Thursday, May 28, 2020
As always, click the image to enlarge
At the onset of last Monday's aquatic expedition (perhaps more on that later) to Rocky Fork in Scioto County, Ohio, I mentioned to Laura Hughes that I'd really like to see a waterscorpion, which would be a new one for me. She began searching, and darned if she didn't produce one by noodling around at the base of twisted sedge (Carex torta) tussocks at the stream's edge! This is an amazing predatory bug that resembles a walking stick. It sits in hiding under the water and pounces on lesser insects, jabbing them with a stiletto-like proboscis. The waterscorpion sticks that long tube arising from its posterior to the water's surface, and takes in air through it. Sort of like a guy hiding under the water, breathing through a hollow reed. I believe this waterscorpion is Ranatra fusca.
Bugs never cease to amaze me.
Tuesday, May 26, 2020
As always, click the image to enlarge
A fire-pink, Silene virginica, in portraiture. Taken in situ on a steep roadbank in Shawnee State Forest, Scioto County, Ohio. It was so deep into twilight that the eastern whip-poor-wills were singing.
Yesterday was an epic day with a crew of really great people. Most of it was spent doing aquatic work in a high quality stream near the Adams/Scioto county line. We found scads of interesting stuff and I'm sure I'll share some of that later.
After we packed up the gear late in the afternoon, John Howard and I had not yet had enough. We decided to head to the depths of Shawnee State Forest to seek out a rare and beautiful mint, Meehania cordata. John had recently found a population in a wonderful little hollow, and we made images of the plant along with a number of other things.
As there was still some light when we finished with the Meehania, we opted to seek out the very rare early stoneroot, Collinsonia verticillata, along a sparsely traveled forest road. We knew we'd find it there, and we surely did. Photos were made, and as we did so it became so dim that the whip-poor-wills began to call.
Sprinkled through the area were many fire-pinks, Silene virginica. As a last hurrah, I decide to do some portraiture work with one of the plants. By now, it was so dark that my auto focus could barely detect and lock onto the subject. I know, I can always use manual focus but I generally figure that if it's too dark for auto focus to work, it's probably time to pack it in.
Anyway, I set up my black velvet swath behind the subject - fire-pink typically grows among other plants and I wanted to completely isolate the subject - then proceeded to shoot. This image was made with the tripod-mounted Canon 5D IV and Canon's stellar 100mm f/2.8L macro lens. I shot in live view to stop internal mirror movement, and used the two-second shutter delay to eliminate any operator-induced shake after pressing the shutter button. The ISO was 200, and the aperture was at f/7.1.
Shutter speed? An absurdly low 10 (ten) seconds! One of the reasons that John and I stayed out so late and kept at this was the virtual absence of any wind. Rare are the conditions that you can shoot a flower with a ten second shutter speed and not end up with a major blur-fest.
Sunday, May 24, 2020
Yesterday I posted about a newly born white-tailed deer fawn that I found in the backyard. Apparently my yard served as a deer nursery. When I found it, the fawn was absolutely tiny and remained motionless and curled up in deep grass, as newborn deer do.
That phase doesn't last long.
I was out photographing a very rare plant early this morning, and returned about 10 am. The doe had moved the fawn about 20 feet, to a more sheltered nook. She kept in close proximity to the fawn, and would occasionally sneak about to peek at the neighbors' activities from behind shrubs. Other times, she would rest on the ground near the fawn.
Later, I got into a few hour work jag at the computer, and finally got up to have a look out back. To my surprise, the doe had brought the fawn right up by the house, to an even more shaded and densely vegetated area that's even safer.
I don't know how long this all will go on, but I'll have fun observing while it does.
Saturday, May 23, 2020
An unexpected treat! A white-tailed deer fawn, very recently born. It was in the back part of the back yard, which is very wild, especially compared to my neighbors. I was Facetiming my mom this afternoon, who is in a retirement village, and I always walk around the yard to show her various flora and fauna. This time, I went back to show her an active house wren nest box, glanced down and there was the fawn. Went back to get a telephoto lens, was able to stand on a distant bench and get a few shots of the little fella. It never flinched, and I suspect mom was hidden in the massive dense forsythia bush in the corner of the yard. I had noticed a doe back in that part of the yard for several hours this morning, but didn't think much of it as deer are regular visitors.
