Week 4: Snow Buntings on Me/Gray Jay Way

1/22

The Pacific Northwest winter is the most fair-weathered friend I’ve ever known. It’s like living in a world controlled by a Sour Patch Kid. I can just see him up there now, laughing diabolically as he cues in on a helpless unicyclist putting down the highway- a perfectly innocent subject for torture. He grasps the wind speed lever, coating in in sticky grains as he dials up the intensity. Meanwhile the sunshine button sits neglected and immaculate to his side. Remember buddy, you have to be sweet after your sour episode.

After a breakfast in town, I said my thank-you’s and goodbyes to the generous Hannah and Erik. And, with their production (and unicycling skills), they produced a quick departure video. The fruits of their efforts can be found here:

https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=Ma7z8-vel00

Thank you for the all-star treatment Hannah and Erik! Keep on spreading the love of birds to the people!

So I mentioned that the winds in Long Beach were the strongest that I had ever felt, right? Well that little Sour Patch Kid “caught wind” and decided that it would be funny to jinx me. The winds that night in Washington were but a Catalina breeze compared to the gales that would rock my boat today.

After riding through Cannon Beach (and inadvertently attempting to steal the key to the Puffin viewing room), I was grounded by the Pacific’s harsh and jarring wind front. It was a complete momentum killer-a brick wall.

Walking past Silver Point, I chuckled at the thought of scanning for Oystercatchers in this wind and cold rain.

Pushing onwards, I would begin to see stirring in the puddles and standing water on the roads, a signal of the grave threat of gusts scheming to kill my progress. It was like the leaves stirring in Bird Box, only instead of going psycho, I would lose control of my unicycle and be forced to throw it down on the road. That’s how strong the winds were. I literally couldn’t push my unicycle without the very air around me demanding that I toss it aside.

From there on, it was a brutal walk for miles.

Finally, after passing the Tillamook County line, I was afforded a downhill stretch to Oswald West State Park. I had been urged by numerous people to take the quick detour on foot to Short Sands. The pitiful weather surely impacted my impression of the place, although the woods were humbling.

After grabbing a quick bite from my foodstores, I walked the last stretch of uphill to the Neahkanhie Mountain overlook, rumored by some to be the most awe-inspiring view on the Oregon coast. The mountain is the highest point on the Oregon Coast, its name originating from the Tillamook language and describing the place where a god resides. Well clearly this god was not partial to my visit because my time at the overlook was not exactly enjoyable. Just to give you an idea of the intensity of the moment, a tornado had touched down in this area a day before. My main focus was to get off of that exposed precipice and down to my arranged Warmshowers stay.

The visibility worsened as I made my way down the mountain in the fog, but eventually I could ride on into town. Town for today was Manzanita, pronounced as if Sam Elliott had christened the place. I’m pretty sure you could get away with throwing an “r” on the end (Mahn-zah-kneetar).

I finally made my way to my hosts, John and Susan. Their beautiful home was a sight for sodden eyes. I quickly changed into dry clothes and initiated a much-needed laundry session.

John and Susan would treat me to a home-cooked spaghetti dinner and a showing of the beautiful handmade kayaks that they produced with their own bare hands. From there they headed to a commitment.

My intention was to occupy my time until they returned, but the exhaustion of Neahkanie’s thrashing came over me like a dose of melatonin. I was out by 8:30.

1/23

Following John and Susan’s recommendation, I relocated to a heated yurt at Nehalem Bay State Park. J&S had to head to Portland, and I’m glad that I could at least spend one comfortable night with them.

Nehalem was just a few miles from the house, and I made it in no time. As I approached the kiosk, I was confronted with a “no vacancy” sign in the yurt section. I dreaded the thought of having to ride to Garibaldi. There was the potential for me to pick up three year birds at this State Park, and one of them really got me excited.

Fortunately the sign was a false indication, and the park host was happy to accommodate me in a yurt for the night on short notice. Another night’s stay could not be guaranteed because of weekend popularity. No big deal, I’ll just knock out this target bird and be gone by morning.

The main target bird that was in mind was Snow Bunting, a bird of the far north with a preference for ridiculously desolate and harsh environs. Erik and Hannah had given me a heads-up about this locale, putting a bird on my radar that was totally unexpected for me. I had not even considered having a shot at this species along my route; it was a true bonus bird.

