Spring is near here

Today and yesterday offered up a major dose of the impending spring. Warm and windy, with highs in the low 60's. I just returned from a 75 mile ride on my Ducati - not something I often get to do the day before my normally wintery birthday.

Turkey Vultures are funneling in, and I heard several Horned Larks passing overhead the past two days. Birders have been reporting displaying American Woodcock, and there are lots of waterfowl pushing north, close on the heels of ice-out.

And it won't be long at all until green things push from the soil! Following is a reminder of what our very near future holds in store.

Hepatica, Hepatica nobilis, photographed on March 8th, 2009, Adams County, Ohio.

Bloodroot, Sanguinaria canadensis, April 4th, 2010, Greene County, Ohio.

Wood Poppy, Stylophorum diphyllum, April 11, 2010, Adams County, Ohio.

Goldenstar, Erythronium rostratum, April 5, 2008, Scioto County, Ohio.

Some of us have a botanical foray planned for April 2 in southernmost Ohio, and by then, we should be able to find blooming specimens of all of the above. I REALLY look forward to that.

Ohio Natural History Conference

Sorry, a bit of a last minute reminder here, but the annual Ohio Natural History Conference is this Saturday. As last year, it'll be held at Big Walnut High School in Sunbury, just north of Columbus. The keynote speaker is the one and only Dr. Evan Blumer, past director of the Wilds, a place I have written about many times, such as HERE. Evan's talk should be worth the price of admission alone.

This is the 7th year for this conference, which features a wide variety of talks on various aspects of Ohio's diverse flora and fauna. All of the details can be seen HERE, and they'll take walk-ins, so if you are in the area and want to learn more of our natural world and meet other like-minded people, stop in.

The conference is organized by the Ohio Biological Survey, and if you've got any questions or want other info, visit HERE.

A razorbill of a different stripe

When I was in Florida recently, I apparently missed fellow Ohioan Dane Adams by a short leap and a bound. He and his wife were in the same area, around the same time, and of course Dane was making some of his trademark awesome photographs. Those of you who read this blog regularly will recall some of Dane's beautiful images that he has allowed me to share.

Well, wait'll you get a load of the one that follows.

This picture, of a chunky Black Skimmer, is mine. I took it near Sanibel Island as the odd-looking bird rested with a platoon of other skimmers. I would say that the first thing about a skimmer that grab's one eye is that bill. It's fat, asymmetrical, and bright orange at the base. Being nearly as thick as the bird's head, one might think that this appendage would be an awkward forward-heavy thing to have stuck to the front of one's face.

Here's Dane's photo. Wow! Look at the razor thinness of that beak! It seems as if the bill tapers to nary more than the thickness of a sheet of paper near its tip. Scroll back up the first photo and blink at the contrast.

Skimmers hunt by flying just over the water's surface, slicing the lower mandible of their incredible bill through the upper strata of the water column. I have photos of that, and discussed their feeding in more detail, HERE.

As we can see from Dane's photo, the lower mandible of a Black Skimmer would offer little in the way of resistance; it is incredibly hydrodynamic. Not only does its thinness produce no drag, its shape also creates nearly no turbulence, which might alert potential fishy victims that something very bad for them rapidly approaches.

Thanks to Dane Adams for sharing his spectacular photo.

Scots Pine

Looking like a giant bonsai, an old Scots Pine, Pinus sylvestris, is a prominent landmark at Green Lawn Cemetery on the south side of Columbus, Ohio. I stopped in last Sunday, and couldn't resist making some photos of this gorgeous specimen. It's by the bridge, and I'll bet three bucks that at least a few of you have seen it, and paused a minute to take in the tree's complexities. Another shapely Scots Pine that is often noticed and commented on is along the northernmost road at Killdeer Plains Wildlife Area.

Someone long ago erected an identifying marker, which is a good thing as the tree is so striking that many observers wish to know what it is. One minor quibble: trees, I believe, like birds, should have but one formal common name. And for this pine, it should be Scots Pine. But the moniker is often put forth as Scotch Pine, but not in most serious botany books.

