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Climbing Fern, Lygodium palmatum

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Way back on August 13, I made a visit to Vinton County in southeastern Ohio, to visit my friend Ray Showman and his wife, Carol. The primary mission was to deliver a presentation to Carol's garden club, and that task was dealt with. But there was time for a field excursion into Vinton County's wildlands, and Ray and I hit some of the local hotspots.

One organism that I really wanted to revisit was a strange plant known as Climbing Fern, Lygodium palmatum. For as long as I can remember there has been a large station of this plant in a scruffy cutover woods not far outside of McArthur. Ray and I made our way there, and lo and behold - there was the fern. Vegetation succession has eliminated much of it - back when I first became acquainted with this spot the fern clambered over vast expanses, and suggested an out-of-control growth of Japanese Honeysuckle from afar. But the odd tangle of the odd fern persisted here and there.

In the photo above, we see the finely cleft fertile leaves of Climbing Fern, near the summit of the filamentous vining stems that scramble over other plants. Its support plant - at least one of them - is the noxious Japanese Honeysuckle, and supporting this beautiful fern is one of the better uses that I've seen for that invasive species.

This is what the ground below looked like. A vegetative tsunami of interesting hand-shaped leaves; the sterile foliage of the Climbing Fern. Their shape provides the plant's scientific name's specific epithet: palmatum (hand-like).

Here are both leaves together on an aerial stem. The narrowly lobed fertile leaves, which bear the indusia or spore cases, adorn the upper part of the twining stem. A few of the larger sterile leaves are below. All in all, a very showy climber well worthy of our attention and respect. It would seemingly make an excellent garden plant, but may be tough to grow, and it seems virtually unknown in the nursery trade.

Up until recently, Climbing Fern was a member of the strangely named Curly-grass family of ferns (Schizaeacaea. It has since been segregated into the Lygodiaceae). Only two species in these groups make it this far north: Climbing Fern (map), and the strange little Schizaea pusilla of the east coast and northeastern maritime regions. Ohio is on the edge of the Climbing Fern's range, and although it can be locally common, generally the fern occurs sparingly and locally in a handful of southeastern counties. The rest of the 35 or so species are tropical, and occur far to our south.

Hunting shorebirds

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A Common Buckeye, Junonia coenia, nectars at the flowers of White Heath Aster, Symphyotrichum pilosum. There's nothing "common" about the appearance of this exotic-looking butterfly, and while the plant is abundant and sometimes derided as weedy, it is an important native late-season source of energy for butterflies and other pollinators. I made this image last Sunday at the St. Marys Fish Hatchery in Auglaize County, Ohio.

I haven't been letting grass grow under my feet of late, hence the scarcity of posts. Three recent and highly productive field days resulted in many sightings and images, though. I'm still sorting and cataloguing those, but present a few photos here.

This freshly molted male Red-winged Blackbird, many feathers still fringed with buff, felt the spirit of a late fall Indian Summer day and could not contain himself. I photographed him in the yellow glow of the final minutes before sunset at Killbuck Marsh Wildlife Area in Wayne County. He obligingly posed on a fruiting stalk of our native cattail, Typha latifolia.

A Turkey Vulture takes wing in western Ohio. Photographers are sometimes disappointed with their vulture images. As large as these birds are, they'd seem to be easy pickings with a camera. But vultures on the wing are often much further away than they appear, making it tough to get a crisp image. This animal and many of his compadres were feasting on dead fish in a freshly drained pond at the aforementioned St. Marys Fish Hatchery, and they permitted close approach.

A highlight of the fish hatchery foray was this stunning female Surf Scoter. Any of the three scoter species is rare away from Lake Erie in Ohio, and it's often not possible to get near enough to obtain imagery such as this. The scoter was quite confiding as it feasted on submergent aquatic vegetation in one of the ponds.

Shorebirds were my primary targets at the fish hatchery. Personnel there have temporarily drained several ponds, and their timing coincided nicely with the tail end of shorebird migration. This Lesser Yellowlegs was one of several that were present during my visit.

A squadron of White-rumped Sandpipers rockets by, low over a mudflat at the fish hatchery. It was this species I had, first and foremost, come to see. White-rumps are fascinating birds, and record - or near record - numbers have turned up in Ohio this October. Rarely will one get the chance to study this species as we have had this month, and I've tried to take full advantage of the unusual opportunity.

I spent several hours studying and photographing White-rumped Sandpipers last Sunday, only rarely turning the lens to other subjects. The little birds are exquisite in plumage, habits, and voice, and I clicked off more images than I care to admit.

Hopefully, if unexpected distractions don't crop up, I'll soon make a more detailed post about White-rumped Sandpipers. I'd like to share more images of these incredible birds, and some details about their amazing lives and travels. Also, perhaps, some tips on how to position oneself in such a way as to maximize study and photo opportunities, without bothering the birds.


Shooting shorebirds (with camera)

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Fish hatcheries can be birding hotspots, and the St. Marys Fish Hatchery in Auglaize County has been hopping lately. Several of the ponds there have been drawn down to mudflats, attracting lots of shorebirds. I headed over last Sunday to see what I could find, and attempt to make some images. Some of my photos from this foray are in the previous post.

The St. Marys Fish Hatchery lies just a stone's throw from the eastern shore of Grand Lake St. Marys. At the time of its construction as a canal feeder lake in the 1830-40's, this was the largest manmade lake in the world. Unfortunately, its construction drowned what must have been a spectacular wet prairie and swamp forest. But the lake, feeble substitute as it may be for the original prairies and woodlands, quickly turned into a bonanza for water birds. In 1970 Clarence Clark and James Sipe published their Birds of the Lake St. Marys Area, which documented an impressive cast of avifauna. The fish hatchery, which launched operations in 1913, provided many of these records. It attracts noteworthy birds to this day.

There are 23 ponds covering 43 acres at the hatchery, and they're normally full of water and fish. But from time to time, it becomes necessary to draw them down, such as the pond in the foreground. It's here where I spent most of my time last Sunday, and where all of the photos that follow were made.

The day prior, I had stopped at a drawn-down pond near Killbuck Wildlife Area in Wayne County, on my way back from the Lorain area. The site was attracting lots of shorebirds. As soon as I saw the situation, I knew it would be pretty much a bust for photography. The birds were too distant, and/or were in terrible light and it wasn't possible to get into a suitable situation lightwise. No matter, I stayed for several hours and enjoyed studying the birds and their interactions.

I know this fish hatchery well, though, and had a strong idea as to how I could view the birds. Departing well before dawn, I arrived at the hatchery before the sun poked above the horizon. Taking my camera rig, I holed up at the base of that cement water control structure on the side of the pond, sitting on some steps right up against the structure's wall. Positioning the tripod and camera comfortably in front of me, I waited for the sun to appear.

One of the tricks to obtaining really sharp bird photos is to get yourself close to the action. Without spooking the birds or otherwise being an annoyance. While I know the birds noticed me, my quiet presence as an extension of the water control structure did not put them off in the least. Even wary loudmouths such as Killdeer were coming within 15-20 feet of me. For the three+ hours I remained in this spot, birds were usually close at hand, unless a car or people on the road above spooked them. The light was flawless - beautiful golden early morning light coming right over my shoulder. All of the bird images in this post were made with the amazing Canon 7D Mark II, and Canon's 500mm f/4 telephoto lens. No flash was used, and as almost always I used auto white balance and evaluative metering. All images were shot with the camera in manual mode.

Note how the Killdeer's head is turned slightly towards me. That's a sweet spot for bird posture - much better than if it was looking slightly away, or even straight ahead. The settings for this photo were f/6.3; 1/1250; ISO 640. Exposure compensation was dialed down -1/3rd of a stop.

I don't like shooting over ISO 800, generally, if it can be helped. The lower the ISO number, the cleaner (less grainy or "noisy") the image. The 7D holds up quite well until about 800 or so. Even at higher ISO's its OK if you don't have to crop much. If you're not familiar with exposure compensation and how to quickly alter that on your camera, study up (Google is your friend). When left in the neutral exposure position (0 compensation), you're almost certain to overexpose bright parts, such as the white of this Killdeer's underbelly.

This Lesser Yellowlegs and a few of its brethren were so confiding that they approached TOO close for photos from time to time. Yellowlegs are exquisite sandpipers and very photogenic. I made many keepers, but liked this shot of the bird as it canted forward, scanning the mud for tiny invertebrate life. Show yourself, create a disturbance, or otherwise be conspicuous and the yellowlegs will set about scolding you loudly, and alerting every other bird on the flats. Good luck with close range studies then.

f/6.3; 1/1600; ISO 400; -2/3rd stop exposure compensation. Notice that in spite of reducing exposure compensation another one-third stop, AND increasing the shutter speed over the settings of the previous photo, my ISO reading still dropped. That's because the sun is getting higher, and feeding more light to my position. When shooting birds, especially shorebirds, I usually want to keep the shutter speed fast to freeze movement. Especially as I was interested in trying for in-flight shots, and wanted to be ready when the opportunity arises.

At one point, this little Semipalmated Sandpiper nearly scrambled over my feet. I should have spent more time with it, but did not due to other nearby distractions that I was targeting. This image is OK, but the bird's posture doesn't lend itself well to a truly stunning photo. Nothing against the sandpiper - it's beautiful - it was my fault for not spending more time tracking it and awaiting an interesting pose.

