Over the course of prepping for tonight's talk (details HERE) about Ohio's macro habitats and the conservation thereof, I dipped deep into the archives and ran across lots of imagery I hadn't looked at for a while or posted. Here's one.

A Common Tern (Sterna hirundo) whirls around on a dime after spotting a school of emerald shiners or some other fishy food source. Terns are consummate aeronauts, and woe to the fishes that they clap eyes on. This bird was over Lake Erie, near Toledo in Lucas County, Ohio, on May 10, 2022.

PHOTO NOTE: Terns are fairly low-hanging fruit, insofar as aerial imagery goes. While they can be swift, hunting terns are pretty predictable in their movements and thus easier to track. Modern gear makes such shots far easier, too. I used my favorite BIF (Birds In Flight) gear for this image: the Canon R5, and Canon's ultralight 400mm DO f/4 II lens, with the Canon 1.4x teleconverter, version II. That equates to 560mm, and the range between 400mm and 560mm is just about perfect for quickly locking on and tracking BIF with a handheld setup. I use back-button focus exclusively, and each of my camera's three back buttons, which are easily accessible with my right thumb, are programmed to different focus settings. I used the all points active/eye recognition program, which is magical in its ability to find eyes and keep the focus precisely on an eye. In animal photography, you always want the eye to be sharp. All I have to do is keep the subject in the field of view and try to be positioned where the light is best.

Settings were f/8 at 1/2500 second. If light permits, I like to be stopped down to f/8 or even more, to get more sharpness throughout the subject, particularly when a blank, non-distractive background is present (like this blue sky). 1/2500 is plenty fast enough to mostly freeze a tern, although hummingbirds and some other subjects might necessitate even faster speeds. The ISO was at 500, but I very rarely set ISO to a specific value when shooting birds. There is no good reason that I can think of to do so. I let the ISO float, but keep a close eye on it, which is easy as the ISO speed displays live time in my viewfinder. If it starts increasing to a point of undesirability, such as ISO 2500 or more, if possible, I rein it in by slowing the shutter speed or opening the lens up more, or a combination thereof.

Photographic/Watercolor conservation art exhibit

 

Watercolor artist Juliet Mullett and I have collaborated on an art exhibit focused on flora, fauna, and conservation. It features 51 pieces: Juliet's amazing watercolor pencil portraits, many of which are new (like the box turtle on the poster above), and my photography. It hangs on the walls of the Grange Insurance Audubon Center, just south of downtown Columbus, Ohio. Registration info is HERE.

While the exhibit went on the walls on November 2, the semi-official kickoff is Saturday, November 16. Doors open at 5:30 pm and I will give a talk about conservation, including many of the subjects of our works, at 7 pm. It's free, and I'd love to see you there. Feel free to pass the word!

Northern "Yellow-shafted" Flicker

 

A male Northern Flicker (Colaptes auratus) comes in for a landing, showing off his golden underwings and tail. This is the former "Yellow-shafted" Flicker that ranges over the eastern two-thirds of North America. Its western counterpart is the "Red-shafted" Flicker, in which the yellow is replaced with bright red. Formerly considered separate species, the two were lumped in 1982 due to extensive hybridization in the zone where the two come into contact. Flickers are spectacular woodpeckers, and fascinating on many levels. This was Roger Tory Peterson's "spark bird"; the species that got him interested in ornithology. I photographed this one yesterday in Cuyahoga Valley National Park, Summit County, Ohio.

Ohio-Erie Canal

 

As always, click the image to enlarge

The long-abandoned Ohio-Erie Canal, in Cuyahoga Valley National Park, on a misty morning. Shauna and I had a great time visiting various spots in Ohio's only national park. This was a place called Beaver Marsh, and not only did we see that namesake animal, but lots of other interesting subjects. Summit County, Ohio, November 2, 2024.

PHOTO NOTE: This was very early in the morning, a bit prior to dawn. Mist was rising from the water in places, and the overall effect was dark and ethereal. We were there primarily for birds, and all I had was my 800mm telephoto on a tripod and a 16-35mm wide-angle and 100mm macro lens in my backpack. The 16-35, even at 35mm, was too wide to show this scene in the way that I wanted. The 800, which I sometimes do use for tight landscapes, was WAY too overkill in this situation. So, I popped on the 100mm macro lens (my body is a Canon R5, and all lenses are Canon). The macro lens can be surprisingly good for fairly tight landscape work, although I often forget to employ it for such purposes. Anyway, I wanted to exclude the rather drab white sky not far above the top of this image (which is completely uncropped), and the ghostly white trunk of the sycamore on the left drove my decision as to where to frame the left side of the composition. I liked the gnarly stump jutting from the water towards the bottom left so that decided where the bottom of the composition would go. The rest fell into place.

