Say's Mantidfly

 

As always, click the image to enlarge

This oddity is a Say's Mantidfly (Dicromantispa sayi). It's as if the thing was assembled by a mad scientist: part lacewing, with the body of a paper wasp, the forelegs of a praying mantis, and the beak of a bird, with giant jewels for eyes. Its life cycle is equally bizarre, involving hitching rides as larvae on female spiders, then preying on her eggs. Mantidflies are occasional nocturnal visitors to moth sheets and will sometimes prey on small moths and other insects when they appear. Glenn Crisler put much effort into wrangling this one for photos ops, with success. Mothapalooza, Pike County, Ohio, July 20, 2024.

Orchids and Moth Eyeballs

 

These are the leaves of one of our more interesting - and overlooked - orchids, the Cranefly Orchid (Tipularia discolor). It, along with the Puttyroot Orchid (Aplectrum hyemale), sends its photosynthetic leaves up well after flowering, and they photosynthesize over winter, withering away before the following summer's flowering period rolls around. It's generally far easier to detect the plants by their leaves on the barren leaf litter of late fall and winter, than the spindly flowering stalks in the shady understory of July/August.

The flowering spike of a Cranefly Orchid, imaged on August 3, 2023. I purposely chose a more open backdrop to better showcase the flowers. When in dense forest understory with dappled light filtering through the canopy, it's much harder to see the plants.

Close up with the strange, spindly flowers of Cranefly Orchid, each with its long nectar spur. In order to access the nectar reward, a pollinating moth must insert its elongate proboscis down to the bottom of the long tubes to reap a nectariferous reward. In the process, its fuzzy eyeballs are likely to come into contact with the reproductive flower parts. That includes the specialized structures known as pollinia, which are little bag-like bundles of pollen.

Moths of a handful of species are the only known pollinators of Cranefly Orchid, and it was an Ohio botanist, Warren Stoutamire of the University of Akron, who first published on this phenomenon. Stoutamire was tipped to a Cranefly colony by an orchidologist friend who had observed visiting moths, went to the site and documented five species of moths visiting the flowers. He reported a faint but evident citrus-like aroma that was exuded by the flowers - a moth lure, no doubt. The bizarre, asymmetrical arrangement of the flower petals likely serve to guide visiting moths to the optimum floral targets, the pollinia, and the stigma.

Jump to last Saturday night and the now legendary event known as Mothapalooza. We just celebrated our 12th event last weekend. About 135 attendees came, from many states, some of them as distant as California, New Hampshire, and Texas. Nocturnal mothing is a big part of Mothapalooza, and this year there were perhaps a dozen light stations in scattered locales, all in rich mostly forested habitats of Highland and Pike counties. Most of them were located in the fabulous 3,000-acre Arc of Appalachia preserve known as the Highlands Nature Sanctuary. The Arc now runs Mothapalooza and does an excellent job with it.

The moth above is called the Zebra Conchylodes (Conchylodes ovulalis) and it is a beauty. It even made the cover of THIS RECENT BOOK on moths. Norah Tempus and her exceptionally sharp 16-year-old eyes noticed a strange anomaly on the moth's left eyeball - look closely, and you'll see it. She started showing a photo around, wondering what the yellowish blob might be. After some speculation, someone hit on the idea of orchid pollinia. I recalled Warren Stoutamire's work with Cranefly Orchid and suggested that it might be pollinia from that species. Problem is, none of us knew exactly what said pollinia looked like.

It was time for me to pull out the bizarre but effective Canon MP-E 65mm mega macro lens. It's like shooting through a microscope and can drill down on tiny details. To use it well requires twin-lite flashes mounted on the front of the lens, and a tripod for maximum stabilization. This moth was perched on the side of a building and only a foot or so above ground level. So, I used a micro tripod, and a two-second timer delay so I wasn't even touching the camera when it fired. Settings were f/16, ISO 200, and 1/200 second (the camera's sync speed). While I had to crop the resulting image somewhat, it would have had to have been cropped FAR more if I had used my 100mm macro lens. The result would have been a pixelated blob, with details hard to decipher. See CAMERA NOTES at the end of this post for details on the MP-E 65 lens.