Three major aids in shooting active birds: 1) AI Servo mode (in Canon-speak). This setting allows the camera to constantly remain focused on a moving object, as long as the shutter remains half-depressed. 2) Back-button focusing. The button marked with an asterisk (*) on the back of my camera sets focus and exposure, and is controlled with my right thumb. The only thing the shutter button up front does is fire the shutter. This is a MUCH better arrangement, especially for bird photography, and I thank Dane Adams for prodding me into this setup. I wouldn't go back. Google this up and read about it. 3) Burst mode. Almost an imperative for bird shooting. Set your camera to the fastest burst rate (number of images per second). The 7D Mark II can click off 10 a second, and obviously your odds of getting a great shot go up when engaging in such photographic carpet bombing.

The Semipalmated Sandpiper was shot at f/7.1; 1/2000; ISO 640; -2/3rd stop exposure compensation.

A striking White-rumped Sandpiper seems to ponder its reflection. This species was my primary target, and I wasn't disappointed. Rick Asamoto had reported a good-sized flock here prior, hence my trip. As many as 75 white-rumps were present during my stay, and as often as not they were in very close proximity. This is truly a feathered globetrotter. They breed in the highest reaches of the Alaskan and Canadian arctic. In an incredible journey, the white-rumps migrate all of the way to the Atlantic coast of southern South America, with many making it all of the way to Tierra del Fuego in southern Argentina. The animal in this photo is likely to travel 8-9,000 miles in its southward migration. Making it all the more remarkable is that it - and all of the others that turned up in Ohio this October - are juveniles. The adults have preceded them. Built-in GPS allows the youngsters to navigate unerringly from one end of the earth to the other, having never made the journey before, and with no parental guidance.

This image was made at f/7.1; 1/2000; ISO 800; -2/3rd stop exposure compensation.

A squadron of White-rumped Sandpipers settles onto the mudflat. While foraging on the flats, the birds scurry about like feathered mice, and perhaps to some - at least those ignorant of their amazing story - would not appear overly impressive. But in flight the birds are transformed. Long strong wings provide an impressive wing surface to body mass ratio, and the animals are swift, graceful, and direct. Some legs of the white-rumps' journey might last for three days aloft nonstop, and cover 4,500 miles. Fueling way stations such as this mudflat, that offer an abundance of fat and protein filled animal life, are imperative to their success.

Shooting flying birds is, needless to say, a bit trickier than a bird at rest. Especially when they are fast flyers prone to erratic jigs and jags. The idea is to smoothly track the bird or flock, ideally when they are far out, and keep them in your sights and in focus until they get into shooting range. Just as in skeet-shooting, smoothly depress the shutter (trigger) while all the while tracking the moving birds. This image was made at f/7.1; 1/2000; ISO 400; -2/3rd stop exposure compensation.

This White-rumped Sandpiper took a rare breather from its normally frenetic feeding, and sat for a minute looking around. For photographic purposes, its posture was sublime - facing slightly away, but obligingly looking back slightly over its shoulder towards the camera. By the time you read this, there's a good chance the bird will already be in South America.

This shot was made at f/6.3; 1/2000; ISO 640, -2/3rd stop exposure compensation.

After about three and a half hours frozen in place tucked up against the water control structure, it was time for a stretch and a look around the rest of the hatchery. When I circled back to the mudflat pond an hour and a half later, the pump had been activated and water was rushing over the flats. Back to the fish business, but there were several other drained ponds that hosted shorebirds. Nonetheless, my timing was fortuitous indeed, and as they say, the early bird gets the worm.

Butterfly another buckeye popular in fall

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Butterfly another buckeye popular in fall

Columbus Dispatch
October 18, 2015

NATURE
Jim McCormac

Anything with buckeye in the name is generally popular in these parts. Thus, the common buckeye (Junonia coenia) should indeed be an esteemed butterfly.

No matter what the name, the buckeye is a beautiful bug. Its wings are like an entomological artist’s canvas, painted by a master. Buckeye-shaped spheres rimmed with ocher and tinged with violet and azure accent a brown and orange backdrop. Dashes, bars and wavy lines create striking points of interest.

A casual observer probably wouldn’t notice the butterfly’s ornate detail. Buckeyes dash low over the ground with great rapidity. On the wing, all ablur, they look like little more than a moth on steroids.

But when one alights to feast on flower nectar — whoa! Game on, and out come the cameras. A more striking lepidopteran subject could hardly be found.

This isn’t the first time I’ve written about these flashy insects. But a special award merits a repeat performance. In August, an image of a common buckeye was selected to grace the 2016 edition of the Ohio Wildlife Legacy Stamp.

Having one’s photo judged worthy to grace the stamp is a high honor, and Alice Kahn’s fine photo that made the cut, besting 170 other entries. Kahn, of Oxford, photographed the butterfly on the snowy blossoms of white snakeroot.

Most buckeyes in Ohio are immigrants from farther south. They invade northern latitudes in late summer and fall, sometimes in big numbers. When abundant, the butterflies can appearanywhere, even in weedy urban lots.

Other years, such as this one, buckeye numbers are lean. I had seen very few until last weekend, when I noticed several dozen in Auglaize County. That’s where I made the accompanying image. The buckeye is extracting nectar from the flowers of white heath aster. This abundant native plant is a vital late-fall source of energy for butterflies.

At least some northwardly mobile buckeyes attempt to reproduce here. I’ve encountered their beautiful caterpillars several times on various species of figworts, which are the butterfly’s host plants.

Whether the chrysalises survive the winter is another question. Most buckeyes found here are ones that have recolonized from farther south.

The aforementioned Ohio Wildlife Legacy Stamp is sponsored by the Ohio Division of Wildlife and is in its seventh year. Having one’s photography adorn the stamp has become quite an honor.
Previous stamps depicted the eastern bluebird, the painted turtle and the eastern amberwing dragonfly, among other interesting subjects.

Ninety-three percent of the stamp’s $15 purchase price is invested into the Wildlife Diversity Fund. Monies go to support educational material such as the free natural history booklets provided by the Division of Wildlife. Other stamp-supported projects include endangered species research, restoration of rare species and habitat acquisition.

The 2016 Ohio Wildlife Legacy Stampfeaturing Kahn’s common buckeye photo will go on sale on March 1. For more information, visit www.wildlife.ohiodnr.gov.

Naturalist Jim McCormac writes a column for The Dispatch the first, third and fifth Sundays of the month.

City at night

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Click the photo to enlarge, as always

I've become somewhat interested in capturing urban night scenes: the interplay of various lights, and streaming moving lights by the use of SLOW shutter speeds. I've only made a few attempts, and will never make this style of shooting my bread and butter, but no use being a one-trick pony. Trying to become proficient in many styles will probably only make one better at any sort of photographic attempt.

This is a view of downtown Columbus, Ohio, looking from the east. One of the major hurdles to composing large-scale complex images such as this is finding a place to take the photos. Ideally, the photographer will be elevated somewhat, to get above the level of all the street clutter such as signs, traffic lights, parked vehicles, etc. I finally found a decent spot about half a dozen stories up, but even this place has a bit too many distractions in the foreground for my taste, mainly those lofty street lights. I'll be keeping my eye out for other, better vantage points of my fair city.

For shots such as this, a tripod is essential. Shutter speeds are far too slow to even think about hand-holding. The image was made with my Canon 5D Mark III, and Tamron's excellent 70-200mm f/2.8 lens set at a focal length of 95mm. The photo was framed to capture the majority of the city skyscrapers, with multidirectional freeway traffic at the bottom of the image. The white streams are headlights; the red streams taillights. Camera settings were f/18, 30 second exposure, ISO 100. The very small aperture (high f-stop number) causes nearby bright lights - street lamps in this case - to explode into many-pointed finely rayed stars of light.

I look forward to further experimentation with this sort of shooting.

A Wheelbug visits

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Well, well, my lucky day! As I arrived home from work and set about wheeling the car into the garage, a peculiar blob on the wall caught my eye. A Wheelbug! This was the second Arilus cristatus that I've seen by my garage door this fall, and I've seen a number of others elsewhere. I suspect these bizarre hemipterans are having a good year. Not one to let a good photo op go to waste, I rushed inside, rigged the macro gear and flash, and rushed back outside to deal with the little (but BIG as bugs go!) animal.

A word of caution for would-be handlers of Wheelbugs. Exercise caution. These are predatory insects, and have quite the powerful tool for dispatching victims. I'm told that the bite of a Wheel Bug is painful indeed, and can take a while to heal. I exercised caution, and carefully moved the insect to a nearby shrub in order to create a better backdrop.

Fortunately, Wheelbugs have rather calm dispositions, and can be worked easily. But I have seen them strike and kill, and their pounce is speedy as a leopard. If you were to allow one to crawl onto your hand at its own pace, everything would probably be cool. But if for whatever reason the bug decided to bite, you wouldn't react in time to prevent the strike. Better to allow it to crawl onto a branch or leaf, and move it around that way.

Wheelbugs look otherworldly, like some science fiction alien come to life. The sight of a fully grown adult, such as this one, is sure to get a reaction from anyone who sees it. This critter is one of the assassin bugs, which are six-legged stalk and pounce predators. I once fed a Wheelbug a leaf-footed bug to see its tactics firsthand. The kill is impressive, and fortunately for you, the reader, I made a video of that experience which you can see RIGHT HERE.