I stashed my effects in the yurt and appreciated the Lewis and Clark-type living that I’d experience for the night.

My first move was to head for the beach, the present haunt of the local flock of Snow Buntings. Immediately I was greeted by the ocean’s now familiar hostility. I couldn’t walk more than a few steps to the south, the grit-infused headwind effectively shielding the beach from exploration. Immediately resigned to defeat and ready to escape the unnecessary discomfort, I set my sights back on the access.

Just then, a streak of movement caught my attention. As I focused on the subject, the figure of a solitary Snow Bunting became apparent. It cruised in to the scene as if it were a Cardinal coming to the birdbath. I was dumbstruck.

Here was this target bird, sitting where I had just trod 60 seconds earlier. It was so easy that I wondered if it was a vision. It was literally the first bird that I saw on the beach.

Hell yeah. The pressure’s off, and I can just casually bird the park and appreciate the rest of my time here; no extra day necessary!

Charged by my good fortune, I set off on an ambitious route to the south jetty, using the interior corridor of the cape to escape the winds and push south. I’d walk the beach with the wind on my back to return to camp, hopefully with Snowy Plover checked off the list. I’ll save you the suspense: I didn’t add anything significant after the Bunting. But I did have a surprising find among a small patch of woods on the jetty trail.

Rhinoceros Auklet 

Seeing this bird alive would have been amazing, but I was just a tad late for this guy.

The rest of the afternoon was spent in the warmth of the yurt, savoring the dryness before walking the beach into town for dinner. Three more Snow Buntings on the Manzanita Beach provided the official appetizer to my burger dinner.

Northern Pacific Tree Frog 

1/24

The $47 yurt was a good investment. Despite having to sleep on a a sheet-less mattress that felt like sleeping on a tumbling mat, I was rested. It reminded me of fond memories staying up at Cabin Fever in the North Carolina mountains and huddling around the heater on cold nights.

Weather conditions were surprisingly good when I woke up, so I made an attempt at that third possible year bird: Wrentit. The two-and-a-half mile walk was brightened by the coy appearance of the sun. Maybe the most notable sighting of the walk was the Nehalem State Park airfield. Can you believe that a State Park has an air strip for fly-in campers?

My departure from this facility-rich campsite would not be on the wing, as fun as that would be. No I was back to the road on the uni, blazing south until I hit a wall of wind coming across the Nehalem River. Winds made my progress for a while a bit choppy, and I had to alternate between walking and riding.

But by Rockaway Beach, I was really in stride. Boy was I moving. It felt good to pass by towns and have no need to stop. Their services weren’t needed. The only business that I had was with the road.

The riding was flat, and before I knew it, I was nearly in Garibaldi, my destination for the evening. I was planning on staying two nights to catch up on blogging and planning.

A twisty upslope and need for lunch were begging me to stop, but it was the sighting of a prospective bird opportunity that really grounded me. I had stumbled across Painted Rock- a prominence among a complex of sea stacks that offered promise for some birds.

Harlequin Ducks cavorted in the surf as cormorants gracelessly alighted on the rock. I appreciated the artistry of the Harlequin’s plumage, but my true attraction was to the spread of greasy black birds that loafed above. You see there was still one cormorant at large: the Brandt’s Cormorant. Double-crested and Pelagic Cormorants made themselves obvious, so I summoned my injured scope to fish out their less obvious friend. It was a wonderful exercise in cormorant identification, and I ended up pulling three Brandt’s out of the mix for year bird #109.

I was charged coming down the hill into Garibaldi, so charged that I just breezed right through. With Garibaldi in the rearview, I celebrated my next destination. I was happy to not have to have stayed in the town that I had just passed: it seemed sleazy and industrial, complete with a Pink Floyd Animals-type smokestack.

It was only two o’clock, and I felt that I could burn through the next 10 miles to Tillamook in good time. It was a relatively easy stretch, but I was feeling the pain, causing me to adapt Bad Company’s Burnin’ Sky to a spoof that fit my present situation. “My crotch is burnin, I believe my butt’s on fireeee!”

Tillamook would bring a totally new chapter to the Oregon trip, its agricultural expanses providing opportunities for gains to the list. A man in a BMW interrupted my daydreams. His name was Eric, and he was a self-professed unicyclist back in the day, admitting to attempting stunts on a uni that I would never dare to consider. Somewhat remarkably, he was also a birder, and his amusement with my story led him to donate a $20 bill to the cause. Thank you Eric!

