Bullhead Lily

Bullhead Lilies dapple the surface of a blackwater marsh, Seney National Wildlife Refuge, Michigan's Upper Peninsula.

Ohio is truly a crossroads state. Botanical influences collide here: prairies from the west, Appalachian flora from the east, southern migrants via the mighty Ohio River, and boreal plants from the north. There are something along the lines of 600+ state-listed rare plants - species decreed endangered, threatened, or potentially threatened. Many of them are edge of range plants, rare in the Buckeye State, but common, even abundant elsewhere.

That's the case with Bullhead Lily, or for you plants geeks, Nuphar lutea ssp. variegatum. There is only a spot or three in our western Lake Erie marshes where it is known to grow. But not too far into Michigan, I began seeing it everywhere.

It may remind you of a similar plant, one that you'll see far more if you hail from south of the Great Lakes. Spatterdock, Nuphar lutea ssp. advena, is often abundant in quiet ponds, lakes, marshes, and even sluggish river backwaters. That species has very different leaves, though - they are held erect and jutting from the water's surface, whereas the star of this blog has floating leaves.

I love the unusual ball-like flowers of Bullhead Lilies. The photo above shows one at peak bloom; that's about as good as it gets, but they have their semi-ugly charms.

Any plant that creates this much biomass within aquatic habitats is almost surely a keystone species, and the lily certainly is. Fish hide among its stems, especially fry in need of cover lto prevent the bigger fish from making sushi of them.

Frogs sit atop the leaves, snapping at insects. Dragonflies use the plants as landing pads, darting out to make mincemeat of lesser flying beasts. Some of them lay their eggs on the plants, and a few dragons even slice open the tissues and inject their eggs inside.

Other animals, such as Muskrats, will even eat the lilies.

But the aesthetic attributes cannot be ignored. A colony of dark green heart-shaped leaves cloaking the surface of cool marshy waters, with bizarre lemon orbs on sticks thrust out here and there, is a pleasing sight indeed. Especially if you are from the Deep South, where such a plant is a great rarity.

Evening Grosbeaks

One of the tasks that results from a trip is the processing of photos. I just got back from a nine day whirlwind expedition up through the lower peninsula of Michigan, into the Upper Peninsula, along Lake Superior, down through Wisconsin along the shores of Lake Michigan, and across northern Illinois and Indiana. Whew! And probably have 300-400 keeper pics out of maybe 1,500 taken.

The trip was pretty regimented, with specific places to see and things to look for. Chief among them were birds, and we did well with boreal breeders. Saw nearly all of the possible nesting warblers, Red-breasted Nuthatch, Winter Wren, Hermit Thrush, Lincoln's Sparrow, and many more. But it was a special treat to run across some of those jumbo black, white, and golden seed-crackers, the Evening Grosbeak. We used to get them regularly in the winter in Ohio, but they have become quite the rarity these days.

Just north of Grayling, Michigan, is a beautiful area called Hartwick Pines State Park. It features an outstanding mixed forest that includes some monster White Pines, Pinus strobus. Of great interest to birders are Evening Grosbeaks, which breed in the park and make constant visits to the bird feeders right outside the visitor's center. Males, such as the one above, are striking animals. I especially like their sinuous yellow eyebrow, which resembles part of a flame paint job that Jesse James would add to one of his custom choppers.

Impossible to miss is the giant schnoz on these guys. The scientific epithet of Evening Grosbeak is Coccothraustes, which essentially means "kernel crusher". And crush the kernels they can, and do so prodigiously. If you are fortunate enough to have a pack of grosbeaks descend on your feeding station, be prepared for some hefty sunflower bills. They'll go through a ton of seed.

We also ran into grosbeaks on the Upper Peninsula, in the picturesque Pictured Rocks National Lakeshore. I'll put up some photos of this coastal reserve later, taken from a boat in Lake Superior. The rock formations along the shoreline are as awe-inspiring as the brds in the forest.

Hine's Emerald

If you ever want a neat getaway within the Great Lakes, hit The Ridges Sanctuary on the Door Peninsula of Wisconsin. I just spent the day there, and wish I had scheduled another. This place is loaded with all manner of flora and fauna, and without doubt is one of the richest sites for biological diversity anywhere on the lakes.