But a note about the macro lens, and higher ISO levels. I made this shot at f/16, 1/30 second, and a very high ISO 6400, handheld. I have found that - and sometimes forget - that the combination of the macro lens' "compression" and a relatively high ISO can create a very "painterly" effect to a treed landscape. There was absolutely no wind, and while there may have been a bit of camera shake, the latter was probably minor as the lens has killer image stabilization and I am pretty steady. Yet the leaves, especially, blur like a Monet watercolor - an effect I very much like in some landscapes. I cannot get that effect from my primary go-to landscape lenses, the 16-35mm and 70-200mm.

Had I had the 70-200 with me, I might have unthinkingly grabbed that, probably using about the same 100mm focal range as my macro, but would have put it on the tripod, set the ISO to 100 or 200 at f/13 or f/16, and made the shot. The shutter exposure would have been REALLY long (far too long to handhold) but who cares when it's on a tripod. But I would have ended up with an image that would be crisp throughout, and largely void of the soft blurred foliage of this shot.

Anna's Hummingbird in Ohio

 

A subadult male Anna's Hummingbird (Calypte anna) strikes a pose. The bird has been present for about a week in and around the yard of Gerry and John Brevoort, in a north Columbus neighborhood. Two Ruby-throated Hummingbirds have also been hanging around. When Gerry noticed this bird, she didn't think it looked right for a ruby-throat. Its identity was parsed out and word came down last Monday. I could not make it until today - even though it is only about a 12-minute drive - but there were no worries. The hummer is still in residence, and it may stay for some time. This is the third Ohio record of this species, and the other two stayed for over a month.

Anna's Hummingbird is quite hardy and breeds as far north as southern British Columbia. Some hummers routinely venture to southeastern Alaska. The primary breeding range is California - and that state was the traditional core range for this species - but Anna's Hummingbird has been actively expanding its range for the last 60 years. It now nests on Oregon and Washington and has expanded eastward into Arizona and probably has bred/breeds in Nevada and Texas.

The reasons for the expansion involve widespread plantings of suitable nectar source plants, and the proliferation of hummingbird feeders. Anna's Hummingbird appears to be highly adaptable and quick to utilize new opportunities.

The Anna's Hummingbird between sips of sugar water at one of the Brevoort's feeders. This young male's colorful gorget feathers are coming in, and before too long the bird's throat and crown will be shingled in dazzling purplish-red feathered scales.

Anna's Hummingbird, perhaps surprisingly, is a short-distance migrant and what migrations do occur are confusing. Some individuals/populations don't migrate at all, while others move north, up to higher elevations, or relatively short distances in any direction. Much remains to be learned about Anna's Hummingbird migration.

I've occasionally spoken my mind about the use of the term "vagrants" when applied to birds (or perhaps most winged organisms). While there truly are vagrants, such as hurricane-blown birds far off course, and others assisted by similar dramatic weather events, and perhaps the rare individual who loses control of its internal GPS, I don't think in many instances the vagrant term is proper.

Vagrancy implies a haphazard wandering, and I don't think that's what is going on, at least in many cases involving birds. Rather, these out of the normal range individuals (often first-year birds) might be thought of as "scouts". Perhaps a tiny percentage of populations of highly mobile birds are in effect pre-programmed to wander far from their core range. How else would a species discover new fertile territory and expand its range? While most of these out-of-range birds will not locate prime new territory and will either perish or perhaps with luck make it back "home", over the long haul suitable new turf will be discovered and conquered and the range will expand.

There are now Anna's Hummingbird records from nearly every state, all of the way to the eastern seaboard. Also, the southern reaches of most eastern Canadian provinces. The long-haul record belongs to an Anna's Hummingbird that appeared near St. John's, Newfoundland on January 19, 2011, and stayed for about three weeks. That's as far east as one can go in eastern North America and not a particularly hospitable place, weatherwise, in the dead of winter.

It'll be interesting to see how the expansion of the adaptable Anna's Hummingbird goes. I suspect the influx of out-of-range birds will continue, and the breeding range will continue its eastward creep.

Thanks again to the Brevoorts for making scores of people welcome, and for bringing this Anna's Hummingbird to light.

Black-bellied Whistling-Ducks nest again in Ohio, producing scads of chicks

 

This rather innocuous-looking place was our destination last Sunday, October 20, 2024, and it's a spot I had been hoping to visit for a few months. Better late than never, and in this case, late was probably better.

Shauna and I packed the gear and drove the hour and a half to Ohio State University's sprawling Ohio Agricultural Research and Development Center campus near Wooster, in Wayne County, Ohio. The locale in the photo is perhaps most noteworthy for its string of six little ponds. Parts of two of those are visible in the photo. This is where the latest crop of nesting Black-bellied Whistling-Ducks (Dendrocygna autumnalis) has been hanging out.

