Scratcher of heads, rubber of bellies
A male ring-necked duck shows off the ring for which he is named on a rainy spring morning at Ridgefield National Wildlife Refuge. The picture is from 2011, before I started saving GPS tracks on every visit, and I can’t remember where on the refuge I took the picture.
Moving to Arizona I hoped to see a Gila monster though I knew they are rarely seen in the desert. Moving from Oregon I was sad to leave behind the rain for it is also rarely seen in the desert. Sometimes you get lucky. Up before sunrise I drove to the preserve as rain fell from darkened skies. I wondered if the trails would be crowded with people just as excited about hiking in the wet (they weren’t), even as I feared I wouldn’t see many reptiles (I didn’t, I only saw two all morning). But what two!
After getting to watch a rattlesnake in the rain at my leisure, after circling Cholla Mountain I approached the spot I had seen a Gila monster before and thought it would be funny if there was a glitch in the matrix and I saw one there again.
I didn’t. I had to take a few steps further.
As I scanned the rocks above me as the rain pounded down, there it was, my monster. Unlike with the snake my time with the Gila monster was altogether too brief. I had to move quickly but I was able to get some pictures of two of my loves together, this magnificent lizard and this glorious rain.
It was raining in the desert. Even better, I was out in it. So it was already a glorious morning when I found a jewel beside the trail, a diamond if a smaller one. I put my new Sony telephoto lens to good use although I hadn’t expected to expose it to the rain quite so early in its life as it was only my third time hiking with it.
The rattlesnake was comfortable with my presence as the rain poured down and I wasn’t about to let such an opportunity pass me by, new lens or not. My preference when shooting wildlife is for them to be aware of me and to feel in control of the encounter, usually to minimize the stress to them but in this case also to minimize the stress to me. Beautiful as they are western diamondbacks are both our largest and most common rattlesnake and worthy of respect.
As the rain intensified I noticed it calmly started sweeping its head across its coiled body. At first I thought it might be a sign it wanted to move so I backed even further off but the behavior continued, a slow graceful sweep of its head across its body. I resumed looking through the telephoto lens and realized its mouth was moving, like it was swallowing, and I wondered if it was drinking raindrops from its scales? Or cleaning them?
In the close-up shot you can see water drops on its head and even its eyes. Near the front of its head you can see one of its nostrils, and in between and below the nostril and eyes you can see the heat-sensing pit that allows them to hunt at night. After taking a break for water and food I continued on my way. May all our encounters be so peaceful little one, I pray we never meet in anger.
I discovered right away during my interview trip 21 years ago that Oregon was where I belonged. One of the managers found out I liked to hike and took me hiking in the Columbia River Gorge, then the other students and I had the weekend to go out the coast and explore whatever we wanted.
That wonderful Gorge is a half hour drive to the east. My beloved Ridgefield National Wildlife is half an hour to the north (across the river in Washington). Snow-capped Mount Hood and Mount St. Helens are visible from Portland and an easy drive too. Well known for its waterfalls and wetlands and lush forests and rugged coast, all of which I dearly love, there are also high deserts and sand dunes and even redwoods all the way south.
Scenes like this, a curious harbor seal poking up out of the surf at Yaquina Head on a rainy day at the coast, gave me as much pause about moving to Arizona as the summer heat. Oregon has so much to offer, so much that delights me, so much I will miss. Goodbye, I love you.
Ours is a world of water but not so much as theirs, particularly on days of water above and below. You should have seen the smile on my face when the rain really started chucking it down as I watched the harbor seals frolic in the surf. Water defines so much of what I love about the Pacific Northwest, the lush greens of the forests, the snow on the mountains, the waterfalls, the seasonal ponds, the wetlands, the mountain streams, the rivers, the oceans, the tide pools. All the animals therein. I’m trying to soak it in while I can in case I end up in a world still defined by water, but by its absence rather than its abundance. But I’ll love photographing those places too, I learned long ago to focus on what you love about where you are rather than what you miss about where you were.
A bear searches for food. A rain falls in fall. A meadow before the mountain.
How I wish you were real, little one. True may your Christmas wishes come.
I took the top picture of Ellie by the dragon statue at Irvington School this January after an unusually heavy snow, the bottom picture this morning in a more typical gentle rain shower. I’m deeply thankful for the year we’ve spent together and that she has been in good health (for her age). Longer walks have returned with cooler weather and new medicines, even if not quite as long as before. She walks more slowly and stiffly, gets out-of-breath much faster too, but still charms everyone she meets. You are my heart and my joy, pup, my heart and my joy.
A sooty grouse covered in drops of rain on a cold fall day in Mount Rainier National Park.
I had just arrived at the Sunrise area of Mount Rainier National Park and was taking a quick exploratory hike on the Sourdough Ridge Trail late in the day, as I had never been to that part of the park before. It was cold and raining but I found first a hoary marmot and then a group of sooty grouse on the way back to the car. My hands were soaked and cold so I was fumbling with the camera, but I watched them for as long as I could stand before continuing back to the car.
Boolie 