But now we can clearly see the tiny yellowish pollen sacs, which sit atop a white tube-like structure known as a viscidium. The viscidium is sticky, like Elmer's Glue, and when the pollinating moth's eye comes into contact with it, the viscidium affixes itself to the insect. When the moth pulls away, the pollen sacs come with it, and hopefully (for the orchids) are transported to another Cranefly and deposited onto the new plant's stigma, thus pollinating it.

We quickly set about researching Cranefly Orchid pollinia and found several images that appear to be the spitting image of the pollinia in my images. Cranefly is also pretty common in the adjacent forests, although I would bet that the moths have a much easier time finding flowering specimens than we do.

PHOTO NOTES:

Photo: Wikipedia

Canon released the MP-E 65mm f/2.8 macro lens in 1999, and unfortunately for macro enthusiasts, the lens was discontinued in 2023. I got mine in 2013 or thereabouts, and probably will never sell it - especially now that it's no longer made. I probably only break it out a few times a year, but when I do it certainly comes in handy, such as for the orchid pollinia in this post. The MP is incredibly useful for tiny things and can go far smaller than the what the superb Canon 100mm f/2.8L macro lens can handle. Taking an image through it generally is not a quick point and shoot experience, though. It really should be tripod-mounted, and twin-lite flashes (I use Canon's MT-24EX unit) are pretty much a necessity. The two small flashes are controlled by a commander on the camera's hot shoe, and the flashes can be rotated to cast light directly in front of the lens.

The lens stops down to f/16, and that's usually where I set the aperture for maximum depth of field. Focus definitely takes tweaking. There is no auto focus, and to attain focus requires twisting the lens barrel which then telescopes the lens in and out. The further out you go, the closer it focuses. With no auxiliary light, at small apertures, the photographer can't see through it - there isn't enough light entering the tiny front lens. Twin-lites have pre-flash lights that can be triggered by a half tap of the shutter button. The pre-lights emit enough of a glow that subjects can be found and focused on. Otherwise, the operator would have to use a flashlight or some other auxiliary light source. Once all is good and I think that I've got a decently sharp focus on my target, I press the shutter button and wait. Wait, because it's highly advisable to use either the 2-second or 10-second timer delay mode. That way, there will be no residual movement of the camera/tripod caused by deploying the shutter button. A remote shutter release cord would also work. It also helps to have a non-moving subject. Moving targets, as long as they're pretty slow, are possible to shoot but far more challenging.

Moth Night Part II

 

A Black-waved Flannel Moth (Megalopyge crispata) stares rather inscrutably into the camera. Yes, they're cute. And quite common.

The flannel and the following moths were imaged on July 13, during the foray described in the previous post.

One of the many, many silkmoths to come into our sheets on this night was this spectacular male Polyphemus Moth (Antheraea polyphemus). It looks like it's got two ferns bolted to its head. These antennae are packed with pheromone receptors, and they can pick up airborne trace pheromones emitted by females from incredible distances. This means they may have to fly long distances to reach her, which pits the moth against dangerous aerial foes: bats. This may be why Polyphemus Moths have evolved a crazily erratic, almost violently yo-yo'ing flight - it makes it much harder for the bats to successfully strike them.

I must confess to liking face shots of moths This is a Rosy Maple Moth peering into the camera, and side view in the following photo so you can better see what one looks like. RMM's are one of the most common silkmoths and easily identified.

Rosy Maple Moth in profile.

There are not too many bright pink and yellow critters out there. In the moth world, camouflage rules and many species are nearly impossible to see when at rest on tree bark, lichens, leaf litter, etc. This image shows how such a gaudy beast might blend in when clad in garish pink and yellow. This RMM is nestled into the fresh samaras (seeds) of one of its major host plants, Red Maple (Acer rubrum).

