Brutal Lake Superior storm

 

The rocks that the scenic Marquette Harbor Lighthouse perches atop get pounded by massive waves rolling in off Lake Superior.

Shauna and I just returned from a week up in Michigan's north country, all of it spent on the Upper Peninsula. This is one of my favorite places in the world. There aren't many people, interesting habitats abound, and they tend to be largely undisturbed.

Late on October 14, winds started to build, and this presented a wonderful opportunity to see this massive lake whipped into a frenzy. Superior's scale is impressive. It is the largest freshwater lake in the world by surface area (Lake Baikal in Russia holds more water but is smaller in size) and is 1,333 feet in depth at its deepest point. If winds are from the north, they roar up to 150 miles unimpeded across open waters to the Marquette area, where these photos were made.

By the next morning, the waves were crazy and we shifted our agenda to focus on photo-documenting the watery fruits of this gale. Conditions were fairly brutish with cold temperatures and winds so strong that I usually drove my tripod legs deep into the sand to better hold it steady. I later learned that out on the open lake, waves were up to 25 feet in height, and odd rogue waves reached 34 feet. They had diminished somewhat by the time they reached shore but remained thoroughly impressive.

These conditions were very similar to what caused the sinking of the 729-foot-long Edmund Fitzgerald on November 10, 1975, near Whitefish Point. All 29 crewmen were lost when the freighter was snapped in two during the storm. We saw no freighters on the lake on this day, and I suspect most or all of them anchored in sheltered locales such as Whitefish Point Bay (100 miles to the east of Marquette) to sit this out. Indeed, on a visit to Whitefish Point the day after taking these photos, I learned that five big "laker" freighters indeed had sought shelter there.

The Presque Isle Harbor Breakwater Lighthouse gets slammed by an enormous wave. The lighthouse is 55 feet in height; about the same as a 5-story building. Can you imagine working in your fifth story office, and a wave slams the building with such force that the spray reaches your window?

All of this was fascinating to bear witness to and attempt to photograph. In the Marquette area, anywhere there was a lake overlook, it was packed with locals (and some tourists) watching the spectacle. I trotted out a number of lenses to capture this action, and the one above was made with my big wildlife lens, the Canon 800mm f/5.6. The first image was made with the indispensable (to me) Canon 70-200mm f/2.8 II.

Such regular hydrological disturbance of the shoreline is important to the maintenance of plant communities, perhaps especially beach communities. I have photos of some of those habitats and the hardy plants that vegetate them and will try to post some later and describe their ecology.

Hidden Ohio flycatcher lived long enough to make history

 

A yellow-bellied flycatcher on its northern Michigan breeding grounds/Jim McCormac

The yellow-bellied flycatcher is one of North America’s most poorly known species. Even though it is a fairly common migrant in Ohio, as it travels between boreal breeding grounds and wintering grounds in Central America, the vast majority go undetected.

This species is a notorious skulker, often staying in dense vegetation where they’re hard to see. Also, the flycatcher seemingly has little to say in migration and doesn’t often reveal its presence with songs or calls.

One of the toughest identification challenges in North America is the flycatchers in the genus Empidonax, to which the yellow-bellied flycatcher belongs. Four species breed here: Acadian, alder, least and willow flycatchers. The yellow-bellied flycatcher nests far to our north but its migratory corridor passes through Ohio.

At a casual glance, all these species look quite similar and are easiest to separate by song. Or, if you are an expert bird bander, when holding one in the hand.

But catching birds to identify and band is not easy, and few people in Ohio are licensed to do so. A permit is required from the U.S. Geological Survey’s Bird Banding Lab. To earn a permit, would-be banders must do extensive apprenticeship work with a licensed bander, then provide three letters of reference from banders and submit a research proposal regarding the work the bander hopes to accomplish.

One of the most experienced bird banders anywhere is Mark Shieldcastle, a former biologist with the Ohio Division of Wildlife. In 1992, Shieldcastle and others founded the Black Swamp Bird Observatory (BSBO), an organization dedicated to furthering avian research and education along the shores of western Lake Erie.

Kim Kaufman had been involved with BSBO since its infancy, and in 2005, she became its education director, and then in 2009, she was named executive director, a position she still holds.

BSBO has gone on to become a tour de force in North American ornithology and bird conservation, on several fronts. Its educational outreach seemingly knows no bounds and includes an active young birder’s program. BSBO’s Biggest Week in American Birding event, which takes place over 10 days in early May, reaches thousands of birders from most states and many countries, and pumps about $40 million annually into the local economy of western Lake Erie.

I will soon return to the yellow-bellied flycatcher and a very special BSBO encounter with one, but first a few words on BSBO's bird-banding operations. Since 1992 at its primary banding station, Navarre Marsh, which is part of the Ottawa National Wildlife Refuge, BSBO researchers have banded an incredible 435,605 individual birds representing 150 species.

To catch and band birds on that scale, one must be in a very birdy region, and BSBO certainly is. The headquarters is at the entrance to Magee Marsh Wildlife Area, which is one of the most-visited birding sites in North America. The adjacent Lake Erie marshes rank high among the most biodiverse areas of the entire Great Lakes and are critical stopover habitat for migratory birds.

One morning last August, Ryan Jacob, BSBO’s banding project director, and his crew arrived at the Navarre banding station to unfurl the mist nets and begin another day’s banding. At such times, there is always an undercurrent of excitement, as one never knows what might appear in the nets.

Later that morning, the crew was pleased to catch a yellow-bellied flycatcher. Their pleasure quickly turned to excitement when they saw the bird was already sporting a band on its leg! The flyweight aluminum band bore the unique code 2900-00286.

