Hey tweets, When I was a student in Chicago, I used to live next door to a
cement-lined pool where aficionados of the tiny liked to sail their model
sailboats. Some of the models were radio-controlled and could tack back and
forth across the pool for hours. It was very peaceful to sit on a park bench
and watch them, but it was disorienting, too. To the east of the pool and
well within view, was Lake Michigan, where full-sized sailors tacked their
sailboats back and forth for hours. After watching the pint-sized boats for
a while, I would lose all sense of proportion until the real boats in the
distance seemed to me to be just another set of radio-controlled toys.

I got a similar sense of unreality yesterday while driving along the Sanpoil
River Valley. Every few telephone poles, there perched on the wire a
black-chinned hummingbird, royally surveying his territory. The first time I
saw one, I thought a bit of fluff had snagged on the wire. But following the
dictum of "see every bird" (and in my case, "see every blob"), I pulled over
and viewed the fluff through my binoculars. Imagine my surprise when I found
a hummer looking regally down his long snoot at me. I swear, after I die I'm
coming back as a hummingbird so I can show proper disdain to the neocons. At
any rate, I got back in the car and stopped at the next bit of fluff, and
the next and the next. By the time I had gone three or four miles, I was
"seeing" perched tree swallows as eastern kingbirds; eastern kingbirds had
become ospreys; and ospreys might just as well have been quetzalcoatluses.

It was a good lesson in using size as a field mark. Most of us think we have
a good idea of absolute size - everyone knows how big a robin is, for
example. But size can be deceptive, especially when a bird is in the air. A
few years ago, I was part of a team that kept records of local weather
conditions. Among many data we were supposed to record each day was cloud
cover. We were supposed to note what kind of clouds could be seen from our
study area, and *how high* those clouds were. I think whoever designed the
study must have come from the Midwest, where cumulonimbus clouds stack up
like pancakes. Here in the Northwest, we get flat blankets of stratus clouds
- who knows how high they are? Or how big?

A few weeks ago, as if I needed to be reminded of this lesson, I saw a
white-flanked loon at Westport. The longer I looked at it, the thicker its
bill got. Luckily, it dived and disappeared before I could turn it into
black skimmer; unluckily, it stuck around long enough for me to think it
might, just might, be an arctic loon. No such luck - the pictures we took
were red-throated loon all the way. As the song says, "Just wishin', and
hopin', and thinkin', and prayin', planning and dreamin' each spot that you
see, Won't get you the bird it should be." Ah well.

Other birds of note on my trip around the north-central part of our lovely
state:
American Dippers at Money Creek Campground (on the west side of 2 on the way
to Stevens Pass); also Spotted Sandpipers there

Olive-sided Flycatchers at Stevens Pass; also Varied Thrush, Hermit Thrush,
Yellow-rumped Warblers, Rufous Hummingbirds

Bank Swallows at Blackbird Island in Leavenworth; also Black-headed
Grosbeaks, Gray Catbirds, Common Mergansers and plenty of Turkey Vultures

Pygmy nuthatches in a nest in a snag in front of the office at Sleeping Lady

White-headed Woodpeckers at the burn along Icicle Road; also, White-throated
Swifts

Bobolinks at Aeneas Valley Road (not abundant; I saw 8); the farmer has put
up bluebird boxes that attracted Western Bluebirds

MacGillivray's Warblers were abundant along Scatter Creek Road; also plenty
of Dusky Flycatchers in the alders

Gorgeous Williamson's Sapsuckers were easy to see at Loup Loup campground,
along with Hairy Woodpeckers and Northern Flickers. I set down my campstool
and allowed the peace of nature to descend upon me like a veiled curtain.
The smell of sweet pine baking in the sun while woodpeckers flitted from
tree to tree slowly built up a serene sanctuary from the hurly-burly of city
life. Whether created by God, evolution or both, Williamson's Sapsuckers are
a gift to the soul. - Connie, Seattle

csidles at isomedia.com