my delight that the wildflowers were simply exploding! I had timed the hike very well for the flowers! Within minutes of entering the land of pumice, I began to see small dusky-looking blues nectaring on buckwheats and asters. These were my first sightings of Shasta Blues in Lane County, and there were lots of them! As I continued on up the gradual slope, I knew I was getting close to a grand view, and I pushed on after capturing photos of several of the Shasta Blues. When I came out of the trees I was rewarded by a grand vista of a landscape shaped by dramatic volcanic flows, pyroclastic explosions, snow and ice. Wow. As I followed the Le Conte Crater trail to where it meets the Pacific Crest Trail, I kept seeing more and more Shasta Blues. It started to get tedious to check each one to make sure that they weren't Pumice Blues or Volcano Blues, but I had to keep trying. As I continued on into the broad pumice flats, I noticed that there were some swales that must have held snow, and therefore moisture, longer into the early summer, with more dense patches of wildflowers. As I scanned these patches, I began to see a few other butterfly species--a Boisduval's Blue here, an Anna's Blue there. Then I came upon a nice patch of what looked to be the male and female flowers of Marumleaf Buckwheat, so I took off my pack, and settled in to really search the area carefully. First, I began to see California Tortoiseshells, speeding across the flats like there was an important meeting somewhere. Then an Edith's Checkerspot. And a Buckeye. Now we're getting somewhere! I kept searching as the day moved into mid- and then late afternoon. Finally, I saw what looked like a Euphilotes blue without the characteristic iridescent blue spots on the trailing edge of the hindwings, which Shasta Blues have. I saw it flying among the Marumleaf Buckwheat plants, with their distinctive male and female flowers. Tying to moderate my excitement, I deliberately shifted into my slow-as-molasses-in-winter mode to sidle in close for a nice photo. Bingo! A Euphilotes blue hanging out on a female Marumleaf Buckwheat flower. Over the next 20 minutes, I saw several more, 12 all together. As the sun was getting lower in the sky, I got lucky and found a fresh mating pair on Shasta Buckwheat flowers--a two-fer! And two new "species" for me in Lane County in one day! After 20+ years of watching and photographing butterflies in Lane County, that doesn't happen often! I'm looking forward to another visit to Wickiup Plain next year, perhaps a little earlier to see what else is flying up there, beyond the 9 species I saw on this trip: It seems I had caught a serious case of the high-elevation blues fever, as I no sooner got home from Wickiup Plain than I was already thinking about whether there was another beautiful hike to a pumice habitat that I should consider. Why yes, I realized right away, Tam MacArthur Rim is another such spot. This time I knew I would be going late in the flight season for these blues species, but the weather was holding, and I couldn't resist getting in another butterfly outing before the weather changed. Tam MacArthur Rim is on the east side of Broken Top, south of the town of Sisters. I'd been there a few times already at different times in August, and this would be the latest in the season of any of my visits. However, I knew that if there weren't butterflies, I would enjoy a hike of stunning beauty anyway! It takes about 90 minutes to climb the trail from Three Creeks Lake up to the rim. From there a couple different routes traverse the pumice flats going toward Broken Top. I'd seen Shasta Blues there a couple of times in the past, but hadn't seen the Pumice Blue, which Andy Warren had seen there in significant numbers back in 2004. Since Andy's work was done 16 years ago, I wanted to verify if the large population he found was still there. I knew I would be visiting about a week later than he had, and I knew that it had been a very dry August, so it was a crap shoot whether I would see the Pumice Blues on August 19, but I wanted to try. As I was hiking up the ascending trail, I saw almost no butterflies. It wasn't surprising, given how dry things were up there. When I emerged from the forested slope out into the pumice flats on top, I began to see California Tortoiseshells, but not much else. A few more minutes of hiking brought me to a slope with a lot of Eriogonum, where I paused to watch for blues. Like the rest of the area, it was pretty quiet in terms of butterflies. I moved off the trail and allowed some masked hikers to pass. When they walked up the slope past me, they flushed a blue! I followed it in my binos, and walked a bit closer. A Shasta Blue--good! They're still flying. A couple minutes later I saw another blue, and it was larger and much brighter below than a Shasta Blue would be, but I could not catch up to it to verify. My guess was an Anna's Blue. I took off my pack, since this spot had more action than anywhere else, and I kept scanning across the Buckwheat flowers for blues. After about 20 minutes, I saw a small blue that was very light on the hindwing below. I slowly moved towards it, hoping that it was a Euphilotes and that I would be lucky enough to get a photo. Well, I got half my wish: I got close enough to verify that it was indeed a Euphilotes blue, but it had no time for this photographer. I couldn't get closer than about 15 feet before it would fly. I decided to continue on up the trail after several failed attempts to photograph the little guy (the hindwing would have been darker if it was a female). I knew there was a really amazing view from a spot just off the trail about a mile up, so I moved on and kept looking for blues. I saw several more Shasta Blues, and 3 more Euphilotes blues, but they were just as wary as the first one, and I struck out on photos of them. Fortunately, I knew the mountain view just ahead was not going to fly away from me, so I headed up there. This viewpoint has one of the most grand views of the mountains of the Three Sisters Wilderness, as you can see. That landscape of rock, pumice, lava and scattered trees is one of my favorites in Oregon. I only saw four species of butterflies on my hike, but I went home happy! I knew that I would have a date with this beautiful area again next summer, just a bit earlier in the season. I often joke about my "misses," saying "oh, darn, I guess I have to come back to this extraordinarily beautiful place again next year." Lucky me.