I suspect she dropped the fawn last night or early this morning - or some time very recently. But it'll not be long until it's trying to scamper about on gangly legs. I've had great experiences with fawns over the years, including a couple times when tiny fawns ran right up to my leg. I suspect they thought I was an adult deer. Once they saw the error of their ways, they quickly scuttled back off into the vegetation. But this is the best photo op I've had with one, and its beautiful pelage contrasts wonderfully with the rich green grass. This little deer could not be in a safer part of the neighborhood.
I had brought along a 400mm lens, and that was ample for making photos from well outside the shed. While mom/dad certainly noticed me, the little one paid no heed, and alternated between sitting like a bump on a log, or playing with sticks.
As adults, black vultures are extremely conspicuous, on the wing, at roosts, and when feasting on dead animals. They're not exactly shrinking violets. Finding an easily observable nest is quite another matter. The majority of black vulture nests are hidden in dense thickets, on the ground, and it'd be very hard to find a view like this with such a nest. I've seen a few nests over the years, and all those were tucked in rocky recesses. You knew the nest was in there, and in one case I could make out the eggs, but they were really impossible to examine. Other commonly used sites are hollows in fallen trees and stumps, and old barns and the like. In parts of South America - this species has a huge range - black vultures commonly nest on skyscrapers and other large buildings.
The black vulture is an extremely adaptable and successful species, and is rapidly spreading north. Up to the 1970/80's, it was a very local bird in Ohio, which is at the northern limits of its range. There were only a few locales one could expect to find them. Now, I wouldn't be surprised to see a black vulture anywhere in the state and the number of colonies around Ohio has increased tremendously. Data from the first Ohio Breeding Bird Atlas (1982-87) and the second Atlas (2006-11) showed a 387% increase in the black vulture population from Atlas I to Atlas II.
I appreciate Randy providing this opportunity to actually see a black vulture chick, and let me learn a bit more about these interesting birds.
Sunday, May 17, 2020
A red-headed woodpecker looks back at its mate at Shawnee State Forest/Jim McCormac
Nature: Red head is feather in bird's cap
May 17, 2020
A bird that serves as the catalyst to pique someone’s interest in the feathered world is termed a “spark bird.” The red-headed woodpecker was the spark that launched Alexander Wilson’s career. Wilson was a contemporary of John James Audubon, and has been overshadowed by the much better known frontiersman.
Although Audubon’s bird paintings clearly outshine those of Wilson, the ambitious Scotsman was probably the better ornithologist. His legacy is commemorated by several honorifics such as Wilson’s plover, Wilson’s storm-petrel and Wilson’s warbler.
I suspect he would have traded them all for “Wilson’s woodpecker.”
Small wonder Wilson or anyone else would be captivated by the red-headed woodpecker. Adults are clad in a tuxedo of sorts — bold black and white plumage. But, oh, that head! It appears that the well-named bird wears a hood of fine velvety scarlet.
On May 1, I found myself social distancing in the depths of southern Ohio’s 65,000-acre Shawnee State Forest. As luck would have it, I encountered a very cooperative pair of red-headed woodpeckers in a regenerating clear-cut with scattered snag trees that were tall and dead.
That’s perfect red-head habitat, and the birds were in full courtship mode. There were frequent energetic chases between trees punctuated with loud calls, mutual head-bobbing displays and other evidence of amorous behavior.
Best of all was the “hide-and-seek” game. Each bird would perch opposite of the other on a tree trunk, then slowly hitch around until they spotted each other. Then, quick as a wink, they’d duck out of sight, only to immediately repeat the game.
Red-headed woodpeckers are quite diverse in diet. They’ll frequently grab large flying insects in aerial sorties from tall snags and glean insects from bark. Like other woodpeckers, they use their chisel-like bill to excavate grubs, ants and other goodies from wood.