Here's the Wheelbug's death-dealing proboscis. It's as if a stout hypodermic syringe was bolted to its face. The bug jabs that into its victim with a powerful stab, and pumps in chemicals that quickly disable the prey, and dissolve the soft inner parts. Once the kill's insides have reached the consistency of a slushy milkshake, the Wheelbug sucks out the contents. Nice. That's an efficient proboscis: combination killing needle, and drinking straw.

I like Wheelbugs, and certainly let them be. They are native, and part of the ecological chain. And now for a bit of utterly anecdotal, completely hypothetical speculation. As we've seen - if you watched my video above - Wheelbugs have no qualms about killing stinkbugs and their allies. I have seen FAR less of those horrid invasive brown marmorated stinkbugs this year than in the past four or five years. Like, maybe two or three in the house this fall. Normally I'd have to dispatch a few dozen by this time of year, and my place is sealed fairly tight. I have to wonder if the Wheelbugs are exploiting the nonnative stinkbugs as a food source, and impacting their numbers. That might explain the seemingly larger than normal Wheelbug numbers that I and others have seen this fall.

Well, one can hope, anyway. If the Wheelbugs manage to run out the brown marmorated stinkbugs, they'll deserve an award of some kind.

Turkey Vultures and Tree Swallows on the wing

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On October 11, I made an expedition to the St. Marys Fish Hatchery in western Auglaize County, near the eastern shore of Grand Lake St. Marys. The primary purpose was to photograph shorebirds, especially White-rumped Sandpipers. I had success on that score, returning with many nice files of white-rumps and several other species. You can see some of those photos HERE, and HERE.

But life is not just shorebirds, and after I was done shooting those, I set out to walk the entire hatchery and see what the other ponds and wetlands might hold.

One of the drawn-down ponds held the carcasses of a number of sizeable fish, and these tasty sun-baked morsels had not escaped the Turkey Vultures' sharp eyes. Or nostrils. Vultures don't miss a trick. They rank high among the most observant, and intelligent, birds in the world.

Turkey Vultures are conspicuous on the wing, with their six and a half foot wingspans. Despite the birds' massive size, they can be harder to make crisp images of than one might think. That's because the bird is often FAR away, much further than one might think. Huge crops in post-processing often produce a rather noisy image that lacks in crispness. But this situation allowed close access. I stood on the edge of a fencerow and shot the birds as they came and went.

These images were made with a tripod-mounted Canon 7D Mark II, with the 500mm f/4 II lens. A 1.4x teleconverter connected the two, making for 700mm of reach and that's not counting the 1.6x crop factor of the camera. Such a rig allows for LONG reach, and the photographer can stay out of the birds' wariness zone. This photo was shot at f/8, 1/3200, and ISO 500.

A juvenile Turkey Vulture wafts by. Notice its dusky-gray head. Shooting vultures, at least when they're as close as these ones were, is relative child's play. They don't move fast enough to present major challenges. It's more a matter of keeping the camera trained on the subject, and waiting until the bird presents a good angle, with the best available light. All settings were the same for this shot as the prior two.

Flying Tree Swallows present a far greater photographic challenge. One of the ponds had 100 or so of the little speedsters zipping about, and I spent a bit of time trying for shots. While some are OK, none are fabulous. My biggest mistake here was not having my 100-400mm lens along. That lens is great for handheld flying bird images, as can be judged by the examples RIGHT HERE.

So, to experiment, I took the 1.4x teleconverter off, and tried shooting the birds with the straight 500mm off the tripod. I probably should have tried for some handheld shots as well, but the big lens acts a bit like a kite in windy conditions, and that makes it hard to get sharp shots. This image came out OK. It was shot at f/7.1, 1/2000, ISO 500, and -1/3rd stop exposure compensation.

Locking on and keeping focus on flying swallows on a breezy day is tough. Most of my efforts went into the digital dust bin. But it wouldn't have mattered much if I got any keepers or not. Tree Swallows are one of my favorite birds, and it was fund to watch their antics and aerobatics. This one is in the act of water-skimming - hitting the water with the top of its head, and with a quick backwards neck snap, sending a spray of water over its body. When you fly as well as these birds do, almost everything can be done on the wing: feeding, bathing, drinking, even mating.

I look forward to honing my skills some more with swallows in flight, but that's probably going to have to wait until next spring (unless a Florida trip pops up this winter!).

Falling water

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Here in Central Ohio, fall is well advanced. The trees are a bit past peak color, although many sugar maples and other of the arboreal torches of autumn are still showstoppers. Today brought a heavy rain, likely the aftermath of Hurricane Patricia, and as I watched the precipitation from my office window this afternoon, Hayden Run Falls popped to mind.

I don't know about you, but I all too often ignore the little honey holes right in my backyard. When field opportunities present themselves, it usually means travel to some far-flung place. There are plenty of sweet little spots close at hand, though, and I'm guilty of all too often ignoring them. Hayden Run and its falls, which is only about ten minutes from where I live, is one such place.

I knew the rain would fuel the falls that caps the end of this lovely little limestone box canyon, so after work I hustled home, grabbed some camera gear, and headed out to do some waterfall-ing.

Just off the parking lot, which is just off very busy Hayden Run Road, is an interesting boardwalk that begins with a steep staircase that descends into the gorge. As soon as I hit the planks, I could hear the water from the falls. This shot, by the way, was made with my little Canon 50mm f/1.4 lens, which - as far as lenses go - is quite inexpensive and extremely compact. I don't use it very often, but it can make people look like models, and render landscapes in very sharp relief. This was shot with the Canon 5D Mark III, set at f/11, 1/2 second, ISO 50.

The falls were quite Niagaraesque today. Hayden Run is not a large stream and does not drain a huge area, thus its water dries up fairly quickly. If you want to shoot the falls in their full majesty, it's best to go on the heels of a good rain.

I don't do a lot of waterfall shots, or landscapes in general, at least when compared to all of the flora and fauna that I shoot. So, an hour in the depths of Hayden Run Gorge would be good instruction. Perhaps not always, but probably mostly, waterfalls photograph best when the camera settings are dialed in to produce a soft silky look to the water. That's the look I wanted to fool around with, and experiment with different settings and techniques.

A SLOW shutter speed is essential to producing the silky look of the water. That means two tools should be brought into play: 1) a tripod, and 2) remote shutter release. The first is actually essential. Shutter speeds should be so slow that there's no way you'll successfully handhold the camera without your shot looking as if it were taken during the peak of an earthquake. The remote shutter release is just an inexpensive cord with a button on its end. Plug it into the camera and the button becomes the shutter. Once the camera is all set up for the shot, you can trigger it without having to touch the rig and possibly induce some camera shake at the beginning of the exposure.

This image was made with the Canon 5D Mark III and Tamron 70-200mm f/2.8 lens set at 70mm focal length. Settings: f/18, 1 second exposure, ISO 50 in Aperture Priority Mode.

The falls are 35 feet high, and when in deluge mode generate an incredible mist as the water smashes into the creek below and temporarily atomizes. I could only point my lens at the falls long enough to make a few images at best, before I'd have to turn the rig around and wipe down the lens.

This shot was made with the aforementioned 5D III, this time bolted to the Canon 16-35mm f/4L lens set to 20mm. Settings were f/16, 1/5 second, ISO 100, -1/3rd exposure compensation. Compare the look of the water to the previous image, which was made with a shutter speed five times slower, and the image before that which was at a shutter speed about 2.5 times slower..

Cave Salamander

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An old springhouse seems to merge with the forest that surrounds it. This isn't any old springhouse, though. Sited in the hills near western Cincinnati, the 166 year old structure is bank vault solid, its thick limestone walls probably destined to last another century and a half, or more. In a minute we'll go through the creaky wooden door at the bottom right, and meet the building's special inhabitants.

FOOTNOTE: Springhouses are usually simple structures, typically made of rock, that were built over springs. Their main purpose was to protect the emergent spring water from debris or contaminants, and exclude animals. As the cool water also keeps the interior of the springhouse at a consistently low temperature, at least when compared to outside air during warm periods, they also served as a mild form of refrigeration for perishables.

I recently received an irresistible invite from herpetologist Jeff Davis, one of the authors of the new Amphibians of Ohio book. Would I like to join him on a visit to see a population of one of the rarer of Ohio's 25 salamander species? Of course! So last Sunday, I met Jeff and off we went to document Cave Salamanders, Eurycea lucifuga.

Immediately upon entering the dank gloom of the springhouse's interior, we were greeted by Cave Salamanders. A few dozen clung to the moist limestone walls of the building, regarding us with inscrutable smoky eyes. The animals were not put off by our appearance in the least, and we were able to obtain a careful count, and make documentary photos.

Cave Salamanders are at the extreme northeastern limits of their range in Ohio, and nearly all of the relatively few populations in the state are in Hamilton County. There are also a few in neighboring Butler County, and one in Adams County.

These sleek amphibians are well adapted to a world of tight cracks and fissures. This one later disappeared into the slight gap surrounding the wooden dowel that it's perched by. While Cave Salamanders do indeed inhabit the perennial gloom of cave openings in much of their range, that's not the case in Ohio. They are found along small streams incised into fractured limestone bedrock, with an abundance of subterranean groundwater. These sorts of haunts are really not that different than a proper cave - there are plenty of fissures and crevices in the rock that the salamanders can occupy.

