Eastern Red Damsel

Small raised fen in west-central Ohio. I had the good fortune to get afield with Troy Shively the other day, and he showed me a few new fens in western Ohio. A fen is a highly alkaline wetland fed by a constant flow of artesian spring waters that have just percolated from the depths of subterranean limestone deposits. This creates very cold root-level temperatures, and in conjunction with the high pH soils, fens are a tough place to eke out a living for the vegetable crowd. The plants that do grow there are highly specialized and extremely interesting; ditto for the animals.

The yellow flowers dotting the fen are of a beautiful woody plant, Shrubby Cinquefoil, Dasiphora fruticosa. There are few better fen indicators than that species. Essentially, if you find wild-growing Shrubby Cinquefoil in Ohio, you are probably semi-mired in the wet mucky soils of a fen.

While Troy and I found many noteworthy critters, I was delighted to run across what may be my favorite damselfly. The Eastern Red Damsel, Amphiagrion saucium, is impossibly tiny - nearly our smallest species. They're easy to miss, and for a six-footer standing upright, they're nearly invisibly as they silently whir low in the sedges along the margins of chilled flowing rills.

I devoted some time to Red Damsel stalking, and was eventually rewarded when one of them made a kill, and settled to consume his gnat-sized prey. With some bitternlike swaying and stalking, I was eventually able to get my camera barrel within six inches of the damsel and obtain some decent shots.

In the above photo, the damsel is perched on a rare plant, for Ohio at least, and in fact is surrounded by rare plants. At least they are far rarer than once was the case, as we've managed to obliterate well over 90% of the fens that once pocked Ohio's landscape. Anyway, its perch is Walking Spikerush, Eleocharis rostellata, an obligate species of fens and often a dominant. This sedge essentially spreads by walking; as the stems elongate, they bend to the point where the tip eventually contacts soil. This stimulates specialized tissue formation, and from there a new stem is sent out, thus the plants walk themselves into new terrain.

Back to the damsel, and aren't they a gorgeous shade of deep red with perhaps a tinge of orange mixed in. I've caught his eye here, and he's turned to give me a piercing stare. Lucky for me he isn't the size of a Tundra Swan or it'd be your narrator being crunched and munched rather than that gnat.

Like so many things in nature, the Eastern Red Damsel is not obvious. By taking time to investigate the superficially obscure, like this insect, one is often rewarded with the opportunity to admire something that puts many of our larger showier creatures to shame. You've just got to get close.

Susan and the raptors

A while back, I asked Susan Williams if she would be willing to awe and dazzle a bunch of kids at Bring Your Kid to Work Day. We always get a pack of rugrats in for this at my place of employment, and do our best to entertain and educate. And Susan kindy agreed to make the trip up I-71 and into the Cowtown to put on a show.

Now, Susan could probably shock and awe the kids all by herself, but she has props. Cool, feathered props. You see, she works for an outfit known as Raptor, Inc., based in Cincinnati, and this group specializes in the rehabilitation of birds of prey. As part of their outreach, Susan gives many dozens of talks and programs annually, and yesterday was our turn.

This may have been the best turnout we've ever had for a BYKTW Day event. Somewhere in the neighborhood of 70 kids and adults gathered round to watch Susan and the birds.

First out of the box was that charming little whistler, the Eastern Screech-Owl. Visceral reaction from the kids? "Awww, cute!". I'm thinking, you guys wouldn't be saying that if you were a White-footed Mouse.

It quickly became apparent that Susan was going to work up the size scale, progressively bringing out bigger and badder winged terrors. This Barn Owl made a memorable introduction - as soon as she pulled it out, the owl let loose with one of their patented blood-curdling screams, much the the assembled throng's delight. Then it let loose with another stream - sort of a garden hose-like projectile stream of white. Note to self: do not stand directly behind and in close proximity to a Barn Owl that has just been liberated from a small cage after it has endured a couple hour car ride.

During the Barn Owl show, a furious male House Sparrow flew into a tree about ten feet away, and kept up a constant loud scolding. The weaver finch did not like Mr. Owl one iota, and from time to time other birds, including a White-breasted Nuthatch, would drop by to express their displeasure.

Wow! A real live Peregrine Falcon! The general reaction to this one was some low ooohs and general respect for the feathered gang-banger. The crowd was even more dazzled when they learned about the Lamborghini'ish speed that these feathered bullets can achieve, and the utter carnage that they wreak on their victims.

Last, and fiercest, was this male Great Horned Owl. Here he turns his piercing stare directly on me. Sorry, Mr. Owl, sorry! Susan believes that, in his owlish wisdom, he knew that it was I who was responsible for his being crated several hours to a strange city.

The horned owl elicited the greatest reaction of all when removed from the box, and I wish I had captured it on video. The kids went crazy at the sight of this magnificent beast.

This short video shows Susan at work with the Barn Owl. Turn up the volume and listen to the frenzied House Sparrow in the background.

A wonderful time, and a new batch of kids have learned a ton about birds, and surely some have become interested enough to learn more about things with feathers. Susan did a fantastic job, and everyone really appreciated the show.

Go hear to learn more about Raptor, Inc and their wonderful work.

Bullhead Lily

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Evening Grosbeaks

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

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

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

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

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

Hine's Emerald

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A trip up Sugarloaf Mountain

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A few neat dragons

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

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

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

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

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

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

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