Most interesting is their fondness for acorns and other mast. Come fall, the red-heads embark on an ambitious agenda of acorn caching. A productive individual might cache hundreds of acorns daily. The birds typically stuff these nuts into tree crevices, and heavily used cache trees are sometimes called “granaries.”
This woodpecker also has a fondness for various soft fruit, and this habitat made it a reviled bird in the early days. The aforementioned Audubon wrote: “I would not recommend to anyone to trust their fruit to the Red-heads; for they not only feed on all kinds as they ripen, but destroy an immense quantity besides. ... I may safely assert, that a hundred have been shot upon a single cherry tree in one day.”
Today, of Ohio’s six widespread breeding woodpecker species, the red-headed is easily the scarcest. There are an estimated 26,000 birds in the state. For comparison, the most common species, the downy woodpecker, has an estimated population of 375,000 birds. The red-heads’ overall uncommonness is tied to its need for open woods with plenty of mast-bearing trees and standing dead snags. Such woodlands are not common these days.
Some of our local metro parks support red-headed woodpeckers. Good parks to seek them include Battelle Darby, Glacier Ridge, Prairie Oaks and Sharon Woods.
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.jimmccormac.blogspot.com.
Friday, May 15, 2020
As always, click the photo to enlarge
I spent yesterday morning on a privately owned piece of Adams County, Ohio real estate, and birds were the target. There was one very special treat that sent me there, and I managed to capture that species on "film". I'll share that here later. Many other interesting birds were seen and photographed as well. A great day.
Following that, I ducked into a few interesting habitats on the way home to look for plants. One that I was pleased to see is this post's subject: Purple-rocket, Iodanthus pinnatifidus. It's a delicate, moderately sized mustard of rich alluvial floodplains. This was the earliest I'd seen it in bloom, and the photo subject was very much in the act of unfurling. Here in central Ohio, it's more of a June plant.
By the time purple-rocket hits its stride, the companion vegetation on floodplains is lush and robust. Thus, the rocket is often well obscured and can easily be missed. Furthermore, it often occurs as isolated plants or small clusters - not conspicuous colonies. While I'm sure that interesting insects (well, ALL insects are probably interesting) make use of this rocket, and visit it for nectar/pollen, very little seems to be known about its faunal associations.
PHOTO NOTE: Over the years, I have shifted my tactics for plant photography considerably. Much of the sea change is the result of my association with Debbie DiCarlo, with whom I teach photo workshops (at least when viral pandemics are not raging). She's a master of plant photography, and plants are not nearly as easy to portray well as one might think. Whereas I used to use lots of flash on flora, now I rarely do. Flash can impart a harshness that I've come to see as undesirable, although in some situations it can be effective. But when circumstances allow, I've largely cut out artificial lighting and that was the case with this image.
One trick that I learned from Debbie is the black velvet backdrop. Just take a stiff piece of cardboard, roughly 8.5 x 11, and cover it with black velvet. In cluttered situations, you can often prop this backdrop behind your subject - or have someone hold it - and thus isolate the plant. Furthermore, most flora really pops when presented against such a backdrop. When one learns this trick, it's tempting to overplay it, so some restraint should probably be practiced lest all your images begin to look the same. But in the case of this purple-rocket, it was highly effective. It was shot with a tripod-mounted Canon 5DSR and 70-200mm lens at 123mm, coupled with a 25mm extension tube. Settings were f/14, 1/10 of a second, ISO 320, and as stated previously, no flash.
Wednesday, May 13, 2020
The light was stellar yesterday morning, and as I rolled into the park about the first thing that I noticed was the conspicuous flowering spikes of Ohio buckeye, Aesculus glabra (above). In the short distance to the parking lot I saw a number of flowering buckeyes, and also saw a photographic opportunity.
I didn't have to wait long before I heard the squeaky chirps of a hummingbird, and moments later she raced in to the closest buckeye flower spike. She quickly tapped about half the flowers in this spike, then shot off to parts unknown. Nice.
