Gibellula fungus, a spider killer

 

An unfortunate spider, engulfed by a Gibellula fungus. If an airborne Gibellula spore lands on a suitable victim, the fungus will grow and enter its body, eventually consuming much of the spider's soft inner parts. In a grisly last hurrah, fruiting bodies erupt from the carcass's corpse, sending legions of spores into the air stream to seek new spider victims. And to think, you have probably had many of these microscopic spores land on you. Hopefully the fungus never manages to jump ship to Homo sapiens, or some tough times lay ahead. Highland County, Ohio, July 16, 2022.

NOTE: I am laboring hard to delete my photographic backlog and am making great strides. There have been periods where I was taking FAR more images than I could curate and archive, so some of those folders got stuffed into a "to-do" file. Now is the time to buckle down and get all of these images into my system, where I can easily lay hands on them if needed. So, from time t time, I will probably out a photo or two from the past, as I come across temporarily forgotten gems (although I'm not sure anyone would consider a Gibellula fungus and its unfortunate victim a "gem").

Lawrence's Warbler

A scrubby successional habitat in Medina County, on a fine morning. I visited this site on June 11, 2025, to seek a very special bird. Letha House Park is part of the Medina County Park District, and it contains a diverse mixture of habitats: old fields, young forest, wetlands, a pond, and most germane to this story, young shrubby thickets.

On April 29, the rare hybrid Lawrence's Warbler was discovered in the very patch in my photo above. The white flowers, by the way, are Smooth Beardtongue (Penstemon digitalis). It wasn't that herb that lured the Lawrence's Warbler, though, it was the mixture of young pole-sized trees and associated brushy growth.

While I can't recall now who found the bird, I think it was Debbie Parker, and/or Joe Wojnarowski. Both reported the bird to eBird on April 29, the first date it was reported. I watched the reports with great interest as time went on but was too busy with various activities to make the trip, although the Lawrence's was reported daily throughout May.

As always, click the photo to enlarge

Finally! June 11 arrives and so does a free and clear day. I hit the road long before sunup and arrived on a beautifully sunny morning with excellent light for photography. I don't think I had even fully exited the vehicle before I heard the hybrid's distinctive buzzy song and soon found the singer in a young sycamore.

The Lawrence's Warbler is a hybrid between the Blue-winged Warbler (Vermivora cyanoptera) and Golden-winged Warbler (V. chrysoptera). The former parent species remains fairly common where appropriate habitat remains, while the latter parent has declined alarmingly across much of its range.

If one uses the Biological Species Concept as a framework for deciding what constitutes a species (as many scientists do), they will be confronted with this tenet: The biological species concept defines a species as members of populations that actually or potentially interbreed in nature, not according to similarity of appearance. Although appearance is helpful in identifying species, it does not define species.

Differing visual appearances sometimes have little to do with speciation. Take the Eastern and Western meadowlarks (Sturnella magna and S. neglecta). Most birders would struggle mightily telling those two apart visually. But their songs are different as night and day and with the slightest experience, anyone would instantly recognize them. Those songs probably serve as a primary barrier in limiting contact between the two. There is a narrow band of overlapping range, but even there, hybridization is apparently very rare.

Yet the Blue-winged and Golden-winged warblers look completely different. Anyone would think they were different species with just a glance. And indeed, they are and always have been treated as separate species. But should they?

The Medina County Lawrence's Warbler strikes a pose. I would argue that it is more beautiful than either parent species, or its fellow hybrid the Brewster's Warbler.

About 190 years ago, the legendary frontier ornithologist John James Audubon wrote a letter to his mentor and confidant, John Bachman, in which he speculated that Blue-winged and Golden-winged warblers were the same species. Audubon, a keen observer if there ever was one, no doubt noted mixed pairings and similarities in songs and structure.

It wasn't until 1886 that the inaugural American Ornithologists' Union Checklist of North American Birds appeared, over 50 years after Audubon's prescient Blue-winged/Golden-winged observations noted in his September 15, 1835, missive to Bachman. This checklist is widely considered the standard for North American bird nomenclature. Numerous editions and supplements to the checklist have been published since, but from the first to the current checklist, Blue-winged and Golden-winged warblers have been maintained as separate species. I would note that the scientific name of the Blue-winged changed three times over the checklist's history, and the Golden-winged's twice. English names tend to be far more stable than the ever-shifting landscape of scientific nomenclature.