Slug moths are always interesting and photogenic, and about eight species visited on this night. This is the Shagreened Slug Moth (Apoda biguttata). The erect nubbin is its abdomen. Some slug moths, when at rest, hold their abdomen upright, presumably because it makes for better disruptive camouflage. Host plants for this species include Ironwood, Hickory, and Oak.

I was pleased to see this Oval-based Prominent (Peridea basitriens), a species that I have seldom seen. Apparently, I'm not the only one. The number of records submitted to iNaturalist are relatively few in Ohio. Mysteries still surround even fairly widespread species such as this. Apparently, the host plant(s) remain unknown.

Rather a plain Jane, the Serene Underwing (Catocala serena). However, it was of great personal interest, as I don't recall ever seeing this species. While hidden at rest, this underwing like most of its brethren, has flashy orangish bars on the underwings, which are exposed when the forewings are flicked aside. I should have made an effort to get that shot. This one apparently is far rarer than even the preceding species, with perhaps 15 Ohio records. Furthermore, there are not many records anywhere and it appears to be one of the scarcer underwings. This seeming rarity is somewhat inexplicable as the host plants are said to be Black Walnut and various hickories, and these are very common trees. Perhaps the Serene Underwing just doesn't come to lights very often and goes mostly undetected.

Finally, all manner of other interesting insects is attracted to lights, not the least of which are a variety of wasps. Some of these are parasitoids of caterpillars and are probably nocturnal. Most caterpillars become active under cover of darkness so it would make sense that their predators would also be active then. This wasp is Trogus pennator (I don't know a common name). It preys on several species of swallowtail butterflies. The adult female wasp lays eggs on the caterpillar, which then grow to maturity within the larva.

This coming weekend is the now famous Mothapalooza, and I'll be at that and will no doubt get many more interesting moth images, as well as caterpillars.

Major Moth Night

 

As always, click the image to enlarge

A group of us enjoyed a superb night of mothing last night at Beth Crane's property in Hocking County. Thanks to Beth and Richard McKee for hosting everyone, and for their excellent hospitality. We were fortunate to have Laura Hughes, John Howard, and Kelly Capuzzi join us - all are superb naturalists and accomplished moth-ers. We had three light setups going and that worked like a charm.

John Howard created this artful display of some heavy hitters that visited our sheets. They are Ash Sphinx, Elm Sphinx, Virginia Creeper Sphinx, Pandorus Sphinx, Imperial Moth, Regal Moth (2), Tuliptree Silkmoth, and Rosy Maple Moth. This was just a fraction of the moths that we saw. There were over 20 Imperial Moths, 6-8 Regal Moths, many sphinxes of various species, and scores of other interesting moths. We finally left at 2 am, and things were still going strong.

These sorts of moth numbers and diversity speaks to a very healthy local ecosystem full of native plant diversity, and largely free of light pollution and other deleterious factors that cause moth declines.

An interesting distant view of one of the mothing stations, John Howard's professional setup. Thanks to Shauna Weyrauch for this image and the next one.

A closer view of one of the setups. Black lights and mercury vapor or other powerful lights lure the moths, and most end up on the white sheets where it is easy to observe and catalog them. Sometime before dawn, the lights are extinguished and the moths shooed away back into the wilds.

Head on with a Regal Moth. This is one of Ohio's largest moths, and they are so large that one has a noticeable heft to it when handled. This moth is densely fuzzy and looks like a stuffed animal. As befits such a large lepidopteran, its caterpillar is also gargantuan and is called a Hickory Horned Devil. See the photo below for an image of one of those hotdog-sized beasts.

Hickory Horned Devils are often likened to a hotdog, as a size comparison. It isn't an exaggeration.

I'm still sorting through my imagery but have lots of good stuff. Including a few rather enigmatic species, and a few that only be described as cute. I'll post up some of those later.