This tropical duck was first found nesting in Ohio just a few miles from this spot, in 2022. I wrote about that RIGHT HERE.

While I knew finding and seeing the large "tree ducks" would not be difficult, in this case it was ridiculously easy. We pulled into the site, and before even getting out of the vehicle I heard the squeaky peeping whistles of the whistling-ducks. A glance in the direction of the pond revealed the extended head of an adult, peeking up and over the embankment. It didn't long to walk into a good position and start getting shots of the beautiful fowl. Here, two adults with pink bills bookend three dusky-billed juveniles.

But wait! There were more! It didn't take long to realize that the pack had expanded from the eBird reports I had recently seen, which listed 10 juveniles and two adults. In total, we saw 19 juveniles and six adults. We arrived right around sunrise, and the ducks were still resting on the banks of one of the small ponds, in three discrete pods, each with two adults. It would appear that three pairs of whistling-ducks bred somewhere locally, and then merged the troops here after the young became flighted. As we were leaving, Jethro Raber, an ace local birder who has been keeping tabs on the ducks, told us that the assemblage of this big pack was a recent event, just a day or two prior to our visit if I recall correctly.

As always, you can click the image to enlarge and if you do with the photo above, you'll see the frosty rime on the grass. It was in the low 30's F the prior night, and nighttime temps have been getting consistently frosty. I suspect these Black-bellied Whistling-Ducks will not hang around much longer.

As the sun warmed the earth, and the birds, they began foraging and moving around. We saw them skimming lesser duckweed (Lemna minor) from the pond's surface and plucking at other plants. While they didn't venture far, some short flights were made, and we saw all 25 birds flying and flying well. The juveniles will soon be ready for their southward journey, if they aren't already. A juvenile stretches its long wings in the image above, and shares space with four other young birds. An adult is to the far right.

An adult whistling-duck strikes a pose. It is atop a long linear pile of who knows what. I suspect the material is a mixture of manure and other offal of farming operations, but I really have no idea. There was something in there that pleased the ducks, though, and they avidly rooted about in the stuff. Perhaps corn kernels or other edible plant matter.

Once the ducks became active, they wasted little time in heading to these piles and remained on and around them the rest of the time that we were there. I wonder if this stuff, whatever it may be (and if you know, please leave a comment) is what made them fixate on this particular site.

A juvenile strikes a subservient posture before an adult. It was great fun observing the interactions and dynamics of these charismatic birds. While highly social, there are pecking orders and squabbles to establish them. Black-bellied Whistling-Ducks can be incredibly tame, and these birds weren't exactly shrinking violets. Nonetheless, we maintained a good distance from them which allows for better opportunities to observe natural interactions while avoiding the possibility of spooking/flushing the birds. There's no reason to do that, in this situation especially.

It seems that we are seeing the genesis of a breeding population of Black-bellied Whistling-Ducks develop before our eyes. From one pair three years ago, that produced (if memory serves) four surviving chicks, to the current crop of three apparent broods and 19 chicks. All of the last three year's nestings were within a few miles of each other. It'll be interesting to see if and how the Wayne County population continues its expansion, and if and where other future breeding records occur. I don't know offhand the exact number of Black-bellied Whistling-Duck records in Ohio, but since the first report in 2004, there have probably been a few dozen. It seems likely that other vagrant (if we can still call them that) whistling-ducks will remain to breed elsewhere in the state.

A very cool moth

 

On July 28 of this year, I did some backyard mothing - something that I should do more of here, as I usually get cool bugs. And who doesn't like cool bugs. This uber-cool bug is a Lesser Grapevine Looper (Eulithis diversilineata), a moth that arches its abdomen up and over until it points at its snout. While conspicuous on a white shed wall, this bizarre posture may serve it well as disruptive camouflage when hiding in vegetated haunts. Its caterpillars feed on grape and Virginia creeper and I've got plenty of that. Worthington, Ohio.

Shale-barren Aster (Symphyotrichum oblongifolium), white-flowered form

 

As always, click the photo to enlarge

Last Saturday, Shauna had to give a program on Bobcats to a group at the Arc of Appalachia's Highland Nature Sanctuary and following that we headed down to Lynx Prairie in Adams County to drum up some late-season flora. One species that was high on my list to photograph was Shale-barren Aster (Symphyotrichum oblongifolium). It is in peak bloom in early to mid-October, and we soon found ourselves admiring this large colony.

Shale-barren Aster is well-named, as can be seen from this image. It favors dry, rocky ground, and in Ohio often occurs on slopes like this. The plant is rhizomatous and can form sizable colonies. But in our state, it's a rarity and is listed as threatened by ODNR. Shale-barren Aster barely gets into southern Ohio and is known from only three-four counties and Adams County hosts most of the populations.

