Ohio Birds and Biodiversity

Canvasbacks, by Adam Grimm. Grimm's artwork will grace the newest Duck Stamp

Duck Stamps evidence that good can come from bad

The Columbus Dispatch
Sunday, October 6, 2013

NATURE
Jim McCormac

On May 9, 1934, a dust storm of Armageddon-like magnitude roared through the Great Plains, tossing tons of dirt skyward. The drought- stricken area was in the midst of the Dust Bowl, and its sun-baked soil was swirling aloft in great black clouds.

Chicago, well to the east, was coated with an estimated 6,000 tons of windblown earth.

The human toll from the Dust Bowl was great, and so was the cost to wildlife. Ducks, already hammered by unregulated hunting and wetland losses, were battered by the Dust Bowl. Conservation-minded people became alarmed by the decline in waterfowl populations.

In 1934 — the same year as the epic storm that grimed the Windy City — the Federal Migratory Bird Hunting and Conservation Stamp was launched. It has since become better known as the Duck Stamp.

Purchasing a stamp was — and is — required to hunt waterfowl, but hunters almost universally supported the stamp’s creation even if it was a tax on their sport.

The Duck Stamp is one of the most successful conservation strategies in history. In the 80 years since its inception, the stamp has generated more than $800 million, which has been used to purchase or lease more than 6 million acres of prime habitat — an area larger than New Jersey. The U.S. Fish & Wildlife Service has been a competent manager of Duck Stamp money: 98 cents of every dollar goes to land acquisition.

Habitats purchased by stamp money help ducks, but that’s not all. One-third of federally endangered and threatened plants and animals are supported by Duck Stamp purchases.

Ohioans needn’t travel far to see proof of duck-driven biodiversity. About 89 percent of the Ottawa National Wildlife Refuge near Toledo was bought with stamp dollars. The refuge harbors ducks galore but also least bitterns, leopard frogs, bronzed copper butterflies, Eastern fox snakes, wild rice and more. It’s also one of the most popular bird-watching locales in the Great Lakes region.

The inaugural Duck Stamp featured a beautiful painting of a pair of mallards by Jay “Ding” Darling, the stamp’s architect. This established the framework of original artworks selected by a jury. The 1934 stamp cost $1; the 2013 stamp, $15. Today, a mint 1934 stamp is worth about $600.

It’s a huge honor for an artist to win the stamp art contest. To date, 59 artists have done so, with only a dozen winning multiple times.

On Sept. 28, Elyria native Adam Grimm entered an artistically rarefied atmosphere when his painting of a pair of canvasbacks was selected for the 81st Duck Stamp. He had won in 2000 at age 21 with his rendering of a mottled duck. Grimm walks the talk: He invested earnings from his art into habitat restoration at the Ottawa refuge.

Anyone interested in nature can also help by buying a stamp. You’ll never spend a better 15 bucks.
For more information, visit www.fws.gov/duck stamps.

Naturalist Jim McCormac writes a column for The Dispatch on the first and third Sundays of the month. He also writes about nature at www.jimmccormac. blogspot.com.

The Riverbank Grape, Vitis riparia, one of our most common native plants. Unless you're a wine connoisseur, chances are you don't much care for wild grape. Most foresters certainly don't. They all too often regard the plant as a leafy vining scourge; a clambering liana that engulfs "better" plants like a vegetative amoeba. CLICK HERE and you'll see a bulletin from the Ohio State University's Extension Office that attempts to make the case that grapes are noxious, and alert interested parties to their perils. They make reference to "abandoned vines only", but I'm not sure what that means. Most grapevines, and the best most productive grapevines (using my criteria) certainly appear abandoned, untended, and thoroughly unkempt.

This is a close relative of grape, and another member of the Vitaceae family, Virginia Creeper, Parthenocissus quinquefolia. When it turns brilliant red in fall, people will take notice and ooh and aah, but for the rest of the growing season it's a meager notch or two above grape on the botanical social scale.

Yet these two species are highly productive when it comes to contributing to food webs, and play host to some of our most interesting herbivores. Birds galore feast on their fruit, or dine on the legions of insects that feed on the plants. Many insects, in fact, are totally wedded to plants in the grape family. Cerulean Warblers, recognizing the treasure trove of food spawned by grape tangles, seem to be rather intimately associated with grapes during the breeding season, even using the shreddy bark of the vines for nest construction.

Not long ago, some of us were poking around a scruffy woodlot in northern Ohio, when someone spotted this beast. On a grapevine. They paged me, and upon arrival I was pleased to see a beautiful Pandorus Sphinx caterpillar, Eumorpha pandorus. These tubular little grape specialists are cool by almost any reckoning, resembling little cylindrical terriers complete with stubby tail.

Only ten or fifteen away, on the same patch of grape, was a bigger, more mature Pandorus Sphinx. Caterpillars such as this go through five molts, or instar phases, before reaching maturity, and each instar can look quite different.

Caterpillars are eating machines, and this Pandorus was laying waste to the grape. It wouldn't have been too long after this photo was taken that the cat entered its pupa/cocoon stage. It will ride out the winter in that form.

If all goes well for the sphinx, this is what it will emerge as next year - an adult Pandorus Sphinx moth. They're jumbos, and this one was on the front of my office building in a very urban part of Columbus. But we've got some grounds which sport an unkempt woody patch with its share of wild grape, and with just a bit of habitat and host plants, such cool animals can be produced even in the asphalt jungle.

A few weeks back, I was in the wilds of Kentucky and did a lot of nocturnal prowling, as that's what it takes to find lots of caterpillars (and other COOL STUFF). We encountered an especially lush patch of Riverbank Grape, and like all good caterpillar-hunters, I paid close attention to the tangled vines. It wasn't long before one of our party let out a shriek - they had found a very cool cat indeed!

This shy little beast is a Beautiful Wood-Nymph caterpillar, Eudryas grata, and it is another in a long line of grape specialists.

Here's what it will grow up to be - quite a different animal than the caterpillar! Adult Beautiful Wood-Nymph moths are topnotch bird dropping mimics.

Further searching of the same Kentucky grape tangle produced yet another amazing bag of goo, seen here from afar. Usually it doesn't take to long when searching grapes in September - prime caterpillar season! - to produce some interesting subjects. This animal, as we shall see, is certainly an interesting subject.

I hooked the caterpillar down for a better look, and we were thrilled to see that it was a Hog Sphinx caterpillar, Darapsa myron. This animal is a good example of why people are increasingly getting interested in the larvae of moths and butterflies - they are often living objets d' art.