The mistake, photographically, that I made was not putting my flash rig on the camera, knowing there was probably a pretty decent chance of a hummer-buckeye happening. Hummingbirds definitely pop much better with a puff of light, and it allows for much faster shutter speeds to mostly freeze wing movement. As it was, I shot this at 1/500 - fast enough for everything else I was shooting, but not this little speedster. I'm loathe to use super high shutter speeds if it causes the ISO to go sky high, and in this setting it was already at ISO 640 at f/8. Probably should have opened the lens up to f/5.6, jacked the shutter to 1/1000 or more and just rolled with it. But, whatever - the photo still proves that hummingbirds stick their bills in buckeyes.
I hope to have another crack at this phenomenon before the buckeyes go out of bloom. There are several goals: flash-assisted hummingbird shots, and capturing Cape May warbler, and Baltimore and orchard orioles in the act of plumbing these flowers.
Sunday, May 10, 2020
I made my annual visit to Tri-Valley Wildlife Area (well, some years 2-3 visits) in Muskingum County, Ohio and this species was high on my list. I knew I would see it, as the large dry meadows there support many. But, as always, I first HEARD the sparrow and therein lies the rub. If one is not clued to their song, the chances of seeing a Henslow's sparrow plummet.
The song is quite charismatic, in my view, but could easily be overlooked. Indeed, to someone unfamiliar with it, the short aria might well be thought to be a cricket or some other insect. It's an explosive little chirp that is said to last about 3/5th's of a second. I'd say that's about the right duration. My Canon 5D IV, somewhat turbocharged by its auxiliary battery pack, can crank off about 8 frames a second. If I hold the trigger down on burst mode for the duration of the Henslow's song, I'll get maybe three or four images of the bird is some phase of delivering the song.
The little fellow in full throated song. It's like an aural explosion and don't blink or you'll miss it. The male rapidly throws his head back, puffs his wings, raises his throat feathers, quivers his tail, and issues a faint t-slik! While it all passes quickly to our ears, the birds probably hear something quite different. If you slow a recording of a Henslow's sparrow song down by 50% or more, numerous trills and flourishes become evident. The complexity is clearly far greater than our hearing can capture, and it offers a window into the differences between bird hearing and our own.
As far as photography goes, with some advance knowledge of the species I find Henslow's sparrows to be quite easy subjects. The way that I got onto this one is typical, for me at least. I heard him fairly near the road while slowly cruising with the windows down. A bit of scanning with the binoculars and I picked him up. In this case, the sun - it was very early morning - was right behind the bird. So, tripod and big rig in hand, I circled out into the meadow and around until the bird was in the golden light, and moved in. If one is quiet and somewhat stealthy in their movements, these sparrows can be incredibly tame. Sure enough, I eventually got to within 20 feet or so of the singer, photographed and video'd him for about ten minutes, and when I got back to the Jeep it was still sitting there singing.
Data from the Ohio Breeding Bird Atlas II (field work from 2006-11) suggests there are about 11,500 singing males, and that figure probably has not changed significantly since. The majority of the birds now occur on old "reclaimed" strip mine lands in southeastern Ohio. Tri-Valley Wildlife Area is such a site, and in total there could be as much as 250,000 acres of reclamation grasslands in the southeastern hill country. While strip mining was - and is - one of the greatest ecological catastrophes perpetrated in North America, the use of post-mining habitats by grassland species such as Henslow's sparrow has been an unexpected positive effect.
Saturday, May 9, 2020
For many years, I would admire this massive American elm, Ulmus americana, on my trips to southern Ohio lands via State Route 104. It had the classic elm vase shape, and an enormous canopy spread. Then, about three years ago the tree began to show signs of being infected with Dutch elm disease. It succumbed quickly and its skeleton is rapidly disintegrating. I finally forced myself to stop and document its demise today. It sits near the southwest corner of the Ross County fairgrounds, not far north of Chillicothe.
Dutch elm disease is a virulent fungus that probably is indigenous to Asia. It somehow got to our shores in the early 20th century and quickly laid waste to our American elms. These stately trees used to be commonly used as street trees, forming overarching leafy canopies that shaded streets and such situations were apparently quite spectacular. Behemoths would have been quite common in wild landscapes as well.
