Nature: Cast-off crimes must be prevented in the wild

Barred Owl snared by fishing line. Photo by Dutch Gordon

Nature: Cast-off crimes must be prevented in the wild

Columbus Dispatch

July 21, 2024

NATURE

Jim McCormac

People love to fish, as evidenced by the 678,000 fishing licenses sold last year in Ohio. Unfortunately, not all of these anglers clean up after themselves.

We’ve all seen evidence of this: fishing hotspots peppered with various trash, not the least of which is abandoned fishing line. It’s not just Ohio fishermen that discard monofilament line. Worldwide, it’s estimated that up to a third of all fishing lines are pitched.

Cast-off fishing line is known as “ghost gear” and is among the deadliest forms of human debris to wildlife.

On Tuesday, July 9, photographers Shauna Weyrauch and Dutch Gordon ventured to the upper end of Alum Creek Reservoir to photograph the nesting ospreys found there. Arriving shortly after dawn, they prepared for what should have been a fun morning of photographing the “fish hawks” at their nest.

A good vantage point for osprey observation is also a popular area for bank fishermen, replete with the usual cast-off tackle. About the first thing that Dutch and Shauna noticed upon arrival was a barred owl dangling from a tree, one of its wings ensnared in fishing line.

Osprey photography forgotten, they quickly set about with rescue attempts. The difficulty of this was compounded by the fact that the owl was suspended about 6 feet above the water of the reservoir, unreachable from shore.

Fortunately, the main offices of Preservation Parks of Delaware County are just two minutes down the road. Another photographer that had arrived on scene, Dennis Roush, drove over to find some park employees preparing for the day.

Preservation Parks employees Lauren Richards, Zoe Swanson, Tyler Swartzlander and Adam Wilson dropped everything and rushed to the site. Richards and Swanson donned hip waders, entered the water and soon had the owl in safe hands.

They promptly took it to the Ohio Wildlife Center (OWC) near the Columbus Zoo, the largest wildlife rehabilitation facility in the state, as Preservation Parks is not equipped to take in and deal with injured wildlife.

Unfortunately, the owl, due to its struggles to escape the fishing line, had suffered a complete luxation (dislocation) of its left wing. There’s no recovery from that and the owl had to be euthanized.

Kudos to all involved in the rescue. They dropped everything and did their darndest for the owl. But deadly fishing line had claimed another victim. And that owl is by no means the only casualty of ghost gear.

David Donahue of the OWC informed me that so far this year, 22 victims of cast-off line have been brought to the center, 12 of which died. Some of the victims included a belted kingfisher, a great blue heron and a snapping turtle.

In all, the OWC received 117 victims of fishing line over the last decade, representing 23 species. Fifty-four of those patients could not be saved. Canada geese and mallards were the most common, and turtles of six species represented 27 individuals.

Particularly sad losses included another barred owl, an eastern screech owl, a mudpuppy (large salamander), a red-shouldered and red-tailed hawk, a redhead duck and a pileated woodpecker.

The OWC patients represent the tip of the iceberg regarding fishing-line mortality. All of the other rehab facilities would probably report similar data, and the vast majority of victims never receive treatment and are not reported.

Cast-off line typically occurs in high-use wildlife habitat: the interface between water and land. The problems caused by fishing-line litter are well documented and indisputable. The solution is simple, and completely in the hands of the fishermen that have caused the problem. Dispose of your fishing line properly, not in the wild. Scores of creatures would be grateful.

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.

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