Ohio Birds and Biodiversity

Photo: Laura Hughes

The more that I study Nature, the more that I am convinced that one must really look hard at the LITTLE things. At least if one wishes to really develop a deep understanding of ecology, and how organisms are linked together. I am fortunate indeed that I have many friends who feel the same, and will give a caterpillar about the same attention that they would a goshawk.

In this photo, taken on a recent foray, David Hughes (front), John Howard (middle), and your narrator spend some time on the ground - not a rare occurrence for any of us. We were watching the bed of Partridge-pea, Chamaecrista fasciculata, plants that cover the bank in front of us. Numerous ants were visiting the extrafloral nectaries on the plants' leaf petioles, and we were watching them and attempting to obtain images. I wrote about ants and nectaries HERE, should you be interested.

Well, this animal is also attracted to plants, and it is really tiny. It is a member of the Braconid wasp family, and is in the genus Lytopylus. I did not know such wasps existed until yesterday, when Cheryl Vargas spotted this animal on a trip to a west-central Ohio fen, and tipped me to it. The wasp looks big in this photo, but it wasn't much more than the size of a large mosquito. It is standing atop the still emerging disk flowers of an Orange Coneflower, Rudbeckia fulgida, and when I beamed in on it through the macro lens, I could see it was engaging in very interesting behavior.

If you look at the rear of the wasp, you'll see she's sticking her very long ovipositor into the flower cluster. I had not seen anything like this before, and could only speculate that she was going after tiny flower thrips, or perhaps some other concealed organisms. As an aside, I would say that Lytopylus wasps must also serve some function as pollinators, judging by all of the pollen stuck to her.

Once I returned home, a bit of research led me to her identity, at least to genus (as always, please feel free to correct me on identifications). There are a number of species in the genus Lytopylus, and identifying them to species is beyond me.

In this photo, we can see her ovipositor quite well. It juts from the rear of the abdomen, makes a few kinks, and then augers down deep into the clump of disk flowers. Female wasps (and bees) are equipped with "stingers", which come in lots of variations. Some can use them to sting, but the primary function is to lay eggs. The Lytopylus wasps are parasitoids - they lay their eggs on an animal host, and the wasp grub consumes the victim.

Apparently Lytopylus wasps are adept at ferreting out the locations of tiny moth caterpillars concealed within the disk flowers of Rudbeckias and similar species in the sunflower family (Asteraceae). The wasp bores down to them with her long wiry ovipositor, and deposits eggs. The caterpillar will fuel the wasp larva's growth, dying in the process. I suspect that these tiny wasps play a vital role in reducing flower predators. In the relatively short time that we watched her, she visited many coneflower blooms, presumably nailing caterpillars in all of them.

Amazing. At least to me.

The life and death drama that constantly plays out on flowers would be the stuff of science fiction, were it not true.

I'm on a bit of a wasp jag, but so be it. Wasps are awesome. Yesterday, while taking a quick stroll around the planted prairie at work (described RIGHT HERE), I stumbled into two interesting species. The good ole Canon came through in decent form, and I managed a few images.

There is a smattering of Queen Ann's Lace, Daucus carota, persisting in the prairie. I don't totally begrudge this Eurasian weed its space, as it is a good insect magnet. Not as good as some of the native parsleys, but not bad. Anyway, I was pleased to spot this smallish Hymenopteran busily scarfing up nectar. After a bit of a chase, I pinned down a few passable images.

It is a Potter Wasp, Eumenes fraternus, and when not visiting flowers for nectar or pollen, these wasps engage in far more grisly behavior.

A few weeks ago, I found these little adobe jugs stuck to the underside of an American Elm leaf just a stone's throw from the prairie. They are the handiwork of the aforementioned Potter Wasp, and little works of art they are. The female wasp provisions each adobe with paralyzed caterpillars, and then lays an egg within the grisly nursery. Upon hatching, the wasp grub is assured a supply of fresh meat.

Now this is a bona fide beast of a wasp. It is a female Black-and-yellow Mud Dauber, Sceliphron caementarium. Until this day, I had never managed a decent image of one, although they are fairly common. Unless one stakes out a nest that is actively being provisioned, or a muddy spot where nest material is being gathered, you are most likely to encounter a foraging female moving through the plants.

When on the hunt, these big wasps are frenetic. They clamber about plants in a fast, rather maniacal manner, rapidly inspecting flowers, stems, and leaves for victims. Black-and-yellow Mud Daubers are possessed of extraordinary senses, and if they detect a large bipedal interloper moving in, they're off in a flash.

However, in this case I spotted her from afar, and hung back. I knew she was on the hunt, and hoped she'd score a victim. All of a sudden, WHAM! She spotted a luckless spider cowering on a stem, and whacked it quick as could be. I was ready, and rushed into range, clicking away. The above photo shows her still in the act of stinging the spider with a potent neurotoxin which disables the victim nearly instantaneously. Her abdomen is doubled back nearly 180 degrees, and the ovipositor at the business end is firmly embedded in the spider.

You can see where the expression "wasp-waisted" comes from! In a few seconds the spider was sufficiently comatose and ready for transport to the nest.

These are the multifaceted chambers of a Black-and-yellow Mud Dauber nest. Like the Potter Wasp, it is made from wet earth which is artfully - and laboriously! - fashioned into these fancy crypts. You may have seen these stuck to the eaves of a building. The wasps often select human-built structures for their nest sites.

The story is largely the same as the Potter Wasp, except that this species provisions its chambers with paralyzed spiders rather than caterpillars.

If wee beasts were capable of the same level of thought, reasoning, and consciousness that we are, one can only imagine the constant level of terror that creatures such as spiders and caterpillars would endure. Just imagine a giant long-legged wasp tearing your way, and knowing in advance what your fate will be. It would be like living a Japanese horror sci-fi movie, except it's all real.

I took a brief stroll around the work campus this afternoon, between showers. As is almost always the case, I had my camera in tow. The lenses vary, but this time the mega-macro Canon MP-E 65 lens was bolted to the Canon 5D Mark III. I wrote in some detail about this awesome niche lens HERE. The MP-E is not normally my default lens for traipsing about, as it does limit one's options. I like to have it in the pack and close at hand, but have some other more versatile lens attached to the camera.

However, time was tight, and I had decided to just seek macro material on this brief foray. I struck Odonate gold when I spotted a tiny Fragile Forktail, Ischnura posita, resting on a leaf just off the path. This damselfly is truly Lilliputian; perhaps only the Eastern Red Damselfly, Amphiagrion saucium, can lay claim to such minuteness among our damsel fauna. One might pass off a Fragile Forktail as a strange small fly or some other inconsequential bug without a good look.

The forktail gave me one chance for a shot, and it appears above. The flashes spooked it further into the foliage, and that was that. But this image is not bad, and may help allay some criticism of the difficulty of using the MP-E 65 lens in the field, and without a tripod. As small as this damselfly is, it can barely be squeezed into the MP's field of view, even at its lowest magnification. This shot is slightly cropped; on the original, much of the abdomen was visible, but not the terminal end - it was out of the field of view. Had I had more time to compose, I could have got it all in the image (barely), but I wanted the head shot and was focused on that. You can even make out tiny orangish mites - one between the eyes, one on the lateral black stripe, and a few on the underside of the thorax. With some slight tweaks in Photo Shop, which I have yet to do, the exposure will be picture-perfect.

The MP-E 65 lens has no focus ring - the photographer just moves the camera until the subject comes into focus. Turning the ring on the lens increases magnification, all the way to an amazing 5x power. It is like looking through a microscope. I find I can handhold the rig without undue difficulty at 1x or even 2x; anything beyond that requires some sort of stabilization. An issue with shooting unrestrained live animals such as this damselfly is the very close working distance required with this lens. The front of the lens was probably six inches or less from the damsel when I made the image, and a lot of critters won't put up with that sort of intrusion. If they will, the photographer can bag some incredible images, far beyond what even an extremely capable macro lens such as Canon's 100 mm L-series can produce.