Today, American elm is still very common, but generally only as saplings and small trees. Once they get to a certain size, the fungus attacks and takes them out. Gargantuan specimens such as the tree above are decidedly rare these days, and over the years I have watched many such isolated plants succumb to the Dutch elm disease.
Fortunately, about 15 miles up the road in Pickaway County is a survivor and I stopped to pay respects today. It, too, is isolated out in a field and the Dutch elm disease has not yet managed to get to it. I rue the day when I pass by and notice dead and dying branches - near certain signs that the fungus has gained a beachhead.
But maybe this amazing tree will be spared, who knows. It certainly looks grand now, and from what I can tell, healthy as a horse. Even though it's pretty far removed from other trees, I'd wager there are Baltimore orioles preparing to nest in it. Nearly every big elm like this that I've seen has its resident orioles. Back in the day, the colorful blackbirds were strongly tied to elms, and still are whenever they can find one.
Elms also host a massive assemblage of specialized moth larvae such as the amazing double-toothed prominent, Nerice bidentata. Its caterpillar specializes on elm foliage and the caterpillar's back is scalloped in such a way that it mirrors the serrations of the elm leaves.
Next time you're driving on State Route 104 in Pickaway County, watch for this behemoth on the east side of the road. It's 1.7 miles south of State Route 56. The tree even shows up readily on Google Earth!
Sunday, May 3, 2020
Goldenstar lily at the Arc of Appalachia's Gladys Riley Golden Star Lily Preserve/Jim McCormac
Nature: Private group protects land from developers across Ohio
May 3, 2020
“Buy land, they’re not making it anymore”
— Mark Twain
No. 43. That’s Ohio’s ranking among the 50 states in regard to state and federal land ownership. These lands include wildlife areas, state parks, natural areas, state and national forests and federal wildlife refuges.
Here’s another statistic: 2.59%. That’s the total area of the state taken up by the above lands. Of our neighbors, only Indiana has less public land: 2.28%. By comparison, the state to our north is a conservation paradise. More than 20% of Michigan is protected land, and it ranks No. 15 among the states.
Increased protected land equates to increased biodiversity and healthier ecosystems. As conservationist Aldo Leopold famously said, “To keep every cog and wheel is the first precaution of intelligent tinkering.” This Leopoldism is not possible with land that is gobbled up for development.
Plants drive ecosystems at a base level, and a glance at the Ohio Department of Natural Resources’ most recent Rare Native Ohio Plants Status List should raise a red flag. One-third of the state’s roughly 1,800 native plant species are listed in some category of peril. Less plant diversity equates to less animal diversity.
We are fortunate to have a private organization that has done an astonishing amount of heavy lifting in increasing Ohio’s protected lands. The Arc of Appalachia was founded in 1995, and since then has acquired 19 preserves totaling nearly 7,000 acres.
True to its name, the “Arc” focuses its work in Ohio’s Appalachian foothills, from Chillicothe in Ross County southwest to Adams County. Its director, Nancy Stranahan, and her staff possess an acute ecological literacy and thus have been able to pluck some of the top natural areas from the path of potential future development.
Their successes are borne out botanically. To date, Arc lands have protected about 700 native plant species — that’s well over one-third of all Ohio’s native species. And that’s on only 7,000 acres, or one-fifth of 1% of the state’s land.
Furthermore, Arc acquisitions have proved a boon for rare-plant conservation. At least 62 state-listed species have been protected, including some of the rarest of the rare.
On March 26, I visited a 186-acre gem of the Arc’s holdings, the Gladys Riley Golden Star Lily Preserve in Scioto County. Its namesake lilies were in peak bloom, in nearly inestimable numbers. There might have been more than 10,000 plants. Goldenstar (Erythronium rostratum) is found in 11 states, and the Ohio population is the northernmost in its range.
Although the beautiful lily might be the totem, the old-growth forest is full of diversity. Scores of interesting animals occur, from box turtles to streamside salamanders to cerulean warblers.
On April 10, I visited an Arc property in Adams County. Its flagship species is the heart-leaved water plantain (Plantago cordata). This robust plantain was once known in 10 Ohio counties but now is found at only three sites. It has declined precipitously in all 15 states in which it occurs, and is among the rarest of the rare.
