Making my way to Protection Island

Before I was a castaway on Protection Island for the summer, I stayed in Port Townsend, WA for several days. This area is lush with mature trees and has the rare dichotomy of both large mountains and vast ocean. There is a tangible placidity in this area of Washington. A neighboring city, Sequim, has one of the oldest populations in the United States. Nobody drives quickly. Every lawn is well-tended to. There are many drugstores. And the cops are very bored, I assume. Retired folks flock to the cities surrounding the capital, Olympia, because of the temperate climate. There are no temperature extremes of any sort, only occasional light humidity.

In some ways, Port Townsend reminded me of my hometown because there were no mainstream hotels nor chain restaurants. I became quite good friends with the young manager of the small, family owned motel that I stayed at in a matter of minutes. His well received continental breakfast consisted of black coffee and store-bought muffins. More than anything, his building was a perch for gulls, a lookout point to the marina and a back porch for the passers-by on the beach who stopped intermittently to dig for clams. I would like to go back someday, without the pleasant anxiety of my approaching field season, and let the tranquility take me.

Port Townsend was my introduction to hybrid Glaucous-winged/Western Gulls. They have many colonies around Puget Sound.

Also, I had grown rather accustomed to the dinosaurian crows in Newfoundland. If you're not familiar with the island effect, or  Foster's Rule, species on an island are oftentimes much larger than their mainland counterparts. This is mostly because of their increased access to food and habitat and decreased exposure to predators. Once in a while, this rule gets flipped on its head if indeed, the island has little food and/or many predators. In the case of Newfoundland though, the coyotes are much larger and the crows are nearly the size of ravens. The species of crow inhabiting Washington, the Northwestern Crow, is much smaller with tiny white whiskers on its face.

There was a racket outside of my motel room each morning that puzzled me for a day or two before I found these European Starlings. This pair of attentive parents always checked in on their chicks like this:

Stay tuned as I make my way across the ocean to the island in the next installment of the tale of my field season last summer.