I've only had a few weeks practice with this lens, but am honing in on its sweet spots. The best setting I've found thus far is: ISO - 100; aperture of f/16; 1/200 shutter speed. Flash is essential and the rig to have is Canon's twin lite flash setup, where the flashes are mounted on a ring at the end of the lens. The flash commander mounted on the hotshoe is set to ETTL mode, and communication between flash and camera is generally excellent. The twinlite flashes also have small pre-lights mounted on them, which can be activated with a quick double-tap of the camera's shutter release button. Those lights allow the photographer to easily see the subject and compose the image before firing the shot. Pre-lighting is often helpful, even essential, as the tiny aperture of the MP-E 65 lens lets very little light in and thus one's view through the view finder is often very dim.

If you are a serious macro photographer, I would highly recommend this lens. Of course (and I have no relationship with Canon!), you must shoot a Canon body. No other manufacturer, insofar as I know, makes a comparable lens.

A group of botanists explores a very special wet meadow in Athens County yesterday. I met up with Brian Riley, Dan Boone, Dave Minney, Andrew Gibson, Rick Gardner, and Susan Nash for a day of botanizing in southeast Ohio. We had a few targets in mind, and the Numero Uno plant was the white specks in the meadow shown above.

As an aside, this was a sensational field trip for me. I seldom get out on dedicated botanical missions anymore, and only rarely with botanists the caliber of this bunch. I'm always looking at plants everywhere I go, of course, but it is entirely special to be afield with people who know EVERYTHING botanical. Our inner geeks can come out, seldom are common names mentioned, no one looks at you oddly for rattling off scientific names, and I don't think one could find a vascular plant that someone in the group would not know. It was fun engaging in friendly debates over the latest in botanical taxonomy, and catching up in the current state of affairs in the plant world. Dan Boone is always fun to engage with. He loves the obscure genera, and is currently on a dogbane (Apocynum) splitting tear. Go Dan.

The two primary reasons we convened this expedition: Brian Riley, and the plant that he is posing with. Riley, who is an extraordinary field botanist, found Rough Boneset, Eupatorium pilosum, in two off the beaten track Athens County wetlands, and one in nearby Hocking County. I believe Brian found these stations last year, and this was exciting news as this species had never been found in Ohio.

Rough Boneset has a rather spotty and scattered distribution, and occurs south and east of Ohio. It ranges fairly near in Kentucky and West Virginia, and its occurrence here fits with numerous other species of southern plants that reach their northern limits (at least in the interior) in southern Ohio.

A wet meadow full of Rough Boneset. One of the first big questions involving a new botanical find is whether it is native or not. Many plants are introduced to new areas by people, either intentionally or unintentionally. We all felt that Brian's boneset showed no signs of being a likely introduction. The populations were in areas that would not seem likely places for any sort of intentional introduction, and insofar as we know, Rough Boneset is not in cultivation or sold in the nursery trade. The associated plants in each site were natives, and the seep-fed wet meadows that support the boneset seem to be stable plant communities without evidence of any recent disturbance. Of course, it is possible that some natural agents of dispersal such as birds have helped the plants migrate in recent years, and changing climate is abetting its spread. At this point, that would be hard to conclusively demonstrate, however.

The boneset is an eye-catching plant, but it is undoubtedly quite rare and local. If it were in many sites, someone probably would have picked up on it before now. Bonesets and thoroughworts in the genus Eupatorium do have a tendency to look similar, and chances are only a skilled and aware botanist such as Riley would have recognized this species for what it is. Now that he's found it in Ohio, and we have a distinct search image, it'll be interesting to see if anyone turns up additional populations.

Quite a handsome plant, with broad inflorescences of small white flowers, and comparatively small opposite leaves in ramrod straight stems.

The leaves are sessile; they lack petioles (leaf stems). Note the relatively few coarse rounded teeth on the leaf margins. These sorts of details are important in identifying bonesets.

The specific epithet pilosum in the plant's scientific name refers to hairs, which are quite evident on the stem. Long ago, this species was considered a variety of the Round-leaved Thoroughwort, Eupatorium rotundifolium. After seeing Rough-leaved Boneset in the flesh, and knowing Round-leaved Thoroughwort fairly well, I'd say that such a lump was nonsensical and treating them as separate species is appropriate.

I spent quite a while photographing the bonesets, watching an endless parade of insect pollinators come and go. Bonesets provide a bonanza of nectar, and are especially attractive to beetles. Their fluffy clouds of flowers are conducive to insects that are adapted to clambering around the blooms, rather than rapidly flying from plant to plant or hovering before the flowers. Bonesets provide an inordinately valuable contribution to the plant communities to which they belong, when one factors in their importance to insects.

This handsome little beetle is, I believe, a flower beetle in the genus Macrosiagon. A great many were working over the Rough Bonesets. This group of beetles parasitize various bees and wasps, and as such factor into the infinitely complex ecological web of predator and prey. The beetles, of course, are undoubtedly prey for others. Their role in Nature far transcends colorful eye candy at some pretty boneset flowers.

Scads of Pennsylvania Leatherwing beetles, Chauliognathus pennsylvanicus, were feasting on the bonesets. If one were to dock themselves by a patch of these flowers for an hour or so, I imagine the diversity of insect visitors would be fairly startling.

Congratulations to Brian Riley on another in an ever-growing string of fantastic botanical finds. I appreciate him organizing this outing, and inviting me along. I look forward to his next great find.

This innocuous looking field is the most famous place in aviation history. It was here that two famous brothers from Dayton, Orville and Wilbur Wright, learned to fly. Sure, their first powered flights took place at Kitty Hawk, North Carolina in 1903, but the following year the brothers returned to Dayton, Ohio, and fine-tuned their flying machines on this very field.

Adjacent to the flying field is famous Huffman Prairie, and it, like the Wright Brothers' airfield, is part of the massive Wright-Patterson Air Force Base. The base houses some of the most sophisticated aircraft in the world. Incredible how far aviation has come in just over a century.

But I was not here to study the history of aircraft. I had not been to the 100-acre Huffman Prairie in a long time, and had been hearing all about how great it looked this year. So, a few Sundays back I headed to Dayton and met up with Grace Cochran of Five Rivers MetroParks, which serves the Dayton area. She was willing to give me a tour of the prairie, which her park district has a big hand in managing along with the air force base and the Ohio Chapter of the Nature Conservancy. Later, we were joined by Dave Nolin, the park district's Conservation Director and a longtime friend. It was a great trip, and we ended up spending many hours exploring the prairie.

Rich dark soil - REAL prairie soil! - is the bedrock of the prairie, and much of the general area. Indeed, the Wright Brothers' airfield was a wet fen back in Orville and Wilbur's day, and they often lamented the soggy quagmire when it was at its wettest.

The reports were true - the prairie looked spectacular. Much more diverse and forb-filled than I remembered from previous visits. Everyone involved in its management deserves major kudos.

In this shot, Purple Coneflower, Echinacea purpurea, and Big Bluestem, Andropogon gerardii, dominate but plenty of other botanical diversity is visible in the scene.

Photo: Dave Nolin

Had I only been there three weeks prior! That's when Dave made the stunning image above. Remember that for next year - if you wish to visit Huffman Prairie, angle for the tail end of July or the first week in August.

Purple Coneflower is one of the most conspicuous prairie flowers, and it attracts legions of pollinating insects.

We were routinely sidetracked by interesting insects, such as this Delicate Cycnia moth caterpillar, Cycnia tenera. It is a dogbane specialist, and dogbane is closely related to milkweed (which are now considered part of the dogbane family, Apocynaceae). This photo tells a few stories. We can see the toxic white latex seeping from a leaf scar. Relatively few caterpillars can ingest that stuff, but the cycnia has cracked dogbane's chemical code. The fuzzy grayish-brown caterpillar looks nice and fresh. That's because it just molted into its final instar, or growth stage. The cast-off skin of its last stage is to the left. Most caterpillars go through five instars before reaching the final stage. Next stop: Cocoon.