The sign-maker hit the scientific name on the head, though: Pinus sylvestris. And it's this genus - the true pines - that make American botany professors and science teachers blush and mumble, and their juvenile charges chuckle and joke. Pinus = Pee-nus. Dangerously close in pronunciation to that of an appendage best not mentioned in polite company. So we have Pee-nus sil-ves-tris. C'mon, class, repeat after me.

If you've got a bunch of high schoolers or even some juvenile frat boys in the biology class, they'll be suppressing snorts and thinking of jokes. Heck, I still do.

And Pee-nus sil-ves-tris isn't even that bad. Teach 'em the scientific name of the Pitch Pine, Pinus rigida: Pee-nus rij-ih-da. Hilarity is sure to ensue. And if that one doesn't get the kids in stitches, there is always good ole Pinus contorta, or perhaps Pinus flexilis...

But enough of the childish humor. But what if you had six tall pines, and had to state that fact in Latin. Would it be Sextus Pinus erectus?...

Anyway, this species, no matter what you call it, is a hand's-down favorite of mine. When of the right stock and grown in open conditions, Scots Pine becomes a work of art. The branches are gnarled and contorted, creating complexities that draw in the eye and hold it.

It's not just the alluring form of a well-grown Scots Pine that is so cool - the bark is typically strongly orange-tinted, flaky and papery. The overall effect is nearly magical. Small wonder that this pine, which is indigenous to Europe and Eurasia and ranges broadly across that region, is said to now be the world's most widely distributed pine. People want such a plant, and have transported the Scots Pine far and wide.

The cones are on the smallish side, with thick wedge-shaped scales terminated with a slightly prickly umbo, or projection. "Umbo", now there's a word for you. I almost named a cat that once. Needles are in pairs, and often take on a slightly glaucous, or bluish-green, tint.

If you find yourself at Green Lawn Cemetery, take a moment to stop by and admire this magnificent Scots Pine.

Skunkers and whistlers herald spring

A boggy spring, only minutes from my hutch. Visiting this gooey mire is a major spring ritual for me, and today was the day. Just as the famous groundhog Puxatawney Phil (or whatever his name is) is watched closely in a rather foolish shadow-watching ritual, I visit this spring in late winter to witness the botanical counterpart to the wedge-headed Pennsylvanian squirrel.

Yes, my peeps! Although it is only February 13, I declare Spring is Sprung! Out they were, our first true native wildflower to poke forth, the vegetable version of the groundhog. Skunk-cabbage!

Good ole Symplocarpos foetidus is thermogenic, meaning it produces heat. This gives it the ability to deal with low temperatures and persistent ice and snow. I've written about this oddball plant's mechanics in past posts, should you be interested.

Proof is in the pudding, or spathe in this case. Here, we peek through the doorway in this Skunk-cabbage's thick leathery and liver-spotted spathes, to the spadix. Those little sugar granule-looking things peppering the spadix are the skunker's flowers - the very first to be found in spring amongst our native plants.

Take heart, plant-seekers. The appearance of Skunk-cabbage truly heralds the opening of spring's floodgates, and it won't be long before lots of other greenery shoots forth.

That Skunk-cabbage spring drains into this, the mighty Scioto River, arguably the greatest stream within the State of Ohio. There are almost always ice-free sections and I went streamside to have a look.

It was a trip well worthwhile. A good smattering of ducks bobbed in the icy waters, including this flotilla of Common Goldeneyes. If the Skunk-cabbage is the plant world's harbinger of spring, and that groundhog the mammal kingdom's, the goldeneye is the bird world's sign of earliest spring.

Not because goldeneyes emerge from the mud about this time after a long winter's hibernation, or are now just returning from some Caribbean vacation - they're tough as nails and overwinter in Ohio wherever open water can be found.

A chocolate-hooded female goldeneye follows a discreet distance behind a showy male.

Goldeneyes herald spring because now is when they enter, hot and heavy, their truly insane courtship antics. This pack of studs was going at it full throttle today, and I spent quite some time watching and perhaps picking up pointers.