It turned out that Jacob and this flycatcher had previously met. It was he who placed the band on the flycatcher way back on May 22, 2018, at the same site.

The nine-year-old flycatcher shortly after it was recaptured/Annalise Bokenkamp-Black Swamp Bird Observatory

The 5.5-inch long, 11-gram sprite was an adult when BSBO first caught it, which means that it is at least 9 years old – a Methuselah among songbirds. The previous yellow-bellied flycatcher longevity record was 6 years old. The average longevity of songbirds in general is probably one to three years.

That such an elfin long-distance migrant could live that long is remarkable. Once ensconced on its breeding or wintering grounds, the flycatcher is relatively safe. But the long migratory journey, which is made at night, is fraught with peril. If this bird wintered at the southern reaches of its wintering grounds, in Panama, and breeds near the northern limits of its nesting grounds, in eastern Alaska, it could travel up to 10,000 miles annually.

Since John James Audubon first placed a band (he used thread or wire) on an eastern phoebe in 1804, the science of banding has become far more sophisticated, and the work of banders has generated mountains of data on birds. Their research has furthered conservation efforts and elucidates previously unknown details of life histories, such as how long a yellow-bellied flycatcher can live.

We’re fortunate to have BSBO based in the Buckeye state, and they’ve earned the support of conservationists far and wide. BSBO is an organization well worth supporting. For more information, visit bsbo.org.

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

"Pitlolly" pine plantations: ecological catastrophes

 

We had a great trip to Crane Hollow and Hocking County (Ohio) last Tuesday, October 6. Shauna gave her excellent talk on bobcats: their history in the state, natural history, and recent recolonization, which is still going strong. She's giving it next on November 19 for the Toledo Naturalists' Society in Toledo.

Anyway, while taking a scenic route back home we ran across this ecological atrocity. It is a recent - and huge - clearcut that was then planted to a monoculture of "pitlolly" pine. This is a hybrid between pitch pine (Pinus rigida) and loblolly pine (P. taeda). The former species is native to SE Ohio, while the latter is a coastal plain species not found here. When hybridized, the "pitlolly" pines can add up to five feet of growth annually, thus producing a crop of pulp wood or post material in 20-25 years.

Ironically, these artificial plantations are at their most biodiverse in the first few years, as plenty of asters, goldenrods, and other pollinator plants can thrive in still open sunny spots. But the rapidly growing pines soon eliminate sunlight to the forest floor, and we quickly end up with a major dead zone on a site that prior to this, was swathed in rich oak-hickory forest that fostered biodiversity galore.

Years ago, I took a trip to southern Ohio with two professional foresters with MeadWestvaco (then, just Mead) and they showed me one of these pitlolly plantations - the first I had seen. They were quite proud of it and asked me what I thought. Even then, I instinctively reacted with horror, just as I did yesterday. It was the middle of summer, and I pointed out that the place was nearly silent: no singing birds, singing insects, nothing. Botanical diversity was near nil. I was less than impressed. Maybe good for growing a quick crop but disastrous for biodiversity.

Also note the tremendous erosion caused by the logging skidders. It should be noted that herbicides are often used in tandem with these plantings. They essentially nuke all other botanical life forms just prior to planting to eliminate competitors with the pines. After a forest has endured two, three or even four such logging cycles, it stands to reason that long-term damage (and we doubtless have no idea of the extent) to hydrology, subterranean fungal communities and who knows what else occurs, affecting how the forest regenerates (assuming it's not paved over with pitlolly pines). Industrial silviculture like this has no place in our environment and is incredibly destructive.

Hocking County, Ohio, October 6, 2026.

Meet the eastern hellbender, Ohio's largest salamander

 

Meet the eastern hellbender, Ohio's largest salamander

The Columbus Dispatch

October 4, 2026

NATURE

Jim McCormac

A hellbender floats in the water column/Jim McCormac

Ohio’s largest salamander – and one of the world’s largest species – lives in select Ohio streams, but it is almost completely out of sight and mind.

The eastern hellbender (Cryptobranchus alleganiensis) resides in rocky streams largely free of siltation and other pollution. Prior to European settlement, hellbenders were likely widespread in streams within the Ohio River drainage, and that covers most of the state.

Today, the completely aquatic salamanders are far scarcer, a reflection of how people have treated our waterways. In 1990, the Ohio Division of Wildlife listed this fascinating animal as endangered, and while recovery efforts are bearing fruit, hellbenders remain rare.

Clapping eyes on a big adult hellbender for the first time generally provokes a two-fold reaction: shock and awe. Adults average nearly 20 inches in length and old individuals might reach 2 ½ feet. A behemoth might weigh 5 pounds or more.

But it isn’t just the sheer bulk of this strange amphibian that draws a reaction. A hellbender looks like it was assembled from a spare parts bin from an amphibian factory. The dorsally compressed salamander appears flattened, as if run over by a steamroller. The oversized head houses a disproportionately large mouth and tiny beady eyes. Short stout legs propel the beast, and a large laterally compressed tail helps propel the critter through the water.

Above all, it is the hellbender’s wrinkled skin that holds one’s eye. It is as if the animal is clad in a suit one and one-half times too large that was left wadded up in a closet for 10 years and never saw an iron. All those wrinkles have a purpose, though. Hellbenders respirate through their skin – it is a lung in essence – and the wrinkles increase the surface respiratory area.

The strange appearance of the hellbender has spawned many colloquial names such as "mud devil," "snot otter" and "walking catfish." To me, it resembles an amphibious shar pei dog. But “hellbender” is an odd name too. It apparently stems from the slow, exaggerated side to side movement of the animal as it moves about.