We were pleased to find this beautiful specimen of a Fork-tailed Bush Katydid, Scudderia furcata.The larger katydids are often tame and confiding, and easy to coax onto one's finger. They are attracted to salts, and will rasp off the outer epidermal layer of your skin, as Grace is finding out in this photo. It isn't painful; just a funny nibbling sensation. Note the animal's ears - those dark oval dimples just below the knees on the forelegs.

This was a nice find, indeed, although the backdrop left something to be desired. It is an Orange-spotted Pyrausta, Pyrausta orphisalis, savoring the delights of coyote scat. These colorful day-flying moths resemble small butterflies.

Almost as soon as we entered the prairie, birds grabbed our attention. Squadrons of Bobolinks coursed over the meadow, issuing their softly melodic pink calls. We were constantly serenaded by electric blue Indigo Buntings, incessant motormouths that they are: Fire fire, where where, here here, see see, put it out put it out! The harsh tshacks! of Common Yellowthroats were hurled our way from thickets, the rotund warblers infuriated at our tresspass. I was surprised and pleased to hear a Blue Grosbeak, quite the rarity in this region, singing its rich finchlike song. We later spotted the bird perched atop a sign.

But perhaps best of all, avian-wise, were the Sedge Wrens. As we penetrated deeper into the prairie, we began to hear the males' staccato chatter, which suggests a poorly running sewing machine. These are secretive rather mousey birds prone to foraging, and even singing, in dense cover. Eventually we spotted one as it flew from perch to perch.

After a while, we were rewarded with excellent looks, and in all detected five singing males. Sedge Wrens often form loose colonies, and if one is found, more will likely be present. In Ohio, they are rare and local breeders, and always a treat to encounter. In our area, at least, the name is a bit of a misnomer. Sedge Wrens most often occur in grasslands - not sedge-filled wetlands - from my experience. The scientific name is Cistothorus platensis, and the genus name roughly translates to "shrub leaper". Where I find them every spring in northern Michigan, that name is apropos - they are often in sedge meadows laced with alder thickets.

In Ohio, Sedge Wrens often don't appear on territory until mid-July or even early August. It is thought that these are birds that already bred at more northerly latitudes, or in the prairie states and provinces to the west. Following that, the wrens move south and east, and nest again in entirely new locales, both in terms of habitat and geography.

Thanks again to Grace and Dave for the tour, and an excellent day in one of Ohio's best prairies.

The Slender Ladies'-tresses, Spiranthes lacera, is one of our smallest orchid species, but always a star. Yesterday, I led a group on a trip to explore some interesting natural areas in southeastern Ohio. One of our stops was a very interesting oak barrens that is regularly subjected to controlled burns. Plant life in this locale is spectacular, and includes one of the rarest plants in Ohio. I hope to write more about that species soon. On the hike back to see the rarity, we stopped to admire this diminutive ladies'-tress, which was a "life" plant for most of the group.

But a fly, of all things, ended up stealing the show. Lisa Brohl spotted a large, strange-looking insect and drew my attention to it. Yes! Even from afar, it was instantly identifiable as the gargantuan, death-dealing Red-footed Cannibal Fly, Promachus hinei. Those of us who were bringing up the rear of the group (I'm always last!) were treated to the spectacle of one of our most ferocious insects.

We move in...

The cannibal fly was semi-cooperative, and after a bit of sneaking about, we were able to draw quite near. It was preoccupied. The animal had snared a large bumblebee, and has it in its clutches. Now that's tough! Very little is safe around a Red-footed Cannibal Fly. They, obviously, are not even deterred by insects that can give a nasty sting. This isn't the first time I've seen one with a bumblebee, either.

A cannibal fly on the hunt parks itself a leaf or branch with a good view of the surrounding landscape. When an appropriate victim - usually a large insect - flies into view, the cannibal fly launches itself and proceeds apace towards the prey. There is nothing particularly deft or agile about the operation. Accompanied by a loud buzzing drone, the fly hurtles clumsily but rapidly at the victim, and rams it in midair. Once the prey is met, the cannibal fly enfolds it with powerful spine-covered legs; an entomological iron maiden from which there is no escape.

The coup de grace is then administered. The fly's proboscis is a sturdy tube much like a hypodermic syringe, and it is rammed deeply into the doomed victim. Acidlike substances are piped in, which aid in dissolving the innards, and the liquefied goop is then sucked back out leaving little more than a dried husk. After a well deserved rest, the cannibal fly prepares for the next hunt.

This insect might be thought of as the Peregrine Falcon of the insect world. They are high-end predators, and from my experience are not very common. I see but a few each year, and when I do, the cannibal fly is invariably in some high quality habitat such as a prairie remnant or other open habitat of rich botanical diversity. Lots of native plant diversity breeds lots of pollinating insects, which in turn spawn a fabulous assemblage of predators, and of this latter group, the Red-footed Cannibal Fly is hard to top.

An inquisitive group examines a sapling Blue Ash, Fraxinus quadrangulata, at the Fernald Preserve in Hamilton County, Ohio. A number of us were there to look for moths, singing insects, caterpillars and whatever after dark last Saturday night. We scored big in the caterpillar department.

The aforementioned ash played host to a very special species of caterpillar; one of the Holy Grails among the tubular crowd. In fact, three of the caterpillars were present! It was a species that I had sought - as much as one can knowingly seek such things - since I learned of its existence. As with many finds, there was a significant amount of luck and serendipity involved, but to our credit, we were out after dark and actively seeking caterpillars, so we did work for it. I saw some fresh leaf damage on the ash, went in for a closer look, and Voila! I think you'll see why we thought this find was so cool. Read on...

A Harris's Three-spot caterpillar, Harrisimemna trisignata! The caterpillar world is full of weird creatures, but perhaps none are weirder than this one. It resembles a combination of Yak, fresh bird droppings, and some spider eyes stenciled on for good measure. Oh, and those strange bits of debris caught up on the long white hairs on its head. That's not just random bad grooming - the trash is there for a reason, as we shall see.

David Wagner, in his excellent guide, the Caterpillars of Eastern North America, states this about his first encounter with a Harris's Three-spot: "When my son Ryan first pointed out a Harris's Three-spot caterpillar to me, I dismissed the animal as a spider, even after he urged a second look."

I can easily see how one might do that, in the field and in the gloom of night. Had I not already been familiar with the animal from studies, and aware of what to look for, I may well have dismissed it as something else as well.

Now, back to the trash bits adorning the caterpillar's hairs. Those are the head capsules that were shucked during previous molts (caterpillars molt and shed their skins multiple times before reaching maturity). Somehow, the hard head capsules adhere tightly to the hairs, and the caterpillar uses them as flails. If a potential enemy such as a parasitoid fly or wasp, or even a small songbird, investigates the caterpillar, it will lash out with the hair-born head capsules. Its strikes occur with incredible rapidity and amazing accuracy, and would surely repel many would-be predators.

To make these photos, we transported the caterpillar into the Fernald Visitor Center (amazing building!) where we could create better images. The caterpillar was later taken back to the same tree upon which we captured it. As we photographed it, a tiny fly or wasp alighted on the leaf stem the caterpillar was on. I'm not sure what it was, but it did seem interested in the caterpillar. As soon as the insect lit nearby, the caterpillar flailed it away. It was a quite remarkable performance and I still am mystified how the cat even knew the other insect was there.

We found that we could easily stimulate the caterpillar to work its flails with a light touch of a finger. This video shows the animal in action.

