Ohio Birds and Biodiversity

A Clover Hayworm moth, Hypsopygia costalis, graces my front wall, near the porch light. Beautiful as this moth is, with its maroon wings trimmed in lemon-yellow, it is a rather "weedy" species, as its caterpillars are generalist feeders on a variety of dried plant material, including clover. As I live next to the Ohio State University's farm, there is no shortage of such fare around here, and these beautiful little moths are regular visitors to my lights. I made this image on August 21st.

So, today I was analyzing the image in greater detail with our graphics genius at work, Chad Crouch, to see if it might be suitable for use in one of our publications. With his sharp eye for symmetry, Chad quickly noticed something that I had missed. Click the photo to enlarge, and check the outer portion of the right wing. Mites! Two of them!

Here's a tight crop on that part of the wing, and I've enhanced the mites' color a bit to make them more visible. Well, that was the coolest thing that I had seen all day (yes, I know...), and of course I wanted to know more. Mites are abundant parasites on a huge range of animals, but in spite of the scores of moth photos that I've taken over the years, I had never notice them on moths before.

A bit of research quickly revealed that mites are indeed known as parasites on moths, and the BugGuide website even has a photo of mites - same species presumably - on a Clover Hayworm moth. Presumably the mites in that photo, and mine, are tapping into a wing vein and actively feeding, rather than just hitching a ride.

I found a beautifully written 1967 paper entitled "Mites from Noctuid Moths" that was written by Asher E. Treat and published in the Journal of the Lepidopterists' Society. It appears to be one of the more comprehensive papers on this obscure subject, although as Treat notes, "Here is a garden of wonders for the inquiring lepidopterist, a garden that is virtually unexplored". Although he wrote that 46 years ago, it seems that not many lepidopterists have taken up the quest to ferret out the mystery of moth-borne mites in the intervening years.

Although Treat's work was confined to moths in the family Noctuidae - the Clover Hayworm is in the Pyralidae - much of what he says probably applies to many moth families, and he brings out the commonness with which mites use moth hosts. There is a large group of mites that only infest the ears (EARS!) of moths! These parasites lay in wait on flowers, and when a suitable moth lands and extends its proboscis to tap nectar, the mites quickly scramble up this "gang-plank". Once on the moth, the mites, apparently following a pheromone trail left by the leader, invade one ear, and only one ear, of the host moth. To infest both ears would be a tactical mistake, as the mite colonies apparently result in the loss of the moth's sensory abilities. If mites infested BOTH ears, the moth would not be nearly as capable at detecting bat echolocations and other threats, and thus the moth would be at greater risk of predation. And then the mites' chances of survival and success would plummet.

Now that I am aware that such a Lilliputian world of mites on moths exists, I will keep a much sharper eye for them when photographing living specimens in the field, and perhaps obtain some sharper images. Although, as good as my Canon 100 mm L macro lens is, this is really the job of the bizarre Canon MP-E 65 mm macro lens, and these mites are yet another justification for getting this piece of equipment.

A cache of clubshell and Northern riffleshell mussels are prepared for release into Big Darby Creek.

The Columbus Dispatch

Sunday, September 1, 2013

NATURE

Jim McCormac

At a glance, mussels seem uninteresting. Freshwater mussels — clams — look like rocks, and they lie partly buried in streambeds, out of sight and out of mind.

Yet these aquatic paperweights have one of the wildest reproductive strategies of any animal.
Luck, and helpful fish, must come together to make mussels. The male jettisons sperm into the water, which drifts downstream. Hopefully, a female mussel will filter the male’s sperm from the water. If so, she’ll produce larval clams known as glochidia.

And this is where things get downright bizarre.

Most mussels require fish hosts. To lure the fish into range, many species use incredible deceptive tactics. The mussel opens its shell and extends a flange of tissue called the mantle. The mantle’s edge resembles a small baitfish or other tasty-looking object. When an inquisitive fish investigates, the mussel blasts it with a barrage of glochidia, which attach to the fish’s gills.

The larval glochidia remain on the fish until partly grown, then drop off and embed in the stream bottom. There, they grow to maturity and might live a long life — sometimes more than a century.

Adult mussels filter-feed: They siphon water into their bodies and extract diatoms, algae and other tiny fare. In pre-settlement Ohio, when streams abounded with mussels, their collective masses probably played a big role in cleansing water.

European colonization soon brought tough times for mussels. In 1857, a pearl was found in a mussel in New Jersey; it was worth a princely sum. This sparked the Pearl Rush. Millions of mussels were yanked from streams, shucked and discarded by people lusting for pearls. In 1887, German immigrant Johann Boepple saw a new way to exploit mussels: He spawned a massive button trade in which mussel shells were hole-punched, and the round chads became shirt fasteners.

Pearling and button-making ran their course, but the degradation of streams from large-scale land-use changes has not. Bottom-dwelling filter-feeders such as mussels have been severely affected, and many mussels are now imperiled. Of the 80 species found in Ohio, 28 are listed as endangered or threatened, 11 are extirpated (gone from Ohio) and six are extinct.

Stream conservation efforts have brought hope for mussels, and perhaps the best story involves Big Darby Creek. Land protection along the stream, most notably by Franklin County’s Metro Parks, has safeguarded water quality in the Darby and allowed restoration opportunities for rare mussels.

Mussels have their advocates, and the Ohio Division of Wildlife, Columbus Zoo and Aquarium, Ohio State University, U.S. Fish & Wildlife Service and other partners have collaborated to help. Experts from these organizations recently released 4,000 specimens of two endangered species: Northern riffleshell and clubshell. Once common in Big Darby’s drainage, they had almost vanished. Thanks to these efforts, healthy mussel populations should be purifying the Darby — and engaging in weird reproductive rituals.

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

Learning more

The Freshwater Mussels of Ohio (Ohio State University, $78.80) belongs on the shelf of anyone interested in Ohio’s natural history. Published in 2009 and written by G. Thomas Watters, Michael A. Hoggarth and David H. Stansbery, the 421-page book is loaded with fascinating information.

I found myself at the beautiful Caesar's Creek Visitor's Center in Warren County last Sunday, which is owned and managed by the U.S. Army Corps of Engineers. The committee members for the Midwest Native Plant Society were there to plan the 2014 Midwest Native Plant Conference, and it promises to be another doozy. As an aside, we also schemed up and plotted out a one-day butterfly conference to be held next July 12 at this very visitor's center. The center has awesome conference capabilities, and equally good, it sits smack in the middle of oodles of great habitat.

After our meeting, we set off to explore the local prairies, such as the patch of turf above. The fields were absolutely swarming with dragonflies, mostly Common Green Darners, Anax junius, with lesser numbers of Black Saddlebags, Tramea lacera. Inestimable thousands were in the area. Equally conspicuous was one of our coolest birds, the Common Nighthawk, Chordeiles minor, sometimes known as the "Bullbat".