A Cave Salamander is an amphibian of great beauty, by almost any standard. Bright orange-red skin is stippled with ebony dots and dashes, and the animal possesses a graceful elongate shape. It would be interesting to better understand their long-term evolutionary history. Why would an animal that seems to live nearly its entire life in habitats so dark that eyes can't see, be possessed of such bright color? Many true troglodytean animals have devolved coloration, and are white or very pale. It would seem that Cave Salamanders, up until very recently (on an evolutionary scale), were much more of an above-ground inhabitant.

Jeff holds a ruler to document a big 'un. Pulled straight and taut, this Cave Salamander probably would have taped out at seven inches. That's about as big as they get.

Give a Cave Salamander enough time - years, for sure - and they can get as large as the one in the preceding photo. But life begins as one of 75 or so eggs, and when the larvae hatch, they look like this. A tiny whitened grublike object that most of us probably wouldn't notice, or if we did wouldn't recognize it for what it is. Jeff found several of these hatchlings in pooled water on the floor of the springhouse, and fortunately I had Canon's MP-E 65mm mega-macro lens in my bag, and could make some images. I think this one was about 7 mm in length.

Before long the white grublike larva loses its pale coloration, develops patterned pigmenting, and begins to look much more like a salamander. If memory serves, this one was about 17 mm or so in length.

After we finished documenting the animals in the springhouse's interior, we moved outside to some nearby cisterns. These are just small subterranean tanks for storing water, and in this case the cement cisterns were five feet or so deep, with a chamber at the bottom.

As soon as Jeff popped the lid off the first cistern, there were salamanders. In all, we counted a few dozen in the two cisterns. This photo shows only 15 of the 74 animals that we saw this day. It is still more Cave Salamanders, by a long shot, than the vast majority of humans will ever see.

We gently netted all of the cistern-dwellers, and in assembly line fashion made documentary photos of each animal's dorsal surface and face, then quickly returned them to the cistern. Every salamander has a unique pattern of spotting, and by amassing sharp digital images Jeff can document and identify the individuals in the population. Thus far, he has found at least 1,390 animals at this site.

We also took a mug shot of each - an image that shows the face well enough to determine the sex. If it is a male, as this one is, it will have a pair of tiny toothlike appendages known as cirri (singular: cirrus) projecting downward from the upper lip. They are small but easy enough to see in this photo. Note also the flattened head, which is a good adaptation for an animal that habitually travels through tiny crevices.

I appreciate Jeff taking me along on this expedition, and letting me help with the work. And great gratitude goes to the owners of the property, who are proud of their rare salamanders and want them protected. I wish everyone had their attitude - the world would be a far better place.

Buck Moths fly again!

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A gravel forest road winds through Shawnee State Forest in southern Ohio, as seen last Sunday. I spent the entire day down there stalking game with my camera. Fall's color had largely passed, and leaves were snowing to the ground. Temperatures were perfect for this time of year - about 60 F.

As always is the case when I am free to hunt down here unfettered, lots of interesting game was located. I returned with many "keeper" images of a wide diversity of subjects, both floral and faunal. The day started with a pretty cool bang, although I couldn't get documentary images of the incident. I located a sizeable mixed foraging flock of birds - chickadees, titmice, White-breasted Nuthatches, Yellow-rumped Warblers, both kinglets, and others - and was hanging discreetly on their periphery waiting for photo ops. Suddenly, I heard a loud ruffle of wings close behind, and whirled around to see that a tiny male Sharp-shinned Hawk had barreled into the scene. Its arrival was accompanied by protest scolds, then dead silence. I don't know if the fierce little hawk bagged anything, but man how I wish I could have got an action shot of the accipiter wing-braking and pivoting, eyes wild with bloodlust and talons splayed.

I did manage to catch this gorgeous ten point buck on pixels. It was strolling along a shaded woodland border, and allowed me to approach fairly closely. I was ready for it when it leapt up an embankment, flag tail flaring.

Speaking of bucks, it was a buck of a decidedly non-ungulate kind that was one of my targets this day. This gorgeous lepidopteran is a Buck Moth, Hemileuca maia, and they don't emerge until the Indian Summer days of very late fall. The moth is so named because of its emergence at about the same time buck deer are entering rut. Buck Moths are local in Ohio, mostly in the southern counties, as well as a population in the Oak Openings near Toledo. Shawnee is probably the best place to hunt them.

Buck Moths are day-fliers, and look like fluttering little Pandas when in flight. They're fairly large as moths go, and are easy to spot on the wing. Mid to late afternoon seems to bring the peak of activity, and I probably saw three dozen or more this day. The way one typically sees Buck Moths is on the wing - males patrolling in an incessant search for girls.

The challenge is getting close enough for photos. One way to do it as to deftly net one of the moths as it rockets by. But as soon as you bring it out of the net it'll just shoot off if not detained in some way. One way to do that is to chill it briefly in a cooler (which does not have any lasting ill effects), but I've never liked the look of the temporarily refrigerated animal - it looks understandably stiff and wooden. This is not a technique for me; I prefer stalking and shooting creatures on their own terms.

Another way to go about the challenge of photographing Buck Moths requires more patience, and more luck. Just attempt to follow one of the animals as best as possible, and hope it 1) lands to rest, or 2) finds a female. Nearly all of the moths one sees flying about the forest are males, on the prowl for females.

I hit pay dirt this day. A moth blistered by as I walked a ridgetop road, and I lit out in pursuit. It eventually veered into heavy undergrowth and seemed to vanish. As I moved in, I saw why it had disappeared. A female was dangling from a low branch, and her pheromones were pulling in the boys.

Buck Moths are silkworm moths (family Saturniidae) and they don't eat. Members of this group are basically large often colorful and ornately patterned flying gonads. They have no functional mouthparts, and exist only to find a mate, mate with that mate, and in the case of the female, drop eggs. The males' large fernlike antennae are incredible pheromone receptors, and allow them to pick up the females' airborne cues from great distances.

This is the scene that the amorous male moth that I chased led me to. A female Buck Moth, with her larger abdomen, clings to a branch while coupled to a male, who dangles below. Note the gorgeous pattern and bright orange-red coloration of these moths, as well as their dense "fur". Thick hair allows the moths to better retain heat and fly in cool temperatures. I've seen Buck Moths active in temperatures in the low 50's F, and I'm sure they fly in cooler weather than that.

Because these moths were so fixated on the business at hand, they were easy to closely approach. Their location was not easy to access, though, and necessitated pushing through some greenbriar and then laying on the leaf litter to get on their level. But eventually I was able to find a satisfactory position and make some images of the action.

An incredible mating scrum creates a sizeable ball of Buck Moths. A constant procession of males kept bombarding the scene, and many of them would attempt to pile on. There are at least four interlopers swarming the mating couple in this shot. As I lay there watching the scene, moths would bat about my face, and I could even hear the soft whir of their wings as they excitedly fluttered about.

Not a bad experience for the dedicated stalker of Buck Moths.

American Tree Sparrows usher in Old Man Winter

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Freshly burned over, Daughmer Savanna in Crawford County awaits botanical renewal with next year's growing season. Prairie ecosystems and fire are yin and yang, the fire performing many roles: keeping woody plants from choking out sun-loving prairie plants, discouraging nonnative invaders, providing a big infusion of nutrients to the soil, and heat-scarifying the seeds of plants.

I had chance to drop by here last Saturday, unbeknownst to me, hot on the heels of a controlled burn that was orchestrated by ODNR's Division of Natural Areas. The Division stepped in and purchased this gem a few years back, when it went up for auction. Daughmer Savanna is one of the finest prairie savannas left in Ohio, and one of the few that remain. About 99.9% of this habitat has been destroyed. Today, the Crawford County Park System oversees its management. If you ever get the chance, stop by and check out this relict of our prairie past.

Controlled burns seldom singe all of the vegetation, and in corner of the prairie the standing goldenrod had attracted one of my favorite birds, the American Tree Sparrow, Spizelloides americana. I heard their delicate notes before seeing the birds - the calls of a distant flock sounds like icicles falling and shattering. Occasionally a bird would deliver a truncated version of its song, a beautiful somewhat melancholy series of whistled notes.

This was the first weekend that I've noticed this harbinger of winter in substantial numbers. Another sparrow, the Dark-eyed Junco, often gets props for being the "snowbird", but in my book the tree sparrow is the true snowbird. When they show up in numbers, winter with its frosty bite and sleet and snow will not be far behind.


Map courtesy Birds of North America Online.

American Tree Sparrows breed far to our north, beyond the range of most Homo sapiens. For such a common wintertime resident in the northern and central states, it is a surprisingly enigmatic bird insofar as its breeding ecology goes. Tree sparrows nest in places where most people don't go; indeed, can't go in most cases.

The plucky little sparrows are common at backyard feeders when they come south, but feeders of course are a recent source of food for the birds. I have noticed time after time, over many years, their fondness for the fruit of goldenrod when encountering the birds in places wilder than the backyard. Goldenrods in the genus Solidago produce huge crops of seeds which are high in protein and fat, and the sparrows thrive on this fruit. I suspect goldenrods do the heavy lifting when it comes to supporting wintering American Tree Sparrows. We may temporarily entice the visiting northerners from the goldenrod patches with our feeders, but given a choice I think most tree sparrows prefer the wild crops of seeds.