A three-hour ramble through this property revealed lots of other goodies: newly arrived Henslow’s sparrows, massive Allegheny mound ant nests, flowering papaws and much more. While the plantain was the catalyst for acquisition, a mountain of biodiversity comes along for the ride.
The Arc of Appalachia’s successes places them at the forefront of Ohio’s private conservation organizations. For those interested in helping to protect our dwindling ecosystems, I’d be hard-pressed to think of a better cause. See more about the Arc of Appalachia at arcofappalachia.org/.
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.jimmccormac.blogspot.com.
at May 03, 2020
Wednesday, April 29, 2020
Fortunately, I had my 70-200mm lens on the camera, coupled to a 25mm extension tube. I use that setup a fair bit for plants, but it's also great for dragonflies. I was able to crawl on in, get prostrate, and shoot the cool insect at its level.
Stream cruiser! A new one for me, and in a completely unexpected bit of serendipity. While this species often patrols low over the waters of small streams - there was a creek not far off - they'll also hunt over nearby meadows, as we observed.
Stream cruiser distribution map, courtesy the Ohio Dragonfly Survey/Jim Lemon
This dragonfly has a patchy distribution in southern and eastern Ohio, with post-1990 records in 17 counties. The five counties marked with white diamonds represent new county records recorded during the Ohio Dragonfly Survey (2017-19).
Technically, it wasn't a "lifer", as I've seen a few patrolling streams, but those were relatively unsatisfying fly-bys that didn't really allow me the chance to study them. This one offered a great view, and good opportunities to observe their flight style and hunting tactics.
Tuesday, April 21, 2020
Historically documented in ten Ohio counties, this plantain is now known from only three: Adams, Hardin, and Mahoning. Fortunately, all three populations are on protected lands.
I got to revisit two of the three sites this spring, after not seeing them for over a decade. While admittedly anecdotal recollections, my immediate sense upon seeing these sites again was that the populations had shrunk significantly since I had last seen them.
Arc of Appalachia has acquired this site and is monitoring the plants. There is no question that their ownership - and that of the other two sites, which are also owned by conservation organizations - gives the rare plantain a better long-term outlook.
USDA Plant Database, here's a county-level distribution map of heart-leaved water plantain. The plant is long gone from many if not most of those green counties, and is now listed as endangered or some other category of imperiled in most of those states.
The reasons for the demise of this species of undisturbed wooded swamps and streams is not too tough to suss out. Habitat loss, and water quality degradation certainly must be the overriding factors in the plantain's decline. Heart-leaved water plantain apparently does not rebound well from logging or other large-scale disturbance, and much of the habitat in its range has been converted to agriculture.
Even sites that survive may be adversely impacted by land abuses further upstream in the watershed. Increased siltation may be a detrimental factor, as is greatly increased "flashiness": sudden and abnormally large water surges caused by removal of protective vegetation along stream banks, and rapid run off from farm fields or other forms of development.
Plantago cordata would be a good candidate for Federal listing - the rarest of the rare.
Sunday, April 19, 2020
Nature: No foolin': Rare oriole really did visit Ohio
April 19, 2020
There is a long tradition of tomfoolery on April 1. People have become accustomed to looking askance at sensational reports or stories made on this date.
In the Ohio birding community, there is a history of April Fools’ Day pranks. Some have been clever, others foolish. The upshot is that savvy birders maintain a healthy skepticism toward unbelievable April 1 reports.
Thus, when Tim Hutson of Upper Arlington posted an incredible April 1 observation to a Facebook group devoted to rare bird reports, suspicions of a hoax quickly surfaced. Hutson’s sighting was of a hooded oriole, a stunning blackbird clad in the colors of Halloween.
Never had a hooded oriole been found in Ohio, and a glance at its range map would trigger disbelief. Its distribution extends from coastal California to south-central Texas, and south into Mexico. Columbus is about 1,200 miles east of where one might reasonably expect to see a hooded oriole.
However, hooded orioles have a propensity for wanderlust. There have been nearly two dozen records of vagrants east of the Mississippi River. One exceptionally ambitious nomad made it all the way to the Gaspe Peninsula of eastern Quebec.