Periodic waves of nighthawks would course low overhead, hunting various buggy fare. We saw dozens, probably well over 200. After our group of people finally disbanded, I headed back to this field and that tower in the distance. I hadn't seen a flight of bullbats like this in some time, and wanted to watch them for a while, and try to make some images. By the time I left, I estimated that I had seen 400-500 birds, and that's probably conservative. I took a back route home, and saw even more birds, and then later heard reports elsewhere from southern and central Ohio of other large groups. The nighthawks were definitely on the move last Sunday.

A pair of Common Nighthawks gambol about the skies over Caesar Creek. These nightjars are supreme aerialists, and adept at snatching insects from the air. Most of the birds that I saw probably bred in northernmost U.S., or more likely Canada. People who know the birds around here think of them as nesting on the gravel rooftops of buildings, which they certainly do (see THIS POST). But the lion's share of nighthawks nest in open barrens, big gravel bars, burned over jack pine flats, and other sparsely vegetated open ground. Their nest is little more than a scrape on the ground, and if all goes well, two nighthawk chicks will be spawned.

Pods of hunting nighthawks would come by in waves, and occasional birds would zag near my perch on the tower. At first, I was shooting them with my 150-500 mm Sigma lens, but found it quite difficult to follow and focus quickly. So after a bit, I switched to a Tamron 70-200 mm lens, which is tack sharp and lightning fast. The birds would sometimes come near enough that even a lens without a lot of pulling power, like the Tamron, was good enough.

But alas, shooting great images of speeding nighthawks is not nearly as easy it may seem. These birds are fast as bullets, and when one would come over the tower, seemingly to check me out, it would really put on a burst of speed and rocket over so quickly I could hardly follow it with the camera. From afar, the flight of a foraging bullbat seems languid; the bird lazily flapping about with occasional bursts of acceleration when prey is spotted. When one is 50 or 100 feet away and coming on strong, it is amazing how rapidly they come and go.

Even though none of my photos will be gracing the cover of National Geographic, I had a good time watching the masses of swirling bullbats. These birds will not tarry; they have a long ways to go. Common Nighthawks are one of the long-distance champion migrants of North American birds. The vast majority of the birds that we see in Ohio will winter in South America, and some of them will get as far south as Argentina.

We're still in the sweet spot for nighthawk migration. Watch for flocks passing overhead towards dusk. They'll be headed due south, and the birds will be stone silent, their loud nasal peents are a sound of spring and summer.

A pair of Virginia Opossums, Didelphis virginiana, at about a month of age. You've got to admit, they're pretty darn cute at this stage!

This wasn't the only photo that I snapped of this pair, and hopefully time will permit more sharing of these two, and their story. I have been traveling a lot, and have seen and photographed some VERY COOL THINGS.

As time permits, more interesting stuff will be forthcoming.

A Saddleback caterpillar, Sibine stimulea, in repose. This one was feeding on Sugar Maple, but these caterpillars are broadly polyphagous - they can eat seemingly anything. I've found them on a variety of woody plants including Witch-hazel and Redbud, and they've even been reported feeding on corn. Saddlebacks are not infrequent in gardens, occupying ornamental plants, and perhaps you have seen one.

This caterpillar is a thing of great beauty, and the swan in a reverse ugly duckling story. The caterpillar is fantastically ornamented with dense fascicles of stinging spines, and no matter how great the urge to stroke one of these, I would resist temptation. Some authorities say that Saddlebacks pack among the greatest punches of any North American caterpillar. Those stinging spines will leave a blistering rash that will smart for quite some time. So, admire the bristly little beast wearing the lime-green horse blanket from afar. The adult phase - the moth - probably wouldn't interest you nearly as much as this larva. It is a rather plain brown Jane.

Amanda Duren spotted this animal on a nocturnal foray in Ashtabula County, Ohio, last Wednesday night. Of course, we briefly detained the animal for a photo shoot before returning it to the maples. Neither caterpillar or photographers were harmed in the process.

Whoa! Seen up close and head on, the Saddleback takes on an entirely new look, and a scary one at that. It sort of resembles a manically evil clown. Caterpillars are never boring to shoot. From one angle, something might resemble little more than a tubular bag of goo; seen from another perspective the cat might look quite cool indeed.

My front porch, with its attendant nightlight. Many a cool moth, and other interesting bugs, routinely turn up here in spite of my urban location. I've made scores of images of insects literally right outside my front door, such as THIS, and even THIS.

Not long ago, a pair of Variable Orbweavers, Neoscona crucifera, have taken up residence on the porch. Their massive webs tent in about one-third of the porch, but I don't mind. The spiders hide under overarching shingles during the day; I can see them peeking out when I peer up there. Come nightfall, they emerge and descend to commence web rehabilitation and prepare for the night's hunting.

Here's one of the Variable Orbweavers, peeking shyly at your narrator. If I approach with caution, they'll tolerate my presence. These hefty spiders fare well in their locations, routinely snagging moths, and other tasty (to them) meals.

And now, the "stupid bug" of this post's title: a Brown Marmorated Stink Bug, Halyomorpha halys, also photographed near my door. It wouldn't take much of a skim of this blog to determine that I LIKE BUGS. Just not THIS BUG. These introduced Asian pests have skyrocketed in abundance, and their annoyance factor rates a 10. They are adept at slipping into homes, and once in the room, must be dealt with. They whir noisily about, colliding with things, and one just cannot rest until the offending bug has been dispatched. But whack them with care - they are not named stink bugs for nothing. Too much mistreatment and they'll release a noxious musk.

Brown Marmorated Stink Bugs are also death on certain plants. They tap into plant juices, especially the fruit of trees, and destroy the crop. Orchardists hate them with a vengeance.

So one can only imagine my delight when I glanced out the door the other night to see that one of my spiders had nailed a stink bug and was sucking it dry. Yes! I've seen them with stink bugs a few times now, including tonight, when I arrived home from work.

So, upon arrival this evening, and the discovery of a freshly whacked stink bug having its innards sucked dry, I retrieved the camera for a few shots. Here's a blurry picture of Senorita Spider enjoying her meal, but the shot isn't blurry because I don't know how to focus the camera. As soon as I turned the macro lens on her and her victim, I noticed something really interesting. A tiny fly was also enjoying the spoils! Now, I don't know with certainty whether this miniscule fly (species unknown, to me) was lapping up the juices spawned by the insertion of the spider's proboscis, or if it was laying eggs on the corpse. When I first noticed the fly, it was quite near the spider's mouthparts. In fact, at one point the spider took a leg and seemed to quite deliberately flick the fly away, to the position it is in in this photo..

Another, closer view of the fly. Little mysteries such as this intrigue me. Is there a group of flies that jumps onto fresh spider kills and deposits eggs on the victim? If you know anything about such a phenomenon, please let me know.

Last Sunday, while exploring a scruffy little patch of successional habitat in Adams County, I glanced into the boughs of a Redbud tree to see a giant spider peering back. I was probably 20 feet or so distant and the spider was still obvious; that's how big this beast was. I took the photo above from a ways back, and you can get a feel for the arachnid's size based on comparison with the redbud leaves.