In the mid-2010's, scientists with the Cornell Lab of Ornithology undertook an intensive study of the genetics of the Blue-winged and Golden-winged warblers. The results weren't very surprising, in my estimation, but provide solid evidence of their genetic similarity. In short, the two "species" are 99.7% genetically identical. Only six regions (0.3%) of the genome reflect distinct differences. This is basically akin to the differences between a human with red hair, and one with blond hair. The Cornall researchers note that the genetic differences between the two groups of Swainson's Thrush (each comprised of three subspecies) are greater than the differences between the two warblers.

When they come into contact, Blue-winged and Golden-winged pairings result in two distinct - and fertile hybrids: the Brewster's Warbler, and Lawrence's Warbler. Brewster's manifests the dominant traits such as the yellow throat and white underparts, while the Lawrence's Warbler manifests recessive traits such as the black throat and yellow underparts. Brewster's hybrids occur more frequently, hence my interest in seeing and photographing the protagonist of this blog post (only the second Lawrence's that I've seen).

The only other member of the genus Vermivora is the now extinct Bachman's Warbler, named for Audubon's confidante and a great naturalist in his own right. That species, which was a specialist of canebrake habitats in the southeastern U.S., is now extinct with the last documented observations dating back to the 1960's.

Blue-winged and Golden-winged warblers have probably long hybridized, and for whatever reasons this species complex never fully separated. Their hybridization may serve them well; in helping the Blue-winged/Golden-winged group (I don't think they should be treated as separate species) adapt to changes in the environment, much of which is man-caused. While the recessive and more fragile Golden-winged group of this species complex may die out (and I certainly hope that it does not!), at least the species in the bigger picture may carry on.

Moth talk, and screening new movie, Nocturnes, this Friday evening, Franklin Park Conservatory

 

A male Polyphemus Moth (Antheraea polyphemus) stares us in the face.

Franklin Park Conservatory, at 1777 East Broad Street in Columbus, is hosting what should be an interesting evening with the moths this Friday, October 10. The event starts at 7pm and begins with a talk by your narrator entitled Mysterious Moths: The Darker Side of Butterflies. That'll be all about the role of moths within the eastern deciduous forest region of eastern North America, the important roles that they play, and their numerous curious quirks. The program will be rich in imagery, needless to say.

Following that, there'll be a screening of a fascinating movie, Nocturnes. Two researchers illuminate the incredible diversity of moths in an especially biodiverse region of the Eastern Himalayas. The movie is exceptionally well done and exposes the audience to a mind-blowing assemblage of seldom seen moths.

All of the details are RIGHT HERE and hope to see you there!

Toadlike Bolas Spider

 

As always, click the image to enlarge

We were ecstatic to encounter this Toadlike Bolas Spider (Mastophora phrynosoma) during an epic nocturnal outing at Fernald Preserve in Hamilton County, Ohio, back on September 13. She has spun a simple silken trellis underneath a redbud leaf, and from this position is hunting moths.

The large, bulbous spider (which looks remarkably similar to a bird dropping when at rest) emits pseudo pheromones from her body that mimic those of certain groups of moths. Males of those species flutter closer, thinking a female moth is nearby. When one gets in range, the spider flicks that sticky silken droplet on its fishing line of death and snares the hapless creature.

Upon impact, the tightly woven sticky silken ball essentially explodes, further entangling the moth, which is then reeled in and eaten. We actually watched a moth come in, land on the leaf over the spider, then flutter downward at which point the bolas spider began whirling its glue-like droplet at it. It missed, but it was amazing how fast the spider reacted and the rapidity with which it could fling its bolas.

Katydids have their ears near their knees

 

Up close with a Greater Anglewing katydid (Microcentrum rhombifolium). Katydids "sing" with their wings, rubbing the bases together in a process known as stridulation. One wing contains a file, the other a scraper. In the case of the Greater Anglewing, males create a series of soft clicks, as if two pebbles are being tapped together. It stands to reason that these insects would have good hearing, as males create the songs to attract females or maintain unique territories. Indeed, they do hear well, courtesy of ears on their forelegs, just below the knee. It's that elongate vertical slit on the katydid's foreleg in the photo.