I dipped back into the files to produce this image of an adult Hog Sphinx, taken six years ago with much lesser camera gear than I now deploy (and fewer skills than I now have, probably). The moth is tattered and frayed, showing its age, but still is clearly a Cool Flying Object.

This little show just touches the tip of the Vitaceous iceberg of animal life spawned by the lowly grape. A book could be written on the ecological intricacies of these underappreciated plants.

I took this photo almost exactly one year ago - October 9, 2013. It is, or should I say, was the view from my office window. This shot wasn't taken from my window, but when I look down from my nearby office, this is pretty much the viewscape. I really detest vast grassy expanses of turf grass. Such a habitat is pointless, in many cases. Poaceous emerald deserts have their place in parks and other places where people gather outdoors for recreational pursuits. I accept that and have no quarrel with lawns where needed. But the country is overrun with nonnative grass. WAY too much. There is over 40 million acres of the stuff in the United States, which makes grass our biggest crop, supposedly. That's an area the size of Connecticut, Delaware, Kentucky (the Bluegrass State!), New Hampshire, and Rhode Island. Oh, we have to also add Yellowstone National Park to match the turfed over acreage of the lower 48 states.

Stupid.

The attendant loss of biodiversity - the plants and animals that make the world go 'round - is staggering. And most of it is completely and utterly unnecessary.

Here's nearly the same vista as the above photo, shot a few weeks back. I finally put my money where my mouth is insofar as the work complex's landscaping, and convinced the facility managers to install a prairie on the site of the aforementioned grassy wasteland. And bless their hearts, they did it! Many people - maybe most - are interested enough in biodiversity and doing good things for the environment that they will act in Nature's best interest when a chance presents itself. That's what happened here, and the results have been staggering. Keep in mind that the seeds of this prairie were not sown until May 21, of this year.

Major thanks go to Bob Kehres of Ohio Prairie Nursery for providing the seed, and all manner of expertise to help us get our prairie out of the ground.

Needless to say, I've been fascinated with the biological changes resulting from our little one-third acre prairie. At least once or twice a week I take the Canon outside and see what critters I can document. Where one year ago you could count on one hand the few tough animals that would utilize the lawn, it is now a veritable cornucopia of animal life.

The photo above shows a Yellow-collared Scape Moth, Cisseps fulvicollis, plundering nectar from a black-eyed susan. I made this image, and those that follow, this afternoon.

With the now abundant flowering plants providing nectar galore for pollinating insects, the predators have moved in to take advantage of the bounty. This Bold Jumping Spider, Phidippus audax (I think), glares at your narrator from atop a black-eyed susan. No dummy, the spider knows that lurking near a flower will soon produce a meal. It has been amazing to see how quickly the prey-predator food web has developed.

Last week I discovered jagged ambush bugs in the genus Phymata ensconced on the flowers of fleabane. I wrote about these recently, RIGHT HERE. Once again, I was surprised at just how rapidly these interesting insects found and colonized the brand spanking new prairie.

Anyway, sorry for the above deviations into turf grass bashing. It is this ambush bug, which I think may be Phymata fasciata (ID corrections always appreciated!), that I really want to discuss.

I strolled over to check the fleabanes where I had seen the ambush bugs last week, and quickly spotted one who had made a meal out of a tachinid fly. Note the ambush bug's long death-dealing proboscis, firmly injected into the fly's abdomen. The bug will slowly - and with great pleasure, I am sure - suck out the liquefied innards of the fly, leaving behind a desiccated husk.

This is all cool enough, but WAIT! A third insect lurks, to the right of the drama, on the ray flowers of the fleabane. It is truly tiny - so small that I didn't notice it in the field as I fixated on capturing images of the ambush bug. It wasn't until I downloaded the pictures and reviewed them that I saw the six-legged third wheel.

Who is it, and what might it be doing? My first thought was that it is a fly, and was perhaps waiting for an opportunity to drop its eggs on the fly carcass. Maybe its larvae would use that as a host. Those thoughts were quickly dispelled with a closer look - the elfin onlooker is actually a wasp!

This little wasp is too small for even my Canon's 100 mm macro, although I might have done somewhat better had I noticed the thing in the field and took direct aim. Ah well, live and learn.

Now that its identity (I think) has been established as a wasp, it's a bit easier to speculate about what is going on. The world is full of tiny parasitoid wasps that lay their eggs on all manner of insect hosts, and I figured that's what this wasp was scheming to do. A bit of searching around revealed a wasp known as Telenomus phymatae, and I wonder if that's this critter. It is a parasitoid of jagged ambush bugs, but not the adults. It seeks out freshly laid eggs of the ambush bug, and injects its eggs into the ambush bug eggs. The wasp grubs hatch first, within the host eggs, and eat them. So, if the wasp is indeed Telenomus phymatae, it is probably loitering around the ambush bugs awaiting the deposition of some eggs. Ironically, the tachinid fly is also a parasitoid, laying its eggs on some insect victim. What goes around comes around, and we've got a lot of paybacks being dealt out in this photo.

The overarching message of this post is this: plant diversity, especially native plants, spawns extraordinary animal diversity. Even right under our noses, in highly urbanized landscapes, in prairies that were planted only four and a half months ago.

GO NATIVE, and be sure to attend the 2014 Midwest Native Plant Conference.

Ah! The Turbulent Phosphila, Phosphila turbulenta! This zoot-suited little tube of goo is incredibly cool, at least in my estimation. And it was long a nemesis cat for your narrator. Ever since cracking David Wagner's epic tome, the Caterpillars of Eastern North America, and seeing this thing pictured on page 427, I wanted (badly) to see one. Certain animals resonate with me, I don't know why, and once I become aware of their existence the knowledge that they lurk out there occupies a bigger cranial department than most things that I should be thinking about.

For a number of years - probably about nine - after learning of this wondrous beast, my life was void of Turbulent Phosphilas. It wasn't like I didn't try. I'm totally hip to their host plants, greenbrier (Smilax sp.), which are quite common and I'd always give the thorny plants a once-over. I'd even ask people in the know, and hear things like "Yeah, they're pretty common"; "See 'em all the time" that sort of balderdash. But no one could put me on to the phosphilas.

Until last weekend. I got a note from Bill & Deb Marsh, letting me know that they had JUST seen a pack of Turbulent Phosphilas making mincemeat of bristly greenbrier at Cedar Bog. I had the narrowest of windows in which to shoot over there the following day, and made it in time to catch two of the caterpillars. Bill and Deb had seen dozens - this species is gregarious - but I figured they'd be quick to disappear, what with the need to pupate soon to arrive. When I got there a scant 24 hours later, most had apparently gone into the leaf litter or wherever it is that Turbulent Phosphilas go to cocoon through the long winter. Only this chap, and one other, remained from what I could see.