No one will claim that a hellbender is the Fabio of the amphibian world, but beauty is in the eye of the beholder. Those of us who have come to know these special animals find them attractive indeed, and worthy of the highest protection.

Fortunately, there is a highly competent group of people that have united to form the Ohio Hellbender Partnership. One of Ohio’s foremost herpetologists and longtime hellbender researcher, Greg Lipps, plays a leadership role. Partners include the Akron, Columbus and Toledo zoos, the Ohio Division of Wildlife, U.S. Fish & Wildlife Service, Ohio Environmental Protection Agency, The Wilds, Ohio University and others.

The partnership regularly surveys and monitors hellbender populations, and such work is not for the lazy. Finding hellbenders involves snorkeling about in cold streams and using video borescopes (underwater cameras) to peer underneath enormous slab rocks on the stream bed. During the day, hellbenders hole up in such places and emerge at night to feed on crayfish and other aquatic fare.

Researcher Greg Lipps searches for hellbenders/Jim McCormac

Conservation of existing hellbender populations, and the restoration of former populations, is the principal aim of the partnership.

On Sept. 1, I accompanied Lipps, the Columbus Zoo’s Pete Johantgen and other partnership members to a north-central Ohio stream. Our goal was to release 44 “head-started” juvenile hellbenders. They were raised from wild eggs in specialized facilities at The Wilds, the Columbus Zoo’s expansive conservation facility in Muskingum County. These hellbenders are reared for two to three years, which gets the animals beyond their most vulnerable stages.

Siltation of waterways has been a leading cause of hellbender declines, as the animals require clear, highly oxygenated and largely unpolluted streams. Fortunately, water quality in Ohio streams has improved significantly since the early 1970s following the formation of the Environmental Protection Agency (EPA). Their efforts, and those of other agencies, to clean up streams have led to much healthier waterways, which has allowed the reestablishment of hellbenders to formerly occupied creeks and rivers.

“Seeding” young hellbenders into appropriate habitat has accelerated the return of this endangered species. In between releasing the young hellbenders, Lipps and his partners snorkeled about the site, threading their cameras under rocks. A few older hellbenders from previous releases were relocated, showing that the site is now conducive to their survival.

The hellbender is a little-known and almost completely unseen but strangely charismatic barometer of our stream health. While few people will ever lay eyes on a wild hellbender, just knowing that they are there should please the conservation minded. A stream without hellbenders, that should have them, is a stream with environmental issues. That they can now successfully be restored to many former hellbender streams is truly an environmental success story.

Thanks to all the people, agencies and zoos that have worked so hard to ensure that hellbenders survive.

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

Two autumnal birds

 

As always, click the photo to enlarge

A rather disheveled looking male American Goldfinch (Spinus tristis) plunders seed from a robust native sunflower, the Jerusalem-artichoke (Helianthus tuberosus).

Last week was a whirlwind of talks: Thursday, Friday, and Saturday nights. The latter two gigs were in the Cincinnati region. And those last two were about moths, a common speaking topic for me the past few years, following the release of THIS BOOK.

The Thursday evening talk, which was delivered via Zoom, was for a class at Phipps Conservatory in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. It was about plant photography, another talk that I really enjoy presenting.

Anyway, on Friday, Shauna and I headed southwest to the Fernald Preserve in Hamilton County. Despite its history, Fernald is evolving into nearly 1,000 acres of excellent and diverse habitats. I've done a number of trips there, and it is always interesting. I gave the moth talk in their nice meeting room, then we went outdoors for mothing and caterpillaring.

The next day, we went exploring before my talk that night, which was at the Oxford Lane Library in Oxford (home to Miami University). Kudos to the library staff for creating a very inviting setting for a program and packing the house. Lots of students and some faculty, and lots of good questions.

Anyway, back to the exploring. The goldfinch above was photographed at Gilmore Ponds, a preserve in Butler County, owned and managed by MetroParks of Butler County (The odd presentation of "MetroParks" is on them).

I hadn't been to Gilmore Ponds in ages, and it proved productive. We mostly tried for birds, but the middish-day mostly bright light was not stellar. Tons of turtles, too, and I might post images of a few later. But I did enjoy documenting the goldfinch on a native seed source that I had not shot them on before.

A female Black-throated Green Warbler (Setophaga virens) investigates Black Walnut leaves (Juglans nigra). It was part of a mixed-species feeding flock, and we saw/heard lots of fall migrant songbirds at Gilmore Ponds.

As far as subject matter goes, few groups can be as tough as getting presentable images of migrant fall warblers. Their colors are generally muted, the foliage is still thick, and the birds are mostly silent other than the odd chips and other soft calls. They can blend remarkably well with the senescing foliage, and moving birds resemble blowing leaves.

Mosquitoes killed thousands of people. Ohio has many species.

 

An Asian tiger mosquito taps human blood/Jim McCormac

Mosquitoes killed thousands of people. Ohio has many species.

Columbus Dispatch

September 20, 2026

NATURE

Jim McCormac

This is a column about the second most dangerous animal on Earth, and the most dangerous to humans (who now hold the No. 1 most dangerous animal spot). Mosquitoes kill about 700,000 people annually by spreading diseases such as dengue fever, yellow fever and malaria. The latter alone kills over 600,000 people annually.

Fortunately for Americans, malaria is very rare here. Perhaps six to seven people fall victim to it a year. Contrast that with Africa, where 95% of all malaria cases occur. Dengue fever is also very rare, and yellow fever is now unknown, although it was a significant problem until the early 1900s, when scientists learned about its biology and how to eliminate it.

In America, at least, mosquitoes are now more nuisance than existential threat. But not so long ago, mosquitoes were our No. 1 predator, by a long shot. Nothing has even come close to the tiny insects in dispatching humans.