I was there to see the federally endangered Hine's Emerald dragonfly, and was not disappointed. But lots of other cool stuff, both plants and animals, were seen and I shot some 330 photos within The Ridges today. But for now, some dragonflies.

The Ridges is an interesting dune and swale system of fens hard along Baileys Harbor, a picturesque inlet along the Wisconsin shoreline of Lake Michigan. A private holding, The Ridges encompasses some 1,400 acres of fascinating habitats easily accessible by a series of trails.

The dominant features are narrow linear wet sedge-dominated swales, like the one above, interspersed with dry sandy low ridges. These varied habitats support a dizzying array of species, and the place is an absolute botanical Eden. I saw more cool plants than you can shake a stick at, and have decent photos of most. I'll try and beam some out there in a future post.

Four-spotted Skimmer, Libellula quadrimaculata. Very common here. It is perched on a Panicled Sedge, Carex diandra, one of many species of sedges found in the fen wetlands.

White-faced Meadowhawk, Sympetrum obtrusum. Another common species.

There were numerous spreadwing damselflies of at least three species. This is a female Lestes, but I don't know which species and haven't had time to try and figure it out. If anyone knows, please let me know.

This one threw me for a loop. It flew and looked like an emerald, and I managed to see where it finally set down. From afar, I thought it might be a Hine's Emerald, and the beast was good enough to allow an extremely close approach. I finally realized, and I think I've got this right, that it is a juvenile Brush-tipped Emerald, Somatochlora walshii. The cerci tips - those extensions on the end of the abdomen - are nicely fringed. Apparently it takes them a while to develop the emerald eyes of full adults.

Even if the eyes are mocha brown rather than the rich green they'll morph into, this is still one handsome dragon.

I had the extremely good fortune to stumble into Dr. Paul Burton, who has been studying Hine's Emeralds at the Ridges for years, and may have seen more of them than any other person. A super guy, he let me tag along with him and during the course of our ramble I got a real lesson in Hine's Emeralds.

The above photo shows one of the sandy dry ridges that bisects the low wet swales. This is the habitat to look for the emeralds, and we saw numerous individuals flying along that trail. At times, a dragonfly would head right at us at head level, huge green eyes glistening, and dart within a foot of us. Truly spectacular, and a must-do experience for any dragonfly enthusiast!

Male Hine's Emerald, Somatochlora hineana. Sometimes they would land rather high in the trees, as this one did, and couldn't be approached closely. This one is a male, with the brutish looking curved cerci. Note how the rather slender abdomen is slightly curved. In flight, the down-curved abdomen is very obvious and a good field mark.

We found some others perching very low in trailside vegetation, and a few emeralds were incredibly cooperative. This is a female, sporting blade-like ovipositors on the tip of her abdomen. The green eyes don't really flash unless struck by sunlight and could look dull and bluish in indirect light. Note how the lower portion of her abdomen is muddy from oviposting into wet mucky soil.

It was a real treat to get to see this rarity, especially as the Hine's Emerald occupies such a biological wonderland.

A trip up Sugarloaf Mountain

Just west of Marquette, Michigan, along the shores of Lake Superior, is a rough granite knob known as Sugarloaf Mountain. It's a bit of a clamber to reach the summit, but well worth it. Once the crest has been reached, the climber will be rewarded with some of the finest vistas to be had anywhere in the Upper Peninsula. I made the trek this morning, and saw many interesting things, some of which follow.

It takes about a nanosecond of immersion in these cool forests to realize that this isn't Ohio anymore. The glossy orchid-like leaves of Bluebead Lily, Clintonia borealis, are everywhere, sometimes forming giant colonies. We have but two or so little patches in ALL of Ohio. Up here, it is everywhere.

The recent trend of cool temps and spitting drizzle continued today. This sort of weather is generally bad for bug-watching. But should you be fortunate enough to find an insect, it is likely to be cooperative, as wet refigerated bugs are more approachable. This is a beautiful little brachonid wasp resting on the stem of a King Devil hawkweed, Hieraceum cespitosum.