To top it all off, the bizarre caterpillar tunnels into wood and pupates there. If all goes well for the caterpillar, it will morph into an equally amazing moth. An adult Harris's Three-spot is sure to cause a stir when it is found, as it is one of the more beautiful species in our Lepidopteran fauna. As with the caterpillar, I had been on the hunt for one of the moths for many years, and it wasn't until last June that I finally saw one. The moth in the photo was photographed at the massive Edge of Appalachia Preserve in Adams County, a region that probably harbors one of the richest diversity and abundance of moths in eastern North America.

Seen down low and on its level, the Harris's Three-spot is truly odd-looking, but so is every phase of its life cycle. It looks to be wearing goggles, and has a very spiderish look to it.

Maybe, somewhere, Harris's Three-spot caterpillars and moths are commonplace and people in that magical land tire of them. But insofar as I know, it is a rarity and a thrill to encounter.

Thanks to Sue Walpole, Penny Borgman, and Brian Wulker of the Fernald Preserve for hosting our visit, and allowing our after-hours explorations of the grounds.

Major kudos to Steve Landes! He found an incredibly rare bird (for Ohio) last Wednesday, and performed in a highly efficient manner in regards to getting word out. Within a half hour or so, just about everyone in Ohio's birding community knew about the Reddish Egret that Steve had found.

Ground zero for the egret - the City of Columbus' new upground reservoir in northwestern Delaware County, about 40 minutes northwest of Columbus. The egret has been frequenting shallow ponds on the reservoir's north side - I marked the spot where I saw it late Wednesday afternoon. I don't think the presence of the massive reservoir is coincidental. The bird, as it winged over, likely was attracted to the large water feature, and then dropped in to hunt in the adjacent shallow wetlands.

Photo: Steve Landes

I heard the initial report while in my office and unable to escape. Immediately after work, I rushed home, grabbed some gear, and headed up to the egret. As fortune would have it, Steve Landes was there. In my lust to see the Reddish Egret, I ran afield with only the big lens bolted to the Canon, so Steve was kind enough to share this iPhone picture of the general habitat. Nothing unusual, but the waters hosted plenty of fish and other aquatic prey.

The Reddish Egret, in a rare moment of repose. Steve's bird is a white morph, and a subadult. Apparently, at least in U.S. populations, white morphs comprise less than ten percent of the population. More typical dark morphs are slaty blue-gray with reddish-maroon neck and head. Of course, this bird may have come from points south of the U.S. There are thought to be less than 2,000 pairs in the United States, mostly along the Gulf Coast of Texas. But the species ranges south through Mexico, Central America, and the Caribbean. Like many other species of southern herons, Reddish Egrets can engage in northward post-breeding dispersal. Nonetheless, they seldom stray from coastal saltwater habitats, so to have one in Ohio is remarkable.

This was a brilliant find. It would have been quite easy to dismiss the bird, especially from a distance, as a juvenile Little Blue Heron, or perhaps a Snowy Egret, without taking a good look. No one would probably be thinking about Reddish Egret. But Steve did stop for a close study, and nailed it.

One clue for Reddish Egret is its feeding tactics. The animals often rush manically through the shallows, chasing and lunging after prey. Mantling the water with outstretched wings is a common practice - the sudden appearance of shade probably serves to spook fish, which the heron then darts after.

I apologize for the less than stellar images, but these were shot from afar in fading light. I know others have much better images, and if someone sends me one, I'll post it. But at least we now have images of this species in Ohio. There was a previous report, but that bird was never photographed and was a single observer sighting. I don't doubt it, but such reports should ordinarily fall into the hypothetical category. I'd say that even if it was my own sighting. First state records should require indisputable evidence. But evidence abounds in this case.

A short video that shows the frenetic feeding behavior of the Reddish Egret.

As darkness settled in, the egret arose and flew south over the reservoir. It returned the following day (Thursday) and has now been seen by scores of birders. I write this early on Friday morning, and have not yet heard of a report from today.

Congratulations and thanks to Steve Landes for the avian find of 2014. For the record, this is species #372 for my Ohio list. New state birds are few and far between these days. Ironically, my biggest Ohio nemesis species is the Tricolored Heron. We get a few of those every year. I'd not have thought that I would add Reddish Egret before that one.

A "weedy" unkempt bank of the mighty Ohio River, in Adams County, Ohio. That's Kentucky on the far side. I was down in the hill country for the past four days, much of which was spent attending a fabulous workshop on the singing insects (Orthoptera), taught by Wil Hershberger and Lisa Rainsong. More on that later.

We had some time on either end of the workshop to do some exploring, and we didn't let any grass grow under our feet. Some amazing finds were made, including the animal featured in this post. John Howard and I were riding together, and when we pulled into this site and saw the habitat, one animal was on our minds: the world's greatest beetle, the amazing Amorpha Borer!

Our party fanned out onto the riverbank and began the hunt, and it wasn't long before a mighty shout went up from Laura Hughes - she had spotted an Amorpha Borer, Megacyllene decora! We rushed to the spot, and marveled over the tangerine and black beast as it ran roughshod over the flowers of Late-flowering Thoroughwort, Eupatorium serotinum. Soon Laura saw another, and before we left a third beetle had been tallied. That was a record for us. John and I, especially, have searched for these beetles for at least six or seven years, and the best we had ever done was two in a day. After stopping at another site in Scioto County, where we added two additional beetles, our day's total came to an incredible five (5) Amorpha Borers.

Laura quickly learned that these large brutish beetles are not to be trifled with. She deftly snagged one with her bare hands, and received a blood-inducing nip in the process.

The jaws of the Amorpha Borer are large and powerful, as is the case with many longhorned beetles.

The Amorpha Borer is a striking insect, and appears to be a hornet mimic. Note the bold black and yellow banding. In flight, especially, they really do look like a yellowjacket or some such stinging insect.

From our experience, and we have spent a fair bit of time seeking this beetle, the Amorpha Borer is rare and local. It does not seem to range away from the banks of the Ohio River (in Ohio), and its flight period seems to be from August into September. We have never found them far from their host plant, which is False Indigo, Amorpha fruticosa. The beetle larvae feed internally on the stems of these plants. When the adults do emerge, they seek nectar avidly, but always (?) in close proximity to the host plants. A decided favorite is the aforementioned Late-flowering Thoroughwort, but we have also found beetles on goldenrods.

So those are the ingredients for finding Amorpha Borers in Ohio: an overgrown bank of the Ohio River, plenty of False Indigo, and blooming thoroughworts and goldenrods.

As befits their good looks, the beetles are always meticulously groomed.This one is running one of its antennae through its mouthparts, to keep everything clean and in good working order.

Once the beetle had completed the task of antenna-scrubbing, it set about washing its feet. One never knows when the paparazzi might arrive on the scene, I suppose.

In order to better capture the beetle's true magnificence, we temporarily detained one and shot images on foliage affixed to that picnic table. John Howard (left) assists David Hughes (seated), while Laura Hughes (left) and Lisa Rainsong look on. Wendy Partridge is in the backdrop, and Wil Hershberger was off looking at something elsewhere.

Based on our searches, John and I believe that Megacyllene decora is probably an uncommon and local, if not downright rare, beetle in Ohio. We would love to learn of other populations, but so far no one has alerted us to any. A check of the massive Ohio State University insect collection (courtesy of George Keeney) revealed no specimens, either. Such a large flashy beetle would surely draw the attention of collectors, and if they were at all plentiful, I suspect specimens would reside in OSU's collection.

Perhaps the Amorpha Borer deserves to be state-listed as threatened or endangered.

September 1 marked the centennial of the passing of the very last Passenger Pigeon, Martha. Her death spelled the end for a species once so plentiful that no one who lived at the peak of the Passenger's Pigeons' abundance could ever have imagined that it would disappear, completely and utterly, and entirely due to the actions of people. There are many lessons to be learned from this tragic tale, and Martha and her kind should not be forgotten.

