A smattering of images from northern Michigan, starring the Kirtland's warbler

 

Beach pea (Lathyrus japonicus) on a Lake Michigan beach in Michigan's Upper Peninsula. The tough pea is a front-line colonizer of open sands. In my home state of Ohio, it is a Lake Erie rarity and is listed as threatened by the Ohio Department of Natural Resources' Division of Natural Areas. It is far more common in northern Michigan, where there is lots of beaches that are largely untrammeled by people. We - and our fondness for beaches - are perhaps this plant's biggest threat.

A closer view of the showy flowers. Beach pea's interesting scientific name, Lathyrus japonicus, makes reference to its type locality (place of original collection), Japan. The plant ranges far and wide along seacoasts (and The Great Lakes) throughout the northern hemisphere.

Back in mid-July of this year, Shauna and I peregrinated north to the Upper Peninsula - one of the most interesting places in North America, at least for those with a fondness for natural history. We saw many interesting organisms, and I share a few of those in this post.

Another showy plant is plains puccoon (Lithospermum caroliniense), seen here growing on the same Lake Michigan beach at the pea above. Its companions include Pitcher's thistle (Cirsium pitcheri), the aforementioned beach pea, and beach grass (Ammophila breviligulata). Beaches are extensive enough up here and free enough of people that their flora can survive in most places.

Here is the plains puccoon growing in a very different habitat than the Great Lakes beaches, although the common denominator is sand. This is in Oscoda County, in the northern part of the thumb, or lower portion of Michigan. That's a big red pine (Pinus resinosa) dead center, behind the puccoon. More special are the young pines in the far backdrop. They are jack pines (P. banksiana), and young pines of this species play host to the second-rarest warbler in eastern North America, the Kirtland's warbler (Setophaga kirtlandii). Only about 1,500 pairs remain, a drop of about 30% over the last five years.

Oh, the rarest warbler? Bachman's warbler, which is extinct.

Shauna had never seen this gorgeous bird, so naturally we made time to stop in and commune with some.

A Kirtland's warbler sings from a jack pine. This, for me, was a bucket list shot. I wanted to depict one of the beautiful birds with the cones of the pine in the backdrop.

A Kirtland's warbler tees up on a singing perch. These animals are very tame, and there is no need for birders to barrel in playing tapes to lure one into view. The males' songs are loud and carry some ways, and it shouldn't take long to spot one. With a little more investment of time, one can suss out their patterns, quietly move into a good position, and the bird will eventually come to you.

I've probably told this story somewhere on this blog before, but one time I visited an especially nice chunk of Kirtland's habitat, with several nearby singing males. To better drink in the ambience of this amazing situation, I laid down on a soft bed of Pennsylvania sedge to just listen to them for a while.

A nearby male eventually worked his way over and soon was in the nearest pine. He came to the closest branch, near ground level, singing all the while. Soon he was about a foot from my leg - I really learned how loud that song is! - and I thought he was going to hop onto my leg. He stopped short of that, but it was an incredible experience.

As an aside, going prostrate is a good way to not only put animals more at ease - many species have an understandable fear of large bipeds - but also provoke a sense of curiosity, as I think they have a harder time figuring out what you are and may choose to investigate.

Here he is in full song, and what a song it is. Rich, deep, and with a bit of reverb quality.

One more shot of a different individual, as it's impossible to get enough of this wonderful bird.

PHOTO NOTE: With birds and other animals, I am picky about head angles and will work to get shots like the above. Either looking my way, with head angled 5-10 degrees in my direction, or looking over its back as the bird above. To me, this adds an element of animation to an otherwise still photo.

Tricolored Heron

 

As always, click the image to enlarge

A tricolored heron (Egretta tricolor) plies the waters of a coastal marsh in Brazoria County, Texas. I made this image and the following on January 12, 2026. I was down in the Lonestar State to deliver a talk at the annual Sadie Gwin Blackburn Environmental Seminar, hosted by the River Oaks Garden Club in Houston. My subject? Caterpillars! The tubular larvae of moths - and to a much lesser degree, in terms of biomass, butterflies, are receiving more of the richly due that they merit. It was a great group, and a fun conference, and also a Texas stone's throw from the Gulf Coast and scads of avian diversity.

