Two cool plants: Creeping Phlox and Twisted Sedge

As I may have mentioned in previous posts, I've been laboring away to eliminate a backlog of un-curated photos. Some date back to 2016. Most come from the spring/summer seasons, when sometimes I would return from trips with scads of images, but immediately get sucked into all manner of activities upon return. So, some folders would go into a to-be-archived folder. Fortunately, there's only about 50-60 such folders, but it's still a lot of work. I do keep current on archival of most photos, fortunately. I'm particular about how images are labeled and archived. All of mine are tagged with metadata that at a minimum includes species name, scientific name, county, state, date, and often more specific site names. Sometimes other short notes as well.

Once the images are labeled, they go onto the Cloud (good to have a storage facility completely removed from base camp, I think) and on two hard drives (duplicity is good). Careful labeling helps me find things fast, no matter when they were taken, and I can drum up about any photo I'm looking for quickly. But it isn't just about me. Having detailed metadata associated with images could be useful in the distant future. Who knows how long our digital photos could hang around, but it could be centuries or more. Someone stumbling across my images in the year 2225 could have a treasure trove of well-documented photos at a time when the earth might be very different than it currently is.

Anyway, one of the fun elements of this photo curation is revisiting sites through the images. Here are a few plants from a trip to Hocking County, Ohio on April 28, 2017. I include them here in part because I think that both would make good, interesting plants for home landscaping. While I'd think some nurseries would sell Creeping Phlox, so that one probably is accessible, I doubt if any nurseries carry Twisted Sedge.

This streambank along a small creek in Hocking County, Ohio is covered with a dense stand of Twisted Sedge (Carex torta). The sedge is densely rhizomatous, and its cord-like roots bind the unstable soil. Twisted Sedge is a pioneer species of newly exposed banks and gravel bars in riparian habitats, usually smaller streams like the one in the image.

Sedges in the genus Carex offer quite the potential buffet for the adventurous gardener. In Ohio alone, there are over 180 species, and Carex is probably the most speciose genus in all of the eastern states. Unfortunately, the vast majority of them have not been brought into captivity, and most never will.

As always, click the photo to enlarge

Here's the flowering/fruiting culm of Twisted Sedge. It's quite ornate. The long, skinny terminal spike is comprised of the staminate (male) flowers. The three bristly lower spikelets are the pistillate (female) flowers, now mostly developed into fruit. In Carex-speak, the fruit are known as perigynia. And in this case, the perigynia are exceptionally striking. Their lime-green coloration is punctuated by rich chocolate-brown scales.

Twisted Sedge favors shady environs, which could be a further asset for the landowner having trouble finding interesting natives for such places. I hope to get some of this sedge next year, and experiment with it on my property. My hunch is it'll be pretty easy to successfully grow.

This photo was made in nearly the same spot as the Twisted Sedge above. Indeed, the grassy-looking clumps along the steam banks is that sedge. But this is also habitat for one of our showiest phloxes. And all phloxes are showy.

We move in on some Creeping Phlox (Phlox stolonifera). This image illustrates the common name. The plant sends out stolons (basically small rhizomes on the ground's surface) that creep about. A colony will often have relatively few flowering spikes relative to the number of leafy stolons.

It is no coincidence that this phlox and the Twisted Sedge have similar growth habits. Life along the stream means scouring floods. Because of their anchoring rhizomes and stolons, Creeping Phlox and Twisted Sedge can hold their ground.

The gorgeous flowers of Creeping Phlox, but are not the flowers of ALL phloxes gorgeous?

In addition to providing aesthetic beauty, the flowers lure Ruby-throated Hummingbirds, hummingbird clearwing moths in the genus Hemaris,  swallowtail butterflies, and all manner of other insects.

Creeping Phlox reaches the northern limits of its range in Hocking County, Ohio, where I made these shots. To the east of Ohio, in more mountainous areas, it extends all of the way north to southern Maine.

With its propensity for shady haunts, Creeping Phlox might also make an interesting native plant for tough-to-grow places.

Three special understory warblers

I recently ran across the following images while doing archival and curation of my photos. All of them were made at the same locations and on the same day, May 1, 2022. The site was a remote locale in the Monongahela National Forest of West Virginia.

A Hooded Warbler (Setophaga citrina) tees up in a fascicle of Great Rhododendron (Rhododendron maximum) leaves. This site was quite warbliferous and I photographed a few species at this very spot. One of them is the second most coveted species of eastern warbler, but it can't hold a candle to the Hooded Warbler in the looks department. Hooded Warblers certainly breed in and around rhododendrons but occur in a variety of woodland understory habitats.

A male Black-throated Blue Warbler (Setophaga caerulescens) peeks from a rhododendron snarl, a favored breeding habitat in the Appalachian Mountains. This one is near the southern limits of the species' breeding range, in southern West Virginia. He little resembles the plain brown female, and early on males and females were considered separate species. Eastern Hemlock trees (Tsuga canadensis) often co-occur with Great Rhododendron, and I think this warbler species is more connected to that tree rather than the rhododendrons. Next photo is of the most coveted warbler in this habitat, even if it is the drabbest.