Ring-necked Pheasant

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A rooster Ring-necked Pheasant skulks through thick brush in north-central Ohio last Saturday. I saw a number of these flashy birds on this day, and many orange-coated hunters trying to bag one. Pheasants are as tasty as they look.

Ring-necked Pheasants are not native here, as I'm sure you know - they hail from Asia, but have been intentionally spread far and wide. Efforts have been made to establish pheasants in nearly 50 countries, with varying degrees of success. The only continent that has been spared the ring-necks is Antarctica, where they'd have no chance at all.

This spectacular bird can fare well in North America, if conditions are right. Indeed, South Dakota has become a Mecca for pheasant hunters, and the Mount Rushmore State even boasts the world's largest piece of pheasant statuary, a behemoth effigy standing 20 feet tall and extending 40 feet from breast to tail tip.

Apparently ring-necks were first released in Ohio in 1896, and while they've had their ups and downs, releases are still widespread and regular. They do fairly well in some areas that still have decent habitat, but are nowhere near as frequent as they were in the early to mid 1900's. The birds that I photographed here were probably very recent releases.

As always, click the photo to enlarge

A rooster ring-neck whirring across a late autumn field of browned grasses makes for a pleasant pheasant sighting indeed, and even though I will never put these birds on the same plane as our native species, they do make irresistible eye candy.

I was, as the Boy Scouts say, "[be] prepared", and that's how I got this shot. When cruising interesting country, I like to have the bird camera on the front seat and ready for action. While slowly trolling a backroad, I spotted this bird slinking through the grasses. I stopped the car, camera in hand, and quietly attempted to exit the vehicle. That was too much for the bird, and it took wing, heading for the meadow on the opposite side. It gave me enough time to click off a few shots before it dropped into thick cover.

The image was made with the Canon 7D Mark II and Canon's 100-400 f/4.5-5.6L II lens. This combo is, for sure, one of the best for shooting birds, in flight or otherwise. Settings were f/5, 1/1600, ISO 100, and exposure compensation -2/3rd. I had the camera set on aperture priority and ISO on auto. For the place and conditions, those were good general default settings in case something happened fast and there wasn't time to fiddle about. As always now, I used back button focusing (read Art Morris's nice description HERE). The 7D has 65 focus points, and they are adjustable in many ways. When knowing or suspecting that I'm going to be shooting larger birds, I usually have the center point active as well as the four surrounding points. That was the case here. This gives a nice tight block of five clustered focus points, and if you're tracking the quarry smoothly, you ought to connect with one of them. Of course, the camera was set on high speed burst mode, and in the 7D's case that's 10 shots a second. It's like a photographic machine gun, and such rapid bursts up one's chance of getting a keeper. In spite of this, by the time I acquired the bird in the lens, and hit the shutter, I only got off a partial burst before it vanished into the grasses.

While all or some of this may sound complicated, it really isn't. A little study will break it all down easily enough. The cameras and associated gear grow ever more amazing, and we might as well try and take advantage of what they've got to offer.

Gulls, doing interesting things

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UPDATE: Note below that I lamented the too nice weather during my trip last Wednesday. Well, the weather changed big time the following day, and a few Cave Swallows, a Red Phalarope, and two Franklin's Gulls were found at this very spot yesterday. Then, 22 Franklin's Gulls were in about the exact spot where I photographed the Lesser Black-backed Gull this morning. Bad weather means good birding along Lake Erie.

I visited one of my favorite Lake Erie haunts yesterday, Huron, Ohio and its famed municipal pier. This is stop #46 on the Lake Erie Birding Trail, and one of the lake's true birding hotspots. I've been coming here for many, many years, and have seen lots of great birds from this pier.

My hope was for bad weather, and my plan was to perch by the lighthouse at the pier's end and conduct a "sea watch". Rough weather in November can produce lots of scoters, big numbers of gulls, and perhaps jaegers or other rarities such as Red Phalarope. Alas, the weather was too nice - calm seas and very Indian Summerish, with temps ultimately hitting 60F. Nonetheless, I trundled out the 6/10th mile long pier to the end, with much gear in hand, to see what might happen.

Not much was going on at the lighthouse, which wasn't surprising. The lake was flat and waveless, and skies were blue. Well, at least the light was great for making photographs, so that's what I did. This juvenile Bonaparte's Gull was making a regular loop around the lighthouse, so I committed him/her to pixels. On a cold blustery day in November or December, the Huron River and adjacent Lake Erie can swarm with many thousands of these small gulls, and big concentrations often have rarities like Little Gull in their ranks.

There is a small peaty beach just a stone's throw west of the pier at its juncture with the mainland, and I was pleased to find this beautiful Lesser Black-backed Gull there on my return. I was able to make a wonderful series of images of the bird. I wrote a thumbnail sketch of its status in North America and Ohio a few years back; RIGHT HERE.

The early morning light offered near-perfect illumination of the several hundred gulls that roosted on the beach and nearshore waters. Given the unlikelihood of rarities due to the nice weather, I settled in to watch the gulls for a while, and secure some images.

Shooting sitting gulls isn't exactly difficult. They're pretty big, and usually relatively unwary. Thus, to avoid gull shots that look like 10,000 other gull shots, I like to try and catch them doing something interesting. If you wait and watch long enough, they will.

An adult Herring Gull, sporting the dappled browns of its winter plumage, drops its pink landing gear.

Flying gulls are a few notches up the difficulty scale from perched gulls, but still not too tough to pull off. They are often predictable in their flight patterns, and depending on the wind, frequently fly with a rather languid manner. However, capturing good images of certain of their aerial hijinks can be hard.

An adult Ring-billed Gull drops to the water.

Much of one's success with shooting flying birds, gulls or otherwise, depends on how the camera is set up, and the type of lens that is used. A fast shutter speed is essential, obviously. I shot this image and those that follow at 1/2000 of a second, give or take.

A Ring-billed Gull jumps from the water, creating mini waterspouts. The Ring-bill is by far the most common gull in Ohio, in most places at most seasons. As winter sets in on Lake Erie, their numbers will often be matched or bested by Herring Gulls. But on this day, the Ring-billed Gulls were the dominant gull. I've got scads of images of them, but the lighting and overall setup in this spot was too good to pass up.

One interesting gull habit that you may have noticed is their tendency to execute a brief rather violent shimmy soon after take off from water. This hard shake blasts the water from the plumage, and in the process the gull's contortions take on some interesting appearances. I spent quite a bit of time and effort trying to freeze the birds in mid shimmy-shake. It isn't as easy as it might seem. In spite of having a pretty good idea that a recently launched bird might do this, it's still a bit tough to track it smoothly with the camera, and freeze the action. This Ring-billed Gull is in the midst of some interesting water-shedding gyrations.

This image was made at 1/2500, and it still didn't totally freeze the violent wing thrusts of this Ring-billed Gull as it shook fiercely in midair. Notice the turbulence buffeting its primary (outermost) flight feathers.

This is what I was really trying for, and the vast majority of my efforts failed. This one, though, is a keeper. When the gulls do their shimmy shake, they often briefly invert their head and it looks like they are flying upside down. This whole shake and shudder stunt lasts only a second or two, and the bird will only be in this head down position for a fraction of a second.

Watching birds' behavior, even very common species, can sometimes reveal interesting opportunities to make out of the ordinary photographs.

Walkingsticks blend so well, they're easy to miss

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A pair of northern walkingsticks in their mating embrace
 
Walkingsticks blend so well, they're easy to miss
 
November 15, 2015
 
NATURE
Jim McCormac

When it comes to mimicry, few bugs rival walkingsticks. They are twigs come to life, moving with a lackadaisical swaying gait and chewing the leaves around them.

A walkingstick must be seen to be believed. Even the family name, Phasmatodea, points to their nearly magical appearance. It’s derived from the Greek phasma, which means phantom — an allusion to the insects’ incredible similarity to sticks.

Worldwide, there are some 3,000 species of walkingsticks. Peak diversity occurs in tropical regions. The longest known insect belongs to this group, the little-known Chan’s megastick of Borneo. One of six specimens of this near mythic bug is in the London Museum of Natural History. It measures more than 22 inches long.

The common stickbug in Ohio is the Northern walkingstick, Diapheromera femorata. Common as they may be, walkingsticks blend so well with their surroundings that most go unnoticed. Also, they generally are more active at night and tend to stay high in the trees.

I made the accompanying image recently in a large southern Ohio forest. The much smaller male stick is on top, mated to a female. In my experience, walkingsticks descend to lower levels in late fall and are easier to find.

Walkingsticks’ mating embrace can last for days. Their stamina is probably not due to an infusion of self-manufactured super Viagra, but because of the male’s need to protect his genetic stock. If he were to leave the female before egg fertilization, interlopers would likely knock his sperm away and replace it with theirs.

When the reproductive process is complete, the female begins dropping eggs in the leaf litter. The eggs resemble plant seeds to a remarkable degree. In some walkingstick species, ants are duped into absconding with the eggs. They cart them to underground nests, where the ants feast on a tasty appendage attached to the egg, but leave the embryo alone. The eggs are thus safely guarded, and the hatchling stick resembles an ant. It eventually makes its way from the nest and into the trees.

Newly emerged walkingsticks resemble tiny versions of the adults. The Northern walkingstick goes through about five molts, growing with each shed of its exoskeleton. A fully grown female can stretch to 4 inches.

