Nature: Tiny southern flying squirrels a sight to behold

Nature: Tiny southern flying squirrels a sight to behold

Six long years have elapsed since I last wrote about southern flying squirrels. That column ran on Dec. 31, 2017, and was made possible by the doyen of flying squirrels, Professor Don Althoff of the University of Rio Grande.

Althoff has devoted a big chunk of his career to studying flying squirrels and may have handled more of them than anyone. Over approximately 25 years of working with them, Althoff has laid hands on over 3,300 squirrels. The vast majority of people reading this have probable never seen one!

The southern flying squirrel — there is a northern species, from about central Michigan northward — is one of Ohio’s most common squirrels. Prior to settlement, it would have been the most common squirrel by far. It favors heavily wooded areas, and in such regions of the state it still is the most frequent squirrel species.

Flying squirrels are strictly nocturnal, and roost in tree cavities during the day. They’ll take readily to artificial boxes though, and will even nest in them. Althoff has 400 boxes in “trails” of 25 boxes each, distributed between eight sites in five southeastern counties. He and his helpers check each box during the months of January and February.

On Dec. 19, Shauna Weyrauch and I attended a box check. Shauna is an Ohio State University researcher who works with bobcats but is intensely interested in all mammals. I figured this outing would produce her “life” flying squirrel. We met up with Althoff and 15 of his helpers on a frosty morning along a backroad in Hocking County. If 15 helpers seems like a lot, well, you’d have to know Althoff. Charismatic and engaging, he draws people in with his passion for squirrels and the entirety of nature, as well as his breadth of knowledge. The promise of seeing “Rocky” in the flesh is certainly an allure, although you’ll have to go further afield to see Bullwinkle.

The Hocking County squirrel trail commences with a long steep uphill slog to a ridgetop carpeted with oaks, hickories and other trees. As each box is mounted 12 to 15 feet up a tree trunk, a ladder is part of the equipment. Trying to keep pace with the 69-year-old Althoff, ladder over his shoulder, as he navigates the rough terrain, can be challenging. Even for his much younger assistants.

Upon reaching a box, standard modus operandi is to place the ladder, then Althoff ascends, cork in pocket. Upon reaching the box he quickly plugs the entrance/exit hole with the cork, then opens the front of the box to expose the innards. A mesh screen prevents occupants from escaping. Our first eight boxes had no squirrels, but shredded bark and cored acorn and hickory nuts — sure evidence of squirrel tenants — were in most of them.

The ninth box was a jackpot — seven squirrels! Later we found another box with six squirrels, for a 13-squirrel day. Flying squirrels are quite social and typically roost together. Don’s record is 13 animals in one box. By huddling together, they create a warm furry quilt and their collective body heat warms the box to a temperature significantly higher than that outside the box.

A box with squirrels is taken to the ground, where an impromptu lab is set up. One at a time, the squirrels are shunted out of the box through a clear pipe and into a bag. A handler wearing thick gloves — squirrels can bite HARD — then removes the animal. It is weighed, detailed photos are taken, and a small metal ear clip is attached. The latter allows for positive identification of recaptures. The oldest squirrel Althoff has documented was about six years old. That’s two to three times the probable average life span. Finally, the squirrel is placed on a nearby tree trunk. They normally quickly ascend to a high limb, get their bearings, and then often leap into space, thrilling the observers with an impressive twisting glide to a distant tree.

Up close, flying squirrels are tiny but impressive. The biggest — pregnant females — weigh about 100 grams. The average weight is approximately 75 grams. That’s about the same as a large chicken egg. Disproportionately large dark eyes lend a “cute” (nearly everyone uses that adjective) look to the squirrel. A flattened miniature beaver tail serves as an aerial rudder. While mostly invisible at rest, membranous folds of skin stretch between the forelegs and hindlegs. When on glides, these membranes, known as patagium, transform the squirrel into a highly efficient paraglider. Flights can encompass several hundred feet and involve impressive twists and turns.

Hundreds of people have thus far participated in Althoff’s squirrel surveys. The vast majority have seen the flyers up close and personal and been dazzled by the exquisite little aeronauts, just as Shauna and I were. Here’s to many more squirrels for the indefatigable Althoff, doyen of the squirrels.

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