Mosquitoes appeared around 100 million years ago, and females evolved to suck the blood of various creatures, both cold-blooded and warm-blooded. When humans finally emerged, the bloodthirsty insects had had lots of easy pickings.

Since the dawn of Homo sapiens perhaps 300,000 years ago, we have produced about 108 billion people. To put our short tenure into context, the Earth is estimated to have formed around 4.5 billion years ago, and mammalian animals have existed for 225 million years.

Approximately half of ALL humans over the existence of our species have died due to mosquito bites. That’s over 50 billion people. Now, in the United States, there are perhaps an average of 200 mosquito-related deaths annually. As always, it is diseases spread by the bugs that do us in, and the big one now is West Nile disease. It accounts for over half of those deaths.

While mosquitoes now rarely kill Ohioans, we have plenty of the buzzing suitors seeking our blood. About 60 species have been documented in the Buckeye state, but only a relative handful of species are doing most of the biting.

While only some of our native mosquitoes bother us, their ranks have been bolstered by several non-native species that have greatly increased. One is the Asian tiger mosquito (Aedes albopictus), pictured with this column. A common native biter is the floodwater mosquito (Aedes vexans), which ranges over much of the globe.

I realized that I needed a good mosquito photo for the column, so I enticed Shauna into the backyard to be my model. My claim was that I could not operate the camera efficiently while photographing myself getting bitten, and I stand by that. Within a few minutes, I had the shot and Shauna had an itchy welt. The protagonist? The Asian tiger mosquito.

There was another sound scientific reason that Shauna was the mosquito decoy. She apparently radiates much more carbon dioxide than I do. Mosquitoes track potential blood donors by tracking their CO2 emissions, and she apparently emits lots more than I. Field trip tip: Take along a heavy carbon dioxide emitter to draw the biting crowd.

Due to all the rain in central Ohio, mosquitoes have been prolific this year. They can breed successfully in even ephemeral puddles. The life cycle for many species is astonishingly rapid, often only a week or two from egg to flighted adult.

I’m not naïve enough to try and sell the public on the virtues of mosquitoes, but I would make a few observations. For many organisms – frogs, fish, turtles, insects such as dragonfly larvae and much more – mosquito larvae are a huge food source. They are a base layer of aquatic food chains.

Adult mosquitoes are preyed upon by bats, birds such as swallows, adult dragonflies, spiders and others. Furthermore, the adults – especially nonbiting males (only female mosquitoes bite) – seek flower nectar and collectively represent a significant group of pollinators.

Pointing out any virtues will not quash our urge to eradicate mosquitoes through chemistry. While some larvicides may target only mosquito larvae, others are nonspecific and kill all or most insects that they contact. Adulticides are chemicals targeting flighted adults, and these are typically sprayed from low-flying aircraft or from tanks on mosquito-fogging trucks.

Adulticides are broad-spectrum chemicals that kill all or most insect species that they encounter. Mosquito-foggers are rolling entomological Armageddons for the six-legged crowd, and the collateral damage involves scores of insects vital to food chains such as butterflies, moths, lady beetles, dragonflies and lacewings.

We’d do well – for our own species and scads of other animals – to rid the world of nonspecific mosquito-fogging. It’s a blunt force bomb, when what is called for is surgical precision targeting mosquitoes. Mosquito-fogging is surely a significant reason for overall insect declines in some areas.

A simple solution for homeowners is a “mosquito dunk.” A common, easily implemented control is the “bucket of doom.” Simply acquire a packet of mosquito dunks – dissolvable tablets – and plop one on a 5-gallon bucket of water.

Place it in your yard, and most female mosquitoes will lay eggs in the bucket. Chemicals will kill the larvae, thus greatly reducing the ranks of biting adults.

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

A blood-engorged eastern treehole mosquito on a snapping turtle. Mosquitoes don't just bite people/Jim McCormac

Fire ants

 

The distinctive conical mounds of red fire ants (Solenopsis invicta). On a trip to southeastern Texas last January, Shauna and I saw scores of these ant high-rises.

This South American insect was accidentally introduced into Alabama in the 1930’s and had spread to Texas by the 1950’s. They’re everywhere now.

Photo: Shauna Weyrauch

Your narrator lies along the verge of a seldom-traveled road through (or near) Anahuac National Wildlife Refuge (Newly rebranded as the Jocelyn Nungary NWR. I used Anahuac as that's still the much better-known name). I was down there to speak at the annual Sadie Gwinn Environmental Conference, put on by the River Oaks Garden Club. It was a great and very well-attended event in Houston, and my talk was about caterpillars and their importance.

Anyway, after driving past the umpteenth giant fire ant nest, I had to stop and work them. That's what I'm doing in the above photo. The Cleveland Clinic describes their sting thusly: "A fire ant sting causes an immediate, intense burning sensation, followed by red bumps, itchy welts, and characteristic white-fluid pustules within a day".

I poked the bear (nest), if you will, to better see the ants. Tiny, but with disproportionately large head and mandibles. Two of them got on my finger, which allowed me to better inspect them, but fortunately they didn’t bite and sting. I had no real desire to be covered with burning pustules that persist for days.

Sorry I couldn't do better with the ant photos. One, they're always racing around and I should have used a flash to help freeze movement. Two, I didn't feel I had very much time to be in such close proximity to them without getting some bites. But I would note that they did not get aggressive, although that may have been soon to come.

While many problems caused by fire ants are human-centric, such as chewed and shorted electrical lines, crop damage, and harm to livestock, they also can lay waste to native species such as indigenous insects completely unadapted to these voracious predators, lizards, birds that nest on the ground, and others.

