White-haired Goldenrod, Solidago albopilosa, a major rarity back from the brink

A large sandstone overhand forms an impressive cliff deep in the Red River Gorge of Kentucky, part of the Daniel Boone National Forest. This is a beautiful area, full of stunning scenery and interesting flora and fauna.

I made my first foray here in the early 1990's. It was a one-day whirlwind trip to study one of the rarest goldenrods known, the White-haired Goldenrod, Solidago albopilosa. At that time, the plant had just been listed as Federally Threatened - among the rarest of the rare. Thus, some research money was available to study this poorly known plant, and I was along with a researcher who was contracted to do work with the goldenrod. That day sped by, and I had long wanted to return and spend more time in the gorge.

Fast forward to fall 2013 and a return trip. This expedition was a bit late for seeing the goldenrod at peak bloom, and the mission targets were different, mostly nocturnal creatures. We scored big on all fronts, and it made me want to return again. After all, the Red River Gorge is only about four hours from my home in Columbus, and that's next to nothing.

So, finally, I got a chance to return in the first weekend of September 2017 and resolved to revisit and photograph the White-haired Goldenrod. The timing was pretty good and the plants were starting to bloom well. As an expected plus, there was a virtual goldmine of other flora and fauna to see, as well as scores of beautiful landscapes. I still haven't finished curating all of those photos.

This image was made after progressing further along the same cliff line shown above. The recess cavern gets bigger, and the flora gets more interesting. This spot turned out to be a fantastic site for a thriving White-haired Goldenrod population. A number of other noteworthy plants grow here, perhaps of greatest interest to a botanist, the Appalachian Filmy Fern, Trichomanes boschianum.

All of the grayish-green ground cover in the bottom right hand corner of the image is the primary target, though. A vigorous stand of the goldenrod bearded nearly the length of the bottom of the cliff. It's finicky stuff, generally only growing in soft decomposed sandstone in near perennial deep shade at the bases of sandstone cliffs. These sorts of habitats are very prone to disturbance from people, many of whom cannot resist scrambling through every nook and cranny of such places. Fortunately, a large chunk of the goldenrod population at this site - and many similar ones - was fenced off to prohibit trespass, along with stern warnings to keep out.

A closer view of a stand of White-haired Goldenrod. It's a very delicate plant, as are many plants who grow in the near-constant gloom of rock edifices such as this. As noted above, probably the biggest threat to rockhouse plants is people. Once the mobs are allowed unfettered access to a such sites, plants such as the goldenrod are quickly trampled out of existence. Ohioans need only look to the popular rockhouses of the Hocking Hills for evidence of this.

A closer view of a flowering stem. The golden flowers are axillary, and the coarsely serrate leaves are fat and egg-shaped. Both stem and leaves are densely beset with long soft white hairs, which give the plant both its common name, and scientific specific epithet albopilosa (albo (white) pilosa (soft hairs).

This distinctive plant, surprisingly, went undiscovered until 1940, and was not formally described until 1942. It was the venerable Ohio botanist Emma Lucy Braun who first brought the plant to light - one of a number of plants species that she discovered and described to science.

Nearly all of the White-haired Goldenrod populations are in the Red River Gorge, in only three adjoining counties. At the time of its listing as Federally Threatened in 1988, less than 40 small sites were known. The Red River Gorge is a Mecca for people and a favorite locale for rock climbers, and human traffic was taking a serious toll on delicate cliff habitats. Kudos to the Forest Service for going to great lengths to protect many of the goldenrod populations by fencing out people, redirecting trails, and utilizing other measures. Largely because of their conservation efforts, and partners like the Kentucky Nature Preserves Commission, the rare plant has flourished and now there about 120 populations.

White-haired Goldenrod was removed from Federal listing in 2016 - a good example of the Endangered Species Act serving its function very well. As long as current protection efforts remain in place, the goldenrod should continue to flourish.

