Natural World

Needs a friend. Back in the early '50's, not long after I rolled into Central Oregon on my old Harley, I was going to set the world afire either as a high-powered timber faller, chainsaw salesman, mechanic or naturalist. While I was trying to make all or any of that happen I got to know many good people who made their living cutting trees, among them, Leo Bishop of Bend.
Leo was a gracious gentleman, wonderful family man, Boy Scout leader, and a scaler for Brooks Scanlon – the biggest saw mill and lumber outfit left in Bend after Shevlin-Hixon shut down.
He walked many miles examining the timber sale to make sure each two-man team of fallers were granted an equal amount of trees to cut. And while he was doing that he also got a rough estimate of how much raw timber would eventually arrive at the mill to make dimension lumber.
One late afternoon, Leo came by my little saw shop in Bend, located near where Hollywood Video is today, to drop off some saws to be fixed. As he placed them on the shop floor he said, "Hey, Jim, I thought you'd like to know I found a big old Shasta Red Fir today on Davis Mountain with an active bald eagle nest in it."

Pretty, ain’t she?If the photo above gives you the shudders – and unfortunately, many
people have that innate fear of "bugs" – relax. I met that harmless,
adult female snakefly last week in the Sisters Library after it was
energetically swiped off the back of 10-year old Tanner Head's neck.
When he got over what he thought was a sneak attack, he looked at it
and thought it to be, in his vernacular, "way cool."

Snakeflies may
look formidable, especially that tiny female with her "stinger" which
is only an egg-laying device; in reality they are "way cool" insects
harmless to humans. For aphids and other small plant-sucking insects,
however, it's another matter.
Adult snakeflies eat only dead
insects, the larvae are like wolves; they gobble up anything they can
catch. For anyone who has a flower or vegetable garden, snakefly larva
are friends of the family.

Jim Anderson, fearless beekeeper. Father's Day has come and gone, but the joy that comes from the celebration goes on and on – like the book my wife, Sue, gave me, Robbing the Bees by Holley Bishop.
 
This marvelous and well-written treatise is not only a biography of how honey sweetened the lives of generations of people in the Old World for thousands of years, as well as a discussion of bee-keeping today; it's also a darn good "bee-manual."
Whether you're a beekeeper, someone who loves honey, or appreciate a good book, you'll enjoy having Robbing the Bees in your library and sharing it with friends and family. Which opens the door to my latest adventure with bees…
"Jim," the voice on the other end of my telephone said in an excited voice, "this is Jan Baker in Bend. I have a big swarm of bees in my apple tree, do you want them?"

Sagebrush lizard in hiding. "It's right there… right under that sagebrush," I whispered to my friend. "See it?" I don't know why I was whispering; that beautiful sagebrush lizard I was pointing at couldn't hear me if it wanted to.
There is nothing more exasperating – or exhilarating – than trying to show someone a sagebrush lizard when said lizard does not want to be seen, as in the photo above.
Just about everything in Nature has some degree of camouflage going for it, either to hide it from predators, or to warn these attackers: "Hey! Lay off! I don't taste good, if you eat me I'll make you sick," like Lady Beetles and Monarch butterflies. Or just the opposite, such as Viceroy butterflies that in reality are delicious eating (ask any flycatcher), but mimic Monarchs for protection.

Bambi belongs in the wildEvery spring, it's the same old story; people kidnap fawns from the forest, seal pups from the coast, and other baby animals from their parents in the wild. No matter how often and how forceful wildlife officials say it, some people still can't seem to get it: wildlife babies are best left in the wild.
When I was working for Oregon Museum of Science and Industry, I took a group of young people down to the coast near Seal Rock to study tide pools, when I noticed a woman coming up from the beach with what appeared to be a flipper poking out from under her coat.
"Excuse me, ma'am," I said, stepping in front of her, "but are you carrying an animal under your coat?"
"No!" She blurted out, trying to get around me. I considered that the huge lump on her abdomen could be a sign she was pregnant, but then the lump and flipper moved. If she was pregnant, this was going to a big surprise for someone.
"I'm sorry, ma'am," I said, "but I think you're carrying a baby seal and if so, you're not only breaking the law, but causing a lot of problems."