Northern walkingsticks are eating machines, consuming prodigious amounts of leaf tissue. In a large forest, there are so many leaf-eating sticks that they become an integral part of the forest ecology. Their collective droppings enrich the complex humus of the forest floor.

In Tolkien’s middle-earth fantasy world, Ents are treelike creatures. Walkingsticks are real-life Ents, lacking only the voice of Tolkien’s tree people.

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

Sandhill Cranes over Indiana

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I made a whirlwind trip to the state next door last weekend, Indiana. The Indiana Native Plant and Wildflower Society was holding its annual meeting, which is a big affair. In this photo, which I made with my iPhone from the balcony of the conference room at Indiana University - Purdue University Indianapolis, Doug Tallamy orates to the group. It was a packed house - about 350 attendees. They take their flora seriously in the Hoosier State. I was flattered to be asked back (3rd or 4th time!) to speak, especially given the otherwise star-studded lineup: Doug, Rick Darke, Mike Homoya, and Kevin Tungesvick. It was a great time, and fun to catch up with lots of people and hear some great talks. Kudos to all of the conference organizers and volunteers for the usual bang-up job.

Mid-November in Indiana means crane time, though, as in Sandhill Cranes. And the Mecca for Hoosier State cranes is Jasper-Pulaski Fish & Wildlife Area, which is in only two hours or so northwest of the conference venue. Even though I've made the Jasper crane scene a number of times, at the last moment I decided to stay over there and arrive at the big crane field the following morning before daybreak. This decision was partly based on the weather - it was to be a bright clear day, and every other time I've been, the skies have been leaden-gray. Blue ether would make a better backdrop for photography, of course.

The observation tower casts a long shadow over Goose Pasture as the sun pops over the horizon. This mammoth field serves as the gathering ground for myriad cranes before they begin their day, and again in the evening before they fly off to the marshes to roost for the night.

I prefer being here as the sun rises, for a few reasons. One, the light is to your back. Two, there are generally way fewer people than in the evening. Sometimes the viewing platform is overly packed for the dusk show, but even on this beautiful Sunday morning, just after sunrise, there was plenty of room for everyone and our tripods.

Assembled crane enthusiasts admire assembled cranes in the field beyond. I was told that estimates put the number of cranes at about 8,000 birds, but it didn't seem like that many to me. Nonetheless, there was certainly no shortage of the spectacular animals.

This scene is kind of Disneyesque and I couldn't resist making the shot. A trip of Sandhill Cranes wings by while a White-tailed Deer gallops along, and a loose assemblage of more cranes loiters in the backdrop. Such is Jasper in November.

While there are places where far more cranes gather than here, J-P is still an amazing experience. People come from near and far to drink in the sight of these fabulous giants flying about, wings spanning well over six feet. Cranes are vociferous, and the air resounds with their primitive guttural rattles.

As the sun cleared the horizon, its rays began to cause flying cranes to glow with beautiful golden tones, and the click of cameras accelerated. I met some new friends on the platform, and we had a great time shooting birds, talking photography, and alerting each other to incoming opportunities. Mike Bader was one of them, and some of his stunning work can be seen RIGHT HERE. In general, bird photography is a solo pursuit, but in this case it doesn't matter. The cranes are probably going to act the same whether there was just one person hiding under the platform, or 75 people gabbing away on the deck.

A gorgeous red-capped adult crane wings right over the platform. I shudder to think how many images were clicked off of this bird. It sounded like mini machine guns going off. I shot this one with my Canon 7D Mark II which fires ten frames (rounds) a second, and there was plenty of similar hardware aimed at the bird. There must be millions of (camera) shots fired at cranes at J-P during the peak fall migration.

Sandhill Cranes remain together as family units throughout winter and well into spring. Many of the groups have at least one juvenile in tow. Here, a youngster trails an adult. The juveniles give a distinctive high-pitched whistle in flight, sometimes drowned out by the adults' raucous rattles.

Jasper-Pulaski should be prime for cranes into mid-December, so if you're looking for an interesting avian experience, check it out.

Huron revisited, with rare birds

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The mouth of the Huron River on a beautiful late November day. The Huron Municipal Pier stretches off into the distance, ending in Lake Erie. Look closely, and you'll see a white lighthouse-like signal tower at the end. I journeyed back to this locale last Sunday, arriving around 8 am, and immediately headed out to the signal tower at the pier's end. Temperature at the start was about 27 degrees F, warming to a high of 33. Still a bit too nice weatherwise for producing crazy bird numbers and diversity, but much better than my last Huron trip in that regard.

Some of the photos in this post are certainly not award winners. They are purely documentary, of rarities that did not cooperate with the photographer. While conducting lake watches and tallying the birds that pass by on Lake Erie is fun, it often does not produce great photo ops, at least of the more unusual stuff. Many of the birds are simply too far out for that.

Birds swarm the mouth of the Huron River. Most of them on the water are Red-breasted Mergansers, with numerous gulls overhead. An enormous feeding flock of mergansers settled in at the river's mouth towards day's end. At one point, the birds on the water stretched for a quarter mile or so, and there were probably 10,000 plus on the water, maybe more.

I spent most of my time on this foray at the base of the white tower, which offers a great perspective on the lake, and the river. Many birds fly by fairly closely at this point, and the abundant fishery spawned by the interface of river and lake lures scads of piscivorous birds into close proximity. Once ensconced at the tower's base, it's hard to leave, at least on an active day. And this day saw lots of action.

Gulls, overwhelmingly Ring-billed Gulls with lesser numbers of Herring Gulls, cram the little beach at the pier's beginning. Huron, Ohio, is one of the birdiest spots on Lake Erie. I've been traveling to our Great Lake for many years - hundreds of trips - and have seen firsthand nearly all the honey holes. This place is high on the list of my favorites, for two main reasons. One is the sheer number of birds that concentrate here. Only the most jaded or intellectually incurious would fail to be struck by the tens of thousands of gulls and ducks that swirl around the river mouth on a busy day.

Two, the prospect of rarities makes Huron a constant lure, especially in November and December. Ohio's first records of Pacific Loon, Spotted Redshank, and Arctic Tern came from here. I was in on the loon, back on December 7, 1985. While the possibility of mega-rarities always exists, lesser rarities are almost to be expected here, which always spices up a trip.

We can thank the fish for the spectacular bird concentrations here, and elsewhere on Lake Erie. An adult Bonaparte's Gull attempts to quickly choke down a gizzard shad that it just deftly plucked from the water. If the little gull doesn't act fast, it will quickly be set upon by larger gulls who will attempt to pirate the fish. Theft such as this is known as kleptoparasitism, and kleptoparasitic incidents are frequent as scores of thuggish larger gulls stalk the hard-working Bonaparte's Gulls. I'll show you one of the kings of kelptoparasitism in a minute.

This photo, which I made from the aforementioned signal tower, is classic late November Huron action. A Bonaparte's Gull hovers over some fish, while a Common Loon looks on. To the far right, head peeking above a wave, is a much smaller Horned Grebe. One-day estimates numbering into the tens of thousands have been made here for the gull. While this day's Bonaparte's tally was only a few thousand, at best, the Horned Grebe total was huge. They were everywhere, and I saw at least 300 from my lakeside perch.

Ah! A much better look at one of the hundreds of Common Loons that were in the area. Lake Erie is a major migratory corridor for loons, and if I saw a few hundred from this one spot on this one day, I wonder how many were on the lake in its entirety. Most regular birders along the lake that I've talked to are reporting large numbers of loons this fall.

This was "Bird of the Day", to be sure. While I was holed up on the east side of the tower, out of the wind, Robert Hershberger and crew showed up but stayed over on the breakwall. When I finally walked around to say hello, Robert gestured wildly and I quickly transited the rough limestone blocks that separate pier and breakwall. He had spotted this Pacific Loon, well out in the lake and off to the west. This is the species that was first found in Ohio in nearly the same spot, 30 years ago.

The photo is not great, but it is identifiable. This species is noticeably smaller and trimmer than the Common Loon, which was quite evident when the two were in close proximity. It also has a much more rounded head, unlike the big blockhead look of a Common Loon. The bill is thinner and less massive, and the neck is much more clearly patterned in a tri-tone effect: white throat, dark sides, and lighter brownish-gray on the nape. This bird is a juvenile, as evidenced by the white checkerboarding on the back.

The Pacific Loon stayed near the river mouth the entire time, but well out on the lake. I made this image later in the day, which shows another Pacific Loon field mark, that delicate little chinstrap under the bill. While it may appear that the bird must have been fairly close, this image was made with the Canon 5D Mark III mounted to Canon's 500mm f/4 II lens. A 1.4x teleconverter was sandwiched between camera and lens, making for a focal length of 700mm. Then the photo was hugely cropped down. In reality, the bird was visible but not identifiable with the naked eye, and barely identifiable through binoculars if the observer knew the species well.

Since the inaugural 1985 Huron Pacific Loon, there have been at least a half-dozen other indisputable records, probably more. Hot on the heels of this bird were two others found in the Cleveland area. It may be that 1) there are more Pacific Loons these days, leading to more vagrants; 2) they have altered their migratory pattern somewhat, or 3) birders are becoming more adept at finding and recognizing them. I vote for #3.