Nature: Wasp turns caterpillars into zombified protectors

A Glyptapanteles wasp cocoon guarded by a parasitized saddled prominent caterpillar

Columbus Dispatch

October 1, 2017

NATURE
Jim McCormac

George Romero, who died in July, made some of the greatest horror flicks ever. He is especially known for his films about zombie apocalypses, such as “Night of the Living Dead.”

I don’t know if Romero knew anything about the subject of this column, but I’m sure he would have been intrigued.

During a nocturnal field trip in southern Ohio’s Scioto County in August, my group noticed an odd thing. Plastered to a tree branch was a strange, fluffy cocoonlike object. Perched atop was a saddled prominent caterpillar, a type of moth larva.

Upon closer inspection, I realized what we were seeing: a zombie caterpillar, rewired and forced to act as guardian of its killers.

If you were a being that reincarnates, choosing a caterpillar for your rebirth would be a bad idea. You could take myriad forms, as there are more than 2,000 species of moths and a bit more than 100 species of butterflies in Ohio, all of which are caterpillars for part of their life cycle. But the problem is they have a mortality rate near 99 percent.

These tubular bags of goo are preyed on by all manner of beasts. Songbirds snap them up, mice relish them, and scores of predatory insects feast on them.

To survive this predatory gauntlet, many moths and butterflies practice carpet-bombing reproduction. A female might lay hundreds or thousands of eggs to ensure that a few of the offspring survive to the adult reproductive stage. The rest will fuel the food chain.

Perhaps no caterpillar predator is stranger or more horrifying than the tiny wasps in the genus Glyptapanteles. These wasps are parasitoids, and it’s worth noting their difference from parasites.

Lice, ticks and chiggers are all parasites. They’re annoying and might even carry diseases, but they do not, typically, directly kill their hosts. Not so the parasitoid. The ultimate fate for their hosts is usually death, and sometimes in grislier ways than those concocted by Romero’s fertile imagination.

A female Glyptapanteles wasp seeks out appropriate caterpillar hosts, and when she finds one, the attack commences. She alights on the victim and uses a needlelike ovipositor at the end of her abdomen to inject several dozen eggs.

The eggs quickly hatch, and the wasp grubs feast on the caterpillar’s nonvital tissues and fluids. Eventually, the mature larvae exit en masse by boring holes through the caterpillar’s skin. The shed skins of the grubs’ final molt apparently plug their exit holes.

Upon emergence, the grubs begin spinning silken cocoons under the caterpillar, which, incredibly, begins helping them by enshrouding all of the wasp larvae in a thick, protective bag of its own silk.

Once all of the wasp grubs are safely ensconced in the silken shelter, the caterpillar stands guard atop the structure, thrashing its body at any potential predator that dares to encroach. The mechanisms that trigger the “zombification” of the caterpillar are imperfectly known, but it’s probably due to some chemical brew injected by the wasp.

By the time the grubs transform and emerge as wasps, the caterpillar will be dead or nearly so, having given its life to help ensure the survival of its nemesis.

In spite of all the apparent protections, some predators slip through and attack the grubs. Note the tiny wasp in the photo. It might be a “hyperparasitoid,” a predator of the predator. The wasp appears to be injecting eggs into the grubs within the cocoon.

Nature is seldom Disneyesque.

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

Allegheny Woodrat, a charming packrat

A sheer cliff face of dolomitic limestone thrusts upward from the forest floor in a remote area of Adams County. The rock is pockmarked with crevasses and alcoves; perfect habitat for one of the rarest mammals in Ohio.

Some time back, Laura Hughes invited me along on one of her field research visits to this Allegheny Woodrat site. Of course I said yes, especially as I'd never seen one of these interesting little rodents. So, finally, September 24 was the day, and John Howard and I met Laura and her assistant Shane Herbert early that morning along a road near the Ohio River in southern Adams County.

The night prior, Laura and crew had placed 31 traps in ideal woodrat habitat. This work is spearheaded by longtime woodrat researchers Cheryl Mollohan and Al LeCount, former instructors at Hocking College. Captured woodrats are weighed, sexed, and a small blood sample is taken so that DNA can be extracted.