The caterpillar in the photo was working its way down the stem of its host plant, bristly greenbrier, Smilax hispida, and that's a prickly ordeal. If all goes well and it gets through the winter, it is fated to morph into a rather plain brown moth - certainly not nearly as flashy as its larva was.

Just about everyone knows lady beetles; they're one of our most charismatic coleopterans. Far fewer people would probably recognize this beast, which resembles a six-legged alligator. It is the larva of the (now) most widespread lady beetle in these parts, the Multicolored Asian Lady Beetle, Harmonia axyridis. Heckuva long name for a 6 mm beetle. We'll just acronym it down to "MALB".

Ill-fated numerous introductions by people and organizations keen on aphid and other "pest" control brought this thing to us. Now, MALB's are ubiquitous and overly abundant. This is the lady beetle that swarms houses in late fall and piles into attics, crevices and other protected niches, much to the consternation of the homeowner.

I was in Adams County yesterday, and made the four mile round trip to the iconic Buzzard's Roost Rock, which is in the heart of the Edge of Appalachia Preserve. Even though this is, by Ohio standards, a largely wild and invasive-free landscape, it was shocking how many of these lady beetle larvae were there. A scan of small trees and shrubs would often yield a dozen or more lady beetle larvae.

Like the adult lady beetles, larvae are voracious predators. They'll eat aphids, but also apparently just about anything else small enough to overpower. Supposedly they are avid consumers of moth and butterfly eggs, and that certainly can't be a good thing for our Lepidoptera.

Brutish and thuglike, the MALB larvae are evidently not above cannibalism. Here, a pair of larvae bookend and consume another larva. I saw at least two instances of this yesterday, and I'm pretty sure this photo shows an actual live larva being killed and eaten - not the cast-off shed of a larva. MALB larvae go through five instar stages, molting into a larger iteration with each stage.

This is the pupal stage, which is usually affixed to a leaf.

The ultimate phase of the MALB life cycle is this, the adult lady beetle that many a homeowner knows and despises. That's too bad, as there are numerous native lady beetles, and they are charismatic and beneficial insects. Many if not most of them have suffered due to competition with the Multicolored Asian Lady Beetle.

One would hope that humans would learn the folly of introducing nonnative animals, but I have no great hopes that we will ever learn our lesson and quit tampering with "biological control".

A Great Blue Heron, Ardea herodias, hunts grasshoppers in a field. These prehistoric looking birds captivate the imagination, and draw one's eye. Not just birders, or other classes of humans, either - other mammalian life forms seem equally smitten with the gangly waders.

Video by Laura and David Hughes

This is an amazing trail cam video, courtesy of Laura and Dave Hughes, whose work I've featured many times. They've been busy camming at their Monroe County, Ohio sweetspots, and just shared a bunch of really cool videos with me.

In this scene, a River Otter, Lontra canadensis, is snacking away on a fish when a giant Great Blue Heron wings by. The heron's reflection can be seen on the water. The otter watches with (apparent) rapt fascination, turning its head to track the bird. Soon after, the otter's mate comes ashore and joins in the fishy meal. Cute otter hijinks ensue.

I'll probably share some other fabulous Hughes cinematic endeavors before long...

A botanical highlight of last weekend's foray into the depths of Adams County was catching peak bloom of the Stiff Gentian, Gentianella quinquefolia. This species has a spotty, localized distribution in Ohio, and prefers rather barren openings. There's a ton of it along the start of the trail to Buzzard's Roost Rock, which is one of the Buckeye State's essential hikes.

The curious bluish-purple flowers look as if they're made out of paper, and the pointed petals often cover the mouth of the corolla.

Most wildflowers are dependent upon the physical transfer of pollen to another plant, and this usually involves the assistance of insects. In the case of gentians, bumblebees are often the dispersal agent. These big brutish bees are perhaps Nature's ultimate pollinating machine. Their size and strength allows them to forcefully push into semi-closed flowers - like gentians - and access pollen that is off limits to lesser insects. It didn't take long before I saw a bumblebee busily making the rounds of the Stiff Gentians, and I set out after it to try to capture some pollination pictures.

The bumblebee has located a flower that has piqued its interest. The color of the corolla and its striped nectar guides are irresistible and the bee is drawn in like a moth to a flame.

After a bit of fumbling about, the animal manages to force its face into the maw of the flower.

A few wriggles and buzzes, and the bumblebee is swallowed up by the gentian flower, eagerly harvesting the nectar at the base of the bloom. Its fuzzy body will get doused with pollen, and then it's off to another flower, thus serving as an effective agent of cross-pollination.

Here in Ohio, nighttime temperatures have plummeted and that, coupled with ever shorter days, have stimulated the onset of a riot of color. There is nothing like the explosion of fall colors in the great eastern deciduous forest, and we're nearing the peak in central and southern Ohio. Here, a pair of Jack-in-the-pulpit fruit clusters brightly punctuate a forest floor littered with fallen ash leaves.

The increasingly cool evenings are putting the kibosh on the fantastic fall symphony of singing insects, and I always find it a bit depressing when these charismatic fiddlers begin to wane. We're soon to enter winter's dormancy, when the singing insects - and nearly all other bugs - disappear. They're there, often in egg form, but out of sight and out of mind.

I managed to find and photograph quite a few Orthopterans ("singing insects") this summer and fall, and following are a few pictorial highlights.

This Differential Grasshopper, Melanoplus differentialis, is an Orthopteran, but it isn't really a "singing insect". Grasshoppers make rough blatting sounds with their wings that are termed crepitations. It isn't really very musical at all. The singing insects featured below are far more melodic. They also make music with their wings, but in general their sounds are far more pleasing to the ear than the crackles of a grasshopper.

A Black-horned Tree Cricket, Oecanthus nigricornis, on Canada Goldenrod. This stunning cricket is frequent in goldenrod meadows, and sings during the day.

One of the more melodic of our evening trillsters is the Broad-winged Tree Cricket, Oecanthus latipennis. This male is in full song. To sing, tree crickets raise their wings perpendicular to their body, which forms a translucent fan. He then rapidly vibrates the bases of the wings together, which rubs the file on one wing against the scraper of the opposing wing. Voila! Beautiful music! The expansive wing surfaces act like the cone of a stereo speaker, booming the cricket's trill forward. Move a bit to the side of the singer and the song dims noticeably; stand right in front and the volume greatly increases.

Orthopterans are tough and adaptable. They've been here for nearly 300 million years. That's WAY longer than humans (ca. 200,000 yrs). I suspect the songs of insects will still serenade the landscape long after we've managed to overpopulate ourselves out of existence.