Right away I was reminded of a fishing spider in the genus Dolomedes, but ten feet up in a tree seemed an odd place for one of these stream and pond dwellers. Furthermore, it appeared that the spider had a nest up in the tree, and was guarding it. Indeed, as I approached, the spider moved out from the foliage as if to guard her den. Not too put off by her intimidating attitude, I moved in for photos...

By balancing precariously on some old wood, I was able to get closer to her level and make a series of images. A close inspection intrigued me. Now I was sure it was one of the nursery web spiders and almost certainly a fishing spider. But I had never seen one like this! Other than its large size - this animal would fill your palm, counting the leg spread - it had a striking blond head. Quite a showy animal indeed. She was guarding a nest as well, but I don't think the egg case had yet hatched.

Upon my return to Columbus, I cracked the books and it didn't take long to determine that the mystery spider was Dolomedes albineus (don't know a good common name, although I would suggest "Blond-headed Fishing Spider"). This species is somewhat variable, and my specimen has far more of a pale cephalothorax (head) than many or most of them.

A closeup showing the neat eye arrangement of Dolomedes fishing spiders: two rows, four eyes in each.

From the information that I could glean, it seemed that D. albineus would or should occur to the south of Ohio. So I sent some images off to Rich Bradley, a spider expert and author of THIS BOOK. Rich is always helpful and he responded quickly, confirming the identification. He was also excited by the find, as this is only the second reported record of this spectacular fishing spider in Ohio! The other was also photo-documented a few years ago, in Perry County I believe.

Dolomedes albineus is one to watch for, especially in southernmost Ohio. It seems to be expanding its range northward, along with a whole host of other small animals, especially insects. Low shrubby growth in the general vicinity of ponds or other water features might be a likely place to discover them.

The fabled Conneaut Harbor, Ashtabula County, Ohio. John Pogacnik and I led a field trip here about a week ago, and this is part of our group, scanning for birds. This harbor was created by walling off part of Lake Erie, and over time a massive sand spit formed. Conneaut can be a gold mine for birds, and scores of rarities have turned up here over the years. It seems that just about anything with wings drops in, if only for a few minutes.

Conneaut Harbor, especially on a nice day, can be a bit of a madhouse, as people also flock to the sands. Those large airborne things in the backdrop are the kites of windsurfers. Other people are walking about, and dogs are usually roaring around, sometimes chasing birds. The worst are the hicks in ATV's and 4 x 4's tearing up the area and spooking everything in the harbor. Fortunately none of the latter crowd were in evidence on this trip.

We hadn't been out of the van for a minute and someone pointed to a small shorebird working the waterline. Baird's Sandpiper! An auspicious start to the trip, indeed. Not many Baird's pass through Ohio in their long transit between breeding and wintering grounds. Most birds move to the west of here, and although this beautiful sandpiper is not a rarity, it is greatly outnumbered by many of our other migrant shorebirds.

This Baird's Sandpiper, like nearly every one of them that steps on Ohio mud, is a juvenile. The youngsters can be distinguished by their fresh, bright plumage and pale feather edgings which create a distinctly scaled appearance. Our bird was born only a few months before we saw him, spawned from a nest on the tundra in the highest reaches of the Arctic.

Unfortunately, this animal has an issue with its wing. As can be seen in the photo, its right wing is dragging and obviously injured, and this may not bode well for its survival. Yet we saw it leap airborne and make short flights with no seeming difficulties, so we can hope for the best. Its trailing wing does allow us to see a distinctive feature of Baird's Sandpiper: very long wings that project beyond the tail, and give the bird a slender attenuated look. These are the wings of a champion long-haul migrant.

Map courtesy of NatureServe.

This map lays out the stupefying, nearly unbelievable annual peregrinations of the Baird's Sandpiper. These animals breed as far north as one can go, and then travel to the other end of the globe - from one end of the world to the other. The adult birds, which leave the breeding grounds a few weeks prior to the juveniles, make the transit with great rapidity; in as few as five weeks. The young birds make the same amazing journey, and do it without a guide - they rely solely on their built-in navigations units. And to think, some of us can get lost in the grocery store!

Places such as Conneaut Harbor, although certainly not pristine, serve as vital way stations for shorebirds engaging in their fantastic journeys. Mudflats are fuel stops; places where sandpipers and plovers can gorge on tiny mud-dwelling animal life and build the fat deposits that will sustain them on long flights. A Baird's Sandpiper weighs only 35 or 40 grams. That's less than a third of what your new iPhone 5 weighs. Little birds that fly long distances need a lot of food, and plenty of stopover places to find it.

Here's hoping the bird featured here successfully makes its way to Argentina to join the rest of its tribe.

An interesting shot of a male Green Darner, Anax junius, in flight, courtesy of Dave Lewis. Props to Dave; freezing one of these fast-moving insects with the camera is not easy.

Ohio, and surrounding states I'm sure, have experienced a blitzkrieg of migrant dragonflies in the past few days. I've received about a dozen reports at work, a few more here at home, and have seen reports of dragonfly swarms on Facebook and other places. The vast majority of these dragonflies are the highly migratory Green Darner, as shown in Dave's shot above. These dragonflies are headed to points south, and pushing through in vast inestimable waves in front of the coming cold front.

I penned an article about this time of year in 2011, for my employer the Ohio Division of Wildlife. That column made its way to a number of newspapers, and is still findable on the net, apparently - it was the catalyst for a number of the reports that I received. Following is that piece, which goes into more detail about Green Darners and dragonfly migration. It is just as relevant to the current flight as it was a few years ago.

Invasion of the dragonflies

A fantastic insect invasion has been occurring recently. No worries – a plague of locusts hasn’t descended, nor are killer bees overrunning Ohio.

Our visitors are dragonflies: common green darners, Anax junius. Large swarms of these jumbo fliers have been reported from numerous Ohio locales and elsewhere in the Midwestin the past week or so.

Common green darners are easily recognized. They are one of the largest of the 160+ dragonfly species that have been found in Ohio. From stem to stern, a good-sized darner can measure 3 ½ inches, with a wing span of four inches. The thorax (main body) is a distinctive pea green. Males have a turquoise-blue abdomen (tail); in females the abdomen is rusty-brown.

This species is a common inhabitant of Ohio’s ponds and wetlands, and is found in all 88 counties. Like other dragonflies, their larvae – nymphs – are strictly aquatic. The bizarre, alien-looking nymphs remain under water for a year, hunting small animal life. When tripped by some internal alarm clock, the nymph emerges from the water shortly after dusk, climbs a plant, and begins an amazing transformation. The nymph’s husk is slowly split open by the young adult – termed a teneral– as it pushes its way out. Once it has broken free of its larval shell, the teneral darner quickly hardens and expands. By daybreak, the transformation into an adult dragonfly is complete and the green darner is ready to take flight.

And take flight they do. Incredibly powerful flyers, green darners spend much of the daylight hours on the wing, jagging about at impossible speeds as they snatch small flying insects from the air. While gnat-sized bugs form the bulk of their diet, the burly dragons can take down much larger fare. When opportunity allows, they’ll grab large horseflies, bees, and lesser dragonflies. They have even reported to take hummingbirds!