After arriving at the site, we loaded our gear up and headed back into the woods to see what the traps might yield. The first set was a bust, although Laura thought that they might be most likely to produce a woodrat. Just as I began to wonder if all would be for naught, a cry went up from Laura - a woodrat was in a trap!

We rushed to the scene, and there he was, peeking curiously at his captors. A male Allegheny Woodrat, weight 340 grams. After Laura and Shane efficiently dealt with gathering necessary information, we prepared to release the mammal. There aren't many good photos of woodrats in their native haunts, at least in Ohio, and both John and I wanted to portray the mammal in the best possible light. My big fear was that it would quickly dart back into one of the cliff's narrow crevices, never to be seen again and before we could get any shots off.

Allegheny Woodrat, staring curiously at our group of large bipeds. No need to worry about getting photos, as it turns out. These charming mammals seem to have no fear whatsoever of people, probably because they rarely if ever encounter Homo sapiens, at least at this site. So, upon release into a rocky alcove, the woodrat turned, sat, and stared at us for a good minute or so. During that period, both John and I got some excellent images, with John also obtaining remarkable video footage (a clip is at the end of this post).

I really wish the word "rat" was not in this wonderful little mammal's moniker. That word instantly conjures very bad connotations for most people, as they associate it with the Norway (now, Brown) Rat, Rattus norvegicus. This is the introduced (in this part of the world) rodent that can infest buildings, sewers, dumps, etc., and is a carrier of bubonic plague. The Allegheny Woodrat could not be further in character, habits, and habitat than that invasive mammalian scourge. In fact, we wonder if its common name should be changed to something more user-friendly, such as "Velveteen Cliff-Mouse". Who would not want an animal with a name like that around?

The word "packrat" probably stems from woodrats in the genus Neotoma. These species (only the Allegheny Woodrat, N. magister, occurs in Ohio, but there are about 21 other species, mostly in western North America), are fabled for their propensity to stockpile all manner of items. The above photo shows a woodrat midden ("trash heap") in a long abandoned outbuilding in Adams County. I made the image ten years ago, on one of my previously futile ventures to see one of these beasts.

Woodrat middens are often comprised mostly of leaves, but the curious mammals are attracted to all manner of objects, especially shiny ones. It's not uncommon to find pop can tabs, pieces of glass or metal, rocks, and freshly cut plant material in the middens. Woodrats also have the interesting habit of often strewing dried leaves about the floor of the rocky recesses in which they reside, as perhaps the crackling of the leaves warns them of approaching predators.

Ten or more years ago, Mark Zloba of the Cincinnati Museum's Eulett Center within the Edge of Appalachia Preserve took me into a sinkhole cavern in Adams County on a woodrat hunting quest. While we didn't see any, we knew they were there as fresh fern cuttings were neatly laid upon many of the cave's rocky ledges, as if the woodrat was keeping current with its interior decorating.

The Allegheny Woodrat is in precipitous decline over much of its range, and its fate is unknown. It formerly occurred from Connecticut and New York south through the Appalachians to northern North Carolina and Alabama, but is now gone or reduced to perilously low numbers in many if not most areas. They once occurred more widely in Ohio, such as in the Hocking Hills, but are now absent from all former areas other than the tiny area of Adams County where we saw the animal featured here. Perhaps fewer than 100 woodrats remain in the state.

Threats are many, including logging and other habitat destruction, human disturbance of their cliff-face habitat, and isolation of populations due to habitat fragmentation. Greatly reduced populations may become more vulnerable to extreme winter weather events. But perhaps the greatest threat to the Allegheny Woodrat comes in the form of raccoons, and an associated disease, Raccoon Roundworm. Woodrats contract the disease when they scavenge raccoon scat and mine it for undigested nuts and other plant fruit. The disease is fatal to the woodrats, and as raccoon populations have boomed in most areas, the likelihood of woodrats encountering the roundworm has skyrocketed.

Fortunately, recent work with woodrats may be producing solutions to these issues, especially the raccoon roundworm, so there are glimmers of hope on the horizon. Here in Ohio, the Ohio Chapter of The Nature Conservancy deserves kudos for their acquisition and protection of our only remaining woodrat stronghold.