So, the hooded oriole was not totally off Ohio birders’ radar screens. It quickly became apparent that, despite the unfortunate date of posting, Hutson’s report was totally legitimate. The beautiful photo that accompanied his post left no doubt as to the identity. Hutson, a retired research scientist at Battelle, just wanted independent confirmation of his remarkable record.
It turns out that Hutson first saw the oriole, a male, on March 30, when he spotted a glimmer of flame orange in his flowering okame cherry tree. Eventually he was able to capture diagnostic images of the gorgeous bird, and determine its identity.
For four days, the hooded oriole frequented the Hutsons’ flowering cherries. The brilliant-orange bird feeding among the pink cherry blossoms made for a dazzling clash of loud colors.
Although the oriole caught the occasional insect, including various pollinating bees, it spent much time with its face stuffed deep in flowers. Many orioles frequently eat nectar, and this hooded oriole was plumbing the blossoms for sugary sustenance.
The oriole was conspicuous all day on April 2. That evening, it flew its floriferous coop and departed to points unknown. Hopefully it headed back southwest to its home range.
For birders, the timing was unfortunate. The coronavirus pandemic and guidelines for safe distancing precluded the Hutsons from allowing a mob of birders to descend on their property. Their call to disallow visitors was absolutely correct, inasmuch as they would have loved to share the bird with all comers.
This hooded oriole becomes species number 437 (or thereabouts) for Ohio. Of the surrounding states, only Michigan has a larger list, and only by a few species. One or two species are added to Ohio’s list each year, and someday we will surpass that state up north.
Congratulations to Hutson for his incredible find, and superb documentation of an amazing record. Very few people, including longtime veteran birders, find a new state record.
Hutson’s interest in photography dates to the film days, and he has an impressive portfolio of imagery, including additional hooded oriole photos. To see his work, visit: www.flickr.com/photos/bugtrumpet.
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.jimmccormac.blogspot.com.
Friday, April 17, 2020
I was in my home office around noon today when I heard a loud BANG! against a window. That can only mean one thing, the local Cooper's hawk is staging a raid. Window strikes are nearly nonexistent here, thanks to deterrent stickers, but when the Cooper's hawk barrels in unexpectedly, jays and others sometimes smack a window in their haste to escape. Today, I was quick with the camera and caught the hawk sitting atop my mealworm tray feeder. He was unsuccessful this time but I don't begrudge him his livelihood. Although I would be seriously bummed if he got a bluebird, or - horrors! - Albert, the white-headed blue jay.
Note his fluffy white undertail coverts. They can flare those out to the sides during display flights. He’s been making these lately. It’s a slow flight with really deep exaggerated wing beats punctuated by glides with the wings held in a steep dihedral (V-shaped) position. Absolutely nothing like their normal flight, and if a distant observer was not familiar with it, I could see the bird being called a something other than a Cooper's hawk.
I'm sure the nest is not far off. One or the other of a pair visits more days than not. As does a pair of red-shouldered hawks. The reaction of the feeder birds to these two raptors is radically different. If a red-shouldered hawk sails in, the lesser birds might instinctively duck for cover, but their fear is short-lived. Even if the hawk sits prominently on the fence or elsewhere in the yard, they'll quickly resume business, visiting feeders and flying to and fro, often nearly right over the glaring hawk's head. Red-shouldered hawks are not very adept at catching birds, and the little fellows know it. Chipmunks, that's a different story. I have yet to see one in the yard this spring. I suspect the red-shouldereds have done a number on them.
Contrarily, when a Cooper's hawk hits the yard - usually in an instantaneous blitzkrieg, using the house, fences, or trees as cover - it's like a bomb went off. This species is a specialist of songbird hunting. Birds explode in every direction in a mad dash for thick cover. In the back corner of the lot is an old, dense forsythia shrub, and that's a common shelter. I've seen the hawks run in there on foot in their lust to kill a songbird. Birds that have no time to react to the appearance of a Cooper's hawk will "sleek": pull their feathers in tight and not move a muscle. They remain utterly frozen in place, scarcely even moving their head, until the danger has passed. I have seen Carolina chickadees remain motionless for probably five minutes. Not until everyone is well convinced that the hawk has departed do the crowds return to the feeders.