A big mystery shrouds the common green darner. This is one of our highly migratory insects, as is the monarch butterfly. However, the movements of green darners are not nearly as well understood as those of the monarch, and scientists are still unraveling the secrets of darner migration. In late summer, massive “flocks”, perhaps better called swarms, are sometimes seen. This year, darner swarms have seemingly been more numerous than usual, with many scattered reports.

It is a striking sight to witness hundreds or even thousands of these large dragonflies swirling about. Sometimes they are seen high aloft, moving together on a steady southward trajectory. On other occasions, swarms descend to low levels and actively feed over meadows and other open areas.

Where are they going? No one is sure, but it’s possible that the darners are moving to warmer climes of the southernmost U.S and Mexico. Green darners also appear to migrate back north in the spring, much as birds do.

A lot remains to be learned of dragonfly migration, and observations of large swarms are helpful to researchers. If you have witnessed a dragonfly swarm, please report it to JimMcCormac at the Ohio Division of Wildlife: jim.mccormac@dnr.state.oh.us or 614-265-6440. Please note the date, time, location, and ideally an estimate of the number of dragonflies.

A female Green Darner, at rest.

I received a fair number of reports of dragonfly swarms, based on the last blog post, and other stuff that I've written about this phenomenon. The map above shows locations of the last few days' reports, and nearly all observers indicated swarms of "dozens", but more often "hundreds" or "thousands". From the evidence at hand, the vast majority of dragonflies involved were Common Green Darners, Anax junius. Most reports were made in the waning hours of the day - often near twilight.

These mapped locales represent but a fraction of the reports that were made. I saw numerous mentions of dragonfly swarms on Facebook and elsewhere. And two respondents to me live in Illinois, and saw massive swarms there. One can only imagine the untold millions of these big dragonflies that moved through the Midwest in advance of the current cold front. It would be fascinating to know with certainty where these animals are headed. Possibly the Rio Grande Valley of south Texas? Mexico? Deeper into Central America? My hunch is that they disperse on a broad front across the Gulf States and then south into Mexico and perhaps beyond. Hopefully, someday this migratory dragonfly mystery will be thoroughly unraveled.

One of the world's most popular fairy tales is The Ugly Duckling by Hans Christian Andersen. That tale involved a homely bird chick that grew up to be a beautiful swan. The animal highlighted in this post is the lepidopteran counterpart to Andersen's swan.

A spindly little Wafer-ash, Ptelea trifoliata, springs from the ground, its interesting leaves marred by an unsightly bird dropping. But wait! We better look again...

That's no bird dropping - it's a caterpillar! We're meeting one of our strangest butterfly larvae, that of the Giant Swallowtail, Papilio cresphontes. Scores of insects - and some spiders - mimic the appearance of fresh bird poop. Looking like scat can be a good thing, because few predators like to eat bird droppings. So laying on top of a leaf, looking like the fresh aftermath of a Blue Jay's meal, can help an organism to hide in plain sight. Bird dropping-stained leaves are everywhere, and mirroring the look of fecally tarnished foliage is a great way to outwit your enemies.

No one does the bird dropping masquerade better than the caterpillar of the Giant Swallowtail. If there was an Oscar for Best Actor in Fecal Disguise, this would be our winner. These cats are big ones, too, at least when the caterpillar is in its last instar, or growth stage, as is the one pictured in these photos. I was fortunate enough to encounter this Giant Swallowtail caterpillar recently in Adams County, Ohio.

Looking like a fresh, wet bird dropping isn't the only trick that this cat has up its tubular sleeve. If startled by a would-be predator such as a songbird, or possibly parasitoid flies or wasps, the caterpillar flicks out a chemical switchblade. You can often get the caterpillar to pull its weapon by gently tapping it on the back. In this photo, just after a light tapping, the caterpillar has reared its head in the direction of the offending tapper, and is exerting strange red horns called osmeteria. All swallowtail species caterpillars are armed with this piece of equipment.

In the blink of an eye, the besieged caterpillar protrudes its osmeteria to a remarkable length - quite an unexpected and awe-inspiring sight indeed! I would imagine, were you the size of a chickadee or perhaps a menacing insect, these horns being abruptly thrust into your face might just be enough motivation to go elsewhere.

If the physical appearance of these long horns isn't enough, the chemical secretions that they are coated in might do the job. To me, the osmeterial secretions smell rather foul. I was about three or four feet from the caterpillar when I made the photo above, and in no time my olfactory senses were assailed by a distinctly unpleasant odor. I can't imagine that the osmeteria and its associated chemicals hold any charm for birds, spiders, mantids or any other creatures that might threaten the larva.

If all goes well for the rather repulsive caterpillar, this will be the end result, a stunning Giant Swallowtail butterfly. This is the largest species of butterfly in Ohio, and the appearance of one will almost always elicit a positive reaction. The same type of reaction will generally not be offered for the caterpillar, unless the viewer is someone like me who likes and appreciates bizarre larvae.

Giant Swallowtail caterpillars feed on plants in the Citrus family (Rutaceae). In Ohio, that's only two species, the aforementioned Wafer-ash, and Prickly-ash, Zanthoxylum americanum. Neither are true ash, but are related to the orange. Some savvy nurseries that specialize in native plants offer at least the Wafer-ash (the Prickly-ash, true to its name, is quite thorny and less likely to be sold). Try planting some Wafer-ash on your property, and perhaps you can also grow these fantastic beasts.

Following are some Ohio nurseries that sell Wafer-ash:

Keystone Flora

Naturally Native Nursery (extra points for selling Prickly-ash!)

Scioto Gardens

Last Saturday, I found myself strolling down the long linear Milford Center Prairie corridor - an abandoned railroad right-of-way - when an eagle-eyed member of my party spotted this gorgeous little case, hanging from a pendant thread. It resembled an Easter egg painted in black and white, albeit on a tiny scale. The case was only a few millimeters in length, and dangled from the branch of a Sandbar Willow, Salix interior.

I really had no idea what made it, but thought it might be a wasp, as some of them make similar cocoons. But my efforts to come up with an identification bore no fruit, so I turned to the amazing BugGuide megasite. Within minutes of posting this photo, I had my answer. Someone quickly identified the family of wasps, and from there it was easy to come to a specific ID: Charops annulipes (no common name).

The object in the photo is indeed this wasp's cocoon, and it hangs it from a thread for a reason, as we shall see.

Researching this issue reminded me of a photo that I took in mid-August of last year, in another prairie remnant not far from where we found the cocoon. I dug back into the files, and quickly found this photo, which I had just labeled as "wasp". This animal was tiny, almost gnatlike in appearance, and I only managed two so-so shots before it darted off, never to be seen again. Well, I compared it to the relatively few decent photos that I could find of Charops annulipes, and this seems to be it!