The Grange Insurance Audubon Center is hosting a showing of the film The Lost Bird Project, followed by a panel discussion about the pigeon, conservation, extinction and whatever topics arise. It's free, and all are welcome. Details below:

The Lost Bird Project

Grange Insurance Audubon Center

Wednesday September 17, 2014

7:00 – 9:00 pm

The film The Lost Bird Projectwill be shown. It chronicles the memorial sculptures that artist Todd McGrain created to remember and honor the lost birds: the Labrador Duck, the Great Auk, the Heath Hen, the Carolina Parakeet and the Passenger Pigeon. Friends set out to find the perfect place to permanently house the sculptures. As the Grange Insurance Audubon Center was just being completed and the team was trying to find a place near where the last wild passenger pigeon was shot, and the last captive Passenger Pigeon died it seemed the Center was the perfect place. Come and enjoy this beautiful sculpture and watch the film. There will be a panel discussion immediately following the film featuring, Jim McCormac from ODNR, Barb Revard from the Columbus Zoo and Aquarium and President of the Columbus Audubon Chapter and Marnie Urso from the National Audubon Society.

Free and open to the public. No reservation required. Donations appreciated.

505 W. Whittier St. Cols OH 43215

614-545-5486

Grange Insurance Audubon Center

505 W. Whittier St.

Columbus, Ohio 43215

Direct Line – 614-545-5486

Center Main Number- 614-545-5475

Fax – 614-545-5489

Visit us on the web: www.grangeinsuranceauduboncenter.org

A Ground Skink, Scincella lateralis, (sometimes called the Little Brown Skink) rests, quite appropriately, on the ground.

While in Adams County two weekends ago, Mark Zloba of the Cincinnati Museum Center and an employee at the Edge of Appalachia Preserve, mentioned an area where he always sees Ground Skinks. Would I be interested in seeing them? You betcha! Everyone has their nemesis creatures - animals that just seem to elude one, no matter how hard you try. Well, this skink was my nemesis Ohio lizard. I can't say that I really knocked myself out looking for one, but in year's past I had visited a number of sites where they were reported, sometimes with the express purpose of finding one, and had always failed.

One of the little skinks peeks shyly over a log. We saw several, and it was great to finally make the reptile's acquaintance in real life. One can only learn so much from books and literature, and the Internet - there is no substitute for seeing the real McCoy and observing how the animal acts, and interacts with its environment.

Ground Skinks are very limited in their Ohio distribution. Insofar as I know, they have only been reported from the southernmost counties of Adams, Hocking, Scioto, and Vinton. I'm not sure if they are still present in Hocking County, and where they do occur they tend to be localized. This species is listed as a Species of Concern by the Ohio Division of Wildlife.

Ground Skinks are tiny; a large one doesn't even reach six inches in length. The ones that we saw were probably only three or four inches. Under close inspection, they proved to be exquisite animals. The rich coppery-brown tones of the head blend into a grayish brown back, and a neat black pinstripe traverses the skink's side.

These reptiles spend much of their time furtively hunting small game among the leaf litter. When not on the hunt, they hide under logs or other refuges. We found our first two out in the open, apparently foraging. One or two others were caught hiding under metal tins on the ground. I found them rather confiding and easy to approach and work with.

As this map depicts, the Ground Skink is a southerner reaching its northern limits in southern Ohio. Due to its limited occurrence here, it is a reptile that one is unlikely to stumble into. As with all rare/local snakes, lizards, and turtles, it's best to not broadcast the locations of populations. There is another well known Ground Skink site in Shawnee State Forest. I once stopped there, mostly to photograph some plants that occur at the same locale. It looked like a bomb blast had gone off. Apparently some "herpers" (short for herpetologists/reptile enthusiasts) had just been there seeking the skinks. They had flipped nearly all of the big rocks, but didn't replace anything how they had found it. Such disturbance cannot be good for the skinks (or other reptiles), and unfortunately such behavior does occur from time to time.

My expeditions afield tend to produce far more images than I could ever share here. Normally, I have a specific subject or theme for posts, and that sometimes precludes using photos that I think are interesting, but fall outside of one of my writing topics.

So here is a hodgepodge of various insect images, all taken in the last week or so. All of the subjects were found in central or southern Ohio.

A Curve-tailed Bush Katydid, Scudderia curvicauda, looks into the camera. These whimsical-looking beasts make for great photography subjects. Note the katydid's ears - those dark oval pits just below the knees on the forelegs.

TIP: Go out at night, when they are active and singing, for the best images.

A Black-waved Flannel Moth caterpillar, Lagoa crispata, caught in the act of molting. It has nearly shed the skin of the penultimate instar, which is the white fluffy cottonlike mass. The caterpillar is now brown and resembles a turtle covered with shag carpeting. Most of our caterpillars go through five growth stages, each termed an instar. In some species, such as this one, the appearance between instars is quite different. This is the last stage - next stop, cocoon.

A female Common Green Darner, Anax junius, caught while resting late at night. She was one of several that we found on this evening, dangling from tree branches. Green Darners are highly migratory and it may be that a migratory swarm put down in this area for the night.

One to watch for on the goldenrods this time of year, the beautiful Locust Borer, Megacyllene robiniae. These longhorned beetles spend much of their life cycle as larvae, feeding internally on the tissues of Black Locust trees. For an all too brief period in fall, adults emerge and can be found taking nectar and pollen from flowers.

Fortunately for me, it was a chilly night when I shot this insect, which had flown into lights at a moth sheet. It is the Bald-faced Hornet, Dolichovespula maculata, and this individual was too cold to let me have it. Their sting packs a whallop. I know this firsthand, having been stung while photographing one of the football-sized paper nests. Check the mandibles - Bald-faced Hornets capture and eat other insects, sometimes including yellowjackets.

A tubular work of art indeed, an Orange-striped Oakworm, Anisota senatoria, makes mincemeat of an American Beech leaf. Sometimes there are noticeable population spikes in this species, and scores of the caterpillars can be found on a single tree.

This funny-looking little moth was by my porch light tonight. It's the Lesser Grapevine Looper, Eulithis diversilineata, which can be quite common in urban and suburban locales. It is one of many species of moths whose caterpillars are wedded entirely to wild grape and Virginia Creeper.

A brown form of the Round-tipped Conehead, Neoconocephalus retusus. These large katydids are normally green, but this form crops up from time to time, and it blends especially well with the senescing foliage of late autumn. Round-tipped Coneheads create a very loud buzzing crackle, which is a common sound along roadsides and in fields. Listen while you can - the singing insects will largely vanish with the first frosts of late fall.

I have covered a lot of ground in recent days, from Cleveland to the Ohio River. Lots of cool stuff has come under the camera's lens, but I've had precious little time to slap any of it up here. So, to partially remedy that situation, here is a hodge-podge of Hymenoptera seen recently. Some of the insects in this Order rank high among our most reviled six-legged creatures, but I like nearly all of them. In spite of some of the stings that I've taken in the line of duty.

A paper wasp in the genus Polistes takes nectar and/or pollen from Gray Goldenrod, Solidago nemoralis. Goldenrods are unbeatable insect attractors in fall. This wasp is one of a number of species that makes small hemispherical paper nests that hang from a stalk. They often build in places where people will wander near, and stings are not uncommon. They hurt, too. We can just ask the artist Sigrid Nielson, who accompanied me on a recent foray. A paper wasp whacked her on the shoulder, and she reports distinctly unpleasant aftershocks.

I had been after this one for a while. It is a pelecinid (pel-ih-see-nid) wasp, Pelecinus polyturator, and they can be hard to approach. Every other one that I had encountered was during the day, and none of them ever allowed an opportunity for a good shot. We found these at night, after plunking ourselves to the ground to set up a shoot of a caterpillar. The flashlight beams drew in two of the pelecinids, and it was fairly simple to set them up for some shots.

Note the long abdomen - this is a female, and she uses that elongate body part to insert eggs into the ground and into beetle larvae. The wasp grub will then consume the host grub.