This is a female meadow katydid (unknown species) snacking on the grains of grease grass. Orthopterans, at least most of them, eat plants and often common readily available fare, hence their abundance.

A Curve-tailed Bush Katydid, Scudderia curvicauda, on the browning leaf of a redbud. If you wish to find and photograph singing insects, you'll want to head out after dark. These animals are mostly nocturnal, and can often be easily found and approached at night.

A Fork-tailed Bush Katydid, Scudderia fasciata. teed up and singing atop a thistle. This is a large insect, but it creates a rather inconsequential song of one or a few zip notes. People are often surprised by the size of the insect, after first hearing the feeble song.

I was delighted to encounter a meadow in Adams County this September that was full of interesting Orthopterans, including many of these. This whimsical looking beast is the Common Virtuoso Katydid, and it has the most ornate song of any of the singing insects. CLICK HERE to hear one.

If you couldn't hear the entire song of the Virtuoso Katydid at the link above, you're not alone. Many of the notes of this species, and other Orthopterans, are at a frequency that is beyond our hearing. Part of this species' song is a soft pleasant shuffling, and that component of the song jumps out to me, and that's how I find them. Many of the Virtuoso's notes are apparently beyond my ear's capabilities.

Most people have no problems hearing Lesser Anglewings, Microcentum retinerve. They're quite loud, and create a castanetlike shuffling sound. They're also drawn to nightlights and often appear on door screens and walls around porch lights.

A personal favorite is the coneheads. Yes, coneheads. That's really what this group of bullet-shaped katydids are called. Coneheads are hardly melodic, but their songs are usually distinctive and in the case of several species, ear-splittingly loud. This is a Round-tipped Conehead, Neoconocephalus retusus, a common species of grassy roadsides and meadows. CLICK HERE to hear its loud trill, which sounds like a shorted out electrical line. It may ring a bell.

Visual identification of coneheads is aided by inspecting their namesake cone. Round-tipped Coneheads have a glossy black line cresting the front of the cone.

This conehead is probably the loudest of them all. It is the aptly named Robust Conehead, Neoconocephalus robustus. CLICK HERE to listen to one. These sound files come from The Songs of Insects, an epic book and website by Wil Hershberger and Lang Elliott. Here's what they have to say about the Robust Conehead: "Can be heard more than a thousand feet away! At close range, it becomes painful to listen to. One would think that the insect would burst into flames from the friction produced from creating such an intense song".

In tight on the greenish unmarked cone of the Robust Conehead. The powerful mandibles - just under the leg - are formidable. Coneheads eat lots of hard seeds, and have the jaw power to deal with such things. I've handled many of them, and they can put a bit of pinch on the soft flesh of your fingers!

This is the Sword-bearing Conehead, Neoconocephalus ensiger. It creates a loud shuffling quite unlike the two previous coneheads. Around here, this species along with the Round-tipped Conehead is a common duet along grassy roadsides at night. The animal in the photo is in full song. It basically "fluffs" its wings and rapidly rubs the translucent areas at the front of the wings together to make its music.

Just a handful of tough singers are hanging on, and even they will soon be gone. I still hear the jerky sputterings of Carolina Ground Crickets, wheezy chirps of Striped Ground Crickets, and the slightly more melodic trills of Allard's Ground Crickets. An occasional grating crackling of a Round-tipped Conehead still issues from the grasses, and the ubiquitous Jumping Bush Crickets give occasional chirps. By and large, the symphony is in intermission until next summer, though.

I got a cool email today from Ron Sima, letting me know that his wife Mary Lou had discovered a mostly white hummingbird at Inniswood Metro Gardens in Westerville, Ohio, today. Mary Lou, who is a photographer, was not there to take photos of hummingbirds but nonetheless managed some decent captures of the birds. I appreciate her allowing me to share them. UPDATE: Joe Hammond just informed me that someone saw/photographed this bird in the same locale last Saturday, with that report coming to light today. So maybe it'll stick around for a while yet.

Here's our snowy hummer, a striking animal indeed. Rather than an albino, it is no doubt a leucistic specimen. I've written about leucism a number of times, such as HERE. I even featured a leucistic hummingbird once, not that dissimilar to this one, HERE.

I'm sure it was a shock to see an essentially all white hummingbird foraging in the herb garden on a frosty morning. But hummingbirds are tough, and can ride out some pretty rough weather if food is available, and it looks like there's plenty of that in this garden.

Of course, the million dollar question: what species? I pick up faint buffy washes of pigment bleeding through on the sides of the belly in some shots, and that coupled with the overall shape make me wonder if it is a hummer in the genus Selasphorus. If so, it'd most likely be a Rufous Hummingbird. But I'm by no means sure, and we really need some pretty tight crisp images to try and make a call.

Obviously a white hummingbird is going to attract undue attention no matter what time of year it appears. But ANY hummingbird found around here after mid-October should be closely scrutinized as there's a good chance it'll be a Rufous Hummingbird or some of other western species. We're up to five species in Ohio now, and excepting an August record of Green Violet-ear, all of them (including most of our dozens of records of Rufous Hummingbird) have come from October/November.

I'm going to run over to Inniswood tomorrow and try and get some images, and hopefully other people will do the same. It'll be interesting to see if we can figure out the identity of this animal, should it linger.

HERE is a link to the Inniswood Metro Garden website, which includes directions. This site also includes a map of the park and the locations of the various gardens. The hummingbird was frequenting the Herb Garden.

Thanks to Mary Lou Sima for bringing this unusual bird to light, and for sharing her photos.

The white hummingbird - detailed in the previous post - sucks down nectar from Mexican sage at Inniswood Metro Gardens. I ran over there, camera in tow, today at lunch and was not disappointed. The hummer comes in to feed with regularity, and believe me, you can't miss it. The bird resembles a little ghost as it flits through the ornamental flower beds.

I wasn't the only one there to admire this odd leucistic hummingbird. There were some fellows present with major skills and mad camera equipment, and their photos are stunning. I'll share some of those later, and hopefully a positive identification of the bird, which is looking more and more to be a hatch-year male Ruby-throated Hummingbird.

Inniswood Metro Gardens in Westerville, Ohio, the scene of central Ohio's current celebrity avian visitor. This 123-acre park is a suburban oasis and a great birding locale. The leucistic hummingbird detailed in this post and the previous two entries is not the only oddball bird to turn up here. CLICK THIS to revisit a hardy Ovenbird that spent much of winter 2011/12 here.

This is the pathway when one leaves the parking lot and enters the garden. A scenic place to be sure, and a site crammed with nectar-producing flowers guaranteed to sate even the greediest hummingbird's appetite.