Here's the typical flowers of Shale-barren Aster. The rays are a showy pale purplish color, offset by bright yellow disk flowers.

PHOTO NOTE: Sometimes, to better isolate plants in crowded environments, I place a piece of black velvet behind the subject. That's what was done here. It also allows me to use a smaller aperture without penalty of creating a distracting image with lots of background clutter confusing the issue. This image was made at f/16, 1/125 second, and ISO 800. The only reason that the ISO was so high was due to breezy conditions and possible subject movement, but since very little cropping was required and the Canon R5 handles higher ISO settings well, it's not a problem. The lens was the stellar Canon 100mm f/2.8L macro.

As we walked towards the main colony, Shauna drew my attention to a white-flowered aster. Wow! It was an odd plant of Shale-barren Aster with snowy-white flowers! I had never seen, nor heard of such a thing. There were only three specimens, fairly close together and I suppose they could have essentially been the same plant, interconnected by rhizomes. This image shows the distinctive herbage, with alternate slightly clasping oblong leaves.

Here's a closeup of a flowering head. Not even a tinge of pink, purple or rose in those rays.

I've scouted about a bit and cannot find any references to white-flowered forms of Symphyotrichum oblongifolium. That's not to say it doesn't occur elsewhere, because anomalous white flowers regularly turn up in flowers that are ordinarily other colors. But it must not be common, or botanical manuals would mention it, and someone probably would have described it as a named form. The great botanist Merrit Fernald was big on noting variations such as this, yet his 1950 Gray's Manual of Botany makes no mention of white-flowered variants of Shale-barren Aster. He does note a forma roseoligulatus, which has rosy-colored rays. That, however, would be far more subtle and probably often insensibly grading into typical flower colors.

It will be interesting to see if these plants persist and expand, or eventually vanish.

NOTE: In botany, the equivalent of a subspecies in animals is termed a variety. Varieties are typically stable and distinctive variants but do not rise to the level of a species and are clearly closely related to the nominate, or typical variety. An example involving another aster would be Purple Swamp Aster (Symphyotrichum puniceum). It was long split into "subspecies": Symphyotrichum puniceum variety puniceum (the nominate, or typical, subspecies) and S. puniceum var. firmus. As sometimes happens, these two varieties were later shown to be distinct, and both are considered separate species now. Forms do not rise to that level and are minor variants. In the case of Purple Swamp Aster, two forms have been described, Symphyotrichum puniceum forma etiamalbus with white flowers, and forma rufescens with reddish flowers. These forms only different in flower color, thus are minor variations, and possibly best treated as occasional anomalies, not stable characters of the species, hence the forma designation. That's undoubtedly the case with the white-flowered Shale-barren Aster that we found.

Alder and Willow flycatchers, side by side

Back in early June, Shauna and I traveled to rural western New York, to attend the Allegany Nature Pilgrimage. It's quite the event, with hundreds of attendees, scores of field trips and other activities, and lots of speakers. I was there in the latter capacity, speaking about - what else, this year - moths.

The Pilgrimage takes place in a beautiful region with lots of interesting places nearby, so we took the opportunity to tack on a few days and visit some new sites. We saw lots of flora and fauna, managed to eke out some decent imagery, and learned lots about various things. One of the more interesting avian experiences for me was stumbling into a large shrubland that was occupied by both Alder Flycatchers (Empidonax alnorum) and Willow Flycatchers (E. traillii), in about equal numbers.

This vast shrub-dominated meadow is in Iroquois National Wildlife Refuge, about 40 miles northeast of Buffalo, New York. We were slowly cruising by when I heard the song of an Alder Flycatcher. As this is a species that I am very much smitten with, we quickly pulled over and got out to better assess the situation. To my surprise I soon heard a Willow Flycatcher, then another Alder, another Willow, and so on.

This site is near the southern overlap of these species' ranges, and maybe shrublands full of both species isn't that unusual in this zone, but I had never seen it. Where I live, in central Ohio, Willow Flycatcher is the common species, and Alders only occur sparingly in northernmost Ohio, especially in the northeast corner which has the most boreal-ish habitat. But I've spent scads of time in the north country, such as the northern tip of Michigan's Lower Peninsula and the Upper Peninsula, where Alder Flycatcher is very common, and I know it well.