So, once the conference concluded, Shauna and I headed south to the saline waters of the Gulf of MEXICO (hoping they restore its proper name in about two years) to see what we could drum up. We found plenty, but as usual I was particularly drawn to the herons. It was a great blue heron (Ardea herodias) that fired my imagine as a young kid and I've never lost my fascination with the lanky-legged waders. Thus, when the gorgeous animal in these photos presented itself at close range, my shutter started clicking away and I managed a few decent shots.

A portraiture shot of the gorgeous animal. Note that deep ruby-red eye. 

For us north of the border gringos, this southern species is primarily confined to Gulf and Atlantic coastal areas, from southern Texas to the southern New England states. It is mostly a permanent resident in its U.S. range, but vagrants wander far and wide, including to Ohio. We see one or two most (but not every) years, although vagrant tricolored herons seem to be appearing in fewer numbers, probably a consequence of an apparent decline on the overall population.

The svelte, white-bellied waders usually shun the company of other herons, and are active hunters, often rushing about, flapping their wings and making abrupt rapid lunges at piscivorous prey. Tricolored herons eat small fish almost exclusively, such as killifish, topminnows and other such fare.

White-dotted prominent caterpillar

 

A white-dotted prominent caterpillar (Nadata gibbosa) gnaws on the leaf of a post oak (Quercus stellata). This species feeds primarily on oak and other plants in the Fagaceae family. Needless to say, we were pleased to come across this larva, which in my estimation is one of the coolest caterpillars in the vast eastern deciduous forest region.

Like many caterpillars, white-dotted prominents typically feed from the leaf edge in the manner of the animal in the photo above. Although it is a large caterpillar in its last instar (growth stage), it can be surprisingly difficult to spot them as they do a good job of becoming one with the leaf.

We found this one on a foray into an Adams County, Ohio prairie on September 18, 2026.

We temporarily relocated the cat for photos, which triggered its defensive reaction in which it becomes surprisingly snake-like in appearance. The caterpillar coils its body and bares its black, yellow and white mandibles/mouthparts. I do not know if this is intentional snake mimicry, but such displays are presumably geared towards threatening songbirds. Avian predators consume enormous numbers of caterpillars, so if a larva such as this could evolve a threat display that is capable of intimidating at least some members of that group, the white-dotted prominent caterpillar's chance of survival increases.

The snake display can be even more advanced than in the photo above. See the photo below.

As always, click the image to enlarge.

I made this image several years back, and this white-dotted prominent caterpillar pulled out all of the stops in its attempt to appear snakish (or whatever it's trying to resemble). It is quite remarkable to observe this behavior. Oftentimes, prior to posing as above, the caterpillar will rear its upper body and head, and sway back and forth like a cobra in a snake charmer's basket.

If all goes well, and the larva dodges all of the predators that might come its way (caterpillars have remarkably high rates of predation, possibly approaching 99% in some cases), this it will morph into. The common name of the organism - white-dotted prominent - stems from two small white dots on the moth's forewings. They are towards the lower edge of the wing, and between the two prominent cinnamon-colored lines.

Lesser ladies'-tresses on the move

 

A tiny lesser ladies'-tresses orchid grows in the open woods of an Ohio prairie.

I made these images of lesser ladies'-tresses (Spiranthes ovalis) back on September 18, 2026, in an Adams County, Ohio, prairie. The diminutive orchid favors open woods and other open to semi-open haunts, and it is easy to miss due to its elfin stature. Lesser ladies'-tresses also blooms quite late, sometimes (probably increasingly) into November.

At one time, this species was included on ODNR's list of rare plant species, and when Lucy Braun published her book on the monocotyledonous flora of Ohio in 1967, she had records for only five of the southernmost counties - its northern limits at the time.

But the little orchid is on a rapid northward march, and iNaturalist now lists many dozens of records from nearly all parts of Ohio. It reached Michigan in relatively recent times, and has crossed the border into southern Ontario, Canada. And the march will undoubtedly continue.

Why the increase? I don't know for sure, and multiple factors may come into play. This little orchid is somewhat catholic in its habitat tastes, favoring an array of open haunts such as prairies, open woodlands, and old fields. So, it is somewhat adaptable should new opportunities for expansion arise.