But bad as they are, fire ants are here to stay from what I can see and will probably continue to expand. They have made it north nearly to Kentucky, and I imagine that one day they'll make it to Ohio.

Peck's Skipper, an invasion?

 

A Peck's skipper (Polites peckius) dangles acrobatically from a mistflower plant in my front yard. I have seen up to 15 of the gorgeous little skippers at once in the past month - by far the most that I've ever seen here. They love the mistflower (Conoclinium coelistinum), as do many other species of butterflies. This plant is really easy to grow - one may even have to occasionally rein it in - and it is a butterfly magnet.

September 8, 2026, Worthington, Ohio.

'Living dinosaurs' can be found in Ohio wetlands

 

A massive, ancient adult snapping turtle/Jim McCormac

'Living dinosaurs' can be found in Ohio wetlands

Columbus Dispatch
NATURE

Jim McCormac
September 6, 2026

The snapping turtle, which is common throughout Ohio, is probably the closest thing to a dinosaur that we have left. Fossilized “snapper” relatives dating to 60 million years ago are essentially indistinguishable from the snappers that occupy Ohio’s wetlands today.

Turtles clearly have one-upped the dinosaurs in the longevity department. Most dinosaurs vanished during a mass extinction event during the Cretaceous period, about 65 million years ago. The tyrannosaurus rex, triceratops, stegosaurus and other massive reptiles that once wandered North America were killed off by the Chicxulub asteroid event.

When that asteroid slammed into the Yucatán Peninsula of Mexico, the resultant chaos wiped out about 75% of Earth’s flora and fauna. Most dinosaurs did not survive.

But tough turtles did. The order Testudines, which includes all turtles, arose during the Triassic period, about 220 million years ago. The ancestors of the 200 turtle species found worldwide today rubbed elbows with dinosaurs and all manner of ancient life that got erased by the massive asteroid.

Ohio is currently home to 11 turtle species, and the protagonist of this column, Chelydra serpentina, is likely the best-known. Snapping turtles might turn up in any wetland in the state and are present in every county. Those with a fondness for turtle soup certainly know the big, armored beasts. My grandfather used to set out baited trotlines in a small farm pond, the hooks skewered with old beef or chicken chunks.

I have vivid memories of Granddad carrying huge snapping turtles back to the house, then dispatching them with a quick beheading by ax. The resulting turtle stew was thick and rich, spiced with tomatoes and various vegetables. He considered it a culinary delight. Even then, your young narrator appreciated the living turtles much more.

The accompanying photo shows a baby snapper, perhaps a month old. I encountered it last summer at Cedar Bog near Urbana and temporarily detained it for photos. If all goes well for the little fellow, it might outlive everyone reading this column. An especially massive snapping turtle in Ontario, named Grace, was thought to be about 125 years old when she died in 2022. Grace’s shell was about 16 inches in length and she weighed 26 pounds.

While Grace may be the oldest-known snapper, she doesn’t hold the weight record. Some exceptional beasts exceed 35 pounds – heavier than the dumbbells used by many gymgoers. The record is 98 pounds, the famous Big Snap Daddy at Schramm Education Center in Nebraska.

The odds of reaching Grace-like longevity are not great. Female snapping turtles lay large clutches of eggs, over 100 in some cases. Such reproductive fecundity tells us one thing with certainty: Predations rates are sky-high. They must lay large numbers of eggs to better ensure that at least a few hatchlings survive the predatorial gauntlet.

It takes about 12 years for a snapping turtle to reach sexual maturity, but most will never reach that milestone. Probably only a few percent of them reach adulthood. Young turtles have legions of predators, and the eggs are coveted by raccoons and skunks who dig them from the ground. Great blue herons, otters, large-mouthed bass and many other predators eat the hatchlings.

If the turtle can survive to adulthood, it has few worries other than the world’s most dangerous predator, Homo sapiens. And even many a person has been cowed by the large ill-tempered reptiles. When confronted on land, a snapper holds its ground, and snaps menacingly at the interloper. They can certainly draw blood, but the impacts of bites are mostly greatly exaggerated. They can’t snap broom handles in half and normally don’t amputate fingers or break bones. Nearly everyone who does get bit is behaving stupidly toward the turtles. Just give them space. Interestingly, when in the water, snapping turtles seldom, if ever, attempt to bite. They do their best to swim away from the threat.

Snappers are generalist feeders, consuming everything from algae and plants to fish to crayfish, worms, small mammals and birds. Such a catholic diet helps them live in diverse habitats and is a major reason for their success.

I must confess to ruing snappers’ habit of taking waterfowl chicks. The big turtles pull them under the water and wolf down the flightless fuzzies. But turtles have been eating waterfowl for millennia with no substantive impacts. But it is enough of a threat that underwater snapper raids have led to an interesting defensive adaptation by a few duck species, most notably the common merganser.

The ducklings often ride on the hen’s back, as they’re safe from turtles when so ensconced. An issue for the ducklings is that not all of them can fit up there at once, so it is often a constant battle of ducklings pushing their siblings off so they can hop aboard.

Snapping turtles are an age-old part of Ohio’s biodiversity, fascinating living fossils and one of the longest-lived vertebrate animals. Every effort should be made to protect these armored Methuselahs.

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

A baby snapping turtle, perhaps a month old/Jim McCormac

Caterpillars are the unsung heroes of nature

 

An elm sphinx caterpillar (Ceratomia amyntor) strikes a "defensive" pose/Jim McCormac

Columbus Dispatch

August 30, 2026

NATURE

Jim McCormac

Something like one-third of Americans believe in reincarnation. Apparently, these wishful thinkers mostly want to come back as animals. Golden retrievers, eagles and tortoises are popular rebirths.