Like so many of the micro-wasps, Charops is a stunner. I remember the encounter very well, and how I wished I had had a bit more time to compose better images. More than a few times I've spotted tiny parasitoid wasps hunting the foliage, and have been dazzled when I finally lock them into the sights of my macro lens. With the naked eye, they are nothing - inconsequential mosquito-sized bugs that would easily be passed by. The magic of magnification reveals amazing detail of structure and color. But then comes the problem of identification. The wasp world is utterly massive, and there are no comprehensive Peterson field guides to help. I have many mystery photos labeled as just "wasp", as this one was.

Charops is a parasitoid, and lays its eggs on the caterpillars of moth species such as this snout (I believe it is the very variable Green Cloverworm, Hypena scabra). The wasp probably preys on other Noctuid moths as well. It's the same old grisly story - wasp larvae burrow into the host caterpillar, and eat it alive.

But turnabout is fair play, and apparently Charops can fall victim to its own set of parasitoid predators. Hence, the cocoon suspended in space by a thread. Dangling in midair makes it harder for would-be predators to find and reach the wasp cocoon, thus upping Charops' chances of survival. Or at least that's how I understand this elfin wasp's lifecycle.

With A Flower

I hide myself within my flower,

That wearing on your breast,

You, unsuspecting, wear me too –

And angels know the rest.

I hide myself within my flower,

That, fading from your vase,

You, unsuspecting, feel for me

Almost a loneliness.

- Emily Dickinson

Tis the season of the mighty Asteraceae Family: asters, bonesets, goldenrods, sunflowers, etc. These harbingers of winter brighten the autumn meadows, and many a person remarks on fields painted bright with botanical gold, purple, and cream.

There is a deadly irony in the beauty of these wildflowers, however. Flowers are magnets for insect pollinators, and their presence is part of the charm of flower-watching. But for these nectar-seekers, the danger quotient ratchets up immensely when they alight on flowers. Predators are well aware that sooner or later potential victims will come to visit the flower patch, and they lay patiently in wait.

The robust creamy-white inflorescence of Tall Boneset, Eupatorium altissimum, is quite alluring to all manner of six-legged pollinators. If one of them chooses to work this plant, they had better watch their step. Look carefully and you'll notice three or four tiny bits of dead-looking flower.

Those brownish patches among the boneset flowers are anything but dead plant tissue - they are ambush bugs, a pollinator's worst nightmare. Here we have a Pennsylvania Leatherwing beetle cresting the dome of these flowers, and walking right into a trap. Look carefully: an artfully disguised ambush bug, Phymata pennsylvanica, lays in wait.

This beetle was lucky, or perhaps its size and armoring was just too much for the ambush bug. The latter made a stab at it, quite literally, but the beetle scuttled off intact.

Many bugs are not nearly so fortunate as that leatherwing beetle. I came across this scene two autumns ago. Spotting the little flower wasp from some distance, I stalked in for photos. No stalking was necessary. It had been captured and punctured by an ambush bug! These ferocious hemipterans lunge from the blossoms - an evil flower sprung to life! - and grab their victim with daunting raptorial forelegs. A quick jab with a syringelike proboscis injects chemicals which instantly disable the prey, and dinner is served.

Ambush bugs are common throughout Ohio and the Midwest, and with the exception of the previous wasp photo, I have made all of these images in the last week or so. These fascinating predators are not difficult to find, but obviously are easily overlooked. Their ability to match a flowery substrate is remarkable; the bugs are typically dappled with brown patches to mimic dead plant tissue. This ambush bug, another Phymata pennsylvanica, I believe, illustrates this perfectly as it tees up on a fading Gray Goldenrod, Solidao nemoralis.

Everyone should have a personal favorite ambush bug, and this is mine - the so-called Goldenrod Ambush Bug, Phymata americana (at least I think I am correct on these specific identifications; feel free to correct me if you know better). Goldenrod Ambush Bugs are a buttery yellow, and match the goldenrod flowers to an almost magical degree. An unsuspecting bee, fly, or skipper could be forgiven for not noticing it. The ambush bug will not be forgiving, however, and Dickinson might even have modified her lovely poem had she known that such horrorshows lurk within pretty flowers.

Seen well, an ambush bug is bizarre indeed. They remind me of little gargoyles. Utterly inscrutable, and without emotion. If one of these things was the size of a black bear, we would be in grave danger. Note the huge Popeye-like forelegs, there to seize and immobilize surprised victims.

Here's an ambush bug, prodded out of cover for our viewing pleasure. A more remarkable insect is hard to imagine. Next time you are among a goldenrod patch, or other plants that produce dense masses of blooms, investigate carefully for these beasts. I'm sure you'll find some.

The short-grass prairies of Erie Sand Barrens State Nature Preserve, awash in golden and purple. The yellow flowers are those of Gray Goldenrod, Solidago nemoralis; the purple belong to Purple False Foxglove, Agalinis purpurea.

I found myself at this obscure but stunning preserve in northern Ohio recently, and was pleased to see the place looking in fine shape. It had been twelve years, probably, since I had set foot here. A botanical highlight was the expansive drifts of the foxglove, and I was struck with the urge to bring some of the plants back, in pixelated form. Some of those efforts follow.

A luxuriant foxglove provides an elegant counterpoint to the pinnate leaves of Partridge-pea, Chamaecrista fasciculata. The Purple False Foxglove is not a weedy thing, tending to occur in higher quality meadows uninfested with nonnative fare and often surrounded by other interesting native flora.

Point blank down the gullet of a foxglove flower. Note how the inner corolla is striped, and stippled with reddish dots. These are nectar guides; neon signs advertising for pollinators.

And in comes one, perhaps Nature's premier pollinating machine, at least in this neck of the woods. A large fuzzy bumblebee in the genus Bombus; an animal that supposedly lacks the appropriate aeronautics and engineering to get aloft, if you were to computer-model the beast. But fly they do, albeit in a noisily bumbling fashion, from flower to flower.

The bumblebee forcefully plops onto the foxglove's bloom, and commences to douse itself with granular pollen dust. These winged bags of fur are every foxglove's dream - a sure ticket to pollen transfer and outcrossing.

Bumblebees are not the only insects drawn to the allure of the foxglove flowers. This is a flowerfly in the Syrphidae family, doing a remarkably good job of looking stingingly dangerous. It's a ruse - the fly is a mimic of a hornet, and even buzzes like one, but it packs no punch. It and the bumblebee were part of a long parade of interesting six-legged pollinators that were lining up for the foxgloves' nectar.

We even found a rare white form of the "purple" foxglove: Agalinis pupurea forma albiflora. This form has only the slightest rosaceous tint to the petals.

Places such as Erie Sand Barrens are vital repositories of biodiversity, their abundance of life all the more striking when compared to the monocultural wastelands of beans and corn that surround this site.

A full moon brightens the inky darkness of a backwoods Kentucky night. I spent a few days over the weekend past exploring the Red River Gorge area, and did a lot of nocturnal exploring. The Harvest Moon sure seemed to bring the critters out; the nighttime woods were crawling - literally - with animals.