I was delighted to see the woods filled with Thimbleberry, Rubus parviflorus, a robust member of the blackberry family.

Back home, all too many of the woods are filled with bush honeysuckles - nasty, invasive Eurasian weeds. The forests of the Upper Peninsula are well stocked with a beautiful native shrublet: Northern Bush Honeysuckle, Diervilla lonicera.

Its small lemon-yellow flowers are held on short pedicels in the leaf axles.

Eye-catching were these robust maple leaves; tricuspidate, or three lobed. It's Striped Maple, or Moosewood, Acer pensylvanicum.

No mystery as to how it came by the name Striped Maple. The small trunks are rather outrageously colored in ribbons of green and white.

Nearing the rocky granitic promontories near the top of the mountain, I spotted this nest of Dark-eyed Juncos tucked back in a rocky alcove, partly shielded by ferns. The young juncos are but a few days old; you can see the fleshy yellow gape of their bills within the finely woven grassy cup.

Perhaps the most beautiful of the bellflowers, Harebell, Campanula rotundifolia, formed small clumps on exposed rocky ledges.

Finally, the summit was reached and this was one of the rewards. Awe-inspiring views are mundane along the Upper Peninsula shoreline of Lake Superior, but one doesn't tire of such vistas quickly. Cold, mysterious, and infinitely wild, Lake Superior is the second largest freshwater lake in the world. From this spot, it is about 160 miles across to Canada. The giant lake stretches 300 miles from east to west, and it is 1,330 feet down to the bottom at the deepest spot. You'll not see many swimmers, even on the warmest days. The water doesn't warm much past 42 or so degrees even in the summer. If we could somehow pull the plug and dump its water, the contents would flood North AND South America to a depth of one foot.

Craggy and barren, the several billion year old granite of Sugarloaf Mountain's summit looks rather inhospitable. But some very interesting plants grow there...

It was a treat to see small clumps of Shrubby Fivefingers, Sibbaldiopsis tridentata, eking out a living in exposed rocky crevasses.

This little Potentilla, a member of the rose family, is tough as nails and thrives in brutal conditions such as those on the summit of this mountain.

All too soon, it was time to descend. But the few hours spent on Sugarloaf Mountain were filled with interesting observations, and some of the best vistas that the North Country has to offer.

A few neat dragons

This has NOT been a great trip for dragonflies. The last two days in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan, it's been in the high 40's, windy, and rainy. Flying bugs hate those conditions, and I've seen very few dragonflies and zero butterflies the past few days.

But, last Monday I spent several hours in Seney National Wildlife Refuge, and even though it was cool, windy and not particularly sunny there, either, I did see a number of dragons.

The number of Chalk-fronted Corporals, Ladona julia, was staggering. You really have to hunt for this one in Ohio, where it is endangered and confined to but a few bogs. At Seney, they were all over the roadways, basking on the gravel in association with numerous Dot-tailed Whitefaces, Leucorrhinia intacta.

I had not previously had the opportunity to really observe numerous individuals of the Chalk-fronted Corporal, and was struck by their mode of perching. It's as if they just collapse flat on their bellies. They splay their legs out to the sides, literally laying prostrate with their wings touching the ground.

At one point, a gorgeous sedge meadow beckoned, and out I waded to investigate some curious plants. Along the way, I was delighted to encounter several individuals of this really tiny little damsel. It is a Sedge Sprite, Nehalennia irene, a real micro-dragon. True to form, it was in a habitat loaded with various sedges, and indeed this individual is perched on a sedge blade. Everything about these sprites is pleasing to the eye, but the coloration and pattern of the thorax and head is pure artistry.

This, I believe, is just a Familiar Bluet, Enallagma civile, but it's still quite the looker. As is often the case on cool windy days, there were scores of bluets and forktails hiding amongst the grasses and sedges, but this one was the most frequent.

I am seriously hoping the weather takes a strong turn in the warm and sunny direction, and soon. Friday, I'll be on Wisconsin's gorgeous Door Peninsula, seeking the federally endangered Hine's Emerald dragonfly. I've got the spot to go, and barring disastrous weather there should be no problem finding that green-eyed beauty. If I do, I'll try and get some decent photos to share.