This is the "Herb Garden", ground zero for the protagonist of this story. It hardly looks like late October here, what with all of the flowering plants still in bloom. I'd bet that other unusual hummingbirds turn up here in coming years.

A knot of birders stand in the Herb Garden, marveling over the ghostly white hummingbird. Yesterday, when I visited and made these images, Bernie Master and Dane Adams were also present. These guys have stellar abilities with photographic gear, and some awesome equipment. Both have generously shared their work on this site in the past, and once again have allowed me to use some of their images. Their photos are absolutely incredible; it's as if the hummingbird was in hand!

There are two particular species of plant that are still in near peak bloom in the garden that the hummingbird fixates on. The purple-flowered plant dominating the image is Mexican Sage, Salvia leucantha, and the scarlet blooms on the outskirts is Pineapple Sage, S. elegans. It is these species that the hummer most frequently dips into, and if you look closely, you'll see her in the center of the shot. Thanks go to the park staff for placing that feeder, too!

Photo: Dr. Bernard Master

When at rest, the hummingbird often perched in shrubs alongside the garden and kept watch over her domain. The Big Question, of course, is what species is this? All or nearly all white birds can be very tough to identify, especially when they normally wouldn't be white. This animal is leucistic, a genetic anomaly caused by a recessive allele that washes out or minimizes the dark melanin pigments. Thus, the coloration that gives us field marks that we would ordinarily use to help identify the bird are greatly reduced or absent.

So, as reflected in the previous posts, none of us were absolutely sure what species this was, with many, including your narrator, leaning towards a Rufous Hummingbird, Selasphorus rufus. By this time of year, Rufous Hummingbird is about as likely as anything. Nearly all Ruby-throated Hummingbird - our common and only breeding species - have long fled for the tropics by now, and the hardy western Rufous Hummingbird tends to appear at the tail end of fall or early winter.

Photo: Dr. Bernard Master

After Bernie and Dane obtained their amazing images, it was as if the bird was in hand, or under a microscope. A lot of the SMALL details that are very helpful in making a positive identification and which are quite difficult to see on a moving bird become crystal clear in these photos.

Fortunately, just to the north in the great state of Michigan, resides Allen Chartier. Allen is one of the few licensed hummingbird banders in these parts, and has handled scores of the animals, including rarities (in the East) such as Rufous Hummingbird. It was Allen who confirmed our first state Allen's Hummingbird (ironically).

Photo: Dane Adams

So, I was able to send off plenty of detailed images to Allen for his opinion, and the prognosis is that this is a hatch-year female Ruby-throated Hummingbird. Following, in Allen's words, is a concise explanation why this bird is a Ruby-throat.

Photo: Dane Adams

(From Allen Chartier): "Thanks! These really solidify my view that this is a Ruby-throat. The shape of the tail is right for RTHU and wrong for Rufous. In most of the previous photos, the central rects (r1) are shorter than the next ones out (r2). In these photos, r1 looks very similar in length to r2. In Rufous, r1 should be longest. Rufous rectrices are also more pointed than in RTHU, and these photos show some very rounded, not pointed rects. I see no diagnostic shape for Rufous on r2 in the photos."

NOTE: "r" or "rects" refer to retrices, which are the tail feathers. The innermost feathers are numbered 1, with 5 being the outermost.

Ruby-throated Hummingbird

Rufous Hummingbird

(More from Allen on tails): "And finally, take a look at the two tail photos I've attached and look at the distribution of white on the tips of the rects, especially r3. In Rufous the white goes mostly straight across, while in RTHU it is mostly on just the outer vane. The albino clearly matches the pattern for Ruby-throat. I have seen a good number of strong structural characters that support the leucistic bird as a Ruby-throat, while there are only a couple of subtle and subjective characters, none structural, that may suggest Selasphorus."

Photo: Dane Adams

Finally, now that the identification mystery seems to be cleared up, enjoy some stunning images of this amazing snowy-white hummingbird.

Photo: Dane Adams

The long-term prospects for this little gem are, unfortunately, not great. Allen tells me there are no confirmed records of a highly leucistic hummingbird beyond hatch-year. Being leucistic may look cool to us, but it is detrimental to long-term survival. Melanin pigments provide structural integrity to feathers, thus when they are absent, feather wear more quickly and are more fragile. Also, a bright white animal stands out and this probably ups the odds that some predator will snare it.

Whatever this hummingbird's fate, it sure has thrilled the numerous people who have been flocking to Inniswood to admire it.

Thanks to Bernie and Dane for sharing their photos, and to Allen for his hummingbird identification expertise. And kudos to the staff of Inniswood for graciously accommodating the snowy hummer and all of its admirers.

Every now and again, one sees some mighty strange things out in the woods. Stop to take a breather, lean against a stout tree, let your gaze run over the lichen-shingled bark, and WHOA! One of those lichens just moved! Really, it did!

See that little bump of a lichen, dead center in the photo? It's a walking lichen. For real.

On a recent trip to southern Ohio, I was keeping a sharp eye out for these curious bits of mobile lichen clumps, which is pretty much what one must do to spot them. It wasn't too long before a piece of lichen detached itself from the lichenberg that it was attached to, and began to scuttle off. I gave chase, and was able to make some images of this most curious of beasts.

Ah, the secret to the lichen clump's mobility becomes exposed under magnification. Three legs project from the crusty pile, and we can safely assume three others are sticking out the other side. There's the tip of an abdomen, jutting down from the right rear. It appears we have an entomological Trojan Horse on our hands; a murderous fiend disguising itself with innocent lichen bits, the better to ravage the lesser fauna of the tree trunk. Not only that, but the soldier clad in lichens is much better concealed from those who might be higher on the food chain, such as a Downy Woodpecker.

What we've got is the predatory larva of the Green Lacewing, Leucochrysa pavida. These interesting insects are quite common, and I'll guarantee if you examine enough lichen-festooned tree trunks, you'll eventually find one. I toyed with attempting to extricate the critter from its armoring, but decided against it. I probably would have just destroyed the larva, so well attached is its ghillie suit of lichens.

Lacewing larvae are predators, and if you look closely at the left side of the clump, you'll see its long brownish mandibles projecting downward. A homicidal lichen clump, indeed. The larva detaches tiny lichen fragments from the bark, and attaches them to hairs on its upper surface using a specialized sticky silk. Eventually, this is the result, and the debris packet will later become its cocoon. In the interim, the lacewing uses those tonglike mandibles to subdue aphids and other lesser animals, which it then eats.