Parasitoid wasps dispatch prey in a hideous manner

 

A blue-winged wasp (Scolia dubia) nectars on wingstem/Jim McCormac

Parasitoid wasps dispatch prey in a hideous manner

Columbus Dispatch
July 7, 2024

NATURE
Jim McCormac

We humans have our fair share of parasites, some annoying, some dangerous. Common parasitic predators include bed bugs, lice, roundworms, tapeworms and ticks.

Some of these and others can cause serious issues, such as malaria-transmitting mosquitoes or ticks carrying Lyme disease. Fortunately, most parasitically transmitted diseases can be cured, especially if caught early.

Things could be far worse for people, were we besieged by parasitoids. While parasites generally don’t kill their hosts, parasitoids always do.

Imagine this: One fine day, you’re working in the garden when a giant female wasp suddenly buzzes upon you and delivers a punishing sting before you know what hit you. A powerful neurotoxin quickly immobilizes your motor functions, rendering you as helpless as one of the vegetables you were tending.

The duck-sized wasp, equipped with superman strength, then seizes your inert body and drags you to a premade crypt in nearby soft soil. Unfortunately, your mind still functions perfectly, so you have a ringside seat to your hideous fate. She shoves you into the hole, lays an egg as a going away present and seals the entrance.

After lying in your musty tomb for a few days, the egg hatches and out crawls a hideous white larva. The killer grub feasts on your moribund flesh, eventually consuming you whole.

While this Poe-like tale may seem the stuff of horror genres, it happens all around us on a scope and scale incomprehensible to even the most ambitious psychopath. And an especially speciose group of parasitoid animals are the wasps. And fortunately for you and me, they are tiny, not waterfowl-sized.

Such is the grisliness of death by parasitoid wasp that it prompted Charles Darwin to write his intellectual confidant, the American botanist Asa Gray, questioning parasitoids. A passage in his letter of May 22, 1860 stated “I cannot persuade myself that a beneficent & omnipotent God would have designedly created the Ichneumonidæ (a family of parasitoid wasps) with the express intention of their feeding within the living bodies of caterpillars…”

Legions of wasps, mostly tiny and unnoticed, ply their trade at the expense of inestimable numbers of caterpillars of moths and butterflies.

Many tomato-growers have seen the fruits of an elfin wasp, known as Cotesia congregata. Females inject eggs into the tobacco hornworm, a caterpillar noted for feasting on tomato plants.

Along with the egg comes a powerful virus and venom. In a complex process, those chemicals radically alter the development of the caterpillar and create a better growing environment for the grubs feeding within its body. In a grand finale, the wasp grubs bore out of the host’s body and spins silken cocoons.

An afflicted caterpillar looks like it is bristling with miniature white mummies. Adult wasps soon pop from their cocoons and start the cycle anew.

Most parasitoid wasps dispatch prey in some such hideous manner, including entombing their paralyzed bodies.

The blue-winged wasp pictured with this column preys on beetle grubs, including the invasive Japanese beetle. Other wasps victimize cicadas, crickets, katydids, spiders, stinkbugs, walkingsticks, water striders and probably every other arthropod group. In all, perhaps 700,000 or so parasitoid wasp species are estimated to exist, but it’s probable that the number is far higher.

Even the parasitoids are not immune to victimization. A second level, known as hyperparasitoids, preys on the eggs or larvae of primary parasitoids. Some hyperparasitoid wasps are the size of a grain of salt.

Darwin was judging the seeming horrors of parasitoids from the very fallible human perspective. In reality, they represent a pinnacle of insect evolution and are vital parts of food chains. Parasitoids hold other insect populations in balance, and in turn provide food for scores of other predators. Many parasitoid wasps are important pollinators, too.

Fortunately for us, parasitoid wasps confine their activities to nonvertebrate animals, so humans are safe. At least for the present.

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

This tiny Ichneumon wasp (Enicospilus purgatus) is nocturnal, as are most of its quarry, caterpillars/Jim McCormac

Nature: A portal to Ohio's glacial past can be found at Cedar Bog

 

A fen meadow, full of rare plants, surrounded by white cedar, can be seen at Cedar Bog/Jim McCormac

The Columbus Dispatch
June 30, 2024

NATURE

Jim McCormac

One of Ohio’s greatest biological hotspots lies less than an hour’s drive west of Columbus.