Alder and Willow flycatchers were considered conspecific until 1973, although the differences between the two were noticed long before, perhaps most notably by Roger Tory Peterson. Much of the differentiation is in vocalizations, and habitat. They are well-named birds, as Willows typically occupy areas with some willow (genus Salix). Alders prefer, duh, alders (genus Alnus) and thus are typically found in wetter sites as that's where alder thickets thrive. But good luck identifying a silent bird in migration. If it issues a few distinctive call notes, you might nail it, but otherwise it'll have to go down as "Empidonax sp. Even birds in the hand, with measurements possible, cannot always be separated (ever?).

A male Alder Flycatcher in the Iroquois meadow in the first photo. Its singing perch was a willow. Indeed, we could not find any alders in this damp meadow, just willow of several species.

Here is a nearby male Willow Flycatcher, also teed up in a willow singing perch. We walked around much of this roughly 20-acre site and spent much time listening to and watching the flycatchers. In all, we counted 5-6 singing Alders and 4-5 singing Willows. The birds seemed to have marked out well-established territories, and we saw no interactions between the species. It certainly was a great site to hear both of these look-alikes singing side by side.

A brief, greatly compressed video of one of the singing Alder Flycatchers. Sorry, my learning curve with video processing is not very advanced, but you should be able to hear its distinctive song well. It is a burry ascending Free-beer! or Fe-bee-oh!

I was going to post a singing Willow Flycatcher video that was nearby the Alder above, but now my video "editor" is giving me fits and I can't make it work. I'll try to correct this and post it later. Its song is a quite different sneezy Fitz-bew! With some practice and experience, separating these species by song is normally not difficult. Even the call notes are mostly distinctive, especially the dry whit whit calls of Willows and the more robust pip pip notes of Alders. In fact, the latter species reminds me of a miniature Olive-sided Flycatcher as some of its calls suggest that species, and the territorial males seem more pugnacious and prone to singing from exposed perches.

There apparently is no concrete evidence of hybridization between these very similar species, even though they are extremely similar genetically, much more so than most avian species pairings. Our observations in this mixed meadow, the type of site one might think that hybridization might occur if it indeed does happen, indicated that the two species maintained well-defined territories and did not interact much.

Brown-headed Nuthatch

 

I've been playing catch-up with photo labeling and archival - note to self: do not fall behind on this. Anyway, one positive is revisiting many cool sites and lots of interesting flora and fauna. This is one of the world's cutest birds, the Brown-headed Nuthatch (Sitta pusilla). The elfin weighs maybe 10-11 grams, and barely exceeds 4 inches in length. For comparison, the White-breasted Nuthatch is 20 g and 5.5 inches - a comparative giant. BHN's are obligatory pine residents and small troupes of them make a gentle cacophony as cute as the birds: it sounds like a dozen kittens are in the limbs, playing with squeak toys. Hickory, North Carolina, January 1, 2024.

American Copper

 

I was pleased to stumble into a small population of American Coppers (Lycaena phlaeas) last Thursday, September 26, in Wayne County (Ohio). This one is nectaring on white heath aster (Symphyotrichum pilosum), of which there was plenty at this locale.

In spite of the name, there is strong evidence that the "American" Copper was in fact introduced to America long ago, perhaps in hay shipments from Europe. In the Old World it is known as the Little Copper or Eurasian Small Copper, and the two "species" are quite similar. Also, the American Copper's host plants (what the caterpillars feed on) are Eurasian species not native here, primarily sheep sorrel (Rumex acetosella) and curly dock (R. crispus). Even if the little butterfly was an unintentional import, it is an attractive and charismatic little butterfly and I'm not aware of any issues that it has caused.

A motherlode of Lincoln's Sparrows

The inaugural Headlands Birding Festival took place last weekend, based at Headlands Dunes State Park. There were a number of breakout speakers on Saturday afternoon, and keynotes Friday and Saturday night. Greg Miller of The Big Year fame was on Saturday, and your narrator spoke about the Great Lakes and their importance on Friday. From what I could tell, there were several hundred attendees, and more people than that wandered through the vendors and exhibitors on Saturday. It was a great time, and I believe this event will only grow. The Lake Erie lakefront in northeastern Ohio is incredibly important for fall migrants, and this makes for great birding as we shall see.

Mentor Marsh was the location of our field trip on Saturday morning, led by Becky Donaldson of the Cleveland Museum of Natural History and me. We met our group of about 25 people at 7:30 am and hiked this elevated dike through the marsh. While the trip was scheduled to end at 9:30, many of us stayed until about 11 am. The birding was magnificent, and the glut of Lincoln's Sparrows was right along this dike. We estimated 15 Lincoln's Sparrows on our trip, but I knew far more were present. Note the pale lime-green zone off the left side of the dike, right before the trees. That's rice cut grass (Leersia oryzoides) forming a large drift. Its fruit was ripe and seemed to attract lots of sparrows.