A handsome little bird indeed is the Horned Grebe. Click the photo to enlarge, and admire its rubylike eye. Note also the massive lobed feet trailing behind. Like their close allies the loons, these grebes are expert divers. I don't think I've ever seen so many Horned Grebes at one spot as I did this day. Hundreds were out on the lake, and many would obliging swim near my outpost on the tower, or near the pier in the river.

At the very end of the day, I made one last scan of the river, and noticed this pod of four grebes. Their ranks included another rarity! The three on the left are Horned Grebes, while the bird on the right is an Eared Grebe. Note its smaller size, duskier face, and steep forehead and peaked crown. A handful of Eared Grebes are reported annually in the state, and it's always a treat to encounter one.

While I was standing on the breakwall with Robert, he spotted this White-winged Scoter in flight, and the bird put down offshore for a few minutes. A bit later, I spotted a Black Scoter skimming along, and it also settled on the water for us to admire. In general, scoters were scarce this day, and I only saw five or so. On the best November days - usually when the weather is the absolute worst for bipedal observers - dozens or hundreds of scoters might fly by this point.

Between Robert and I, we saw at least three jaegers. I spotted this bird well out on the lake as it streaked over the waves heading west. None of the jaegers came into the river and hung out, as we were hoping. This bird is an immature, as most Ohio jaegers are. I believe it is a Pomarine Jaeger, due to the double flash of white under the wings at the base of the primary feathers, and the strongly two-toned bill. In the field, it had a large bulky appearance; an impression given by the largest of our jaegers. As always, though, I welcome corrections from those who may know better. I certainly do not see many jaegers and am no expert on their identification.

Jaegers are the Kings of Kleptoparasitism. They make much of their living by hounding gulls and terns in spectacular aerial chases, eventually forcing the victim to disgorge its fishy catch. Watching one in the act of mugging some hard-working fish-catcher is truly impressive, and that's what I was hoping for this day. But the jaegers that we saw apparently had business elsewhere and didn't linger.

A squadron of Red-breasted Mergansers shoots by, two males in molt and seven females. At least 10,000 and probably far more than that of these fish-eating ducks swarmed in the area on this day. The peak passage of Red-breasted Mergansers in November on this part of Lake Erie is truly impressive. I made many images of these birds on this day, and want to discuss them in a separate post.

Falling waters, revisited

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Today is something akin to a national holiday in these parts - the annual Ohio State Buckeyes vs. Michigan Wolverines football game. This matchup has taken place since 1897, interruptedly, and annually since 1918. It's huge; easily the most important game of the year for these schools. I wouldn't miss it if at all possible.

Since it was a noon game, there was little time for any sort of full blown excursion. But my trigger finger was itching, and I really wanted to shoot something. Fortunately, a light rain had fallen more or less steadily all night and into the morning. The precipitation made for prime conditions for the photos that follow.

By the way, OSU easily walloped the team from up north, 42-13.

Back on October 29, I made a visit to a local hotspot and one of Ohio's most beautiful waterfalls, the Hayden Run Falls. I wrote about that, with photos, HERE. That trip came on the heels of a torrential gulley washer, and the falls were raging. The above photo is one that I made that day. I couldn't keep the camera trained on the falls for more than a shot or two, due to the prolific mist of atomized water drifting onto the lens. There is such a thing as TOO much water when shooting waterfalls, at least sometimes.

Hayden Falls, as it looked this morning at first light. The volume of water cascading over the 25 foot cliff is heavy, but much less than in the previous photo. Just about aesthetically perfect, to my eye. Where the heavy flow looks cool, it lacks details and resembles a dense watery curtain. Today's lesser flow produced nuanced details. The limestone cliff face appears opaquely in the backdrop, and individual flumes of water separate from one another. Many cascades are produced where torrents hit small ledges and atomize. Perfect.

Also, by getting there at first light, two good conditions were met. One, the completely overcast sky made for perfectly even lighting, and allowed for the use of very slow shutter speeds. Sunny conditions are not good for waterfall photography. The resultant dappling of light and shade creates uneven conditions, and bright light makes it harder or impossible to use a desired VERY slow shutter speed. Two, by going early on a misty morning, there are no other people present. This place, understandably, has a magnetic lure and rare is the time there are not visitors standing on that platform ogling the falls.

Small wonder that nearly everyone who picks up a camera wants to make waterfall shots. They are beautiful highlights of the landscape. In its most base form, shooting a waterfall photo is simple. Just point your camera at it and snap away. You'll probably get something OK; maybe even something your friends will ooh and aah over.

To really try and capture the artistry of a gorgeous waterfall requires a bit more effort. A tripod is essential due to the slow shutter speeds that should be used. Having the camera stationary on a tripod also helps immensely in composing the image. For this shot, I wanted the falls to the left in the image, and much of the cliff face and the rocky grotto showing on the right. The huge limestone slabs in the foreground create interest, and I made sure to include as much of those as possible. I absolutely detest the invasive nonnative Amur honeysuckle, Lonicera maackii, but there was no way to keep it out of the shot short of major post-editing Photoshop work (and I am a post-editing minimalist). So, I used its still green foliage to provide some colorful punctuation to the left, and above, the falls (really had little choice).

I made these images with my Canon 5D Mark III, and it has a cool device helpful for composition - an electronic level that can be shown on the back screen. It lets you know when the field of view is perfectly flat. An inexpensive remote shutter release plugged into the camera allows for tripping the shutter without touching the camera and possible introducing some shake. So, when all looks good just stand back and pull the trigger. This shot was made with the amazing Sigma 24mm f/1.4 Art lens. Settings were f/16, ISO 100, 4 second exposure. The very long exposure softens the falling water, and creates the interesting plumes of whitewater trailing away from the base of the falls in the pool below.

To me, the left side of the falls was the most visually interesting. So, I clipped on another great landscape lens, the Tamron 70-200mm f/2.8. This focal range is superb for a great diversity of shots, and is a must for the camera kit. The Canon version is significantly more expensive, and I can't imagine it is much if any better than the Tamron. I've gotten many keepers out of this lens. Shooting this perspective was a natural for a vertical orientation. The lens was zoomed ever so slightly to 79mm, and the settings were f/11, 0.8 seconds, and ISO 100.

Framing was dictated by a few factors. One, I couldn't get back any further or the handrail of the boardwalk would appear (It's prominently posted not to leave the boardwalk. Better compositions could be made if one did, but abide by the rules). I wanted to pull in tight on the left side of the falls to carve out as much of that blasted honeysuckle shrub as possible. And I wanted that cool looking mini cascade of water fluming over the cliff at the top right of the image to be in the frame. Voila! The effect is of a junior Niagara Falls right here in urban Columbus, Ohio.

Woodpecker sleeking, sparrow seeding

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As chance would have it, my route yesterday took me (somewhat) near the legendary Sandy Ridge Reservation in Lorain County (a Lorain County Metro Park). Scores of notable birds have been seen here over the years, in large part because of the reservation's sharp-eyed and knowledgeable naturalist, Tim Fairweather. A two mile long path cuts through mature woods then circles some large wetlands. I had only been to the nature center once or twice to give talks, and had never seen the real meat of the park. Time to correct that, so I grabbed some camera gear and took to the loop trail to see what I could see.

I had barely broke free from the woods when a distant menacing shape caught my eye. There, perched on a snag in a dead tree out in the wetland, was a Merlin. These muscular little falcons are among a small bird's worst enemies; feathered Freddie Kruegers. I had scarcely registered the Merlin when the male Downy Woodpecker in this photo bounded in low over the marsh and swooped up into a nearby tree. It apparently had been out working the drowned snags, and the Merlin came in too close for comfort. The woodpecker pressed itself to the trunk, and remained quite still for several minutes. In the photo, it is casting a glance backwards in the direction of the predator. Shortly after the Merlin departed, the woodpecker skedaddled to somewhere else.

Such uncharacteristically frozen postures are sometimes adopted by songbirds and other small birds such as this woodpecker when avian predators are close at hand. You've perhaps seen chickadees or other feeder birds do it when a Cooper's Hawk barrels into the backyard. I have heard this behavior termed "sleeking", as the potential victim presses its feathers down and attempts to become one with its surroundings. It's probably not the best descriptive word for this, but I've always liked the sound of it.

 
Towards the end of the loop around the large wetland, I encountered a small flock of American Tree Sparrows. Their airy crystalline tinkling notes gave them away well before I got near, and I was prepared to try for some imagery. If I were ever forced to name a Top 10 list of favorite birds, this species would be on it. And one can never have too many photos of a Top 10 favorite bird, especially one as delicately stunning as this.
 
The animals were not put off by my furtive skulking, and I was able to observe some of their food choices. I was pleased indeed when the sparrow in the photo alit atop this old withered inflorescence of blue vervain, Verbena hastata. My first reaction was to the pleasing aesthetics of the situation, but became more meaningful when the bird began avidly ripping seeds from the candelabra of cylindrical flower (now fruit) spikes. This was not a plant that I've observed American Tree Sparrows feasting upon before.
 
American Tree Sparrows, when they arrive at these southerly latitudes for the winter (I've written more about this species HERE), are much tied to open meadows that grow a diversity of herbaceous plants that produce bumper crops of small seeds. Goldenrods are especially favored, but the sparrows feed on a wide variety of other plants, especially those in the sunflower family (Asteraceae). Over the long haul, I am sure these plucky little sparrows are major dispersers of many of these plants.
 