I have a word of advice for the reincarnation crowd: caterpillars. As in, don’t come back as one. I’ll circle back to that in a bit.

Caterpillars are the larvae of butterflies and moths, mostly the latter. Worldwide, moth species outnumber butterflies by a factor of eight. In Ohio, the imbalance is far greater, with moths probably bettering butterflies by a factor of nearly 20.

As George Carlin once said, “The caterpillar does all the work, but the butterfly gets all the credit.” How true that is. People marvel over showy butterflies and cool moths that come to their lights, but many probably don’t even know that they were once a caterpillar.

That’s a shame, as caterpillars are a huge part of our natural world. Believe it or not, they are, by biomass, often the largest group of herbivores in many places. Not white-tailed deer. Take all the deer in 71,000-acre Shawnee State Forest in southern Ohio. I don’t know how many deer that would be, but they’d make an enormous pile.

The bizarre red-washed prominent caterpillar (Oligocentria semirufescens) is a leaf-edge mimic/Jim McCormac

Now somehow harvest every single caterpillar in Shawnee in early September, when their numbers are the greatest. The caterpillar pile would dwarf the deer heap.

Virtually all caterpillars are vegan, and their fare is wild plants. Plants do not want to be eaten, we must assume, and they practice better living through chemistry to battle the ravenous caterpillars.

Plants produce myriad compounds that evolved to ward off caterpillar consumption. Caterpillars continually evolve resistance to these phytocompounds, and some species always crack the chemical code and can eat even the most toxic species.

The best-known local example of this is the monarch butterfly. It only eats members of the milkweed family, and these plants are rich in toxic cardiac glycosides. Excepting the butterfly, milkweed tussock moths and a handful of other moth caterpillars, little can eat these poisonous plants.

Saddled prominent caterpillars (Heterocampa guttivitta) are larval art/Jim McCormac

Milkweeds’ opposite is the white oak (Quercus alba). Over 500 species of caterpillars use it as a host plant, nearly all of them moths. Possibly the oldest plant in the state is the famous white oak in Old Logan Cemetery in Hocking County. That behemoth has spawned millions of caterpillars over its long life.

Humans are beneficiaries of this age-old evolutionary warfare between plants and caterpillars. Many anti-caterpillar phytochemicals are used in foodstuff, medicines, spices, dyes, rubber and much more.

Perhaps the greatest ecological role of caterpillars is transforming plant tissue into an edible form of protein that can be eaten by birds. Few birds eat leaves, but rare indeed would be the bird that would reject a caterpillar. They are nature’s hot dogs; little steaks on legs. They are the major component of many songbirds’ diets. Were caterpillars to vanish, so would orioles, tanagers, vireos, warblers and many others. Forests would fall silent.

Even vegetarian songbirds such as sparrows harvest caterpillars when they have chicks in the nest. Nestlings need rich protein sources to fuel their growth, and caterpillars fit the bill.

It isn’t just birds that hunt caterpillars. A favorite of black bears is one of the most reviled caterpillars by humans. Eastern tent caterpillars make large silken nests in black cherry trees in late spring. Many people despise them, and I have heard of ecological ignoramuses using blow torches to burn them from the trees. But black bears love them, and a bruin can eat up to 25,000 (22 pounds!) tent caterpillars a day.

There are perhaps 100 black bears in Ohio, and their numbers are increasing. This is a wonderful case of a once-vanquished mammal coming back, and caterpillars are helping to fuel their recovery.

Predation rates of caterpillars are astronomical (take note, reincarnationists). Probably only a few percent survive the predatorial gauntlet. Thus, moths and butterflies carpet-bomb reproduce by laying hundreds of eggs to ensure some survive to adulthood. Caterpillars are a base layer of food webs.

Caterpillars are masters of disguise and are incredibly adept at hiding. Furthermore, most species are nocturnal and active when most birds are not. Special tactics must be employed to find them. Caterpillar-hunters must venture into the dark forest and employ special blacklight flashlights. Many caterpillar species fluoresce brightly under ultraviolet light, greatly upping the odds of finding them. Some groups, such as sphinx moth caterpillars, glow so brightly that they appear to be plugged into a light socket.

Moth and butterfly larvae are tubular objets d'art and make fascinating photographic subjects. Hunting them and trying to portray their amazing artistry with a camera becomes addictive.

On Aug. 22, Shauna and I traveled to the backwoods of Jackson County to the 195-acre spread of our friends Julie and Rod Sheets. It was larval madness, and it seemed that every tree produced interesting subjects. Some of my captures from that nocturnal safari accompany this article.

To learn more about caterpillars, visit The Caterpillar Lab at thecaterpillarlab.org.

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

The smaller parasa caterpillar (Parasa chloris) suggests a hippopotamus/Jim McCormac

A fabulous evening of caterpillaring

 

As always, click the photo to enlarge

An American Dagger (Acronicta americana) moth caterpillar noshes on the leaf of a Red Maple (Acer rubrum). We saw many of this species on this evening. American Daggers are polyphagous - they can eat the foliage of scores of plants. It is often one of the most common caterpillars we find on night prowls, if not the most common.

Last Saturday, August 22, Shauna and I headed southeast and into the hills of Jackson County. This is one of the most biodiverse counties in Ohio. We headed towards the property of Julie and Rod Sheets, friends that we met last spring during a flying squirrel research project that took place on their 195 acres. After traipsing over some nice swaths of the place during the squirrel project, I probably commented to Rod and Julie that "this place would be great for moths/caterpillars!" 