Katydids and their orthopteran allies represent the genesis of intentional sound. Fossil records of katydid relatives date back 250 million years ago, replete with the file/scraper sound system. Although life on earth began over 3.5 billion years ago, the earliest animals were mute. Animal sound didn't originate until the katydids came along, and over the eons the faunal soundscape has evolved into a gorgeous, complex aural tapestry that involves legions of different animals making their own types of music.

Alas, the orthopteran symphony will soon cease at northerly latitudes, like where I live in central Ohio. But they're still going strong, and we've probably got another two weeks or so to enjoy their ancient melodies.

A greater Anglewing poses on the foliage of Winged Sumac (Rhus copallinum). The large katydid is a remarkable leaf mimic.

An Ohio farm attracts migratory congregations of monarch butterflies

Dozens of monarchs in a silver maple/Jim McCormac

NATURE-WILDLIFE

Jim McCormac

Columbus Dispatch

September 21, 2025

An Ohio farm attracts migratory congregations of monarch butterflies

 

"The caterpillar does all the work, but the butterfly gets all the publicity."

— George Carlin

Monarch butterflies undergo a complete metamorphosis, or a four-part life cycle. Life begins as a tiny egg, which soon hatches an elfin larva, or caterpillar. The caterpillar does much of the heavy lifting on the road to butterflydom. It is an eating machine, increasing its body mass scores of times as it grows through, in the case of the monarch, five molts.

Life is fraught with peril as a caterpillar, and many are eaten by predatory insects, birds and even some amphibians and reptiles. Less than 10% of caterpillars survive to enter phase three, the chrysalis. This seemingly low survival rate is better than most species of butterflies and moths. Monarchs' host plants are milkweeds, which are infused with toxic cardiac glycosides. The caterpillar, and the butterfly to come, sequester these poisons, which render them distasteful if not unpalatable to many would-be predators.

Butterfly chrysalises are magical chambers of transformation in which the tubular caterpillar morphs into an entirely different body form. The monarch takes chrysalis creation to a high art form. The two-inch-long shiny case is a beautiful emerald green, adorned with a showy black and gold band. As the chrysalis ages, it becomes opaquer and toward the end, the black and gold butterfly can be seen within.

After about two weeks, the butterfly emerges. From egg to butterfly takes about a month.

America’s best-known butterfly is a source of endless fascination. Perhaps the most incredible aspect of the monarch is its incredible migration. Virtually all monarchs breed in North America north of Mexico, some as far north as southern Canada. Excepting a small resident population in southern Florida, the butterflies stage a mass migration to oyamel fir forests in the mountains of central Mexico. Some butterflies travel over 3,000 miles from their site of origin.

Once ensconced in the Mexican fir forests, the gregarious monarchs blanket the trees. Accurate estimates of individual numbers are nearly impossible, so researchers measure the acres covered by the butterflies. Assessments of the wintering population began in 1993, and the highest number of butterflies was in winter 1996-97, when a whopping 45 acres of forest was cloaked in butterflies.

As time has elapsed, it’s clear that monarchs are on a downward spiral. The lowest winter count was in 2013-14, when only little more than an acre and a half of forest harbored butterflies. Winter 2023-24 found butterflies in only 2.2 acres of oyamel forest. For the first decade of wintering ground surveys, monarchs covered an average of 21 forest acres. For the last decade, that’s plummeted to 11 acres. An estimated 80% of the migratory eastern population of monarchs has vanished since surveys began.

Ever-increasing use of herbicides and insecticides, habitat loss due to various development, disease and degradation of wintering habitat are all key contributors to monarch reductions.

But there is much that people can do to help. And some people are helping on a grand scale.

Lorene and Robert Miller of Plain City, in Madison County, farm 120 acres. Their farming practices are organic: no fertilizers or pesticides, use of cover crops, composting to increase soil health and crop rotation. Every three years, the Millers plant large swaths of their land in red clover, which enriches nitrogen in the soil. After the growing season, the clover is tilled into the soil, further enriching it.

A fabulous benefit of the clover crops is the formation of enormous migratory congregations of monarchs. The butterflies are drawn to the clover flowers, and gather there en masse, and form impressive nighttime roosts in an adjacent windbreak of Norway spruce and silver maple.

The Millers first documented the monarch swarms six years ago, then again three years ago, and in keeping in sync with the clover crop cycle, they are back again this fall.