Unfortunately, prime American Tree Sparrow (and many other songbirds) foraging fields are all too often thought of as weed fields. While nearly everyone gets up in arms over protecting bogs, old-growth forests, and prairies, the much more mundane goldenrod and aster-dominated meadows are shrinking away, the victims of various development. These common and largely ignored meadows are biodiversity factories, and even fuel topnotch beauties such as the American Tree Sparrow.

 

Red-breasted Merganser swarms on Lake Erie

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Now that's a lot of birds! The waters at the interface of Lake Erie and the Huron River are darkened by thousands of Red-breasted Mergansers. Scores of gulls wheel overhead. Everyone is fish-seeking. Lake Erie is the most biologically rich of the five Great Lakes, and scenes like this bear out the aquatic bounty of Ohio's watery northern boundary.

A squadron of nine Red-breasted Mergansers rockets by the end of the Huron Municipal Pier. I spent much of the day here on November 22, and was once again blown away by the huge numbers of birds in the area. I've been to Huron in late fall and early winter scores of times over the years and know what to expect on a busy day, but never fail to be impressed. I wrote about some other observations from this trip RIGHT HERE. In that post, I focused on the numerous rare bird sightings that the trip produced. Here, I wish to focus on the hyper-abundant mergansers.

A mixture of molting males and female Red-breasted Mergansers bunch together over a favorite fishery. The mouth of the Huron River has long been a major migratory hotspot for this species. Huge, and I mean massive, numbers of mergansers occur in central Lake Erie, especially between the islands just west of here and the Cleveland area to the east.

Rare would be the morsel that slides down a Red-breasted Merganser's gullet that is NOT a fish. These birds are piscivorous in the extreme. A sharply serrated bill helps seize and hold the slippery wriggling prey until the bird can manipulate the morsel so it goes down the hatch headfirst.

Note this male's wispy punk rock crest. This photo is from last February at a central Ohio reservoir. By then, the males have completely molted into resplendent breeding finery.

If I were a small fish, say a shiner or shad, the last place I'd want to be is in the water under these birds. As soon as these mergansers settle on the water, they will begin diving for fish and they're very adept at catching them. The aforementioned fish species are the primary prey items in Lake Erie.

One would think that a species as abundant and glaringly obvious as is the Red-breasted Merganser would be well-studied and thoroughly understood. However, "Overall, the Red-breasted Merganser remains one of the least understood species of waterfowl in North America." That quote comes from the comprehensive Birds of North America monograph of the species (Craik, Shawn, John Pearce and Rodger D. Titman. 2015. Red-breasted Merganser (Mergusserrator), The Birds of North America Online (A. Poole, Ed.). Ithaca: Cornell Lab of Ornithology; Retrieved from the Birds of North America Online: http://bna.birds.cornell.edu/bna/species/443
doi:10.2173/bna.443).

Scores of mergansers scuttle across the water whipping up whitecaps. On some unseen cue, hundreds or thousands of birds will suddenly swim-fly hundreds of feet to a new feeding locale. They undoubtedly are chasing the movements of large fish schools that they're feeding upon. This photograph shows but a sliver of a feeding flock that might have numbered 10,000 birds.

One of the few detailed studies of Red-breasted Merganser food sources was conducted in western Lake Erie. The results were published in 2008 (Bur, M. T., M. A. Stapanian, G. Bernhardt, and M. W. Turner.2008.Fall diets of Red-breasted Merganser (Mergus serrator) and Walleye (Sander vitreus) in Sandusky Bay and adjacent waters of western Lake Erie. American Midland Naturalist 159(1):147-161). This study showed that the mergansers primarily feed upon emerald shiners, gizzard shad, and the invasive nonnative round goby - this trio of fishes forms about 96% of their diet. Such knowledge should set fisherman at ease. The huge swarms of fish-eating ducks are NOT competing for prized walleye and yellow perch.

The numbers of mergansers on this part of Lake Erie can be stupefying at times. Estimates of 20,000 birds passing by one spot in an hour have been made, as have one-day tallies of up to 250,000 birds. Such numbers would be remarkable indeed, considering the total breeding population of Red-breasted Mergansers in Canada and Alaska is thought to be about 250,000 birds. It must be noted that the margin of error for shorebound observers attempting to estimate merganser numbers is large. There is just no way to know if one is recounting birds that are swirling about in circular patterns or regularly passing by the same locale over and again. However, having seen this phenomenon on numerous occasions from low-flying aircraft while conducting waterbird surveys, I can agree that the above estimates may not be far off the mark. Any way one slices it, there are many tens of thousands of mergansers staging on Lake Erie in late November and early December.

It's smack in the middle of this migratory spectacle - likely the WORLD'S most important staging area for Red-breasted Mergansers - that a corporation known as LEEDCO wants to place massive wind turbines. These, I believe, would be the first turbines located in the lake itself. Keep in mind that it isn't just mergansers that heavily use this part of Lake Erie. So do tens of thousands of Bonaparte's Gulls, huge numbers of Common Loons and Horned Grebes, blizzards of other waterfowl species, and scores of  other waterbirds. Turbines placed in bird-rich sites can cause great carnage, disrupt migratory patterns, and cause abandonment of habitat. The Black Swamp Bird Observatory has a nice summary on wind power projects in Ohio, including LEEDCO's "Icebreaker Project", RIGHT HERE.

Courtesy of The Birds of North America Online, here is a map depicting the range of the Red-breasted Merganser. The breeding range is generally well to the north of Ohio. Our Lake Erie birds are all migrants, presumably from North America. But this duck also breeds extensively throughout northern latitudes of Russia, Scandinavia, Eurasia and elsewhere. No one has attempted to document the origins of the hordes of birds on Lake Erie. Which would not be easy.

ASIDE: I regularly share maps from Birds of North America Online (BNA) monographs, and harvest lots of useful information from these accounts. I've long had a subscription to BNA, and it is a wealth of information about birds. BNA is an inexpensive subscription service, and I would highly recommend it to those that want to advance their knowledge of birds beyond identification. Subscription information can be found RIGHT HERE.

Bonaparte's Gulls freighter-chasing

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This is the mouth of one of the Great Lakes' most fabled rivers, and one its most varied when it comes to habitat. I made this image early in the morning last Sunday, standing at the end of the pier by the old Coast Guard Station by Wendy Park. The Cuyahoga River dumps into Lake Erie here, with the city of Cleveland as the background. Lake-going freighters enter the river at this point, and wind their way up the narrow crooked river to industrial operations in Cleveland. Rivers do not come more industrialized than the lower Cuyahoga, but its upper reaches are as wild and biodiversity-rich as any river in Ohio.

A post-sitting Bonaparte's Gull watches the world go by. It is a rare bit of isolationist repose for the animal. It spends much time in noisy packs of its brethren, fishing the waters of Lake Erie.

I've written much about Bonaparte's Gulls and will write much more, no doubt. These small delicate gulls are among my favorite birds. They are buoyant on the wing, and talented aeronauts. "Bonies" eschew the aggressive kleptoparasitic ways of many larger gulls, and will rarely be found foraging for garbage. Fishing is the Bonaparte's Gull's stock in trade, and they are quite good at it.

The weather was far too placid for great birding on Lake Erie this day, and after an hour or so at the pier's tip I was about to pack it in and head elsewhere. Until I noticed this freighter far out on the lake, but headed towards the Cuyahoga River. Freighters often mean birds, so I decided to remain and await the ship's arrival.

It turned out to be a freighter from the Lafarge corporation, a large mining concern. The ship is probably loaded with crushed limestone. Lafarge owns the massive limestone quarries on the Marblehead Peninsula, all around the Lakeside Daisy State Nature Preserve, among many other holdings.

If you click the photo to enlarge it, you'll notice a swarm of gulls trailing the ship.

The wake of the freighter seethes with gulls, mostly Bonaparte's Gulls. A lot of these birds came in with the ship, and they were joined by many others who were loafing or fishing in the harbor.

Freighters stir up fish with their massive props, forcing small species near the surface. The gulls are there to take advantage of easy fishing. This clumped bunch of Bonies was but a small part of the flock trailing the freighter. So congested is the airspace over the roiled fishy waters that it's amazing the birds don't knock each other from the sky.

My hope was that a rarity might be among their ranks. A Little Gull perhaps, or maybe a Black-legged Kittiwake. The big flocks of Bonaparte's Gulls are attractive to such hangers on, and all one has to do is pick through myriad swirling birds to try and find something different. No such luck on this day, but it didn't matter much. I was content to watch the action among the Bonies, and listen to the loud concerto of squeaking buzzes put out by the pack.

A successful Bonaparte's Gull leaps from the water with a tasty shiner. The fish was down its hatch within about the first ten feet of flight. If you're a gull, a surefire way to attract unwanted attention is to fly stupidly about with a tail-wagging fish in your bill. You'll be set upon and mugged by about every other gull in the harbor.

The Lafarge freighter continues its way upstream, and under one of the Cuyahoga River's many lift-bridges. A pack of gulls continues to follow, but before long most will probably be back in the harbor, or out on Lake Erie.

You may recall, this is the river that famously caught on fire in 1969 - for about the 13th time. The '69 fire helped spark a landslide of pro-environmentalism. The following year President Richard Nixon formed the EPA, and the battle to clean up our waterways began. Today, even as industrialized as the lower Cuyahoga River is, its water is far cleaner than in the 1960's and '70's. The fish, and Bonaparte's Gulls, are indicators of healthier waters.
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