My primary quarry was caterpillars, and they did not disappoint. This is a Waved Sphinx caterpillar, Ceratomia undulosa. It, and one of its brethren, were feeding on a white ash. To seriously seek caterpillars requires going out after dark. Most cats secrete themselves quite well during the day, waiting until the cover of darkness to emerge and feed. Many of their predators - wasps, tachinid flies, birds - pack it in after dusk, allowing caterpillars a greater likelihood of remaining uneaten or unparasitized as they slowly eat through the foliage.

The ash that produced the Waved Sphinx was a "super tree", and also harbored this gorgeous Fawn Sphinx, Sphinx kalmiae. Caterpillar-seekers lust for such trees, which may have an abnormally high nitrogen content, or some other positive factor that induces moths to lay their eggs on them in great numbers. One can look at tree after tree of the same species, and see very little. Then - BINGO! A super-tree, full of caterpillars.

While roaming around at night, it's impossible not to notice all of the other members of the night shift. A hidden army emerges, both prey and predator. Caterpillars would most definitely constitute the prey. This beast - absolutely a predator, and a rather high-end one. It is a fishing spider in the genus Dolomedes, possibly D. tenebrosus. They have a tendency to rest motionless and head down on tree trunks, rather near the ground. I would not want to be the lesser beast that attempts to climb the trunk, unaware of this palm-sized spider.

Beautiful but deadly, an ornately marked assassin bug works the leaves. Note its proboscis. A quick stab with that, and it's curtains for whoever is on the receiving end. Assassin bugs often take young caterpillars.

Some of the predators are cute, such as this American Toad. Toads galore were out on this particular night - I must have seen over 100. This warty little guy was snapping up various small bugs that bumbled into his sphere.

This was the crown jewel of predators on this night, though. I was slowly navigating my car down a seldom-used gravel lane high on a ridgetop when a pair of snakes created a mad shuffle on the verge. I stopped and leapt from the vehicle for a better look, and was delighted to see a beautiful pair of Northern Copperheads, Agkistrodon contortrix! Both animals are together in this shot, and I believe that's the male on the right.

We move in closer for a good look at the coppery head of the male, complete with cat eyes. A handsomer snake would be hard to find. It is venomous, of course, and copperheads should be treated with utmost respect. I was safely out of their zone of discomfort, and neither snake threatened me. I've come across many copperheads, and have never had one act aggressively. But, I've always seen them before I was too close for an incident to occur. Most bites probably occur when someone reaches into a hiding spot sight unseen, and surprises the snake. The effects of a bite are unpleasant, but rarely if ever cause death.

Anyway, it appeared that I had stumbled into an amorous couple. The snake pictured above seemed to be the aggressor, and it looked like it was pursuing the other. When I rudely came on the scene, it was the one that held its ground, while the other copperhead slithered into a nearby cavity at the base of a tree. Northern Copperheads apparently mate in both spring and fall, and fall-mating females can delay gestation for several months.

If Senor Copperhead was successful in his pursuit of the girl, this will be the result. I photographed this yearling copperhead last year in southern Ohio. Copperheads are live-bearers, and the newly minted snakelets are carbon copies of the adults. Except for the rather bright greenish-yellow tail tip, which can be seen in the far left of the photo. Young copperheads eat amphibians, lizards, and insects, and supposedly use their colorful tail tip as a lure to attract prey.

All in all, an excellent night in the dark woods.

Someone's finger points out a tiny slug moth caterpillar. It appears to glow, and it does. A tactic for upping the odds of finding caterpillars, especially little ones, is to use a blacklight flashlight. Many species glow quite brightly when so lit, and the searcher can spot them from afar.

From this photo, the uninitiated could be forgiven for thinking that slug caterpillars are nothing. Inconsequential little specks hardly worthy of notice. Nothing could be further from the truth, as we shall see. Most of these photos were taken either this fall, or the last. All of these species are at least fairly common in parts of Ohio and occur throughout much of the Midwest.

To learn more about the fascinating world of slug moths, get your hands on a copy of The Slug Caterpillar Moths (Lepidoptera: Limacodidae), and Other Zygaenoidea of Ohio. You can get one RIGHT HERE. Sounds a bit heavy, I know, but it's easily understood and includes a wealth of info about the interesting world that follows in this post. One of the book's authors is Dennis Profant, who lives in the Athens, Ohio area and manages this EXCELLENT BLOG.

This is a Stinging Rose Caterpillar Moth, Parasa indetermina, and it is one of the more distinguished of the slug moths. Most of them are just little brown jobs. Cool, if you are into moths, but not extraordinarily flashy. The caterpillars from which they are spawned are a whole other story.

This is a Stinging Rose Caterpillar, and what an extraordinary insect it is. They remind me of sea slugs - something far too exotic to be wandering the leaves of an Ohio forest. These cats aren't finicky eaters - they are polyphagous: capable of eating the foliage of many species of woody plants. This one is on American Beech, Fagus grandifolia.

One of the better known slug caterpillars is the Saddleback Caterpillar, Sibine (Acharea) stimulea. Those columns of spines will getcha! Many a person has learned just how painful the chemically fortified spines of caterpillars can be after touching one of these.

If not the most bizarre of our slug cats, the Monkey Slug, Phobetron pithecium, would be ranked near the top of the list. They don't even resemble caterpillars, or any other animal for that matter. One theory is that Monkey Slugs mimic the shed skin of a tarantula. That seems absurd here in Ohio - where we have no tarantulas - but this group is primarily tropical and found in areas where tarantulas are common. Why look like the cast skin of a giant spider? Well, who wants to eat such things? Looking untasty can be an excellent defense in the caterpillar world.

The Spun Glass Slug, Isochaetes beutenmuelleri, is undeniably outrageous. They are opaque, and the caterpillar's inner workings can be seen through the exoskeleton, like some sort of science exhibit come to life. The appendages are copiously beset with glassine hairs, and I suppose they can sting although I've never handled one to find out.

Tiny but beautiful, this Purple-crested Slug, Adoneta spinuloides, is about the size of the illuminated slug in the first photo. Blown up via macro photography, it becomes a thing of great beauty.

The well-named Elegant Tailed Slug, Packardia elegans, poses for your narrator.

Skiff Moth slugs, Prolimacodes badia, have an unmistakable shape. It may be that they mimic a leaf gall to better blend in. This species is quite variable in the coloration of the dorsal (upper) surface.

Here's another Skiff slug, and this one is clad in brown above. This coloration causes it to look like a patch of dead leaf tissue, and it would be incredibly easy to overlook this small animal.

Subtly beautiful, a Yellow-shouldered Slug, Lithacodes fasciola, feeds on a maple leaf.

Always a crowd pleaser, the Crowned Slug, Isa textua, looks a bit like a snowflake. This caterpillar is an outstanding example of the rewards of looking closely at VERY SMALL THINGS.

Finally, we'll end this slug parade with an utterly astonishing species, the Spiny Oak Slug, Euclea delphinii. They can vary in coloration from orange to pink to red, green, or yellow. No matter what color, it is a spectacular beast and sure to cause anyone to stop for a moment and inspect it.