Between random hand-outs and the large quantities of change that I encounter on the road shoulder, I might just break even on this Big Year.

And then I saw it. A suggestion of hope on the horizon. It was a sign, bearing that telltale Christmas palate that suggested saccharine salvation in the form of one of nature’s most perfect shapes. Who could mistake it? That combination of red, green, and white was a dead giveaway for glazed seduction. My mind instantly computed the indicators: there had to be a Krispy Kreme doughnuts ahead.

But my impression fell short of the mark. Mere moments after the excitement had arrived, the insidious truth of this establishment was revealed: it was nothing more than a Sinclair gas station. I was crushed. I had just been thrown through a cravings rollercoaster. The dizziness of the experience remained, but I was left with no satisfaction. Darn you Sinclair and your imitation pattern.

Just before reaching my motel for the evening, a flock of Brewer’s Blackbirds presented themselves in a pasture bordering the sidewalk, and I gladly accepted my second year bird for the day, a shocking feat for a day devoted to travel.

A Good Omen?  

Not What I Meant by Vagrancy 

1/25

On the phone from the moment that I wake up to 10 o’ clock. This unicycle business is funny. During the off times that I can catch up with my friends and family, I’m subjected to a range of different concerns: my family wants to know if I’m okay, my friends if I’ve found anything, and random people if I’m sane.

This day was slated as the rest/admin day that I had planned for in Garibaldi. But fate would make it much more productive.

Fuel for the morning was provided by the motel. I was free to pick from a variety of knock-off cereals, among which were Apple Zings, Berry Colossal Crunch, Cinnamon Toasters, and Coco Roos. It doesn’t take a strong imagination to reveal their inspirations. Cereal was supplemented with a honeybun from a variety of plastic-packed sugary pastries. I was already ready for lunch.

A man back in Raymond, Washington told me that I had to make it up to the Tillamook Dairy for a bite to eat, so I did just that. En route I spotted another year bird, a lone Great Egret. Tillamook was like an unexplored wilderness for birds for me. Brewer’s Blackbirds roamed the grounds of the dairy like extras in a movie.

After my lunch, I walked to the nearby hotspots of Suppress and Boquist Roads, on a whim and partly to procrastinate returning to the motel and my date with the keyboard.

Boy was that a good decision. The minute I set foot on Suppress Road, I was catapulted into an active mixed flock. I enjoyed a novel combination of the regulars as they treated me to eye level views in this wetland.

Suddenly a songbird with a flashy pink bill caught my attention. My brain computed the image instantly. It was a friggin Harris’s Sparrow! Now it may not sound like much, but this is an uncommon sparrow that I certainly did not anticipate seeing on the year. It was yet another bonus bird! What made the experience even more gratifying was that the two previous experiences that I had with the bird were at backyard feeders, never just out and about!

Fortunately I wasn’t too absorbed in the sighting to miss the Merlin that shot by my feet just feet away, darting like a missile over the wetland and swooping up to briefly survey the scene from a large Fir. Seeing this falcon in this scenario was like watching IMAX.

I finished off the loop, capping off the list with an incredibly cooperative perched Peregrine Falcon. Clearly the falcon feature had not concluded. I never see Peregrines chilling in a mid-sized tree this close. It’s the kind of views that I imagine the ornithologists describing our nation’s avifauna must have encountered regularly with our birds.

The rest of the day could only pale in comparison to these exciting events.

1/26

Time to leave this town. Tillamook has been good to me birdwise and recharge-wise. But it’s also stinky, and it’s time to move on. This is the third day in a row that has been nice and very conducive to riding. Such days are so precious in the Northwest winter that I often feel conflicted about how I can make the most of the good weather. Is my time best spent riding, birding, or just enjoying the weather? It reality it doesn’t really matter much, as long as I’m being productive. Moving days will be moving days, and I’ll bird when I can. Good weather is just a bonus.

My prep for departure was achieved with the help of the latest episode of Ed Unicycles the USA. The southeastern US imagery for this installment ignited my sentimental spirits. I would channel this emotion for my next stretch.

I was so anxious to get underway that I did not even review my route for a final time. But I knew that I would be continuing on the Oregon Coast Bike Route and that signs would point the way. Plus I loosely knew where I was going. I was gone before check-out time.

