Watching Washington Butterflies with Bob Pyle: Number Thirty Five

Having conducted the first U. S. Butterfly Big Year in 2008 (Mariposa Road), and feeling like I’d like to do it again (but not THAT big!) I decided to do a Washington Big Year in 2017/2018. I have reported the results in the past three columns. Now, a few months out, I’d like to share some thoughts in the aftermath that might be helpful to anyone con- templating her or his own big year (God save them!), and may be of interest to others in their regular watching.

First, to update my results: in the last column, # 34, I reported that I’d tallied 127 species out of our currently recognized total of 153 residents and regular or occasional visitors. Since then, I have sat down with Jonathan Pelham in the Burke Museum to certify my results. We examined all of my records and voucher specimens. (I counted mostly by sight, catch-and-release, or voucher; having helped to pioneer butterfly photography in WWB, I gave it up when it went digital. I find life simpler this way, and records are incontrovertible with a voucher behind them.) Commander Pelham confirmed nearly all of my voucher specimens (which then went into the Burke collection) , including both Northwest and Atlantis Fritillaries and my Okanogan County record of the Long Dash Skipper, all from Moses Meadows. But a couple of specimens failed the Pelham-o-meter, costing me one species to be deducted from the tally. Most regrettably, that species was the Nevada Skipper, which I thought I had found for my first time in Washington, at the classic locality on Umtanum Ridge. That followed the most vile drive of the year, of many horrid drives. I was appalled when JPP took a look and declared my voucher to be a male Juba Skipper, with a slightly more offset terminal spot than most. Well, rats. I almost destroyed the Subaru for a Juba. But, on the plus side, I’d also found Western Green Hairstreaks (Callophrys affinis) up there, and I have Hesperia nevada to look forward to. Next time I’m going to make Jon take me up there himself, in his Jeep!

So I lost one species, but I’d done my arithmetic wrong anyway, so I still end up with 127 species: 21 of 29 skippers, 9 of 9 swallowtails, 14 of 18 whites and sulphurs, 5 of 7 coppers, 16 of 18 hairstreaks, 17 of 19 blues, 1 of 1 metalmark, 1 of 1 milkweed, 15 of 16 fritillaries, 12 of 16 true nymphs, 9 of 10 checkers and crescents, and 7 of 9 satyrs. So that’s 26 species to go for when David Branch and I try to find “the ones that got away” in 2019, and a bar of 127 species for anyone who decides to try to surpass it-which shouldn’t be all that hard.

Why do a Big Year? After all, it takes a lot of planning, time, gas, and effort. One must organize life around this one goal, to do a proper job of it. So what’s in it for you?

For some, it is the draw of competition, breaking a record, and meeting a goal. You get a sense of that in the book and movie, The Big Year (Steve Martin and Jack Black playing bird tickers?? They actually do a darned good job.) Competition didn’t interest me, and in fact I had none, neither nationally nor for the state year, since no one had done them before. My only competitors were the calendar, the clock, and the clouds. But if you enjoy a good competitive game, I have given you something to shoot for: 128 or more species.

For me, the greatest virtue of the Big Year is the accelerated learning curve it both provides and demands. I learned so much on both of my Big Years, U.S. and home state. I know all these butterflies, their behavior, distribution, and ecology, better than I did before. Second is being outside, seeing something beautiful and wonderful every day you go out. This is a gift of the Big Year. Though you don’t need a Big Year to venture forth, being committed to one ensures that you get your butt out there into the field, probably more than you would otherwise-and the beautiful and wonderful part just follows as a matter of course.

Third, getting to know the state we live in, study, and love. I drove Washington roads I’d never driven before (which are getting hard to find!), hiked trails I’ve never hiked (which is easier), and revisited beloved places not seen for a long time. Many of them brought back great trips I’d taken with Thea. I felt that I reconnected with Washington in a way I hadn’t for years.

Fourth, health. I suffered a health crisis in the middle of my Big Year, and wasn’t sure I would be able to complete it. But I did, was outdoors walking almost every day, and gained strength all along. I am much healthier for it now.