And there we were, returning at a peak time for lepidopteran subjects. While the mothing (if you're new to the term, "mothing" entails luring moths to an illuminated sheet) was a bit tepid, their larvae were quite robust and put on a great show. And some of these caterpillars are featured here.

Usually, between keeping an eye on the sheet for moths, we search nearby habitats for caterpillars. Our efforts are greatly aided by the use of blacklight flashlights ("UV BEAST" is a good brand). A great many caterpillar species fluoresce, often quite brightly, when caught in our purple beams. 

We didn't make it 20 feet from the sheet when Shauna shouted "look!" She had found not one, or two, but three!! Saddleback Caterpillars under a single redbud leaf. That fortuitous find proved to be a good omen, and we went on to find many more interesting larvae. Some photos of those follow.

A Banded Tussock Moth caterpillar (Halysidota tessellaris). This species vies with the American Dagger for the most frequently found cat. It, too, is polyphagous and can seemingly ingest anything. Such a catholic diet is not the norm for caterpillars. Far more caterpillars are specialists, eating only one family of plants, one genus, or even only a single species. Nonnative plants species do very little for caterpillars. Most can't eat them, due to long-evolved chemical compatibly with only their host plant(s).

We were pleased indeed to discover this fully grown Elm Sphinx Moth caterpillar (Ceratomia amyntor). This species is a hyper-specialist, eating only plants in the elm family, and only those in the genus Ulmus. The Sheets' property has plenty of American Elm (Ulmus americana) and Red Elm (U. rubra), and I was watching for one of these four-horned beauties. In my photo, it is rearing up in what appears to be a defensive posture that they often adopt when disturbed. 

If you noticed how leaf-like the Elm Sphinx cat is in the first shot, this one should reinforce that. The larva clearly mimics the elm leaf both in color and venation. I couldn't get this one to cooperate very well, as I was trying to pose it so that its raised white stripe that runs the length of its back was aligned perfectly with the leaf's central midrib. That's how they often rest when not feeding. The caterpillar's angled lateral lines then mesh perfectly with those of the leaves.

This is a Hackberry Dagger Moth caterpillar (Acronicta rubricoma) and it wasn't even on my radar. I'd never before photographed one and can't remember even seeing one. But I don't keep a list and there are LOTS of bugs and I can't remember them all.

Anway, the aptly named Hackberry Dagger is a hackberry feeder, and hackberry is also in the elm family. It also apparently eats elm, and weirdly, it is claimed that they will also consume sumac (unrelated family). I checked Ohio records in iNaturalist, and while the species has been recorded statewide, records were rather sparse and scattered and probably the vast majority of those records were of the adult moth phase rather than caterpillars.

I've long wondered about the vertical stratification of caterpillars feeding in trees, and whether there might be a suite of species that typically feeds in the crowns. It may be that there are certain cats that are hard to clap eyes on because they are usually high overhead and out of sight. Maybe the Hackberry Dagger is one of them. There, now 43 people will tell me about all of the Hackberry Daggers that they encounter :-)

An Io Moth caterpillar (Automeris io) makes an artistic stinging edge to a dogwood leaf. Those envenomating spines will make you rue touching one. I did so accidentally once, and it was akin to an especially potent Wood Nettle (Laportea canadensis), the most painful of our nettles. The Io cat is also polyphagous and probably the most commonly encountered silkmoth caterpillar, at least for me.

We did well with the always interesting slug moth caterpillars such as this Jewel-tailed Slug (Packardia geminata). Some species resemble snails, as this one does. Its head, on the right, is extended; it's frequently not visible.

The reason for the insertion of "slug" into the name of this group is due to their curious method of locomotion. Instead of a series of central prolegs, slugs have sets of paired suckers. They glide along on a thin film of silk, much like a slug moves.

Here's the trio of Saddleback Caterpillar Moth caterpillars (Acharea stimulea) that started off the night prowl. In the words of entomologist and caterpillar expert Dr. David Wagner, slug caterpillars are "more fantasy than reality".

This species has one of the most painful stings of any North American caterpillar, so look but don't touch. Those columnlike extensions are bristling with envenomating spines. There is a venom sac at the base of the spine, and when triggered it blasts the hot sauce into the interloper like an injection from a hypodermic syringe. While stings will probably hurt anyone that experiences it, some people can react very badly.

A Saddleback cat resembles a little tubular chestnut horse draped with a lime-green horse blanket. Unfortunately for the larva in my photo, it is a walking dead caterpillar. Near the top left of its body, where there is a thin band of green, it looks like someone put a tiny cigarette out. That's either an air exchange hole for the larva of a tachinid fly, or its exit hole. Either way, the caterpillar won't survive the internal ravages of the fly maggot. Such parasitoidism is very common in the caterpillar world.

Yet another slug moth caterpillar and it isn't the last (almost, though). This is a White Flannel Moth (Norape ovina), and it is an outrageous insect. Check out those uber-long setae, and the showy jewel-like studding on the body. Those "jewels" are also studded with envenomating spines, and the sting is said to be quite painful (I could talk no one into getting stung so that we could learn about this).

Finally, insofar as the slugs go, here is our grand finale: the utterly bizarre Lesser Parasa Moth (Parasa chloris). Dr. Seuss himself couldn't make this thing up. To me, from certain angles, they look like hippopotami. This parasa is actively feeding and its head is tucked out of sight.

This is a White-dotted Prominent (Nadata gibbosa) and it's primarily an oak feeder. This one is apparently preparing a temporary bivouac by spinning a thick layer of silk. As the silk dries, the leaf will fold over the cat, concealing it. White-dotted Prominents are pretty common but always interesting. When agitated, they can perform an amazing act that suggests snake mimicry. I show a photo of one so engaged and describe that behavior RIGHT HERE.