I blazed south on 101, briefly stopping south of Tillamook to check out a massive congregation of Cackling Geese and ducks. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen anything like it; it’s how I imagine the central flyway in peak migration appears. I wouldn’t have stopped except I spotted a light goose among the Cackling that demanded closer inspection. Either Snow or Ross’s Goose would be a year bird. After stopping on the shoulder and pulling out my binoculars, the whole flock took off, rendering an id of the goose impossible. I could have spent hours picking through this waterfowl buffet, but the poor condition of my scope and a desire to cover some miles convinced me otherwise.

The miles ticked by quickly as I cruised down the flat and wide shoulder of 101. Before I knew it I was at my point of divergence from the highway, following the bike route back to the coast and to my next destination, Pacific City.

I veered right at Sandlake Road, which was a beautiful and low-trafficked backroad. The first stretch of the road was so clean and smooth that the shoulder begged me to pull over and each my lunch right off of the road’s surface. The water in the ditch appeared crystalline and thirst-quenching.

Don’t worry, I did not give in to either of these impulses. Clearly I just had some weird attraction to the road going on.

There was some hilliness to the road, but the gradation was perfect for me to keep on powering through, and I stopped very few times because the riding was so enjoyable. The only stint that I had to walk was the hill just south of Tierra del Mar. Another Haystack Road appeared over the point, initially making my progress seem like an illusion. Its resemblance was uncanny, but this stack is actually called Chief Kiawanda Rock.

Tough Choice 

Less than three hours from my departure, I was descending into Pacific City, having traveled a respectable 26 miles. Man was it freeing not to have to look at my phone for the trip. I felt in control of my destination, and I was not obsessing over mileage or the time.

I rode in to my motel destination, the Surf and Sand Inn, the best motel that I have seen so far on the trip.

Following a recommendation from the manager, I walked over to Beach Wok, a sit-in stir fry place. It was exactly what I needed. I chowed down on some yummy stir fry as a groovy playlist of KC and the Sunshine Band, Taste of Honey, and others floated through the restaurant. Great vibes.

Pacific City was quick to impress. Riding off of my high, I made my way on foot to Cape Kiwanda State Park, which I kept transmogrifying in my mind into Kiwanuka SP. I don’t think they would name a State Park in Oregon after a contemporary British musician.

Charismatic Megafauna

The main target here was Black Oystercatcher, a potential life bird. As I made my way out onto the beach, weather conditions deteriorated. A dead sea lion on the shore served as a warning to all of the perils of the Pacific. Even as a lifeless mass, this marine mammal intimidated me. It was my first chance to inspect one of these beauties at close range, and it seemed so alien, like if a submarine and a pig had a baby. The flippers were just wild. It honestly looked like a kid doodled an animal and it came to life.

I promptly ignored the sea lion’s caution and made my way for the cape. In scanning the rocks, I picked out two plump, jet black figures with blood red bills: Black Oystercatchers. The looks were poor due to intensifying conditions, but they were satisfactory for life looks.

With my target in the bag, I decided to press onwards, hoping for better views from the cliff overhang. Standing on top of the cape, I began to fully appreciate the uniqueness of the site. There must be some unusual geology going on here...

It was like if Great Sand Dunes and Red Rocks melded together and met the avant-garde sculpting abilities of the Pacific. Painted rocks were being thrashed by the sinister blue-tinged waves, creating an interesting matrix of shoreline that ranged from caves to exposed rock to shifting dunes.

I found myself amidst a torrential rainstorm/sandstorm. For a moment I was legitimately concerned that I was going to get blown off of this point. My pockets began to fill with sand rapidly, and I was forced to make my escape. But facing the storm was impossible, so I had to backtrack in reverse to avoid the stinging sands.

I felt like a mud minnow that had been lured into a minnow trap, propelled by the promise of raw hot dog meat but quickly ensnared due to foolish tunnel vision.

The only way that I could escape from this funnel was literally to walk backwards until I could make my way back down to the beach, which is exactly what I did. I was physically soaked for the walk back to the motel, but hey, I had a new bird to show for it ;).

Meet me tonight in Pacific City.

1/27

Today’s adventure was Nestucca Bay NWR, a small parcel of National Wildlife Refuge just 5 miles south of town. Gray Jays had been reported here periodically in the past, and this seemed like one of my best opportunities to get this species on the year.