There is still a week or two of good caterpillar hunting in this part of the world. Next time you're out and about in a wooded area, take time to inspect the undersides of leaves and you may run across some of these spectacular slugs.

One can only imagine the fits of rapturous ecstasy that washed over me when I saw this thing flutter by on a recent trip to Adams County, Ohio. Well, that may be overstating the case a bit, but I truly was pleased to see this mantidfly, and all the more happy in that it cooperated for photos. I have only seen a handful of these six-legged oddities in my years afield, and this time I was armed with an excellent macro rig.

Mantidflies look like the result of a mad scientist's experiment gone awry. It's as if Igor were sent to the spare parts bins, drunk, and returned with the wings of a dragonfly, the body of a paper wasp, the head of a damselfly, and the raptorial forelegs of a praying mantis. Then, the evil doctor welded them all together, and Voila! This is what we've got.

These insects have a lifecycle as bizarre as their appearance, and the hoops that they've got to jump through to make it to the adult stage may account for their seeming scarcity. I don't know of anyone who claims to see tons of mantidflies. There are only about four or five species in this part of the world, in about as many genera. Mantidflies are in the Order Neuroptera, along with lacewings, owlflies, antlions and that sort of thing. I believe this species is Dicromantispa interrupta.

As you may have inferred from the mantidfly's powerful-looking thickened forelegs, it is a predator. Hapless lesser bugs that wander too near are seized, and unceremoniously gutted and eaten with the mantidfly's odd little beak. I don't imagine they miss much, either, given the proportionately massive size of its eyes. The entire dangerous front end of this thing is attached to a strange-looking thorax that resembles a bone.

Things only get weirder as one drills into the mantidfly lifecycle. A female carpet bombs the plants with clusters of hundreds of eggs. She needs to dump a lot of them, as the chances of an egg making it to the adult stage are slim indeed. After a few weeks, a tiny larval mantidfly pops out, and lurks in the foliage awaiting a suitable host. When an appropriate spider (other mantidflies use bees or beetles) comes along, the fledgling mantidfly leaps aboard and firmly attaches itself to the underside of the arachnid.

If all goes well, the spider eventually hauls her dangerous cargo to the nest. Should the larval mantidfly mistakenly board a male spider, it'll realize its error and attempt to cross over to the female when and if the male finds a partner and commences mating. The larva's relationship with the adult spider is phoretic: it is just using the spider to hitch a ride. If by some minor miracle the larval mantidfly makes it to the Holy Land - a spider nest - it will then hop off and ensconce itself with the arachnid eggs. There it will morph into a grublike form and feed on the spider's eggs, eventually pupating and transforming to the strange adult insect seen in these photos.

Photo: Hans Hillewaert/Wiki Commons

FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE
Contacts:
Meagan Racey, 413-253-8558, Meagan_Racey@fws.gov
Wendy Walsh, 609-646-9310, Wendy_Walsh@fws.gov

Service Proposes to List Red Knot as a Threatened Species Under the Endangered Species Act

Declining food supply and habitat are seen as threats for a remarkableshorebird that migrates thousands of miles each year

The U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service today released a proposal to list the rufa red knot (Calidris canutus rufa), a robin-sized shorebird that annually migrates from the Canadian Arctic to southern Argentina, as a threatened species under the Endangered Species Act. The proposed rule will be available for 60 days of public comment.

“The rufa red knot is an extraordinary bird that each year migrates thousands of miles from the Arctic to the tip of South America and back, but – like many shorebirds – it is vulnerable to climate and other environmental changes,” said Service Director Dan Ashe. “In some areas, knot populations have declined by about 75 percent since the 1980s, with the steepest declines happening after 2000. We look forward to hearing from the public with any new scientific information as we consider the proposal.”

After an exhaustive scientific review of the species and its habitat, Service biologists determined that the knot meets the definition of threatened, meaning it is likely to become in danger of extinction in the foreseeable future throughout all or a significant portion of its range. The knot, whose range includes 25 countries and 40 U.S. states, uses spring and fall stopover areas along the Atlantic and Gulf coasts. Changing climate conditions are already affecting the bird’s food supply, the timing of its migration and its breeding habitat in the Arctic. The shorebird also is losing areas along its range due to sea level rise, shoreline projects, and development.

A primary factor in the recent decline of the species was reduced food supplies in Delaware Bay due to commercial harvest of horseshoe crabs. In 2012, the Atlantic States Marine Fisheries Commission adopted a management framework that explicitly ties horseshoe crab harvest levels along the Atlantic Coast to knot recovery targets. The Service’s analysis shows that although the horseshoe crab population has not yet fully rebounded, the framework should ensure no further threat to the knot from the crab harvest.

International, state and local governments, the conservation community, beachgoers and land managers are helping ensure knots have safe areas to winter, rest and feed before or along their journey to the Arctic. These partners assist knots in a variety of ways, including managing disturbance in key habitats, improving management of hunting outside the U.S. and collecting data to better understand the knot.

In many cases, the knot’s U.S. coastal range overlaps with those of loggerhead sea turtles and piping plovers, as well as other shorebirds. Conservation actions underway to benefit those species’ coastal habitats will also benefit knots.

The bird is one of the longest-distance migrants in the animal kingdom. With wingspans of 20 inches, some knots fly more than 9,300 miles from south to north every spring and repeat the trip in reverse every autumn. While migrating between wintering grounds at the southern tip of South America in Tierra del Fuego and breeding grounds in the Canadian Arctic, the shorebird can be found in groups of a few individuals to thousands along the Atlantic and Gulf coasts.

Studies in Delaware Bay show knots nearly double their weight at this last major spring stop to make the final leg to the Arctic. One bird, called B95 from his leg flag, has been nicknamed the Moonbird, as researchers estimate his 20 or more years of migrations are the equivalent of a trip to the moon and at least halfway back.

Other knot populations winter in the southeast U.S., northwest Gulf of Mexico and northern Brazil. New information shows some knots use interior migration flyways through the South, Midwest and Great Lakes. Small numbers (typically fewer than 10) can be found during migration in almost every inland state over which the knot flies between its wintering and breeding areas. Other subspecies of red knot, including C.c. roselaari that migrates along the Pacific Coast to breed in Alaska and Wrangel Island, Russia, are not included in this proposal on the rufa red knot.

As required by the Endangered Species Act, the Service plans to publish a separate proposed rule identifying critical habitat for the red knot before the end of 2013 and expects to make a final decision on both rules in 2014.

The proposed rule, in response to a court-ordered deadline, is available for public comment through November 29, 2013.The agency requests a variety of information on the knot, from population trends to genetics and distribution.

Comments may be submitted through the following methods:

Federal Rulemaking Portal: http://www.regulations.gov. Follow the instructions for submitting information on docket number FWS–R5–ES–2013–0097.
U.S. mail or hand-delivery: Public Comments Processing, Attn: FWS–R5–ES–2013–0097; Division of Policy and Directives Management; U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service; 4401 N. Fairfax Drive, Suite 222; Arlington, Virginia 22203.