This, I believe, is a species of braconid wasp, possibly in the genus Atanycolus.Whatever it is, she's got a massive ovipositor. If it is an Atanycolus wasp, she uses that long spikelike ovipositor to auger deep into wood and lay eggs in woodboring beetle larvae.

While the previous wasp was tiny and would be measured in millimeters, this animal is huge and might send people running and screaming. It's a European Hornet, Vespa crabro, happily snacking on the head of a Common Green Darner dragonfly. The rest of the meal lies to the wasp's right, and a Harvestman is also scavenging a meal.

European Hornets are predatory and take lesser insects, but I can't imagine it took out this big dragonfly. I suspect it is opportunistically feeding on the carcass. To me, it looks like one of these would pack a punch - one can be over an inch long - but they apparently are not normally aggressive. I've seen very few of these, but they supposedly are steadily expanding their range (European Hornets were introduced in New York about 150 years ago). This weekend past, I saw two, in widely scattered locales.

Bizarre just doesn't cut it as a descriptor for this thing. One might be forgiven for thinking the waxy undulating mass to be some sort of strange fungus with the ability to glide across leaves. It is the Butternut Woollyworm, Eriocampa juglandis, which is a type of sawfly (the Order Hymenoptera includes ants, bees, wasps, and sawflies).

I was unfamiliar with this species until earlier this year, when John Howard pointed some out. Larval sawflies, at least those that do not sprout waxy filamentous growths, resemble caterpillars and feed on plants in much the same manner. This one was among many that were consuming walnut foliage.

An unadorned Butternut Woollyworm lies naked and curled next to one of its mates in costume. I am unsure of the process by which these sawflies develop their fungal-looking layers, but imagine that the disguise makes them unappealing to would-be predators.

This is one of the leafcutter bees in the genus Megachile, feeding on the disk flowers of Flat-topped Aster, Doellingeria umbellata. Note the pollen granules stuck to the bee; the earmark of a good pollinator. While it is the European Honeybee that garners the lion's share of the press, that introduced species is relatively inconsequential when it comes to the pollination of our native flora. The myriad species of native bees and wasps that have co-evolved with North America's plants are far more important than the honeybee.

LOTS of species of wasps in a number of families are parasitoids. They lay their eggs on or in host insects, and the wasp grub becomes an internal parasite eating its host alive. This behavior normally kills the host before it can complete its life cycle. Caterpillars are extraordinarily common victims.

I was photographing this Tuliptree Beauty inchworm caterpillar, Epimecis hortaria, and was so fixated on making images that I did not notice its unwelcome hitchhiker. A tiny wasp perches atop the cat, and it is undoubtedly up to no good (to wax anthropomorphic). I'm not sure of the family of the wasp - Chalcidae, Braconidae? - but it almost certainly has or will deposit eggs on this caterpillar. If so, the caterpillar's fate is a foregone conclusion, and it won't be a happy ending.

Many times, including several times in the past few days, I have taken macro images of caterpillars, only to spot parasitoid wasps on them while reviewing the photos later. An incredible percentage of caterpillars suffer such fates; some experts believe that as many as 99% of at least some caterpillar species perish due to predators, and wasps are a big part of that food web.

The beautiful flowers of Stiff Aster, Ionactis linariifolius, are sure to grab the eye. You won't see this one any old place - in Ohio, it is confined to a handful of the southernmost counties. This specimen was photographed in Shawnee State Forest, Scioto County.

I've been far and wide in the week past, all the way from Cleveland, to Youngstown, to the Ohio River. Robust travels and other obligations have kept me from the blog, at least to the extent that I normally contribute. There have been some very cool experiences, with some very cool people, and I hope to share some of those tales eventually. You can believe there are photos of everything.

But for now, I must make do with quickly captioned snapshots of a few items of natural history.

A young Black Kingsnake, Lampropeltis getulis, coils before the camera.The animal was in a riparian woodland along Scioto Brush Creek in Scioto County. For as fierce as these snakes are - they routinely prey on other snakes, including venomous copperheads - they are marshmallows when encountered by people. I temporarily detained the animal, and following a quick and utterly painless nip on my thumb - can't blame the snake, I asked for it! - it settled right down.

Gorgeous and massive by damselfly standards, this Great Spreadwing, Archilestes grandis, dangles from a branch in a wet meadow near Cleveland. The animal attempted a few evasive maneuvers, but eventually settled in and allowed me near.

An oddity in a world of mega-oddities, this is a small caterpillar known as Nason's Slug, Natada nasoni. All of the slug moth caterpillars are ornate and interesting, but I find this species especially fetching. Its stinging spines - those tiny red fascicles - are retractable. When confronted with a potential peril the cat extends them, and woe to the predator that makes contact. A blistering sting will follow. Or so they say. I've never actually handled one, preferring to accept others' word on this one.

The New River Gorge Bridge, a span of incredible dimensions. It crosses the New River at Fayetteville, West Virginia, and is perhaps best known for the annual Bridge Day festival. But the bridge is a festival of engineering in its own right. When completed in 1977, it was the world's longest single span arch bridge at 3,030 feet. It's since been bested by a few other bridges, but no matter - the thing is still massive in every way.

I've been coming to this area every spring for at least eight years to participate in the New River Birding & Nature Festival. SIDEBAR: If you want to have a lot of fun, see scads of birds, AND lots of other biodiversity, CHECK OUT THIS FESTIVAL.

The bridge is a point of fascination to nearly everyone who comes here, and it was to me as well. When a company called Bridge Walk opened their doors four years ago, offering people the opportunity to traverse the span on a narrow catwalk under the roadway, I couldn't wait to do it. Well, it took until last weekend to finally knock this one off my bucket list, and it was worth the wait. I connected with my friend and festival co-organizer Rachel Davis, hooked up with the nice people at Bridge Walk, and away we went.

Should you dare to undertake the Bridge Walk, this will be your path. A narrow catwalk about two feet wide is located about fifteen feet under the bridge's road deck. For safety's sake, all walkers are connected via safety cables to overhead wires. There's never been a mishap, although on occasion a walker decides it might be in their best interest to turn back once they get a ways out under the bridge.

Your narrator stands high over the rushing waters of the New River. About 850 feet high, in fact.

The views from up there are incredible, and they get better as one progresses towards the center of the bridge. Photography is tough, as you're in a well-shaded situation trying to shoot out into bright light. The catwalk allows a great perspective on the amazing engineering that went into the bridge.

If you think walking the catwalk would be daunting, it is an absolute cakewalk compared to what it must have been like to be a steelworker assembling the bridge. Or, one of the inspectors who regularly clambers over every beam to make sure that all is well.

One of my primary goals was to see one of the local Peregrine Falcons that has appropriated the bridge. They began nesting in a nook near the top of the arch, over 800 feet above the river, a few years back. I had seen the falcons several times from the ground FAR below, but thought that it would be awesome to see them up at their level. It was.

A falcon glares at our group from his perch on a beam. The birds are quite use to human interlopers, and are relatively undisturbed by people. Not so with the Rock Pigeons, who, Rachel tells me, have largely abandoned their roosts under the bridge now that Peregrine Falcons are in the house. I can scarcely imagine how cool it must be to be a bird that, at will, can soar hundreds of feet above ground level and hang out on the beams of one of the world's biggest, coolest, tallest bridges. And from its lofty perch, spot a hapless flicker or cuckoo crossing the river far below, drop like a torpedo, and whack the prey in midair.

A short video showing one of the falcons dropping from a bridge pillar, and soaring out over the canyon. My wide-angle landscape lens wasn't up to the task of following the bird, but you'll get a brief sense of the viewscape offered from the bridge's catwalk.

Much cooler nights, shorter days, and foliage in a rapid state of senescence means the end of caterpillar season. It'll be a long cold winter with little or no prey for us caterpillar hunters. Following is a hodgepodge of caterpillars found in the last few weeks, mostly from Adams County, Ohio, but a few from elsewhere in the state. May they help tide you over during the sleet, snow, and blizzards to come.