Mean temperature increases surely play a role as well, and this would be just one of myriad organisms that are spreading northward at a rapid pace. My next Columbus Dispatch column, which I'll share here, is about armadillos and their fast expansion. They'll likely soon be regular in Ohio and other northern states.

The flowers of lesser ladies'-tresses are the smallest of Ohio's nine species of Spiranthes orchids.

This Lapland longspur (Calcarius lapponicus) had just landed on this piece of driftwood, having crossed at least 15 miles of open water (possibly much more) of Lake Superior to reach this beachhead at Whitefish Point on Michigan's Upper Peninsula. He/she wasted no time in scratching an itch. It was interesting to watch small numbers of longspurs, horned larks, and snow buntings come in off the lake and land on the shore at this major migratory hotspot.

This sparrow-like bird breeds in Arctic regions far to the north of Michigan, in polar bear country. If the animal in my photos bred at the northern tip of Ellesmere Island, at the northern limits of its breeding range, it would have traveled south about 2,500 miles to reach Whitefish Point. It is usually the most common breeding songbird in the tundra, and sometimes the only songbird breeding in such habitats.

October 14, 2026.

Brutal Lake Superior storm

 

The rocks that the scenic Marquette Harbor Lighthouse perches atop get pounded by massive waves rolling in off Lake Superior.

Shauna and I just returned from a week up in Michigan's north country, all of it spent on the Upper Peninsula. This is one of my favorite places in the world. There aren't many people, interesting habitats abound, and they tend to be largely undisturbed.

Late on October 14, winds started to build, and this presented a wonderful opportunity to see this massive lake whipped into a frenzy. Superior's scale is impressive. It is the largest freshwater lake in the world by surface area (Lake Baikal in Russia holds more water but is smaller in size) and is 1,333 feet in depth at its deepest point. If winds are from the north, they roar up to 150 miles unimpeded across open waters to the Marquette area, where these photos were made.

By the next morning, the waves were crazy and we shifted our agenda to focus on photo-documenting the watery fruits of this gale. Conditions were fairly brutish with cold temperatures and winds so strong that I usually drove my tripod legs deep into the sand to better hold it steady. I later learned that out on the open lake, waves were up to 25 feet in height, and odd rogue waves reached 34 feet. They had diminished somewhat by the time they reached shore but remained thoroughly impressive.

These conditions were very similar to what caused the sinking of the 729-foot-long Edmund Fitzgerald on November 10, 1975, near Whitefish Point. All 29 crewmen were lost when the freighter was snapped in two during the storm. We saw no freighters on the lake on this day, and I suspect most or all of them anchored in sheltered locales such as Whitefish Point Bay (100 miles to the east of Marquette) to sit this out. Indeed, on a visit to Whitefish Point the day after taking these photos, I learned that five big "laker" freighters indeed had sought shelter there.

The Presque Isle Harbor Breakwater Lighthouse gets slammed by an enormous wave. The lighthouse is 55 feet in height; about the same as a 5-story building. Can you imagine working in your fifth story office, and a wave slams the building with such force that the spray reaches your window?

All of this was fascinating to bear witness to and attempt to photograph. In the Marquette area, anywhere there was a lake overlook, it was packed with locals (and some tourists) watching the spectacle. I trotted out a number of lenses to capture this action, and the one above was made with my big wildlife lens, the Canon 800mm f/5.6. The first image was made with the indispensable (to me) Canon 70-200mm f/2.8 II.

Such regular hydrological disturbance of the shoreline is important to the maintenance of plant communities, perhaps especially beach communities. I have photos of some of those habitats and the hardy plants that vegetate them and will try to post some later and describe their ecology.

Hidden Ohio flycatcher lived long enough to make history

 

A yellow-bellied flycatcher on its northern Michigan breeding grounds/Jim McCormac

The yellow-bellied flycatcher is one of North America’s most poorly known species. Even though it is a fairly common migrant in Ohio, as it travels between boreal breeding grounds and wintering grounds in Central America, the vast majority go undetected.