Video by John Howard

I'll conclude with this wonderful video by John Howard. It brings out the charm of these most interesting of Appalachian mammals, and I hope that a brighter future is in store for the Allegheny Woodrat.

A very rare gentian, with distorted interpretation

An autumn meadow in the Oak Openings near Toledo glows on a gorgeous fall day. The brilliant scarlet foliage of Winged Sumac, Rhus copallina, contrasts with the cobalt inflorescences of one of Ohio's rarest plants, the Soapwort Gentian, Gentiana saponaria.

I'd not seen these gentians in many years, and have been fortunate to twice renew my acquaintance with them over the past week or so. This state-endangered species is known only from a few locales within the Oak Openings of Lucas County, a globally rare ecosystem full of imperiled flora and fauna. While I've made scores of visits to the Oak Openings over the years, I'd not spent much time there recently, and needed to atone for that.

Soapwort Gentian, in portraiture. The odd bullet-like flowers of these strange plants are pollinated primarily by large bumblebees in the genus Bombus. The flower "petals" (plaits) are fused together, forming a botanical bag with only one entry point - the summit. Even there, entry is challenging, as there is but a tiny opening, or pore, and the pollinating insect must be powerful enough to force its way inside.

I had really hoped to catch a bee in the act of pollinating one of these gentians, but no such luck. You may wonder what the enticement is for the bee to go to fairly great lengths to enter the flower. Well, the inside of the plaits are boldly striped with colorful lines - nectar guides - and the bee sees those through the exterior of the bloom. Their visual allure is great, and the bee eventually forces its way inside, and then contacts the pollen, gets a dusting, and also deposits pollen from previous visits on the flower's stigma, or female parts.

I decided to create a bit of photographic abstractions with the soapworts, which in my opinion lend themselves to artistic expression.

Another take on the soapwort.

This is yet another of Ohio's rare gentians, the Fringed Gentian, Gentianopsis virgata, with creative liberties unapologetically taken. The gentians rank high among our most beautiful wildflowers, and several species have become quite rare due to habitat loss. I've been fortunate enough to catch up with four of the true gentian species this autumn, and hope to add yet a few more species before fall chills into winter.

Free program - this Tuesday evening, September 26!

I'm - yes, that's me in the photo - giving a talk for Columbus Audubon this Tuesday evening, September 26, at the Grange Insurance Audubon Center along the Scioto River, just south of downtown Columbus. The talk is entitled "A Romp Through Ohio's Flora and Fauna" and features many images from various premier natural areas around the state. As you can see, I'll go to any length to obtain these images :-)

The evening starts at 7 pm and all are welcome. The price of admission can't be beat - it's free. Hope to see you there. For all details, CLICK HERE.

Nature: Show-off herons shine in national park

A juvenile least bittern in the Cuyahoga Valley National Park

Columbus Dispatch

September 17, 2017

NATURE
Jim McCormac

Cuyahoga Valley National Park’s 51 square miles preserves a treasure trove of biological diversity. Ohio’s only national park, it occupies the state’s most populous region and is bookended by Akron and Cleveland.

Although waterfalls, forests, rock formations, streams and other scenic items of interest lure visitors, it was one of the world’s smallest herons that drew me to the park a few weeks back.

For most of the summer, an uncharacteristically conspicuous pair of least bitterns put on a show along a boardwalk that bisects a lush marsh. As an Ohio breeding bird, this one is especially noteworthy. The least bittern is listed as threatened by the Ohio Division of Wildlife, and nesting locales are few and far between.

The least bittern is a true elfin in a family of typically robust birds. One of these diminutive waders is about the size and weight of a blue jay. For comparison, its much-better-known relative, the great blue heron, has a wingspan over four times longer than the bittern’s 17-inch set of flappers. The larger heron is nearly four times as long and weighs 30 times more than the bittern’s paltry 80 grams.