Here's the adult lacewing. Well, I'm not 100% sure this is the Green Lacewing, Leucochrysa pavida - the adult of the larva featured above - but it's at least very similar. You've probably seen these, as adult lacewings are far more conspicuous than the larvae. Certain species of lacewings are predatory as adults, while others feed on liquids such as honeydew secreted by aphids, and yet others take pollen. But insofar as I know, they are all voracious predators in the larval stage, and few if any of them do it in such style as the lichen-cloaked Green Lacewing, Leucochrysa pavida.

I've featured the videography of Laura and Dave Hughes here many times, and their work with trail cams is incredible. They've been busy, and once again have displayed an unerring knack for proper cam placement. Getting great videos of hard to see animals is more skill than it is luck. You have to be able to read the signs of game trails and other habitats, and pick out the sites that animals seem to be fixated on.

Dave and Laura certainly did that successfully in the following clip, shot recently in Monroe County, Ohio. It features a River Otter, Lontra canadensis, snacking on a large fish. A Great Blue Heron wings by, and we can see its reflection in the water. The otter certainly doesn't miss the bird, and stops eating long enough to watch the bird go by. Then, the otter's mate swims ashore and joins its partner at the dinner table.

Video: Laura and David Hughes

OK, time for Monday night at the movies! Here are two more short flicks, courtesy of wildlife cinematographers Laura and David Hughes. That's right - those Hughes! You've seen their work here before, at least if you follow this site with some regularity.

For these films, which star a beautiful Bobcat, Felis rufus, they've returned to one of their magical game trails in Monroe County, Ohio. As you may recall, this is the county where they managed to capture a Bigfoot on a trail cam, last April 1st. You can see that film RIGHT HERE.

This little Bobcat is as real as it gets, and the feline hunter puts on quite a show. Enjoy!

Video by David and Laura Hughes

In this brief snippet, the inquisitive cat comes right up to mug for the camera. You won't often see a Bobcat that close, because it just isn't possible to get any closer.

Video by David and Laura Hughes

This film is beyond cool. The Bobcat detects prey lurking in the dense thicket in the backdrop, and stealthily paces to and fro, triangulating on the victim - probably some small rodent. When the cat finally locks in, it rears up, then lunges as if it had been shot out of a cannon! The prey item probably never knew what hit it.

This sticklike animal with the powerful Popeye forelegs is a Carolina Mantis, Stagmomantis carolina. It's a female, and as is the case with mantids, she's a lot bigger than the male. The Carolina Mantis is our native "praying mantis" in these parts, but they're probably a lot harder to find these days than they once used to be. I made this photograph in Adams County, and southern Ohio is the only place I encounter them. I don't believe I've ever run across one in my heavily developed neck of the woods, which is Columbus, Ohio.

This is the mantid that I run across FAR more frequently than the comparatively diminutive Carolina Mantis, and I bet that's the case with you, too. It's the widespread and ubiquitous Chinese Mantis, Tenodera sinensis, a true giant of a bug. Females can be massive, and this old warrior is probably a good four inches long. I photographed her a few weeks ago on the grounds outside my office, and she's still there. The first truly cold frosty nights will take her out, but unfortunately she's probably already deposited several of her foamy brown egg cases. Each case contains hundreds of eggs, but fortunately the mortality rate is enormous and relatively few of the juveniles will make it too adulthood.

The gorgeous purple-flowered plant is Shale-barren Aster, Symphyotrichum oblongifolium, a native that has made its way into the nursery trade. It truly is a fantastic plant, and a total bug magnet. Shale-barren Aster, in this ornamental form, becomes a small bush bedecked with hundreds of blooms, and it flowers nearly to winter. Mrs. Mantis knows well the allure of these flowers for all manner of pollinating insects; that's why she lives nearly her entire adult life hiding amongst its flowers.

Chinese Mantids have an undeniable charisma, and enchant most people who encounter them. The impressive size, coupled with the formidable "praying" forelegs makes for an impressive spectacle. The animals also have a habit of watching you, cocking their pointy triangular heads to track your movements and sometimes rearing up aggressively if pushed.

As you've probably deciphered from the name, Chinese Mantids are not indigenous to the Americas; they are another in a long list of Asian imports. This species was intentionally brought to North America in the mid-1890's, ostensibly as a control for "pest" insects. In my view, the mantis itself has become the pest, and any benefits from them are far outweighed by the damage they do.

The primary issue with Chinese Mantids is that they are indiscriminate in their choice of victims. About anything that can be seized and overpowered is fair game. This includes butterflies, all manner of invaluable pollinating flies, bees, and wasps, and even prey up to the size of tree frogs and hummingbirds. I and others suspect the reason we no longer see the smaller native Carolina Mantis in many areas is due to competition with this Asian introduction.

I must admit, watching a Chinese Mantis hunt is a fascinating exercise. She's patient as can be, and just sits rigidly next to a pollinator-friendly batch of flowers. When an insect takes the bait and alights, the mantis swiftly lunges and snares the victim in an Iron Maiden death grip from which there is no escape.

While making my photos, this hapless Cabbage White butterfly, Pieris rapae, dropped in and I knew it was toast. Camera at the ready, I managed some photos of the kill. Death by mantis is not a particularly pleasant way to go. First, you're crushed in a viselike grip by spined legs, then the mantis begins methodically consuming your body, usually starting with the head. Insofar as I know, no sedating neurotoxins or anything else that can take the edge off this experience are injected - this is pure unadultered raw carnivory.

If only the Chinese Mantids would stick to other nonnative creatures such as this butterfly, most people would probably not have many problems with them. In fact, we'd probably applaud them and hail the release of mantids as a good thing - an all too rare case of an intentional "biological control" introduction that worked. But they don't, and as a consequence mantis predation is just one more threat that many of our declining species of pollinating animals face.

Yesterday was a picture-perfect fall Ohio day, in full Technicolor. The oaks, hickories, maples and other trees painted the woodlots in colorful sylvan brushstrokes, and the cool temperatures reminded one of the impending winter. I was at the legendary Killdeer Plains Wildlife Area to participate in the Ohio Ornithological Society's annual meeting, much of which was a field trip. The 75 or so people who were there collectively saw over 80 species, including notables such as American White Pelican, American Pipit, and Northern Shrike.

After the board meeting concluded, I headed off to inspect some Red-headed Woodpecker granary trees, camera in hand. I wrote about another such granary tree at Killdeer Plains, RIGHT HERE. I am really more of a bird-watcher than a birder, should such fine distinctions be drawn. While I love to chase and see rarities, and have reported on many of those here over the years, I am equally if not more so content to just sit and watch birds that I have seen one thousand times before.