This species is a notorious skulker, often staying in dense vegetation where they’re hard to see. Also, the flycatcher seemingly has little to say in migration and doesn’t often reveal its presence with songs or calls.

One of the toughest identification challenges in North America is the flycatchers in the genus Empidonax, to which the yellow-bellied flycatcher belongs. Four species breed here: Acadian, alder, least and willow flycatchers. The yellow-bellied flycatcher nests far to our north but its migratory corridor passes through Ohio.

At a casual glance, all these species look quite similar and are easiest to separate by song. Or, if you are an expert bird bander, when holding one in the hand.

But catching birds to identify and band is not easy, and few people in Ohio are licensed to do so. A permit is required from the U.S. Geological Survey’s Bird Banding Lab. To earn a permit, would-be banders must do extensive apprenticeship work with a licensed bander, then provide three letters of reference from banders and submit a research proposal regarding the work the bander hopes to accomplish.

One of the most experienced bird banders anywhere is Mark Shieldcastle, a former biologist with the Ohio Division of Wildlife. In 1992, Shieldcastle and others founded the Black Swamp Bird Observatory (BSBO), an organization dedicated to furthering avian research and education along the shores of western Lake Erie.

Kim Kaufman had been involved with BSBO since its infancy, and in 2005, she became its education director, and then in 2009, she was named executive director, a position she still holds.

BSBO has gone on to become a tour de force in North American ornithology and bird conservation, on several fronts. Its educational outreach seemingly knows no bounds and includes an active young birder’s program. BSBO’s Biggest Week in American Birding event, which takes place over 10 days in early May, reaches thousands of birders from most states and many countries, and pumps about $40 million annually into the local economy of western Lake Erie.

I will soon return to the yellow-bellied flycatcher and a very special BSBO encounter with one, but first a few words on BSBO's bird-banding operations. Since 1992 at its primary banding station, Navarre Marsh, which is part of the Ottawa National Wildlife Refuge, BSBO researchers have banded an incredible 435,605 individual birds representing 150 species.

To catch and band birds on that scale, one must be in a very birdy region, and BSBO certainly is. The headquarters is at the entrance to Magee Marsh Wildlife Area, which is one of the most-visited birding sites in North America. The adjacent Lake Erie marshes rank high among the most biodiverse areas of the entire Great Lakes and are critical stopover habitat for migratory birds.

One morning last August, Ryan Jacob, BSBO’s banding project director, and his crew arrived at the Navarre banding station to unfurl the mist nets and begin another day’s banding. At such times, there is always an undercurrent of excitement, as one never knows what might appear in the nets.

Later that morning, the crew was pleased to catch a yellow-bellied flycatcher. Their pleasure quickly turned to excitement when they saw the bird was already sporting a band on its leg! The flyweight aluminum band bore the unique code 2900-00286.

It turned out that Jacob and this flycatcher had previously met. It was he who placed the band on the flycatcher way back on May 22, 2018, at the same site.

The nine-year-old flycatcher shortly after it was recaptured/Annalise Bokenkamp-Black Swamp Bird Observatory

The 5.5-inch long, 11-gram sprite was an adult when BSBO first caught it, which means that it is at least 9 years old – a Methuselah among songbirds. The previous yellow-bellied flycatcher longevity record was 6 years old. The average longevity of songbirds in general is probably one to three years.

That such an elfin long-distance migrant could live that long is remarkable. Once ensconced on its breeding or wintering grounds, the flycatcher is relatively safe. But the long migratory journey, which is made at night, is fraught with peril. If this bird wintered at the southern reaches of its wintering grounds, in Panama, and breeds near the northern limits of its nesting grounds, in eastern Alaska, it could travel up to 10,000 miles annually.

Since John James Audubon first placed a band (he used thread or wire) on an eastern phoebe in 1804, the science of banding has become far more sophisticated, and the work of banders has generated mountains of data on birds. Their research has furthered conservation efforts and elucidates previously unknown details of life histories, such as how long a yellow-bellied flycatcher can live.

We’re fortunate to have BSBO based in the Buckeye state, and they’ve earned the support of conservationists far and wide. BSBO is an organization well worth supporting. For more information, visit bsbo.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 jimmccormac.blogspot.com.