While field trips are fun, a great way to showcase natural history, and several of our participants saw new "life" birds, large groups are definitely not the effective way to stalk shy, skittish sparrows, especially insofar as photography goes. In fact, I didn't even bring my camera on the field trip. Probably should have but when one is leading, it's rude to become self-absorbed and get into shooting pics and ignoring the group. I don't even want the temptation, although I would have regretted that decision had a Steller's Sea Eagle or something crazy flown by. Anyway, I got permission to come back to this spot the following morning, at the crack of dawn, camera in tow.

This is the view to the north from that dike. The bulk of the 1,000-acre marsh stretches in that direction. I wonder how many Lincoln's Sparrows were up that way. Probably hundreds. I just sampled a tiny portion of the vast wetland - one-half mile in, and the same one-half mile out.

Here's a nice mugshot of a Lincoln's Sparrow (Melospiza lincolnii). It is in the same genus as the Song Sparrow (M. melodia) and Swamp Sparrow (M. georgiana), and is superficially similar to both, especially the Song Sparrow. But once one is familiar with the comparatively dainty and compact Lincoln's Sparrow, with its neatly striped dapper plumage, subtle gray and buff tones, and generally much more animated behavior, they are quite easy to identify.

As soon as I entered the trail, I began seeing Lincoln's Sparrows. At times I could see a dozen at once. In all, I tallied (and eBirded) 75 but am sure that's just a snippet of the true number that was present in the marsh.

Here's a Lincoln's Sparrow in a buttonbush plant (Cephalanthus occidentalis). The sparrows seemed smitten with the fruit - brownish balls on bottom left corner - and this particular shrub often had multiple sparrows simultaneously. I failed to get the money shot of a sparrow with buttonbush seeds in bill, although I saw it happen numerous times.

Many Lincoln's Sparrows were further out in the marsh, like this one teed up in some cattails. They were generally in proximity to the beds of rice cut grass, which is why I suspect they were harvesting its abundant ripe fruit.

In all, I photographed probably 6-8 different individuals. This one popped out very briefly on a branch near the ground. When skulking in dense vegetation, especially on the ground, which is how Lincoln's Sparrows often behave, it can be tough to get even a good enough look to positively identify them.

Here's a front shot showing the fine streaking and subtle buff wash which contrasts with the grayish head. The dapper little sparrows are sometimes said to resemble "well-dressed" Song Sparrows (at least by me).

A Lincoln's Sparrow, on point, showing a classic alert posture with raised crown feathers. This one was part of a group foraging in a small black locust (Robinia pseudoacacia) thicket.

A three-fer in this shot: Lincoln's Sparrow (bottom right), Common Yellowthroat to its right (your left), and a Song Sparrow above. The closely related Song Sparrow is quite different even if superficially similar. It is "messier" in appearance - never the neatly dapper plumage of the Lincoln's, nor does it present the obvious gray and buff tones that are often so obvious with Lincoln's. Song Sparrow gestalt is different as well. It is a larger bulkier bird. The average Song Sparrow weighs about 23 grams, while a Lincoln's weighs about 17 grams. That's about 25% lighter which translates to a much different field impression.

I noticed that several Lincoln's Sparrows were drawn to the few and scattered Staghorn Sumac (Rhus typhina) treelets. This was early on my foray, and as you can see in this photo, the large flat sumac leaves were still copiously beaded with dew.

This is the same bird as above, shortly after I made the preceding shot. We've probably all heard the trendy sillyism "forest bathing" put forth by hipsters trying to get closer to nature or whatever. Well, this is real forest bathing. The Lincoln's Sparrows were bathing in dew: pushing and rubbing into the wet sumac leaves, then vigorously shaking and preening. It was really cool to watch this, and it did make me feel closer to nature.

It wasn't just Lincoln's Sparrows on my 2 hour and 15-minute immersion into the marsh. In all, I detected about 50 species of birds, including seven other sparrow species. The latter tally included a Clay-colored Sparrow, rather a rarity in this neck of the woods. Several Nashville Warblers and a Palm Warbler were working the goldenrods, and several Bobolinks passed overhead giving their melodic "pink" calls. Raucous families of Red-headed Woodpeckers made aerial sorties in between harvesting acorns in the nearby woods. At one point, I saw the whirlwind appearance of an accipiter far ahead, undoubtedly trying to whack the sparrows and warblers that I was admiring. It was just a split-second look, but now I was on point, waiting for it to reappear. A minute later, a female Sharp-shinned Hawk - a songbird's worst nightmare - shot from the shrubs and within ten feet of my head, surprising both of us. The snappy little raptor winged down the dike, then landed on the ground staring around ferociously. As nearly always happens, the songbirds fell silent and waited for the threat to disappear.

I'll try to post some other imagery from this trip later.