Striking in its complexity is this very showy Honey Locust Moth caterpillar, Sphingicampa bicolor. John Howard has a prime honey locust tree on his property, and seems to find the cats on it every year. He was good enough to bring this specimen along on one of our field trips so that interested parties could photograph it. As is always the case, click on the photo to ENLARGE it.

These are two of the four anterior prolegs of the above caterpillar. They are like small suction cups tipped with little hooks called crochets, and the prolegs exert a very powerful grip on twigs or foliage.

Here is the anterior prolegs of a Giant Leopard Moth, Hypercompe scribonia.These crochets are quite well developed, and are clearly visible in the photo. It appears that the caterpillar interlaces the crochets of the opposing feet, thus creating a nearly unbreakable grasp on the twig or petiole.

The White-blotched Hetercampa, Heterocampa umbrata, is a strange beast indeed. When alarmed, it elevates its posterior, or at least this one did. Like many caterpillar species, it is dappled with paler areas that seemingly mimic dead or necrotic leaf tissue and help it blend with its surroundings. This is one of many oak specialist caterpillars, and our model was feeding on Black Oak, Quercus velutina.

If possible, this Red-washed Prominent, Oligocentria semirufescens, is stranger than the previous character. A stegosaurus comes to mind. While rather conspicuous in this pose, if the caterpillar has chewed its way into the margin of a leaf, it blends in incredibly well.

I was fortunate indeed to luck into this scene. It is a Black-waved Flannel Moth caterpillar, Megalopyge crispata, in the process of molting. Most caterpillars go through five molts - some species even more - and each stage is termed an instar. This flannel cat is just entering its ultimate instar, which is brown and shaggy. Prior to this stage, it was like a big puffball of white hair, as seen by the old skin on the right. Whatever stage they are in, don't touch! This caterpillar is armed with very painful stinging spines.

Handsome but rather unassuming is this Walnut Sphinx, Amorpha juglandis, seen here, appropriately, on a black walnut tree. When threatened, it puts on a heckuva show. Touch one and it will expel air through its spiracles (tiny openings for air exchange) with great force. The result is a quite audible and utterly unexpected hissing sound. That effect is coupled with violent side to side thrashing. It's enough to encourage many would-be predators to leave the caterpillar alone, I'd think.

This Hog Sphinx, Darapsa myron, did not have enough defensive ploys to successfully thwart braconid wasps, which have parastized it. The cylindric cottony capsule is a wasp cocoon, and all of the little brown spots mark the locations of cocoons that have fallen off. The wasp grubs ate their way to maturity inside the caterpillar host, then burst through the skin and formed these cocoons. In short order, they'll pop the tops off the cocoons and emerge as adult wasps. This caterpillar, while still alive, is unlikely to survive such ravages. The vast majority of caterpillars perish due to predators, but fortunately enough survive to complete the life cycle and repopulate our world with moths and butterflies.

Earlier this fall, I wrote (with some excitement) about finally finding one of our strangest caterpillars, the Harris's Three-spot, Harrisimemna trisignata. That post, with photos, is RIGHT HERE. It describes the odd behavior of the caterpillar, and the equally strange appearance of the moth that it morphs into.

On a recent expedition into the New River Gorge area of West Virginia, I had the great experience of seeing another H. 3-spot. Rachel Davis and I ventured into the Wolf Creek Park wetland after dark, and Rachel spotted the beast above. She called me over, and WOW! We had stumbled into a 3-spot in the act of excavating its pupatorium.

That's right, the life cycle of this weird caterpillar gets even weirder. When it nears the end of the line for the caterpillar stage,the caterpillar bores a chamber into solid wood. We probably found this one not too long after it began digging, and at this point its chamber is deep enough to fit half its body in. The hole is being drilled into the untreated pine of a boardwalk railing.

The caterpillar emerges, perhaps to take a breather and glare at the nosy paparazzi. But this allows us to fully appreciate its truly odd appearance.

After waiting and watching for a good while, we learned that 3-spots tunnel quite slowly. So, we got bored, so to speak, and left. But I could not stand it and had to return the following evening to see what kind of progress had been made. We found that the caterpillar had deepened the hole to the point that it could now fit its entire body inside. In this shot, the tail end of the cat is all that is visible.

Evidence of its labors littered the boardwalk decking under the excavation. These little pellets are wood shavings, masticated and packed into globules. Having never witnessed this behavior - few people probably have - I was naturally curious as to how the caterpillar went about ejecting the excavated wood debris. We decided to wait and watch, and hoped that it would not be hours between pellet ejections.

Here comes the caterpillar, lugging a pellet. It grasps the pellet in its mandibles and thoracic prolegs, and tugs it from the depths.

Out a bit further...

Seconds after I made this image, the caterpillar dropped the pellet to the boards below. From the time that we could first see the pellet apear to the time the cat dumped it was probably less than a minute. In general, it took about 20-30 minutes for it to fully form a pellet and bring it back to the burrow entrance and dump it. As the excavation deepened, the time between pellets seemed to increase. Presumably the caterpillar digs a wider chamber at the tunnel's end. Remember, the adult moth must emerge from this pupatorium next year.

Here's a close-up of a pellet. Well chewed wood softened and loosely packed together. Harris's Three-spots must have very powerful mandibles.

The small red arrow points down to the tunnel entrance. The boardwalk handrail provides a size context. I'm assuming that the caterpillar does its boring under cover of darkness, but we did not visit during daylight hours to see if anything was happening.

Photo: Rachel Davis

Rachel, whose office is in nearby Fayetteville, went back two days later to see what the tunnel looked like. It was done, and expertly sealed. While the entrance looks to be solidly plugged with wood, the cap is actually a thin veneer of silk produced by the caterpillar. Remember, the moth must somehow escape the tunnel late next spring, and apparently it can punch its way through this silk operculum. The silken cover disguises the pupatorium entrance well, and few if any creatures would probably pay it any mind.

David Wagner, in his ground-breaking book Caterpillars of Eastern North America, notes that Harris's Three-spot caterpillars consume a great many species of common woody plants. Yet the caterpillars/moths seem rare. In spite of years of searching, it wasn't until this year that I finally found this species. Many caterpillar hunters that I know have never seen one. I think the creation of its pupal chamber may be the species' Achilles heel. Spending two nights making the chamber leaves the caterpillar quite vulnerable to predators, and it seems likely that many would be picked off at this stage. However, if the caterpillar successfully completes the burrow and seals itself in, it is probably as safe as a caterpillar can be.

The Big Sit! is an effort to tally as many bird species as possible within 24 hours, from the confines of an officially designated 17-foot diameter circle. The Big Sit! concept was formalized by the New Haven (Connecticut) Bird Club in 1993, and later Bird Watcher's Digest stepped in to provide sponsorship. I wrote in more detail about Big Sits in last Sunday's Columbus Dispatch, RIGHT HERE.

Big Sits are a lot of fun, and tax all of a birder's identification skills. They can also be used as an interesting way to raise funds for worthy causes. The Big Sit! occurs this coming weekend, October 11th & 12th, and well over 150 circles will be formed and sat in all across the States and beyond.

The Grange Insurance Audubon Center (GIAC) just south of downtown Columbus, Ohio. The center opened about five years ago, and one of its major missions is to expose kids to nature. Because of the center's location, it draws lots of inner city school kids, and helps to teach them about the natural world. That's a righteous cause, and one that I know of many of us are keenly interested in. Thus, I was flattered to be asked to join GIAC's board, and accepted of course.

The GIAC is about as environmentally friendly a building as one can construct, and that includes the vegetated roof, seen here. One day, I was gazing up at the structure, and the light bulb illuminated over my head. BIG SIT! The rooftop should be an ideal place to set up a 17-foot diameter circle and count away.

