January 11, 2025
Vanport
Sometime in the middle of the night I reached for the iPad, put it down on the floor where its light hopefully won’t disturb Rachael, and crack it open. I’m not checking to see if I have had an eye stroke this time though. Rather, I am looking up the latest checklists posted on eBird out at Hayden Island, the bar in the Columbia that includes Jansen beach and over which the interstate bridge crosses. The weather for the coming day is promising, so are the latest checklists, so after the morning routine the Raven and I are headed north.
For most of the way I follow our standard bike route to the Columbia: across the Burnside, north on Williams; but instead of continuing north to Dekum and turning east there we turn on Rosa Parks because beyond that there’s a short pedestrianized gate to protect the neighborhood ahead.
Instead of continuing east to 33rd and its bypass over Lombard I turn north on MLK (Highway 99, the original interstate along the pacific coast that predates I-5) and follow it until I come to the merge onto the freeway, something unavoidable to cross the channel onto Hayden Island. But I’m never actually on the big, bad, scary freeway itself. I’m just on the on-ramp and stay on it to the next off ramp to the island. I’ve picked a great route for myself.
Hayden Island is a bit like old Gaul and divided into three parts. The eastern third, which I head for first, is primarily residential, some of it in attractive spreads with restricted access and with parking restricted for residents. I park the Raven at the end of the public access, and proceed to walk the public loop that surrounds this private complex and includes the path along the water that rounds the eastern tip of the island. A roughly half mile loop, on a path that’s scenic, peaceful, and very popular with walkers, their dogs if they have them, runners, Canadians, and birders. There are always new eBird checklists showing up from here, listing a walking distance of about half a mile. Its a very pleasant morning - overcast and cool, but there’s very little breeze so I’m perfectly comfortable as I walk into it.
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They can take off, eh?
3 days ago
There really is a lot of luck in birding though, and for whatever reason I’m not here on a great day. The only birds I see on the Columbia itself are one raft of scoters, geese, and a few cormorants. Overhead are many more geese and the occasional crow, or gull, but really that’s it. There aren’t the various grebes I hoped for or a Barrow’s goldeneye, but I’ll give another look when we’re back in March.
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It’s a different story though when I round the point and start walking along the channel. Now there are birds popping up here and there: mallards, coots and pied-billed grebes mostly, but there is one bird I’m especially pleased with - a goldeneye that I misidentify as a Barrows because I apparently have always had the two goldeneyes backwards. I learn this from Steve and Dotie, with whom I’ve started trading bird photos. They point out it’s according to Merlin it’s a commoner and not a Barrows. I’m at the point of insisting that I’m right when I decide I’d better double check first and realize I’ve always flipped them in my head, the male common goldeneyes have the round white spot, while the Barrows have a paisley-shaped one.
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There’s a bit of panic when I get back to where I think I’ve left the Raven and he’s not there. I’ve got the Canon on me so I zoom in on every car on the street and confirm he’s not among them. So next I pull up the map and see there are a couple of other candidate streets to check out and eventually he shows up. So that’s good. It would be embarrassing to have to tell Our friends that I lost the Raven so soon after he was returned to us. Worse than a pair of glasses.
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5 days ago
5 days ago
It’s just lightly misting when I get back to the car so I think my time is about up and I should head home to start packing for the flight. First though I can at least drive over to the point on the west end and check it out too unless the weather turns foul before then.
It’s not at all easy to find my way to the west-end path. There’s a network of streets there too, with all but one of them blocked off by another private development. The west end of Hayden Island is largely residential like the eastern tip, but the character is different - here, it’s a large attractive mobile home park. There’s exactly one road that goes through to the tip, where it dead ends at the footpath. I park the car here because I don’t see any private parking signs, and start walking the trail around this point too. Its nice that the showers have ceased for the moment.
There are quite a few smaller birds on the side streets, but again there’s hardly anything on the water itself. The only show really is a long line of Canadians, standing peacefully in a row admiring the view across the water to Washington. I decide to stand behind them on the path and wait until my presence scares them off and I can catch them taking flight. But they won’t budge, even as I shuffle their direction and make a variety of sounds to startle them. Nothing works. They’re implacable and unflappable and I finally give up. I’m on the grass now as it’s starting to slope toward the river, so that’s a hazard. Or one of these animals could decide he’s had enough and peck me in the good eye, so I back off.