An unassuming backwater of the Huron River in Erie County, Ohio, not far from Lake Erie. I visited this spot last Saturday to attempt to observe one of the strangest animals that swims our waters. I had seen a report of Freshwater Jellyfish (yes, jellyfish!) in an article in one of the local papers, and happened to know the person who was quoted, Brenda Culler. Brenda works for the Ohio Department of Natural Resources'Office of Coastal Management, and she was good enough to tip me to the jellies' location. Apparently a local contractor - possibly the operator of that dredge - had seen hundreds if not thousands a few days prior. I was keen to make the scene, having long wanted to see one of these aquatic curiosities.

Thanks to the intrepid Jess Henning of Erie County Metrparks, I was able not only see one of the jellyfish, but photograph one as well. Jess boated out into the river with her one-man canoe, and after a bit of searching located several jellies and managed to scoop one up. After caging the jellie in a suitable container, it was off to the center at Osborn Park to transfer the animal to an aquarium and attempt photos. I can tell you these are not easy creatures to shoot. One, they are under water. Two, a jellyfish is basically an amorphous translucent bag. And three, they move with constant pulsations of their filmy bell-jar covering. But I tried...

A Freshwater Jellyfish, Craspedacusta sowerbii, glides through the water. It's hard to believe that such creatures cavort in Ohio waters, and it's probably a good thing I am not posting this on April 1. But indeed we do have jellyfish, and they're probably far more of them than get noticed. There are many records from all around Ohio, with most from quarries and lakes with relatively clear water, and that are used heavily by people. Divers, boaters, and waders occasionally are shocked to see these, although they have to be looking close or there must be scads of jellies. These animals are only about the diameter of a quarter.

Cool as it would be to have native jellyfish, that's not the case. The Freshwater Jellyfish hails from China, as do so many of our invasive species. I'm not sure that the jellies are best considered "invasive", though. There doesn't seem to be any evidence that they displace or detrimentally impact native species. As far as I know, the jellies are just aquatic curiosities.

From their native range in the Yangtze River of China, the Freshwater Jelly has spread to far-flung reaches of the globe. It apparently first turned up in 1908 in the United States, and was found in the Huron River in Michigan in 1933. New locales are constantly added. It doesn't seem that anyone knows for sure how they are transported to new water bodies, although it is likely they first entered North America and the Great Lakes via ballast water in ocean-going freighters, as have a number of other nonnative species.

In this view, we're looking down through the translucent top of the jellies' bell. The body is fringed with tentacles sporting nematocysts, or stinging cells. Freshwater Jellyfish use their stinging tentacles to immobilize tiny prey, but cannot harm people due to their small size. As I understand it, the oblong-ovate whitish objects within the bell are the gonads, and the mouth is in the center of the filmy tissue connecting the gonads. Prey is moved by the tentacles to the mouth, where it is absorbed. In keeping with the bizarre nature of this beast, waste products are also expelled via the mouth.

Well, there you go. Freshwater Jellyfish, in Ohio. I don't want to ever say I've seen it all, but I'm getting closer.

A giant Caspian Tern, Hydroprogne caspia, stands out among a raft of Ring-billed Gulls. As fate would have it, I ran across several of these animals, the world's largest tern, on a recent trip to Lake Erie. The tern is significantly larger than the gull, in every dimension.

I've written six cover articles for Bird Watcher's Digest to date, and the Caspian Tern was one of those subjects. It was a fun piece to write, and its appearance in the Fall 2009 issue coincided with that year's Midwest Birding Symposium. The tern was MBS's logo bird, so the article sync'ed well with the conference. Following is an excerpt from the '09 article, and if you aren't hip to Bird Watcher's Digest, check it out HERE.

Cover Species: Caspian Tern

by Jim McCormac

Being a fish has its ups and downs. On the pro side, life is a perpetual swim in a spa, the noise and abrasiveness of the terrestrial world muted by a cool watery shield. The ability to glide effortlessly about in a state of semi-weightlessness is another allure. For the most part, all is a bubbly bowl of cherries, softly filtered golden light gently amplifying silvery schools of fish gracefully navigating the waterscape.

The con is death: sudden, horrifying, unexpected doom. And few greater terrors could exist for the scaly crowd than a Caspian tern. Imagine an emerald shiner, placidly drifting about, when POW! A sudden eruption shatters the tranquility of the depths as a bubble-distorted blur of white and red rockets through the water. Before the fish can react, that scarlet torpedo morphs into a ferocious bill attached to a brutish, winged sushi-eater. With a quick snap the minnow is plucked from the water. High in the air, the tern gives an adept flick of its bill, and down the hatch goes the fish headfirst, its world ended in one shocking instant, its fate now to return as guano.

The Caspian tern is the world's largest tern, easily outweighing the other 44 or so species, and also stretching the tape in terms of length and wingspan. In a family of comparative prissiness—with names such as fairy tern, least tern, and whiskered tern—our protagonist is the gargantuan beast, a Goliath among a cast of Davids. It takes nearly 16 least terns—the world's smallest tern—to equal the mass of one Caspian tern.

These black and white beauties even outsize many gulls. The gold standard for gull comparisons across much of North America is the familiar ring-billed gull, abundant from coast to coast. It's a big, can't-miss bird. But the Caspian tern is bigger. Its wingspan is two inches longer, and it outweighs the gull by nearly a half-pound.

Thus, when they take to the wing and commence hunting, Caspians can't be missed. As hefty as gulls, they patrol on big, broad wings with their prominent scarlet-red bill angled down as they scan for prey. You may hear them before you see them, though. As befits the king of the terns, Caspians vent a loud, jarring croaking—RRRRAAAA—that carries considerable distances. If disturbed, they may issue the wonderfully named "gakkering" call (there's a Scrabble winner for you). Researchers Francesca Cuthbert and Linda Wires describe it in their Birds of North America monograph as a "vehement, rasping, ra ra ra-ra-rarau." However you describe it, gakkering often works to scare off intruders in the nest colonies—especially when combined with strafing by an angry cadre of pterodactyl-like giants with four-foot wingspans and blood-red bills the size of small cigars.

MORE...

Of moths and mites

Fish play fundamental role in reproducing mussels

A barrel of bullbats

Virginia Opossum infants

Saddleback caterpillar

Spiders kill stupid bugs! And a fly mystery...

Dolomedes albineus, a spider NEW (almost) to Ohio!

Baird's Sandpiper

Dragonfly swarms!

Dragonfly swarm locales

Giant Swallowtail: An ugly duckling tale

An interesting little wasp

Pretty but deadly: Flowers of doom

Purple False Foxglove

Copperhead, on a dark Kentucky backroad

Beautiful slugs!

Mantidfly: They don't make 'em much more bizarre than this!

Potentially good news for the Red Knot

Service Proposes to List Red Knot as a Threatened Species Under the Endangered Species Act

Declining food supply and habitat are seen as threats for a remarkableshorebird that migrates thousands of miles each year

Freshwater Jellyfish!

Caspian Tern: A sushi-eating behemoth