Cedar Bog is a fascinating place; a glacial relict populated with flora that one would normally have to venture far to the north of Ohio to see.

At the time of European settlement, the Mad River Valley west and south of Urbana harbored a massive 7,000-acre “swamp”. The word swamp is a catch-all term for a variety of wetlands, and the Mad River swamp deserves more discriminating nomenclature.

In 1974, geologist Jane Forsyth did just that, coining what by then had become known as Cedar Bog as a boreal fen.

Boreal refers to northerly regions and is an apropos descriptor for Cedar Bog. The Pleistocene epoch brought the last global ice age, commencing about 2.5 million years ago. As the sheets of ice slowly expanded south, they bulldozed the landscape, creating valleys and depressions suitable for northern plant species.

As the climate then was much colder, boreal plants, such as spruce, fir, tamarack and many others, flourished in what would much later become known as Ohio.

A warming climate eventually spurred the retreat of the glaciers and they had receded to the north of Ohio by about 12,000 years ago. Boreal flora was slowly replaced with more southerly plants, except around the margins of cold glacial lakes and specialized peatlands known as bogs and fens.

Cedar Bog was one of the largest and is exceptional in that it hosts plants of boreal regions and westerly wet prairies. It should be noted that Cedar “Bog” is really a fen. Fens are fed by groundwater while bogs receive water from rainfall.

Soon after settlers pushed into the Mad River Valley, they set about clearing timber and draining the great swamp. Ultimately, all but the 450-acres that comprise present-day Cedar Bog were destroyed, the once tremendous floristic diversity replaced by the ubiquitous fodder of America’s bread basket: corn, soybeans and wheat.

Well over 90% of Ohio’s peatlands that were documented post-settlement have been destroyed. Fortunately, conservationists were able to rally to protect what remained of Cedar Bog, and in 1942, the state provided funds for its purchase and the site was turned over to the Ohio Historical Society (now Ohio History Connection).

The National Park Service designated it a National Natural Landmark in 1967, and it was dedicated as a state nature preserve in 1979.

I’ve visited Cedar Bog scores of times, most recently on June 22. It was a special-event day, with Chelsea Gottfried, co-author of the book "Gardening for Moths," speaking about our nocturnal butterflies to about 55 people.

Shauna Weyrauch and I attended and arrived an hour early to explore the extensive boardwalk.

Immediately obvious upon entering Cedar Bog are the namesake white cedars. This is a northern tree, and Cedar Bog is the only wetland in Ohio dominated by white cedar. One must venture about 250 miles to the north before cedar “swamps” start to become common.

The bright orange flowers of Michigan lilies caught our eye. The spectacular plants are having a boom year and can’t be missed. Showy grass-pink orchids dotted the fen meadows, and there were large drifts of fen Indian plantain, a strange member of the sunflower family.

Brilliant magenta spikes of spotted phlox provided jots of color amongst the sedges, and we were pleased to see the wand lily in peak bloom. The latter sometimes goes by the name “death camas” due to its toxic alkaloids.

Cedar Bog hosts one of the highest densities of rare plants of any site in the state. Probably the most famous of these is the showy lady’s slipper, a huge orchid with massive pink and white flowers. There are only about five Ohio sites, and Cedar Bog is by far the largest. They’re through for the season, but plan on visiting late spring/early summer next year to see them at prime time.

Visitors are often surprised to see lizards racing along the boardwalk. They’re five-lined skinks and are common. So is America’s smallest dragonfly, the endangered elfin skimmer. It’s less than an inch in length and is a fen and bog specialist.

Elfin skimmers lurk in the sedges, along with a threatened damselfly, the seepage dancer. Sharp-eyed observers will find them right along the boardwalk.