Mothing in a cave

 

Mothing in a cave. At our recent caterpillar safari at Highlands Nature Sanctuary, owned by the Arc of Appalachia, most of us were in the museum photographing caterpillar livestock on Sunday morning. Laura Weis had been out hiking and rushed in to tell us she had found a moth deep in a cave. We, needless to say, rushed out to see this spelunking moth. It was The Herald Moth (Scoliopteryx libatrix), which feeds on willow as a caterpillar. The cave that Laura found (photo above) it in was right above Rocky Fork, which would have plenty of willow along its banks. Highland County, Ohio, September 8, 2024.

NOTE: There are no known roosting bats in this cave. The Arc of Appalachia has a very good handle on which caves host bat roosts, and those are well-protected and human entry is forbidden.

Your narrator photographing The Herald Moth, which was in a little alcove about 40 feet back in the cave.

The gorgeous Herald Moth. It is striking and unmistakable, and I've only seen a handful. The adults overwinter, and some of them "hibernate" deep in caves.

As a bonus for going subterranean, there were plenty of Eastern Cave Long-jawed Orbweavers (Meta ovalis). This female guards her egg case, which looks like a fuzzy lightbulb. When well-illuminated, the spider reveals itself to be a colorful work of arachnid art.

Camo caterpillars and the birds that eat them

 

A Red-eyed Vireo (Vireo olivaceus) in a characteristic hunting posture. The bird is searching for its major prey, the caterpillars of moths. It has its head cocked upwards, searching the lower surfaces of the leaves above, as that's where many caterpillars hide during the day. Lepidopteran larvae - and those are OVERWHELMING moth caterpillars (not butterfly caterpillars) - are the vireo's major food source. During a long summer day, the roughly 130 million Red-eyed Vireos breeding in the U.S. and Canada consume something on the order of 4 billion caterpillars. Hard to believe but based on what is known of their foraging rate and dominant prey items, that's how the numbers shake out.

A Prothonotary Warbler (Protonotaria citrea) with a freshly harvested caterpillar (unsure of species). Almost all of the 38 warbler species that breed in eastern North America eats scads of caterpillars, and so do most groups of songbirds. So do some nonpasserine species, most notably the cuckoos. Many of these birds are migrants that winter in more southerly haunts, often in Central or South America, and migrate northward during the breeding season to exploit the eastern deciduous forest region's vast bounty of caterpillars. As this is crop is only seasonally available, many of these bird species must travel back to warmer climes for the winter - where they undoubtedly also consume great numbers of caterpillars.

If you are a caterpillar, you don't want to be grabbed and eaten by a bird. Evolutionary warfare between caterpillars and birds is probably the main driver of some incredible caterpillar camouflage. If you are a plant-eating caterpillar and can become ever more like the appearance of the plants that you feed on, the odds of surviving surely goes up. Birds are endowed with incredibly keen eyesight and are quite adept at spotting larvae. They still find plenty, and between the avifauna and all of the other predators that take out caterpillars, the survivorship can be as low as 1% in some moth species. So, every advantage that a caterpillar can get to thwart predators becomes very important.

Following are some photos, most from recent forays, that showcase examples of incredible botanical (and gall) mimicry by members of the larval crowd.

Late summer and fall foliage become dappled with color as the chlorophyll fades and leaf tissue begins dying. This plump Blinded Sphinx Moth (Paonias excaecata) caterpillar displays reddish patches that mimic autumnal foliage, in this case Hop-hornbeam (Ostrya virginiana).

This is a sister species of the caterpillar above, the Small-eyed Sphinx (Paonias myops), which also sports rusty dots that resemble necrotic leaf tissue.

This is a personal favorite of the leaf-edge mimicry crowd, a Double-toothed Prominent (Nerice bidentata). It is a specialist of elms, and in our part of the world that's almost entirely American Elm (Ulmus americana) and Red Elm (U. rubra). We find them on both of this species with roughly equal frequency. The back of the caterpillar is scalloped, much like the rough marginal serrations of elm leaves. As it eats into the leaf, the caterpillar becomes the leaf.

This is another elm specialist (mostly at least, it is also said to eat basswood), and its moniker is apropos: Elm Sphinx (Ceratomia amyntor). When at rest on the underside of an elm leaf, as above, the caterpillar typically aligns itself with the prominent midrib of the leaf. The caterpillar also has a raised stripe down the center of its back. The cat's lateral lines are arrayed at acute angles to its pseudo midrib and mirror the angled venation of the elm leaf. In effect, the caterpillar becomes a continuation of the leaf's veins.