But then they decide it’s time for a walkabout, and they all start shuffling away, west toward the point. And then they recongregate, but it’s different this time. There’s some chatter, some tentative flapping of wings, so they’re getting ideas. Might as well wait a few minute more and see what happens.
And then suddenly they’re off. Maybe they’re triggered by the whistle of the train that’s just crossing the bridge, or maybe it’s just time. Who knows what mysteries lurk in the brains of birds?
But then it’s time to head back to the car, with two things propelling me. One, my shin splints are still with me - apparently that ten mile hike was pushing the limit - and I’m really ready to get off my feet. And just as importantly, I have to go to the bathroom. It’s really pretty bad, and I didn’t plan ahead.
So both of these are problems, but the worst one is still to come when I get to where I left the car and it’s gone. I can’t believe it, really. I’ve no doubt it is here, right next to the path, right across the street from a driveway. Did my presence piss someone off and they called to have me rowed in the last half hour? I check the signs along the street again, even pulling out the zoom to pan the entire length of the street for any no parking signs I might have missed.
As I’m standing there an elderly couple walks up, on their way to the walking path. I flag them down, explain my situation, ask if they’ve seen the car, ask if cars get towed here. They can’t imagine that might have happened, but suggest that maybe I’ve got the wrong street. They take my phone number and say they think they can remember the license plate, and will call me if they spot it.
So I walk off, as quickly as I can but as slowly as I must. Fast, because I’m alarmed and I really do have to go to the bathroom; and slow because my shin splint on my right leg is killing me. As I walk I become increasingly sure it’s been stolen, marveling at what a bitter irony that would be. For one thing of course, we’ve only just gotten it back. Also though, in a decision we haven’t announced yet, we’re thinking we’re going to let the Raven go before long and start going carless - probably after I no longer have to keep returning to Portland for medical follow ups.
But then just two nights ago I’m walking home and the phone rings. It’s Shawn, and he opens with ‘do you want the bad news first, or the bad news. I bite and take the bad news for a hundred, but it’s more than that. His engine is going out on his Hyundai, which apparently are notorious for aging poorly in cold climates.
So the solution is obvious. He needs a car, we have a good car we don’t need any more. He plans on flying out to Portland with the girls in late March when the weather is better and then drive it back to Minnesota.
So yes, it will be ironic if the car gets stolen now. At least maybe we can salvage something from a claim against the insurance policy.
But then I turn the corner and see the Raven far down at the end of a different street, right next to the path. Apparently there are two of these streets, and I apparently walked past this one without looking up.
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We have friends who married late in life. His first marriage at perhaps 40 at the time. At the time of the story, I'd say he was 65, she 55. Phil thinks Ruthie makes the sun rise. He cannot do too much for her. She was car shopping, and found a lightly used Shelby Mustang. It was still quite pricy, and Ruthie decided to think about it while she was visiting friends over the weekend.
Phil knew such a nice car might be purchased by someone else over the weekend, and decided not to take that chance. He would surprise Ruthie by having the car sit in the driveway when she gets home. That sounds like a nice surprise, but Ruthie was so, so angry that Phil had purchased her car out from under her. There was no explaining that 'he' didn't want her car, it was there for Ruthie.
To complicate matters, Phil had traded in his car on the Mustang, with their agreement being he would take over Ruthie's old car. Several days passed. There was no convincing Ruthie that he had good intentions. Phil went back to the dealer and bought back his own car! They did not take pity on him, he was charged the mark up price.
Phil thought Ruthie would come around and drive the Mustang. Nothing doing. She eventually bought a bright yellow VW Bug. The Shelby sat in the garage for several YEARS. Eventually Phil tired of making payments on a car Ruthie wouldn't drive. He went back to the same dealer, and they took the Shelby on consignment.
That's the back story - here's the stolen car story. The car was stolen out of the dealer parking lot! Phil had signed paperwork saying the dealer wasn't at fault for any damage, etc. which meant he had to make a claim on his insurance when the car was stolen. After the appropriate amount of time passed (a month?), his insurance paid off. Phil finally had a happy part to the story, as the insurance paid more than he would have gotten if the dealer had sold the car.