Beautiful flora

I've seen scores of interesting plants on this trip, a run through the upper reaches of the Great Lakes. If you are from down my way, Ohio, it is a real treat to see these northerners, many of which are very rare down that way. Following are some of the species that I've photographed over the past two days.

North shore of Lake Michigan. Buffered by impressive sand dunes, filled with impressive plants. I was excited to find the plant in the bottom center of the photo.

Lake Huron Tansy, Tanacetum bipinnatum ssp. huronense, confined to sandy dunes bordering lakes Huron, Michigan, and Superior.

Beach Pea, Lathyrus japonicus, another beach dune specialist.

A truly elfin dogwood, Bunchberry, Cornus canadensis, which can carpet large areas of cool woods.

Teaberry, Gaultheria procumbens.

Northern Blue Flag, Iris versicolor. It is abundant in wetlands around the upper Great Lakes.

I was delighted to see this patch of a truly remarkable wildflower.

Twinflower, Linnaea borealis, named for the great Swedish naturalist and father of the system of binomial nomenclature, Carolus Linnaeus. This delicate beauty was allegedly his favorite plant.

Although it stands but a few inches in height, Twinflower is actually a tiny shrublet. The flowers dangle on pendant wiry pedicels, and emit a wonderful fragrance. This species is one of the true delights of northern forest botany.

Wood Lily, Lilium philadelphicum. In this spot it was growing as a roadside weed of sorts.

Spreading Dogbane, Apocynum androsaemifolium, a very showy dogbane and quite common locally.

It was a treat to see this little figwort growing commonly in conifer-dominated forests. It is Cow-wheat, Melampyrum lineare.

Pink Lady's-slipper, Cypripedium acaule. There were large platoons of this incredible orchid covering acidic woods, intermixed with many other interesting plants.

A mist of Narrow-leaved Cottongrass, Eriophorum angustifolium, drifts across a wet sedge meadow. At least this is what I think it is, but it's not one I''m familiar with. If anyone knows better and can correct the ID, please let me know.

This swale, part of a ribbed fen complex, was chockful of intriguing plants, and I also saw some great dragonflies. While walking in to photograph the plants, I kicked up a Wilson's Snipe.

Kirtland's Warbler

This is one of North America's true warbler Meccas: the sandy jack pine country of the upper lower peninsula of Michigan. And for one reason, the federally endangered Kirtland's Warbler. At a glance, it doesn't look like great warbler country. Dwarf pine carpet dry sandy soils, and there's scarcely a broad-leaved deciduous tree to be found.

We visited a promising area near Grayling, and it didn't take long to score. The birds are quite finicky about their habitat preference, utilizing Jack Pines from 5 to about 15 feet in height. Kirtland's Warblers are not exactly shrinking violets, and have loud rollicking songs that almost sound as if they run the tune through a Marshall amp with a tinge of reverb.

A bit of poking around and perseverance and we were rewarded with good looks at a singing male. There were at least three others in earshot, too.

By the 1970's, numbers of this exceedingly rare warbler had crashed. Less than 200 singing males were present. A better understanding of the bird's habitat requirement led to better management, and last year there were over 2,500 singing males. A heavy hand with Brown-headed Cowbird control has also been vital to the restoration of Kirtland's Warbler.

This is the magical tree in the land of the Kirtland's Warbler: Jack Pine, Pinus banksiana. Those tough little cones require heat to unseal the gummy pitch that shutters the scales, so that seeds can be released. Fire management does this, and burning is the tool that has spiked the warbler population.

Jack Pine "barrens" are anything but barren. It had been a while since I've roamed these haunts, and I was struck by the diversity of flora growing throughout the pine stands. And staggered by the number of moths. They were everywhere, obvious even on a bright sunny day. Of course, all of those moths are producing boatloads of caterpillars, and that's what is fueling these warblers. By the time the pine stands get into their late teens, they have begun shading out the understory, reducing plant diversity, and consequently moth numbers.