Here's the third warbler of my Appalachian rhododendron thicket series. And the most coveted, the Swainson's Warbler (Limnothlypis swainsonii). By numbers, it's the second rarest eastern warbler. Only the Kirtland's warbler is fewer in number. About 140,000 Swainson's warblers are thought to still exist. As a point of comparison, the most abundant warbler, the yellow-rumped warbler, has around 170 million individuals. The monotypic Swainson's warbler (only species in the genus Limnothlypis) favors two distinct habitat types: rhododendron thickets, and cane breaks (Arundinaria gigantea).

Interestingly, an apparently unmated male spent much of last summer in Shawnee State Forest in Scioto County, Ohio. The site is not too terribly far from West Virginia nesting populations, but breeding has never been documented in Ohio. I made a visit to see it last June and was surprised to find the largest wild stand of giant cane I've seen in Ohio nearby. Coincidence? Maybe, but it'll be interesting to see if Swainson's warblers return to this locale. Note the bird's huge toes. All the better to forage on the ground, in dense leafy detritus.

Red-shouldered Hawk, in autumnal foliage

A gorgeous adult Red-shouldered Hawk hunts from the boughs of a fruit-laden sycamore tree. By moving my position a bit, I was able to get a solid wall of autumnally tinted foliage behind the bird.

Shauna and I made a run up the Olentangy River last Tuesday, November 4, seeking fall colors to photograph, along with anything else that might be reveal itself. Highbanks Metro Park was one of our stops, and I spotted the raptor perched atop a bat house in Highbank's "Big Meadow" down by the river. Eventually some walkers flushed the hawk, and it flew to this much more visually pleasing spot and we set about making photos.

Red-shouldered Hawks are often fairly tame, especially when in regular contact with people. This bird is one of the local breeding pairs, and as Highbanks gets over 1.3 million visitors annually, its sees lots of humanoids. This species ranks high among our showiest raptors, and I'll never miss an opportunity to work with Buteo lineatus.

PHOTO NOTE: Although our primary goal on this relatively brief outing was landscapes and fall color, photographically I was armed for bear. One never knows when something like this hawk might present itself. As always, at least for the past 5+ years, I was armed with the Canon R5, a truly amazing mirrorless camera. It's update, the R5 II, emerged last year, and I'd like to update to that, but that's yet to happen.

Anyways, when I saw the hawk, I parked some distance away, and Shauna moved in with her handheld Nikon Z8 and 150-600 lens. She got some awesome shots. It took me a bit longer to get in position, as I installed the Canon 800mm f/5.6 lens, and Canon's 1.4x teleconverter, making for a focal length of 1120mm. It's almost always better to work as far from animal subjects, especially birds, as possible - or at least stay far enough away to not bother them.

The 800mm can turn in mixed results with a teleconverter attached. It's more glass to shoot through, focus acquisition slows a bit, and achieving tack-sharp images can be difficult. I also have Canon's 2x teleconverter, which makes the 800mm a whopping 1600mm. That sounds good on paper, but in reality, it's very hard to get sharp, crisp images with the 2x, and you lose two stops, so f/11 is the lowest aperture one can shoot at. It's f/8 with the 1.4x. You'll want lots of light to attempt the 2x. But if the subject is close enough, especially larger subjects, the 1.4x/800 combo can produce nice images. I don't know exactly how far I was from this hawk, but it was distant enough that it paid me no mind. I was really hoping it's drop down and grab a gartersnake - it was warm enough for one to be moving about - and return with it to a convenient perch for snake/hawk pics. Red-shoulders eat lots of herps: amphibians and reptiles.

I made this image at f/8, 1/500 shutter speed, and ISO 1250. I used a tripod, of course - handholding the 11.5 pound R5/800 unit is tough, and the keeper rate will plummet without a tripod.
 

Why I disagree with those defending turf grasses

 

Drifts of native plants threaten to engulf the author's front yard/Jim McCormac

Why I disagree with those defending turf grasses

NATURE
Columbus Dispatch
November 2, 2025

A friend recently sent me a column entitled “Dispelling social media myths about gardening, pollinators and more.”

Myth-busting is always a step forward in our intellectual progress, whether said myth originates on social media, or anywhere else. The problem with this column, which is making the rounds, is that it perpetuates many falsehoods, rather than correct them. It essentially appears to be a defense of turf grass, and other biodiversity-reducing landscape activities.