Saddled Prominent Moth caterpillars (Cecrita guttivata) may be common, but they are quite showy. When one presents itself as nicely as this one did, I find it impossible to resist making photos.

Caterpillars grow through phases termed instars, and each instar stage is separated by a molt. Most of our larger species go through five instars excepting the slug caterpillars which typical have seven or even nine instars.

This is a Sycamore Tussock Moth caterpillar (Halysidota harrissii) and it is fairly young in its growth, probably in its third instar. At this stage, it eats holes from the centers of leaves of its host plant. And that host plant is the Sycamore (Platanus occidentalis). Nothing else will do for this extreme specialist.

Lastly, a fine pair of leaf-edge mimics. This one is the Checker-fringed Prominent caterpillar (Schizura ipomoea). We caught this one in transit, but when ensconced along the edge of a leaf dappled with browning necrotic tissue, the green and brown caterpillar can be quite hard to spot. The jagged back extensions provide further disruptive camouflage.

This one may one-up the previous species in the leaf camouflage department. It is a Red-washed Prominent caterpillar (Oligocentria semirufescens). From any distance, the cat - which usually hangs out on a leaf's edge - can be remarkably difficult to see, as it so greatly resembles senescent browning leaf tissue. 

Major thanks to Julie and Rod for inviting us over to explore, and for all of their conservation efforts which include many fine cats.

Blue-headed Vireo nests

 

A Blue-headed Vireo (Vireo solitarius) with a piece of redtop grass (Tridens flavus). He or she - males help with nest construction, but the sexes look very similar - was constructing a nest nearby. This was in the Monongahela National Forest in West Virginia. I made this image on April 30, 2017.

I gave a talk entitled Natural Ohio: Through the Lens for the Ohio Wildlife Center last Thursday night. We ranged through some of Ohio's best remaining natural areas, and the flora and fauna that make them special. It was a good chance to dust off lots of images from the past, such as the two vireo shots presented here.

I made this shot WAY back when, on May 1, 2011. A pair of Blue-headed Vireos were constructing this nest deep in Shawnee State Forest, in Scioto County, Ohio.

Vireo nests are works of art. I don't think many humans could craft such a fine nest, even with two hands and ten fingers. How these birds do it with their bill, and some assistance from their feet and body, is amazing. The nest is usually located at the fork of two slender twigs, but fairly low in the host tree. They are tough/impossible for many predators to reach, such as Black Ratsnakes (Pantherophis alleghaniensis). 

Yes, I know the snake's name has been changed - so many times it's tough to keep track of. iNaturalist is now calling it the Central Ratsnake. Prior to that, it was the equally stupidly named Gray Ratsnake. C'mon, herpetologists, get your act together. I'd suggest re-renaming it back to Black Ratsnake - the name that it seems most people know and love and persist in using. A nomenclatural rebellion against a particularly dumb series of name changes - an uprisal by the masses that should be listened to.

Anyway, the vireo's artistic cup is cleverly crafted from a variety of grasses and various forbs, and lined with soft plant down and other felty botanical material. Not a bad place for a baby vireo to grow up, and we need all of the baby vireos that we can get.

Upcoming presentation: Natural Ohio: Through the Lens

Sorry for the late notice on this one, but times have been busy and I let it slip. Anyway, this Thursday (August 20) I'll be giving a pictorial lecture about the very best places that remain in the Buckeye State. It'll feature flora and fauna great and small, and sites that are well-known and obscure.

It's for the Ohio Wildlife Center, and it'll take place at their beautiful facility which is not far from the Columbus Zoo in Delaware County. Registration is required, and you can do that at their website: Beautiful Ohio Lecture Series- Jim McCormac - Ohio Wildlife Center

More details, along with registration info, is at the website. Doors open at 6:30 and the talk will commence at 7 pm. Hope to see you there!

As always, click the photo to enlarge

A Sedge Wren (Cistothorus platensis) chatters his mechanical song from the summit of a big bluestem grass in Huffman Prairie. The presentation will feature many such images, covering a wide range of biodiversity.

Frosted Whiteface

 

As always, click the image to enlarge

A male Frosted Whiteface (Leucorrhinia frigida) in repose. On a recent July trip to Michigan's northern limits - the Keweenaw (key-wuh-na) Peninsula, Copper Harbor and vicinity - we saw many northern species that reach their southern limits in northern Ohio. This beautiful dragonfly was one of them, and it was very common in that state up north. So were other northern dragons including the Chalk-fronted Corporal (Ladona julia), which was often in association with the whiteface. Both of these dragonflies are listed as endangered in Ohio, and they occur very sparingly in a few of our northernmost counties.

It isn't hard to see how the Frosted Whiteface got its name. But the name is derived from the appearance of the male, as is so often the case with various faunal species. Females are often showier, though, at least in my estimation, and we shall have a look at a female Frosted Whiteface to see if that might be the case in this species.

Here she is, and she's a showstopper. Look at those gorgeous brown eyes, and black and lemon body. This trip was a wonderful opportunity to become more familiar with these northern dragons, which were everywhere. In Ohio, the odonatologist must make special efforts to clap eyes on a Frosted Whiteface, and he/she will not see very many.

I suspect that this species and its northern brethren that are barely hanging on in Ohio will probably vanish before long, as their ranges shift northward. There is abundant evidence of climate-caused distributional shifts in many insect species, both northern species retreating northward, and southern species rapidly advancing northward. Such range expansions/contractions have always occurred, as climates have always changed. But what we are seeing now seems accelerated and is surely induced by human-caused global warming.

Someday I will try to make time to share more examples of this.