Monday, April 13, 2020
I made an epic botano-centric trip to Adams County last Saturday, and covered a lot of ground. Met with some people to look at a very interesting piece of land - more on that later, perhaps (and yes, we "social-distanced"), but on the way there I stopped to admire this stunning violet.
The family Bignoniaceae is huge (800 species), mostly tropical, and many species are vines. Up here, there are only two: this species, and the much more widespread and familiar trumpet-creeper, Campsis radicans. I find the cross-vine to be the more exotic of the two. But if you're an Ohioan, you'll have to travel south to see it. Cross-vine is at its northern limits on our side of the Ohio River. The hills of Kentucky loomed large at this site.
Here's a raceme of typically colored larkspur flowers.
Sprinkled among the larkspur was false garlic, Nothoscordum bivalve, arguably the showiest of our wild onions (Allium cernuum is a strong contender). It's rare in Ohio, and listed as threatened, with extant populations in only two counties: Adams, and Clark. The Clark County site is tiny, the Adams County populations can be robust. However, it's only in a very limited area along or near the Ohio River, and mostly west of Ohio Brush Creek.
By the time we reached this spot, the day was rapidly aging and there wasn't a lot of time left. Someday, I want to spend more time with false garlic to search for an oligolectic bee known as Andrena nothoscordi. The small mining bee only visits the flowers of this plant species. Its fortunes are completely tied to false garlic. Such specialization is not at all rare in Nature. This is why true conservation strategies should take into account ALL species and be ecologically based, such as The Nature Conservancy does, and the group we met with earlier on this day, the Arc of Appalachia, certainly does.
Game-farming style management for selected, prioritized species, especially white-tailed deer, is a surefire way to doom an ecosystem over time.
Saturday, April 11, 2020
Last Monday, I headed afield well before the crack of dawn. My destination was a wetland complex not too far to the north. I lugged my portable Doghouse blind along, with the intent of capturing some wetland bird species by utilizing it as cover. So, before the sun had pulled itself over the horizon, I was slogging the blind and a bunch of gear through a marshy quagmire. Upon arriving at a good spot, with the sun to my back and a nice marshy pond before me, I quickly set things up. Doghouse blinds are fantastic, and set up in minutes (see more about them HERE). Folding them up properly is more problematic, but that's another story.
I was buoyed by nearby calls of sora and Virginia rails, two species I had high hopes for photographing. A squadron of blue-winged teal rocketed in right as I was preparing to enter the blind, saw me, and rocketed off. Many green-winged teal, ring-necked ducks, and several other species of fowl were in the marsh. As the sun came up, the light became stellar and I crouched in my camouflaged blind awaiting the arrival of subjects.
And waited, and waited, and waited... Nothing, other than a few red-winged blackbirds and swamp sparrows, came into range. Such is life sometimes, but time spent in such a spot as this is never wasted. Even though birds were not frolicking in front of my lens, I could still hear plenty of the sounds of a spring marsh, and see lots of birds moving by. A Virginia rail called regularly, tantalizingly close, but would not reveal itself. Sandhill cranes issued their guttural racket from afar. Crows harassed a red-tailed hawk, and at one point a Cooper's hawk shot by and landed in a distant cottonwood, much to the consternation of local blackbirds. As the temps reached into the high 30's, a few hardy northern leopard frogs began to give their snoring calls.
But photography was my goal, and after two hours of this, I decided to shift location. All the while I was in the blind, I saw small groups of Bonaparte's gulls flying overhead, headed towards a nearby reservoir. I decided to head over there and see what was going on. Smart move.
As I neared the lake, I was greeted by a swarm of perhaps 150-200 Bonaparte's gulls - a nice inland spring concentration in Ohio. After kicking myself several times for not just coming to this spot straight away, I settled in to watch these interesting birds and their fishing activities.
All in all, it morphed into a wonderful morning of gull observation. Maybe that wasn't my intention at the outset, but you never know what'll happen and just have to roll with the punches.
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