Fast forward and the time is nearly upon us. Along with Bill Heck, Columbus Audubon's immediate past president, ace birder Steve Landes (he found the recent mega-rarity Reddish Egret [CLICK HERE]), Susan Setterlin, and probably others, I'll be up on that roof A LOT come this Sunday, October 12th. You're free to join us for as little or as long as you wish, if you want to get in some sedentary birding. Our circle will be on the highest point of the roof, all the way to the back right in the photo. We (at least Bill and I, for starts) will take up position just after midnight this Sunday, and stay there (breaks are permitted!) well into the following evening. If it is a clear calm night, it's amazing how many species can be detected after dark by their calls.

This is the view from our circle, looking north and east. The field and wetlands draw a diversity of birds, and the Peregrine Falcons that hang out on downtown skyscrapers make occasional passes through the area.

Just west of the center is the mighty Scioto River, and its presence should mean lots of birds. This locale is a migratory freeway, and I bet we have a few dozen species checked off by sunrise. Because of the habitat diversity in view of the Big Sit circle, I'd think we will muster at least 60 species, and possibly many more than that. It'll be interesting to see what the total turns out to be.

Progress updates will be posted to the Grange Insurance Audubon Center's website, RIGHT HERE. As we tick new species, Jeff Yost and crew will post them to the site, along with information about the species.

Finally, we hope to raise a few bucks to support the center and its mission. A common way of donating to Big Sits is via a per-species pledge. Maybe it's $5.00 a species, $1.00 a species, or even a quarter a species. Every contribution is appreciated! If you would like to help fund our mission (madness), please visit the Grange Insurance Audubon Center website RIGHT HERE.

If you want more details about the Big Sit! or would like to come up on the roof for a bit, please email me at: jimmccormac35 AT gmail.com

I've written about the larvae of the Green Lacewing, Leucochrysa pavida, before, but never with (what I felt) were adequate photographs. These little creatures are very hard to image. They're small, mostly covered up, and when they expose themselves they're generally on the move.

It was time to figure out how to overcome the photographic challenges. I'm involved in a project that features an essay about lacewing larvae, and a good photo was a must. Lacewing larvae of the type shown below are not rare, but can be a challenge to locate for reasons that will soon be obvious. I asked Chris Bedel, Director of the Edge of Appalachia Preserve, if he might keep an eye out for lacewing larvae and capture me some livestock if he found any. Chris did, and I was able to set up a shoot under more controlled conditions than one would find outside, on the trunk of a tree. My rig was the Canon 5D Mark III with the twin-lite flash setup rigged to the spectacular MP-E 65 mega-macro lens. Still wasn't easy, and I probably shot off a hundred shots to get a few keepers.

Not much to see here. At least that's what the lacewing wants you - or its victims - to think. Just a little roundish knot of lichens on a lichen-encrusted tree bark substrate.

Whoa! The little lichen ball lives! In one of the more remarkable cases of camouflage in the insect world, this predatory larva adorns its body with lichen bits. Not just any lichens, either. One study showed that only three species are typically selected. The lacewing is quite adept at harvesting these lichen bits, and swinging them up onto its dorsal surface, where they are webbed into place with silk.

The end result is a lichen Ghillie Suit. The insect moves with a halting stumble-step that might remind a birder of the curious mincing paces of an American Woodcock. Looking up under the costume, as here, we see that the lichens conceal a formidable predator. Check those mandibles!

Lacewing larvae of many species prey on aphids, and this one is no exception. Its only problem is that ants often guard arboreal aphid colonies, as the ants get a reward of nutrient-rich aphid honeydew for their troubles. Ants are extremely good at warding off threats to their charges; entomological pit bulls, you might say. The lacewing larva gets around this problem by means of its camouflaged suit. It moves right into aphid colonies, fooling the ant guards with its outstanding disguise. Other potential victims are no doubt fooled as well. Who would notice that the little lichen clump was slowly moving their way?

We go directly under the animal, and can better see how everything is put together. Not only is the lacewing incredibly well camouflaged, but it can also flex its body and pull the lichen suit into a protective shell if threatened. Under my macro lens, I could see the larvae occasionally harvest a lichen bit with the mandibles or labial palps - little feelers that extend forward from the head (it was hard to tell what parts were doing the grabbing) - and quickly place them on its back.

The death-dealing mandibles at the left are what the creature uses to seize its prey, which will then be punctured by the mouthparts and sucked dry. Radiating around its body are long struts capped with stiff hairlike bristles. These serve to support the lichen "house" on its back.

Should you be a lesser beast, you would not want to glance up and see this face looming from under the "harmless" clump of lichen.

If all goes well for the lacewing larva, it will eventually morph into a small but beautiful winged insect with gossamer net-veined wings that is extremely different than the animal seen here. If you search enough lichen-spackled tree trunks and limbs, eventually you'll make the acquaintance of one of these things.

Nature truly is amazing.

Thanks to Chris Bedel for his help in securing these lichen-lions!

A rocky mountain stream is punctuated by a quiet pool near Summersville, West Virginia. My friend Rachel Davis, who lives not far from here, showed me this little park back in late September. The place was full of biodiversity. Not long after exiting the car we saw a cool bird, and it was time to flip from the landscape lens to something with a bit more pulling power.

A hen Common Merganser! To birders used to seeing this species in migration and winter, when they frequent large lakes and rivers, seeing one on a small creek might seem strange. But Common Mergansers nest along streams, and I suspect that this bird was a local breeder who hadn't yet left the mountains.

Common Mergansers are BIG ducks - a hefty one can weigh 3.5 lbs. - but in spite of their bulk, they nest in cavities. I wrote about Ohio's only significant breeding population RIGHT HERE.

They're also fish eaters, and finicky about the water quality of the streams that they nest along. Cut the buffering forests and fill the stream with sediment, and the mergansers vanish. Otherwise pollute their streams and damage the aquatic food chain, and it's curtains for the fish ducks. Common Mergansers make a good barometer of the health of the streams, rivers, and lakes where they breed.

I was surprised to see this merganser where it was, as I didn't know that they bred in the area. But to see one of these ducks on such a small stream, even this late in the season, might be an indicator of local nesting.

Map courtesy of Birds of North America Online

Here's a map depicting the North America distribution of Common Merganser. As is evident, they breed in a broad northerly swath, and northern Ohio is at the southernmost latitude for eastern nesters. West Virginia isn't even shown in the breeding range.

The map needs updated, but it would have been accurate not so long ago. During the first West Virginia Breeding Bird Atlas, which took place from 1984 to 1989, no evidence of nesting Common Mergansers was found in the Mountaineer State. Fast forward to Atlas II, which began in 2009 and concluded at the end of this year's field season. The merganser's status had changed dramatically, and for the better. The ducks were found in 68 blocks, mostly in the eastern half of the state, and nesting was confirmed in 35 of them. A positive environmental story in an age of all too common gloom and doom.

Common Mergansers undoubtedly bred historically in much of West Virginia. Rampant logging and the attendant degradation of streams probably pushed them out for decades, just as it did here in Ohio. As forests have recovered and the aquatic health of forest streams improved, the ducks have made a comeback.

Lytopylus wasp

Some more (extremely cool) wasps

A tiny damsel, larger than life

Rough Boneset, new to Ohio

Sedge Wrens at historic Huffman Prairie

Red-footed Cannibal Fly!

Harris's Three-spot caterpillar, a weird animal indeed

Reddish Egret in Ohio!

The amazing Amorpha Borer strikes again!

The lost Bird Project film, and discussion

Ground Skink, Scincella lateralis

Some late season bugs

Some random cool Hymenoptera (bees & wasps)

Miscellanea

Falcons of the New River Gorge bridge

Caterpillar curios

Our most bizarre(?) caterpillar gets more bizarre

Support the Big Sit!

A murderous, mobile lichen

Mergansers make a comeback in the Mountain State