The very end of the story is that the Shelby was eventually found down by the river a couple of times over. Someone had taken it joy riding.
5 days ago
3 days ago
Almost simultaneously with me spotting the car, the phone rings. It’s the couple I just spoke with. They’re on the bike path beside my car, telling me it’s been located. So I start walking, more slowly now because the leg really is a problem at the moment. I’m almost at it when a Subaru Outback or the like passes me and parks opposite the Raven. The driver, a woman, opens the back to show that it’s crammed with odds and ends and pulls out a walker, looks at me with sympathy for my obvious disability and offers it to me free of charge. I thank her for her kindness but it’s really just shin splints and then get in the car and drive east because there’s still this other concern - I really do have to go to the bathroom.
By now it’s started raining pretty hard so I’m obviously going home and I’m trying to gauge whether I can hold off that long when I remember there’s that third section of the island, the Jantzen Beach Mall. Surely there’s a Starbucks in there somewhere, and they’ll have access to a bathroom. I’ll go there, do that, and then have a snack before driving back.
And the plan works. It’s a small place inside the Target store, with only two tables, one of which is occupied. I claim the empty one, ask the occupants to watch my stuff and then dash around the corner.
Afterwards I sit down enjoying my hazelnut steamer and browsing my phone when I realize I’ve been listening to a monotonous drone of an unbroken one-sided conversation. One of the three is from Salt Lake City, is an LDS minister, and is on a mission. The other two just sit there and nod from time to time.
Now that it’s been heard it can’t be unheard so a minute later I’m off to the car, taking the rest of my steamer with me to finish on the drive home. So that covers the morning.
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When I walk back to the car though, I’m surprised to see that conditions have charged while I was inside. The rain has stopped, and when I look west there’s a band of blue coming upriver in my direction. I knew improvements later in the afternoon were expected, but not yet. Maybe the rain concentrated and came in early?
So there’s one more spot I want to check out as long as I’m here: Vanport, almost directly across the channel from here. Ten minutes later I pull up at Force Lake just this side of the golf course and sit on a concrete barrier beside the lake to see what drifts by. It’s not a great day at this spot - the wood ducks aren’t in for instance, but it’s still well worth the stop:
And then I move on to the golf course where Vanport once existed until it was washed away in a flood. The golf course is always a good spot for geese and gulls, but I’ve also seen raptors here - like the bald eagle and red-tail I saw from the other side of the course from the path along the slough.
There are no raptors to be seen, but there’s rapture. It has turned into a glorious evening, the light is amazing, and suddenly I realize it’s all come together. Seeing is back; people are back, biking is back, driving is back, music is back, cinema is back, the panoramas are back, birding is back. And nothing adverse happens to spoil this glorious glow. I didn’t lose the car, or get hit in my good eye by a golf ball on the driving range, or slip in the mud and spoil my new a blue Pendleton or camera, or wet my pants. Life is back.
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It could be better still of course. I saw no wood ducks, eagles, or raptors of any kind. but you never want to ask for too much lest you anger the Gods and they smite thee down.
There’s more to say about the rest of the day, but let’s stop here. The rest is really about getting packed for the flight anyway, so I’ll bundle it together with tomorrow’s interesting day. Correct that. Tomorrow’s is one last good story day for the road.
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5 days ago
5 days ago
Next, with all the hype about Canada lately, it took me a moment to realize that the obstinate "Canadians" were birds, and not us. It's a sensitive point, because we are preparing to take to the backwoods with our (imported) Swiss Army knives to defend our homeland.
And tension was high as you left the Starbuck's, in case the Raven was again hiding.
Finally, Dodie felt she had made several comments through the narrative, and I could see but one, at the end. I think she dreamed it (usually reads this stuff in the middle of the night). Anyway, thanks for the many really nice shots, and the story to read before we go out in our own VW, looking for Canadians (in the mall, and everywhere), and if we go to Starbuck's the "Cacklers" that invariably sit at the next table!
5 days ago
4 days ago