Not too many years back, I received a phone call from an old pal, Millard Tope. "Jim!" he exclaimed, "You've got to come over and see this lizard … it's got the bluest tail I've ever seen!"
Millard lives only a hop, skip, and a jump from me in Cascade Estates, so I grabbed up my camera and hustled over to his home. "It's over here, under this piece of plywood," he said, pointing toward the back of his house. Lifting the plywood so we could both see his prize more clearly, he said, "Now, what is it?"
One look is all you need to recognize a juvenile Western Skink. Its four-inch body is covered with shiny glass-like scales, and the tail is the bluest blue you'll ever see. If you can believe it, it's brighter blue than even a male Mountain Bluebird – and that's really blue!

CASUALTIES to nature and man.Every day you see them dead on the highway, animals that tried to run the gauntlet and lost - cats, dogs, squirrels, mice, mule deer, elk, pronghorn, hawks, owls, eagles, and other forms of life, both domestic and wild.
There isn't much anyone can do about it either; it is the price all Life pays for the "Advance of Civilization." Even at more than $4 a gallon for fuel, we continue to drive our motor vehicles on our wonderful, paved roads. We have to. Oh sure, I suppose we could slow down a little, but that's not the American Lifestyle. We are a "Now!" "Get it Done!" generation; driving slower just doesn't fit into our way of life.
The above photo of the dead owl and gopher demonstrates a situation on our highway that is almost impossible to avoid. Great horned owls are birds of the night. That owl would have spent the day snoozing in the shade of a nice, cool juniper; when the sun dropped below the snow-capped peaks of the Cascades he'd wake up, open those magnificent, huge eyes and look for food. First things first.

Nothing is safe when an outdoor cat is on the prowl. Last week I gave the High Desert Museum the glad hand for the many things they are doing to further conservation of our natural and cultural resources. The principal subject was the excellent work they are doing with spotted owl reproduction with captive owls.
 
In my opinion, the spotted owl work the High Desert Museum is doing is akin to the art and science carried out with the (once nearly extinct) California Condor in similar institutions around the nation.
However, when it comes to carrying out conservation of wildlife that inhabits the Museum's grounds the HDM is a total flop! At this moment they are not going to get the "glad hand," but the back of my hand. Why? The Oregon High Desert Museum is allowing one of the most destructive alien species in the country, the housecat, to kill Oregon's indigenous wildlife on museum property.
Let me tell you how this all came about…

About three days before my son, Caleb, turned (who is now grown with a son of his own) 16, we were zipping along Highway 26 between Sisters and Redmond, preparing him for his check ride with the Motor Vehicle Driving Examiner. As we passed the Cline Falls Airport I spotted two young boys standing next to a sign, "Lizards and skinks for sale."
"Whoa! Caleb!" I said. "We have to go back."
"Why, Dad?" He asked. (He was asking "Why?" about everything! Now his son asks the same questions. Love it!)
"Because there are some kids back there selling lizards and skinks. That's why!"
Pulling up to the lizard sales booth, two young men about 12 years old watched us eagerly with the sense of a big sale written all over their faces.

Adult Northern Spotted Owl going home with breakfast. The Bush administration has proposed cutting 1.5 million acres of Northwest forests considered critical to the survival of the Northern Spotted Owl. On the brighter side, however, the High Desert Museum is helping to save the owls.
As if the administration's bungling of wildfires and old-growth forest mismanagement are not enough, even Mother Nature has thrown a rock through the spotted owl's window in the form of the Barred Owl, a close relative and fierce competitor. They are so closely related that mixed breeding has been reported, which has professedly produced a bird known as the "Sparred Owl."