I visited the Miller farm on Sept. 10 and was stunned by the spectacle of 1,000 or more monarchs swarming the trees as they came in from the fields near dusk. Dozens of fellow butterfly enthusiasts were there as well.

One visit was not enough, and I returned with Shauna on Sept. 14. That’s when I made the accompanying photo. The butterflies in my shot are just the tip of the lepidopteran iceberg. Almost as cool as seeing the butterflies was observing the reactions of the onlookers. Hundreds of people from as far as Kentucky and Michigan have visited. Admirers formed a ring around a favored silver maple roosting tree, staring in slack-jawed reverence at the scores of beautiful butterflies.

The migratory swarm will soon disperse, probably by the time that you read this, and the butterflies will continue to work their way south to the Mexican fir forests. They’ve still got about 1,700 miles to go to get there.

Major thanks to the Miller family for allowing so many visitors to come revel over the monarchs. And even more thanks for their excellent environmental stewardship and strong land ethic.

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.

Elk!

 

As always, click the photo to enlarge

The Cataloochee Valley in the Great Smoky Mountains National Park in Tennessee. This is one of the famed viewing spots for Elk (Cervus canadensis) in the eastern U.S.

I presented a talk at the Cullowhee Native Plant Conference in Cullowhee, North Carolina back on July 17, and Shauna was able to come along on that gig. As an aside, that conference is one of the best plant conferences I have been to. Huge crowd of like-minded plant enthusiasts, the overall vibe is awesome, there's lots of knowledgeable speakers, and great field trips. As an enormous bonus, attending inserts you into one of the regions of richest biological diversity in the eastern United States. The mountains of western North Carolina are a botanical paradise in utterly stunning landscapes.

For us, it was an easy diversion to wend our way northward and through the Great Smoky Mountains and Tennessee on the way home. Targets were many on this return trip to Columbus, but Elk was high on the hit list. So, we made sure we were in the Cataloochee Valley bright and early and were rewarded with beautiful foggy landscapes.

It didn't take long to spot an Elk. Indeed, we about had to shoo this cow off the road. I had visions of distant herds in the foggy vegetated meadow in the first image and was looking forward to such scenes. It was not to be, and in this general area, this semi-tame cow was the only Elk that we saw,

Things would get better, though.

An Elk in richly forested habitat. The huge ungulates spend much time in woodlands, and I really wanted shots of them in forests. At one point, we came across a small group of cows in a grassy opening and were watching and photographing them when the herd began moving towards the forest, which was bisected by a beautiful mountain stream.

Anticipating their movements, we dashed into the woods and into a position that would allow photos of the animals in the woods, and hopefully, in the river if they decided to cross that.

Sure enough, and lucky us, the elk did cross the stream, and we were in position for shots. While many Elk photos that one sees are in meadows, that's probably mostly because that's where it is easiest to see and photograph them. Hence, my interest and shooting the ungulates in forested habitats, where they also spend much time, more so than the meadows, probably.

Elk are truly impressive mammals. Cows can weigh in excess of 600 pounds, and big bulls can eclipse a half ton. Watching the big beasts for an extended period in their forested habitat really made me think about the ecological role they must have played at one time, when they were far more common and widespread. Many plant species have coevolved with mammalian disturbance, such as the so-called buffalo clovers. There are two species of those, and one, the Buffalo Clover (Trifolium reflexum) seemed to favor more wooded environs than its more famous brethren, the Running Buffalo Clover (T. stoloniferum). Both clovers have become much rarer, presumably in part due to the loss of large ungulates such as elk and buffalo.

Unfortunately, humans hunted out Elk very early in the eastern U.S. For instance, they were shot out of Ohio by the end of the 1830's, and this was before anyone would have been documenting much if anything in the way of elk-plant relationships.

Here's a young bull Elk that I photographed in Presque Isle County, Michigan, on May 26, 2018. Like the animals that we imaged this year in the Smokies, the northern Michigan Elk are the result of reintroductions. Efforts to reestablish the big mammals have met with some success, and herds now exist in Kentucky, Michigan, North Carolina, Pennsylvania, and Wisconsin. However, the overall landscape is quite different than pre-settlement and there aren't that many large relatively unpopulated regions conducive to Elk reintroduction. Nonetheless, it's great to have Wapiti (the native Shawnee name ("white rump") back on the eastern landscape, even if only a minute fraction of the numbers that once existed.