I’m sure there are many other compelling reasons as well as these. But in the remaining space, let me share some tips from what I did right and did wrong along the way.

• Don’t feel you must go January 1st-December 31st, the way most birding big years are conducted! For butterflies in the North, that makes no sense. Unless you are unusually good at finding immatures, the calendar year would make for a very boring beginning and ending here. My choice was to go between my 70th and 71st birthdays. I began with the capture of the Variegated Fritillary at 3 p.m. on July 19, 2017 in the Okanogan, and finished with Hesperia comma as the clouds cleared in the Olympics on the afternoon of July 19, 2018. A later starting date might be ideal, giving you more of the second summer to track down those that have eluded you so far.

• Remember that you need an odd year to find the Astarte Fritillary, and an even one for the Great Arctic.

• Use other people as well as digital aids to the extent you are comfortable with them. I gratefully accepted the assistance (= used) Caitlin LaBar, Dan Nelson, David James, Jon Pelham, David Droppers, and of course my field buddy David Branch, among others, in getting to key habitats and finding critical species. I dispensed with GPS, etc., in favor of DeLorme and UFS maps in the field, but I did employ Google Earth a lot in advance research. Suit yourself.
• Sure, do visit tried and true places and famous localities where you know you’ll be likely to tick off certain species. However, also be sure to try new places, where you can not only be surprised, but also come up with new records of occurrence that will make Brother Pelham very happy. A new county record puts a special glow on the end of a satisfying day in the field.
• And as for those records, always keep precise notes of where and when you encounter each species. That way your observations become true data, not just ephemeral anecdotes or curios. Whether T/R/S, lat/long, or careful textual descriptions, capture as much location detail as you can. The goal is to situate the butterfly on the landscape with precision, and to be able to return to the same site. It may take a while to transcribe all your notes so as to turn in the records (I’m still working on it!), but do it. You will illuminate entirely new quanta of knowledge.
• As for ID: Voucher specimens are the best and most definitive basis for records. But if you are disinclined that way, be prepared to take detailed notes of field marks, and/or get really definitive photographs, in the wild or in hand, both dorsal and ventral if possible. If your camera doesn’t automatically record date and GPS reading for every image, then make sure that you do. That way, no argument. For example, see Melanie Weiss’s fine cover photo of an apparent hybrid anglewing. This is an important finding that her careful photographic documentation makes possible to record. A voucher might allow DNA analysis as well, but the image alone tells the basic story clearly. Or how about David Branch’s astonishing catch of a perfect female Coral Hairstreak atop Slate Peak in fierce wind, one of the true high points of the year? A picture was impossible under the conditions, but the voucher made the extraordinary record history.

• Be aware that the weather, shifting flight periods with warming climate, drought, flood, fire, washouts, et cetera, et cetera, will let you down over and over. But don’t let them get you down. Hope must spring eternal, or at least each morning. What will I find today? It could be good!

• And just because the early spring weather is crappy, don’t let it keep you from getting out there anyway! The greenies don’t care-they’ll pop regardless of early rain and wind on the steppes and coulees. I failed to cross the mountains early enough in April because of poor forecasts, and as a result I missed the Desert Marble-just as I had on the BIG Big Year ten years ago (you’d think I’d have learned better). You can bet I’ll be out there this coming April, rain or no…and it’s not that far off!

• Try to get into some unrecorded corners and wilderness areas, requiring some real effort but paying disproportionate rewards. Many off-road areas in Washington have simply not been sampled for butterflies. See my next column, expanding on this idea.

• Be prepared to be surprised constantly, and make sure to have a lot of fun. It’s just not worth doing if it isn’t fun. Like when I had a four-Vanessa evening atop Steptoe Butte, every species of lady in the state swirling about me altogether at sunset-now, that was fun!

In short, I urge anyone to whom the idea appeals to try a Butterfly Big Year. You’ll have a ball. Do I hear 130? 135? Good luck!

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