Some old oak skeletons, long dead but still standing tall. This pond and the attendant flooding that killed the trees has been in place for decades. Probably as soon as the trees began to die, the Red-headed Woodpeckers moved in and began to make granaries of them. A granary tree is a larder in which woodpeckers stash their food. Most famous of the granary-makers is the western Acorn Woodpecker, which creates neatly arrayed rows of perfect holes, into which it crams acorns. Here in the east, the Red-headed Woodpecker is operator of granaries in the zygodactyl-footed world. Theirs are not as neat and orderly as the Acorn Woodpecker's, but the red-heads do OK.

As soon as I got near the granaries, I heard the grumbling chuckles of the red-heads. I parked myself as close as possible to their pantries, and watched two juveniles go back and forth over my head. They plundered acorn after acorn from the nearby pin oaks, carefully flying each back to the big trees. This shot makes me pine for Canon's remarkable 400 mm f/2.8 lens. It's remarkably good at freezing birds in flight, but I don't have a spare $11,000 sitting around right now. One of these days...

The juvenile Red-headed Woodpeckers are looking a bit blotchy. It takes them months to develop the beautiful satiny crimson noggins of the adults, but this bird is getting there.

We would probably be incredulous to know just how many acorns are wedged in the cracks and fissures of this tree. The birds - and there are several provisioning these granary trees - work all day every day stuffing acorns, and they've been at it all fall. This hidden bounty will make for easy meals after winter sets in and the going gets rougher. Also, as the trees are in water, they are probably protected against mammalian theft at the paws of squirrels and other potential pilferers.

While I was watching the woodpeckers, a cloud of Rusty Blackbirds blew in and filled several trees with their squeaky creaking. I was of course quite pleased by this development, as these blackbirds nest far to the north of Ohio, and one does not get the pleasure of their company for much of the year.

A pair of blackbirds - male below, female above - stands sentinel atop a snag of one of the granaries. A number of the birds alit in these trees, much to the apparent displeasure of the woodpeckers, which attempted to shoo some of them off. The blackbirds weren't too intimidated, and there were a lot of them.

I was watching one of the male blackbirds when I noticed it was peeking and probing into cracks in the tree.

Ah! Before long, I saw it poke and tap at a crevice, which it did a number of times. It seemed to be cracking open and eating the woodpecker's hard-won acorns! Rusty Blackbirds eat a lot of vegetable matter, especially in fall and winter, and that can include acorns, at least the small ones such as are produced by pin oaks. It would be interesting to know how prevalent this sort of blackbird on woodpecker theft is. If that's actually what was going on, but it sure looked to be.

The red-heads best hope that Rusty Blackbirds don't evolve such thieving habits to a fine degree and become the jaegers of the blackbird world, plundering granaries far and wide.

November 3rd was a memorable day for Chuck Slusarczyk and Mike Egar. While birding Wendy Park on the Cleveland Lakefront, they spotted a mega for Ohio - Sabine's Gull! That's Sah-been's, or if you prefer the proper German pronunciation, Sah-been-ah's. The latter has the best ring to it, in my opinion, as in "I just found a beautiful Sah-been-ah's Gull! Not just any old run of the mill Xema sabini, either, if such a phrase can be applied to a species that only shows a few times a year in Ohio. This was a full adult, and not only that, it is in some sort of delayed molt and still retaining its grayish-black hood, trimmed with an ebony collar!

As of today, the bird is still hanging out along the Cleveland Lakefront, delighting scores of observers. Chuck and Mike got the word out pronto and people were on the scene in a blink. Shortly after spotting the bird, it headed east and out of sight, but was refound a few miles away at East 55th Street marina. The Sabine's Gull then appeared at Cleveland Lakefront Nature Preserve and its been hanging around there ever since.

Congratulations to Chuck and Mike on an outstanding find. And kudos to Chuck for nabbing the stunning images that follow, and for graciously sharing them with us.

A stunner indeed, and unmistakable with that bold pattern of triangles, forked tail, smoky head and yellow-tipped bill. We see a few Sabine's Gulls each fall, and September thru mid-November is prime time. But there have been only a few documented occurrences of adults - virtually all of our records are of juveniles, such as THIS BIRD.

You won't see many shots of Sabine's Gull that best this one. We can even see the bird's flashy crimson mouth lining!

Sabine's Gulls breed in the high arctic, and one segment of the population winters along the Humboldt Current in the southern Pacific Ocean off South America. Birds that nest in eastern Canada and Greenland - which I presume includes this bird? - travel to southwest Africa where they winter around the cold waters of the Benguela Current in the South Atlantic. These birds are truly globe-trotters, and spend most of their lives at sea.

Sabine's Gull is small and diminutive, and not prone to scavenging garbage as is this curious Ring-billed Gull. This is a great comparison shot of two larids who don't often mingle. The Ring-billed outweighs the comparatively dainty Sabine's Gull by about three times!

One can only imagine the thrill that coursed through the English astronomer Edward Sabine when he first spotted this animal in 1818, on an expedition to the high arctic. Sabine was accompanying Captain John Ross, who was attempting to discover the as yet to be found Northwest Passage. They failed in the primary mission, but this beautiful gull was some compensation. Upon his return, Sabine sent his specimen to his brother, Joseph Sabine, who then described the bird to science and named it in his brother's honor.

A superb animal, and a real treat for Ohio birders. Hopefully this Sabine's Gull will stick for a few more days, and allow the fawning masses of binocular-toters to bask in its presence.

Congratulations again to Chuck and Mike for a totally excellent discovery!

A breakwall at Avalon Beach, on the New Jersey shore. No, I didn't see Snooki, Mike "The Situation" Sorrentino, or any other oddities from the cast of Jersey Shore. But I did see birder and longtime Cape May resident Amy Gaberlein, who graciously toured me around some of the southern New Jersey hotspots. I was over in the general vicinity of Philadelphia to give a talk, and what's a couple more hours to get to the shore, and some of the best birding on the East Coast?

Birds galore were floating, flying, and diving in the cold Atlantic waters at the end of that breakwall, and I had some fun attempting to commit some of them to pixels.

Just about everything with feathers that frequents the ocean likes sushi, including this Royal Tern, who has just caught a fish. The bigger Herring Gull also likes fish, and is engaging in a bit of attempted kleptoparasitism. It's gone all jaeger on the tern, trying to get it to drop its hard-earned meal.

The big tern eventually shook its pursuer, and soon wolfed down its scaly treat.

The terns, scoters, and other avian seafarers were fun, but it was these behemoths that drew me to stand at the edge of the ocean, camera at the ready. Northern Gannets! We saw hundreds of them in this area, and occasionally one would venture near enough that I could get (so-so) images with my 500 mm lens. This are the boobies of the North Seas, shunning the tropical waters of their brethren and flourishing in frigid North Atlantic waters.