Mark your calendar for July 6 when firefly expert Matthew Speights delivers a presentation followed by a nocturnal foray into the fen to see an amazing insectivorous lightshow.

Cedar Bog offers a portal into Ohio’s glacial past, without having to drive several hundred miles to the north.

A visit is always interesting and the dedicated volunteers and Maddie Brown, the site manager, are a wealth of information. For hours and other details, visit cedarbognp.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 jim mccormac.blogspot.com.

Confused Eusarca moths nectar at rare plant

Last Saturday evening, Cedar Bog hosted a moth night, headlined by speaker Chelsea Gottfried, coauthor of THIS BOOK. It was a great program, and Chelsea played to a packed house of about 55 people. Nightfall was settling in by the time her talk was done and illuminated mothing sheets had been strategically placed around the nature center.

I was equally interested in going into the heart of the large fen (Cedar "Bog" is actually a fen) and seeing what moths but by visiting the flowers in the fen meadows, many of which are rare in Ohio.

This is one of those rarities, the Wand Lily (Anticlea elegans), or as it is sometimes known, Death Camas. The latter stems from the toxicity of plants in this genus, and apparently the toxins are quite potent.

Shauna Weyrauch and I were more interested in moth flower visitors than plant toxicity on this night, but despite watching, saw no Lepidopteran visitors at the Wand Lily. I did later see an image from someone else of a moth nectaring at these flowers but could not tell what species from the image. I would have liked to have spent more time observing the Wand Lilies, but time was limited, and I thought that another species nearby would bear more mothy fruit.

This is Fen Indian-plantain (Arnoglossum plantagineum), and while quite the rarity in Ohio, there is plenty at Cedar Bog and it can form sizable drifts. It is a beautiful plant, and recognizing the family it belongs to as probably not intuitive for many people. Fen Indian-plantain, believe it or not, is a member of the massive Sunflower Family (Asteraceae).

It was in perfect bloom, and I figured that the luminescent white flowers would lure moths, so we spent much of our time observing the indian-plantain.

Bingo! A Confused Eusarca (Eusarca confusaria) taps nectar from the strange blooms. We saw a number of Confused Eusarcas doing so, as well as other moth species that I didn't manage photos of and did not identify. By the way, I do not know the story behind the "confused" part of the moth's moniker. They didn't look particularly confused to me, and I suspect it may have something to do with other similar species and humans' confusion over separating them.

Confused Eusarca caterpillars feed primarily on members of the Sunflower Family, and it may be that Fen Indian-plantain plays host to them. There are many other potential host plant candidates in Cedar Bog's meadows as well, and I would love to put in some more hours in the "bog" at night looking for nectaring moths.

If you want to experience Cedar Bog after dark, firefly expert Matthew Speights will be giving a program in the Cedar Bog visitor's center on July 6 at 730 pm. Afterwards, everyone will head afield to look for and learn about "lightning bugs". I can report that it looked like a laser light show in places last Saturday night due to prolific fireflies.

PHOTO NOTE: I have been regularly engaging in nocturnal photography for some time now and have hit upon a pretty bulletproof flash technique. It involves these settings: ISO 200, 1/200 second exposure, and f/13 or f/16 (a small aperture). The flash is either the Canon 600 EX II RT speedlite, or more commonly the Canon MT 26EX-RT Twinlites. The latter mount on a ring around the end of the lens barrel, and both lights - one on either side of the lens - can be adjusted independently. When the shutter is half tapped, subtle pre-lights come on on both flashes, providing enough light to focus. When the subject is locked on, fully depress the shutter and make the image. No need for clumsy flashlights or other auxiliary light sources to find and focus on the subject. my 100mm f/2.8L macro lens is the usual weapon of choice. With the flash set to TTL mode, it communicates with the camera and typically provides just about the perfect amount of light every time. I'd far rather focus on finding, approaching, and composing subjects that constantly fiddling with camera/flash settings. And light metering that I do is usually by adjusting the intensity of the flash itself, either adding or reducing light if needed.