Few can match the Checker-fringed Prominent (Schizura ipomoeae) caterpillar's ability to become one with the leaf. This one (the head is to the bottom) is consuming an old dogwood leaf and as is typical, the caterpillar is eating inwards from the leaf's edge. In essence, it becomes the leaf and spotting one of these can be quite difficult even when it is right in front of you. Sharp-eyed botanists might note the cat's scientific epithet: ipomoeae. That references a genus of morning-glories and is probably a misnomer, as this caterpillar probably never eats those plants.

Few do twig mimicry better than the caterpillar of the Dot-lined White Moth (Artace cribaria). They are virtually impossible to see as they lay plastered to twigs, despite being a hefty cat.

Another brilliant example of twig mimicry is the Yellow Slant-line Moth caterpillar (Tetracis crocallata). This is one of the inchworms in the massive Geometrid family, and many inchworms are twig mimics. When not feeding, they attach themselves to a twig of similar diameter and color, and often adopt an acute outward angle. In the case of this species, the head is jagged and pale yellow, exactly as a broken-off branch would appear.

A Redbud (Cercis canadensis) leaf, with what appears to be a raised reddish gall. Such leaf galls are commonplace, and can be formed by many organisms: bacteria, fungi, aphids, midges, wasps and others. Birds don't eat them, insofar as I know.

But wait! Closer examination shows that our leaf "gall" is not a gall at all. It is a Red-crossed Button Slug caterpillar (Tortricidia pallida). Slug moth caterpillars are fascinating as a rule, as are the "cute" little moths that they become. As caterpillars, many species appear to mimic the look of leaf anomalies such as galls, and they can be hard to spot.

This is just a tiny tip of the lepidopteran iceberg when it comes to caterpillar mimicry, much of which is presumably driven by sharp-eyed birds that attempt to feed ravenously on the caterpillar crowd.

Epic caterpillaring results in many cool finds

 

Cherry Dagger moth caterpillar (Acronicta hasta)

Shauna and I spent last weekend at the fabulous Highlands Nature Sanctuary in Highland County, Ohio, which is owned by the Arc of Appalachia. A bunch of us were there for our 12th annual "caterpillar safari", which is just a bunch of larvally-minded friends of ecology gathering to seek out the always fascinating caterpillars of moths (mostly) and butterflies (far fewer in numbers and diversity). Now is peak season for caterpillar abundance and diversity, and we prowled into the wee hours on Friday and Saturday nights, exploring interesting habitats. Most caterpillars are active nocturnally, so hunters of them must adjust their search hours accordingly.

Dozens of species of caterpillars were found and photographed, including this Cherry Dagger (Acronicta hasta). We brought lots of livestock back to the Arc's forest museum - our base camp - and from 10 am - 2 pm the public is invited in. Dozens of people got to see crazy larvae that they likely never knew existed. One should not underestimate the value of moth larvae (which the overwhelming number of caterpillars are). They are the primary organisms that convert plant matter into a digestible form of protein for birds and myriad other animals and underpin food webs.

Gray Hairstreak caterpillar (Strymon melinus)

We certainly do not ignore the occasional butterfly caterpillar that turns up, and this was a particularly interesting one. It is the caterpillar of the Gray Hairstreak (Strymon melinus), which specializes on feeding upon species in the Pea Family (Fabaceae). These cats resemble Mike & Ike candies and are tiny and easily overlooked.

This one is feeding on a tick-trefoil in the genus Desmodium. Many hikers know this group of plants by their triangular loments (fruit) that are thickly beset with stout hooked hairs. They evolved for mammalian dispersal, and that includes the clothing worn by humans. Those loments can be tough to get off and will even survive trips through the washing machine.

Here's what that Gray Hairstreak caterpillar in the previous image will (hopefully) morph into - one of our showiest butterflies. I say "hopefully" because the survivorship of caterpillars is astonishingly low. Just about everything wants to eat them and for some species of moths, at least, probably only one percent or so of caterpillars make it through the complete life cycle and to the mature reproductive stage. The rest become part of a great food chain. To compensate for such high mortality, butterflies and moths lay enormous numbers of eggs; a carpet-bombing strategy if you will.

Finally, a cool little-known thing about Gray Hairstreak butterflies. John Howard showed this to me a while back. Hairstreaks habitually rub their hind wings together, and the "tails" resemble antennae. Perhaps this pseudo face with its twitching antennae fools birds and other would-be predators who then lunge at the wrong end of the butterfly. While the hairstreak may lose parts of its hind wings, it might still escape to live another day and find a mate and reproduce.

Anyway, as John pointed out, if you can get directly behind the hairstreak and under it (that can take some effort), the lateral fringes form the illusion of orange eyes capped with long antennae, and even a frowning mouth below. Whether all of that evolved to spook visual predators I do not know, but whatever the case it certainly looks cool. And once a butterfly photographer knows this, they may find themselves spending much time attempting to get into position to get this shot.