Size doesn’t dictate beauty, though, and the least bittern is exquisite. The bird’s feathers are a palette of rich chestnut, tan and cream. Greenish-yellow skin forms goggles around the eyes, and a stiletto-like bill fronts the face. Perhaps most amazing are the little bird’s big feet. They are disproportionately huge, the greatly elongated toes useful in tightly clutching the stalks of aquatic plants.

One reason the Cuyahoga Valley birds caused such a stir was the ease of seeing them. I’ve seen a fair number of least bitterns over the years, but I’ve heard far more. They frequent the densest stands of cattails and other wetland plants, and are often impossible to see. Only the curious cuckoo-like murmurings of the herons give them away.

My experience was typical of most visiting birders. Shortly after my early-morning arrival, one of the bitterns was spotted lurking at the edge of some cattails. Before long, another bird joined it. For the rest of the morning, great views were freely had.

Better yet, the extroverts were two juveniles — especially good news, as nesting was obviously successful. The adult birds called regularly from the cattails, but they did not show themselves during my visit.

It was a rare experience to observe the bitterns clambering about vertical cattail stems, stabbing at small fish and frogs with their daggerlike bills. At one point, a bird popped out in the open on some spatterdock lilies, enabling me to take the accompanying photo.

We have not been good stewards of wetlands, and least bitterns and many other species have suffered accordingly. These tiny herons were once common in Ohio wetlands, but they have declined tremendously. For instance, famed ornithologist Milton Trautman recorded nearly 100 pairs nesting most years around Buckeye Lake in the 1920s and ’30s. Today, there are none.

It is fortunate that we’ve set aside natural areas such as Cuyahoga Valley National Park to protect some of our biodiversity.

FURTHER AFIELD

Jim McCormac will present "A Romp through Ohio's Flora and Fauna," with photos, at 7:30 p.m. Sept. 26 at the Grange Insurance Audubon Center, 505 W. Whittier St. The presentation is free, and no reservations are required.


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

Sunflower field, various photographic perspectives

Scads of Common Sunflower, Helianthus annuus, brighten a large field just north of Yellow Springs, Ohio. Every fall I see people posting photos of this field, which is owned and planted by the Tecumseh Land Trust, or other such fields. And every year, I fail to make it over to this or any other sunflower field.

Until today.

I met fellow photographer Debbie DiCarlo at the Tecumseh Land Trust field at the crack of dawn, and set about creating images of the golden masses of sunflowers. This species normally towers to epic Jack-in-the-beanstalk proportions, often ten feet or more in height. They must have a stubby cultivar now, as these plants rose to only 4-5 feet or so, making the creation of images much easier.

Anyway, Debbie and I are thinking of partnering to conduct some photographic workshops and trips next year, and ostensibly met today to discuss those. But the sunflower field ended up occupying about three hours of time, and it was worth every minute. Anyway, more on the photo workshops in the future, but they'll all feature very interesting subject matter and locations, and it'll be a pleasure to work with Debbie as she's a fabulous photographer. Check her out HERE.

While shooting traditional shots of the sunflowers was obligatory, and I did so, my main goal was to try WEIRD STUFF. Read on...

Zoom lenses are great tools for creating photographic weirdness, and I spent much of my time experimenting with two Canon lenses: the 16-35mm f/4, and the 70-200mm f/2.8 II. By using long exposures and twisting the zoom while the shutter is open, one can create some cool (at least to me) blurred distortion shots.

This one was done by using a long exposure and moving the camera horizontally on its tripod mount while the shutter was open. In order to achieve long exposures in fairly bright conditions, I used a three-stop polarizing filter, and a ten-stop filter. The latter is a "black glass" filter that is so dark that you must focus the camera prior to mounting it, as the camera cannot focus through it. That filter allowed me to get up to a 30 second exposure, depending on my aperture and ISO settings.

Another "explosion blur" using the 16-35 lens and zooming from 16mm to 35mm with the shutter open.

This one was made with the 70-200mm, using an eight second shutter speed at f/4 (with the ten-stop filter), and zooming completely in and out multiple times during the exposure.

While this style of imagery may not be everyone's cup of tea, it does allow for an alternative presentation of a landscape that everyone is generally shooting about the same same way.