As I write this, a juvenile gannet is present off Cleveland in Lake Erie. It showed a few days ago, and has been thrilling scores of Ohio birders. They're major rarities in these parts; Ohio gets one every few years. The young birds are mostly brown - the bird in these images is an adult, with mostly white plumage punctuated with black wingtips.

Northern Gannets are BIG. That cylindric torpedo-shaped body is a touch over three feet in length, and its wingspan is six feet. The whole thing weighs nearly seven pounds. That's a heckuva air-to-surface missile, which is just what gannets are. This bird has spotted a fish, far below, and is in the initial stages of squaring off to launch into a spectacular dive. Gannets will bomb the water from heights of up to 150 feet.

The gannet prepares for impact. It's probably going nearly 60 mph at this point, and hit the drink a split second after this photo was taken. Its momentum will carry it up to 15 feet under the water and into the unsuspecting school of fish. I imagine the high speed entry of a giant gannet into the tranquil underwater world of the scaly crowd causes quite a stir. The victim probably scarcely knew what hit it.

Like a perfect 10 from Greg Louganis, the gannet's dive just leaves a slight flume of water.

Before long, the gannet bobs to the surface, digesting its meal. A truly spectacular way to earn your bread, to be sure.

On my recent New Jersey trip, I saw lots of tough late season shorebirds. I spent some time admiring these hardy little birds, and capturing their images. A few photos follow...

A flock of sandpipers rest on a cold, wave-battered jetty. The Atlantic Ocean provides the backdrop. Two Dunlin take a fleeting catnap in the foreground, while a Purple Sandpiper stands dead center. Another purple is far right, rear. The rest of the birds are Ruddy Turnstones.

A Purple Sandpiper peeks from behind an algae-encrusted rock. Were you there, you'd be serenaded by the never-ending crash of surf. The sandpiper's scientific name is Calidris maritima - the epithet maritima means "of the sea". These birds are well named. So tightly wedded to the sea are they, that a Purple Sandpiper is almost never out of earshot of the low roar of the waves.

Bunched up tight, a pack of Ruddy Turnstones scurries over the rocks, mouselike. These opportunistic sandpipers can find food nearly anywhere, and are second only to the Purple Sandpiper in winter hardiness, at least on the east coast.

Turnstones are clad in disruptive coloration. When at rest on lichen-dappled rocks, their parti-colored plumage blends nicely with the surroundings. Only the bright orange legs jump out.

This rotund little ball of feathers seems to stare pensively at the sea. I made this photo on the jetty at Barnegat Light, and these turnstones have traveled some 1,500 miles south from their high arctic breeding grounds to get there.

A Sanderling takes advantageous of the sucking vacuum of retreating waves. The water pulls back, ever so temporarily, the sandy substrate which exposes lots of tiny animals. Sanderlings charge into this void and grab up the critters in the narrow window between exposed beach and inundation.

Like kids playing a game of dare, the Sanderlings wait until the last second, when the wave is nearly upon them, before dashing up the beach and to safety. Seconds later, they'll charge back, following the water's retreat. Sanderlings are wave-runners supreme, and occur on most of the world's beaches. To most people, this is the quintessential sandpiper.

Your narrator's admittedly somewhat cluttered desk. Exhibit A - the monitor on the left, in front of the window. It is running the coolest live feeder cam I've ever seen. Not that I've seen lots of feeder cams, or make a habit of watching them, but this one was so interesting that last Friday I just let it run on the secondary monitor while I (tried) to go about my work.

Someone tipped me to a new cam administered by the mighty Cornell Lab of Ornithology, and I'm glad that I clicked my way through to check it out. You can too, RIGHT HERE. This cam transports us - at least those of us down below the Great Lakes - to the Great White North and an ever-changing assemblage of northern birds that inflame Ohio birders with the twitching jitters. Of course, you'll have to wait until daylight to see much, but your patience will be rewarded.

The Cornell-sponsored feeder cam takes us far into the boreal, to a land of truly tough birds. I'm at location "A" on this handy Google map, in Columbus. The feed instantly transports me about 750 miles nearly due north, to Manitouwadge, Ontario on the far side of Lake Superior. Were I to make the drive, it'd take the better part of 13 hours. The Internet is faster. Once we've cabled through to Manitouwadge, we're plunked down in the beautiful backyard of Tammie and Ben Hache, the cam hosts. I and I'm sure blizzards of other virtual birders are grateful for their efforts. I mentioned that their birds are tough. The record low temperature at Manitouwadge is -49 F, and the average January daily low temperature is -9 F.

So, the second I tuned in to the Hache's feeder cam, I was greeted by a flurry of beautiful Evening Grosbeaks. The audio is great, and so you'll not only see the birds, you'll clearly hear their raucous House Sparrowlike calls, and even the crunching of seeds as these robust seed-crushers dig in. The Hache's apparently have a line item in their budget for sunflower seeds. In 2012, they bought and fed over 750 lbs. of seed to their avian visitors!

At one point, I heard a bit of a fluffling sound followed by a mild thump, and glanced at the monitor to see, of all things, a Ruffed Grouse! Bet not many of you can boast one of these partridges as a feeder bird! He must be a regular, as I saw the grouse on another occasion. He's fond of the suet.

Another great bird to see were Gray Jays, a true species of the boreal forest and the western mountains. Lots of other cool animals visit: several species of woodpeckers, Red-breasted Nuthatch, Black-capped Chickadees, etc. I've not had a chance to watch the Hache cam much, but they've had as many as 200+ Evening Grosbeaks, over 20 Hoary Redpolls, scads of Common Redpolls, and Pine Grosbeaks. A wayward White-winged Dove even once appeared!

Be sure and tune in for some great Bird TV, RIGHT HERE.

Duck Stamps evidence that good can come from bad

In defense of the lowly grape

A ruthless killer battles fearsome parasitoids (and will probably lose)

Turbulent Phosphila - check!

Cannibalistic lady beetles

Otter intrigued by heron!

Gentians and bumblebees

Singing insects' swan song

White hummingbird at Inniswood Gardens!

White hummingbird update

White hummingbird at Inniswood Gardens: a recap

And now for something completely different: a walking lichen

Birding River Otter watches Great Blue Heron

Bobcat triangulates on prey, pounces!

Good mantids, bad mantids

Red-headed Woodpeckers provision granary, possible theft by Rusty Blackbird

Adult Sabine's Gull in Ohio!

Boobies at Avalon Beach

Sandpipers

An awesome, must-watch feeder cam!