It was nice to ride the lightweight unicycle again, despite the morning’s drizzle. Upon arriving to the parking area, I stashed my ride and keyed in on a flock of Red Crossbills: a good sign for the search for alpine birds.

I made my way up to the ridgeline and began to walk the loop stealthily, hoping to catch the Jays in a candid moment.

With the failure of that tactic, I switched gears. Whistling the Sabre Dance and the Nickelodeon theme obnoxiously, I hoped to garner the curiosity of these intelligent beings. Eventually I arrived at a picnic area, and I was sure the bird in question had to have been nearby. Often referred to as “camp robbers,” these corvids have learned to score easy meals at outdoor locations where people tend to dine.

But all I found was a heavier rain, a sign I interpreted as a nudge to head back to cover. I resigned to defeat in the search, departing Nestucca with a respectable 37 species list.

Weather was worse for the day’s remainder, and I relished in the warmth of my motel shelter. I saved up my energy for the next days ride and gorged on yet another delicious meal at Beach Wok.

1/28

Today was a great day. I made my way out of Pacific City in a bit of a drizzle. I was met with the same minor headwind that has appeared on my last few rides. My first stint was along a route that I had blazed yesterday to visit the National Wildlife Refuge. It wasn’t long before I was in uncharted territory, climbing a gradual ascent. I made it all the way to Neskowin without a hitch and was proud of myself for sticking with it.

Just past Neskowin, I detoured to Slab Creek Road at the suggestion of the bike map that John, my Warmshowers host from Manzanita, had gifted me.

The beginning of the road was really nice and smooth, and it was clear not many people had any business waiting for them on this backroad. Gradually, the road’s condition worsened, and the gradual incline, or “gentle grade,” as the bike map puts it, continued. Nearing the top of one hill in a long stretch of climbing, I put my head down and tried to knock it out. A Jay chatter seemed suggestive and worthy of investigation, but I continued onwards, hellbent on defeating this hill.

That is, before a Gray Jay floated in front of my at eye level, its angelic grace stopping me in my tracks. After yesterday’s failed, yet diligent effort at tracking one of these guys down at the small holdout NWR population, this sighting was a true blessing. I admired the specimen, its shaggy dress the result of nature’s shower. Soon more would appear, sharp subjects worthy of immortalizing capture.

Their calls reminded me of Cardinal vocalizations. A brief pishing session activated their curiosity. Within seconds, the whole clan of these curious gems made themselves visible. In all, ten birds filtered out from the safety of the woods. Their sentinel continued watch as the flock came in to inspect me, opting for interest in place of caution.

What a rare and beautiful interaction with these intelligent creatures. And I actually spotted one while on the unicycle!! Following this sighting, I have seen the three main groups of this species: Rocky Mountains, Taiga, and now Pacific.

Intensifying rain brought an end to the dream, so I headed up the last bit of hill to ride on.

I rode for another bit of the road before it became too difficult. So I made my way to the crest of the hill on foot amid incredible forest scenery. On the leeward side of the hill, I broke for lunch. I was grateful that the rain could allow the spectacular beings in my surroundings to exist. The trees were just so majestic and impressive that nothing but being a witness to their might could sum up the scene.

The rainy lunch put a bit of a chill in me, and I reverted to riding with my insulated rain coat. I hadn’t done that in a while because mild conditions had induced sweating. The remainder of the road was gnarly, and I had to play it like Zac Brown. I channeled my mountain unicycling skills, picked my lanes, and weaved down to level ground. It was somewhere in this stretch that my week long occupation of Tillamook County came to an end. I had unknowingly entered Lincoln County, its boundary not signaled in any way on this infrequently traveled route.

Just like that and I was in Lincoln City, an un-refreshing reentry into civilization. I checked into a Motel 6 that was laid out like hospital or penitentiary, and it wreaked like a locker room. It’s the kind of place that you want to leave as soon as you arrive. But it’ll save you money.

I made a dinner run to a chain that the family and I had visited in Olympia. Something felt familiar about it, and I finally put two and two together to make that connection.

Back at my room in Motel 6, I took a bath. Yeah right... the only people that have been in this bathtub have long since been washed down the drain in a sulfuric acid solution. Okay...it’s not that bad. But I’m surely glad to be moving on.