These boys really pull out all of the stops to woo the girls. Like desperate lounge lizards in a watery fern bar, the male goldeneyes throw their necks back and bill skyward, and emit comical nasal buzzes. Then, in a spectacular display of aquatic break-dancing, a displaying drake kicks his brilliant orange feet forward and out of the water.

While the males in courrtship mode emit buzzy calls that sound like a nighthawk being strangled, they sound really cool in flight. Their wings produce a loud clear whistling, hence the colloquial name "whistler". If you want to read more about goldeneyes, I wrote a piece on them HERE.

I hope that these positive reports on the signs of spring give you hope, fellow Tundra-people.

Short-eared Owls join the Army

Major Randel Rogers, Ohio Army National Guard, sends along news of an interesting report. Some of his men discovered a gang of Short-eared Owls sitting around on a bunch of National Guard jeep hummers. Why these owls would choose heavily armored military vehicles as a roosting spot is open to speculation, but I have my theory.

Thanks to Major Rogers, and J. Valentine and T. Friend for bringing the owls to our attention and snapping the following photos. The owl spot is along James Road on the east side of Columbus – a stone’s throw from the vast and vole-filled fields of Port Columbus International Airport.

Photo: J. Valentine

Click the pic and look closely – at least four Short-eared Owls can be seen sitting around on the hoods of the Hummers. And there were several others. Trust me – none of these photos are faked; these owls really are roosting on Army Hummers in a heavily urbanized part of Columbus. Again, this odd behavior shouts out for answers.

Photo: T. Friend

A closer view of one of the savage-looking and exceptionally clever beasts.

So why are the owls adorning military Hummers?

Because of these. Meadow Voles. The nearby open grassy expanses of the airport undoubtedly support scads of the little rodents, which are a favored prey item of Short-eared Owls. But this still doesn’t explain the owls’ highly unusual selection of roosting in a military depot filled with heavily armored war craft.

I have a theory.

Our little furry brothers, the Meadow Voles, have been oppressed for thousands of years. And owls are The Great Oppressors. Think about it. You’re a guy – albeit a guy with four legs, furry, with stubby ears – who really doesn’t bother anyone, just tunnels about the meadow grazing on succulent plant matter. But every time you or anyone in your community pops above ground, death lurks in the form of large shadowy owls patrolling overhead. An eon of living with that threat would cause any class of oppressed animals to throw off their shackles, rise up, and attempt to cast out their tormentors.

The airport voles have become the rodent world’s Egyptians and the Short-eared Owls are the avian Hosni Mubaraks.

I believe these voles have begun The Fight to end their persecution. Voles aren’t dumb. By gathering a volatile mix of airport de-icing chemicals, decaying roots of fescue grasses, common road salt and their own dung, and fermenting the whole mess inside discarded sandwich baggies that litter the grounds, they’d have a highly potent explosive. By harvesting strongly flexible shoots of the numerous sandbar willows (Salix interior) that grow in the airport’s low swales, vole warriors could easily craft powerful catapults that could be used to launch Surface to Air Missiles (SAMS) packaged tightly in the sandwich baggies.

I suspect that a Vole Liberation Army (VLA) has developed technology that allows them to blast Short-eared Owls from the skies with their willow-fired SAMS. These guys send a few owls hurtling to the ground like flaming Roman Candles, and word’s going to spread quickly amongst the short-ears that a new Sheriff is in town.

Photo: T. Friend

But owls are no dummies, either, and are further advanced along the evolutionary scale than their now arch-enemies the voles. And if you think that these feathered Attila the Huns are going to run from a battle, you’ve got another thing coming.

The owls’ problem is now a technological one. The Old Ways of conquering and holding the voles in the shackles of oppression no longer work. Merely plucking the tiny beasts from the grasses with their admittedly formidable talons is now an exercise in extreme peril. Send a few owls crashing to earth in a blazing heap via vole-fired highly explosive SAMS, and it’s time for a New Way.

Enter the National Guard. Brilliant and opportunistic, the owls would have long ago noticed the nearby depot with its fleet of highly armored and heavily armed Hummers. Probably, had the voles not upped the technological ante, the owls would have never tapped this resource. My hunch is that the short-ears are now hunting the voles under cover of darkness in these wheeled death-dealers. The voles’ SAMS would be impotent against such armored cars, merely exploding harmlessly against the Hummers’ flanks while the owls laugh and sneer from within.

Equipped with their new military hardware, the owls now have a wide range of armaments with which to deal with the voles: flamethrowers, heavy machine guns, incendiary bombs, light nuclear warheads, and powerful wrist-rocket slingshots, all wrapped up in a highly mobile SAM-proof wheeled vehicle.

Score: Voles – 1. Owls – 2.

I’d recommend that the Guard keep close tabs on their Hummers.

Little Blue Heron

An adult Little Blue Heron stalks prey in the open waters of a Florida marsh. This is rather extroverted behavior; Little Blues often are inconspicuous, hunting from the shady verges of wetlands and waterways.

On my recent trip to the Sunshine State, I logged eleven species in the Ardeidae, or heron family, and most of them in good numbers. Many of these lanky-legged, dagger-billed, plume-bearing beasts are among the most conspicuous of Florida birds. Even the most casual observer of nature notices them.

Not so much the Little Blue Heron.

The name "Little Blue Heron" somewhat diminishes the true pizazz of this beautiful species. It suggests subservience to the - in the U.S. - much more widespread and commonly seen Great Blue Heron. The two are different as night and day.

Little Blue Herons are in the genus Egretta, which includes some of the world's truly gorgeous small herons. In the United States, discounting three species of major rarities that have strayed to our shores, the Egretta ranks include Snowy Egret, Tricolored Heron, Reddish Egret, and the subject of this post.

Of these four herons, I would say that the Little Blue is rather overshadowed by its more extroverted brethren. Snowy Egrets, with their electric white plumage replete with billowy plumes and golden slippers for feet, can't be missed. Tricolored Heron and Reddish Egret are the gonzo madmen of the heron world, often dashing about maniacally and tenting the waters with outspread wings to lure fish to the shade and their death.

The Little Blue Heron is typically reserved and methodical, slowly stalking quiet waters in search of minnows, crayfish, frogs or nearly anything else that is small and moves. Adults are stunning upon close inspection: the body is of a uniform rich slaty-blue that contrasts with a lustrous purple neck and head. The swordlike bill is powdery chalk at the base, but is dark-tipped as if the bird had gone fishing in a can of black paint.

First-year Little Blues look utterly different. They're white, and easily confused with other species of white herons and often are.

At a place known as Shark Valley in the Everglades, I had the good fortune to make the acquaintance of an unusually trusting Little Blue Heron. At this place, there is a 15-mile loop trail, and it's heavily used by touristos. As a result, many birds have become quite indoctrinated to optics and camera-toting bipeds and will allow exceptionally close approach.

I spent much time with the fellow above, observing his behavior and actions at near fingertip range. The heron cared not a whit and would not take his eyes off the water, even when he would practically walk over my feet. He was on the hunt, you see, and a hunting Little Blue Heron is a study in absolute, impeccable concentration.

At such close range, I could see that the heron's eyes are set in its skull to look forward, not straight out to the side. It's as if the bird is sighted in to look directly down the barrel of a rifle, and that powerful bill is the gun. For some reason, its eyes reminded me of those of a cat: round, inquisitive and all-seeing.

The Little Blue would ever so gently stalk the margins of this canal, slowly lifting and placing its size EEE feet like a boy trying to walk through a leaf-littered forest without making sound. Never did it divert those magnificent eyes from the task at hand, constantly bobbing, craning and tilting for new perspectives.

When prey was locked in on, POW! Forget about it. With an explosive uncoiling of that strong springlike neck, the heron would thrust its bill forward in a split second like an archer releasing an arrow. Whatever was the object of its desire probably never knew what hit it, its fate soon to be expulsion as guano after the heron's system extracted the good stuff.