Turf grass, sod, lawn — whatever you want to call it — is conspicuous and pervasive. An estimated 40-50 million acres of the stuff blankets America, and perhaps two million acres cover Ohio. It’s highly likely that most readers manage a lawnscape, as do I (but a much diminished one).
Lawn is typically a monoculture of one species, often bluegrass, fescue, or perhaps rye grass. They’re not species native to North America, hailing from Eurasia. These species are selected for traits such as shallow root systems and quick growth. They create a high-maintenance and utterly artificial ecosystem that supports little in the way of biodiversity.

For much of the growing season, turf grass requires weekly mowings. Such maintenance in the pursuit of superficial aesthetics uses an estimated 800 million gallons of gas annually in America, which is fed to mowers that emit much higher rates of pollution than cars do. The U.S. EPA estimates that 17 million gallons of gas are spilled annually in the pursuit of lawn mowing.

Worse yet, America’s lawns — which collectively blanket an area about the size of New York state — are doused with an estimated 2.4 million tons of fertilizer each year. Turf grass is the United States’ third largest crop, after corn and soybeans. Fertilizer usage pales compared to herbicides, fungicides and pesticides. About 80 million pounds of 2,4-D, malathion, azoxystrobin and all manner of other unpronounceable nasties are dumped on lawns each year. Most of them have deleterious — even fatal — effects on bees, birds, mammals, fish and other aquatic species. Furthermore, these toxins don’t just stay in your yard. Most of them have been detected in groundwater.

I noticed that the column did not mention any of the statistics cited above. The author did cite an expert who informs us that fireflies are not declining. This apparently is part of making a case that light pollution and turf grass has no impact on these charismatic flashers. In other words, don’t worry about leaving those nightlights on and turf grass is just fine for the bugs. That’s not the consensus among groups like The Xerces Society, which is devoted to the study and conservation of invertebrates. I wrote my column of July 20, on fireflies: “Fireflies are scarcer than a few decades ago.” The evidence leaves little doubt that “lightning bugs” are in a downward slide, and lawns and nightlights are part of the problem.

Elsewhere in the columm it is stated: “Many on social media suggest lawns are sterile and have no use.” Guilty as charged, and I do not know of a botanist, ecologist, entomologist or zoologist who wouldn’t feel like I do. And I know a lot of those types.

Biodiversity plummets in largely sterile monocultures of nonnative turf grass. Most of our native insects — the base layer of the food chain — are tightly tied to native flora. This makes sense, as those relationships were forged over very long time periods, far longer than the comparatively recent arrival of Europeans in America and the Old-World flora that they brought and continue to bring.

One insect group that does not flourish in turf grass are the so-called grass skipper butterflies. “Do you like skipper butterflies? Turfgrass is needed for many species of skippers as their larvae feed on insects in the turfgrass.” So states the column.

All grasses are not created equal, and the native grasses such as bluestems, redtop and rice cutgrasses far outshine turf grasses. Of the 16 species of grass skippers that regularly occur in Ohio, all of their caterpillars feed on native grasses (not “insects in the turfgrass”).

Moths are far more speciose than butterflies and vital to food chains, especially their caterpillars. Their diversity sinks to nearly nothing in turf grass meadows. A handful of species can endure the botanical desert, such as some armyworms, cutworms, grass-veneers and sod webworms. Lawns are effective at creating biological dead zones.

Those who wish to help wildlife and create a more environmentally friendly landscape should look to using native plants. There are over 1,800 native plants species in Ohio, and an ever-increasing number of them are finding their way into the nursery trade. As I and scores of others know from experience, adding native flora fosters fireflies, skipper butterflies and all manner of cool moths. Birds such as Carolina wrens, tufted titmice and migrant warblers benefit as a result.

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.

Moth talk and hike, Highbanks Metro Park, November 8, 3 pm.

 

Thanks to Claire Whillans, naturalist at Highbanks Metro Park, for creating this nice flyer!

On Saturday, November 8, I'm giving a talk about moths and their amazing roles in food webs and ecology, at Highbanks Metro Park just north of Columbus, Ohio. It's free, and all are welcome.

After the talk, we'll - at least those that wish - will talk a mile or so stroll around Highbanks, seeing what we can see (and hear). While moths will probably be in short supply, birds and botany won't and we'll look at whatever presents itself. A natural history free-for-all, if you will.

Hope to see you there!

Gibellula fungus, a spider killer

 

An unfortunate spider, engulfed by a Gibellula fungus. If an airborne Gibellula spore lands on a suitable victim, the fungus will grow and enter its body, eventually consuming much of the spider's soft inner parts. In a grisly last hurrah, fruiting bodies erupt from the carcass's corpse, sending legions of spores into the air stream to seek new spider victims. And to think, you have probably had many of these microscopic spores land on you. Hopefully the fungus never manages to jump ship to Homo sapiens, or some tough times lay ahead. Highland County, Ohio, July 16, 2022.

NOTE: I am laboring hard to delete my photographic backlog and am making great strides. There have been periods where I was taking FAR more images than I could curate and archive, so some of those folders got stuffed into a "to-do" file. Now is the time to buckle down and get all of these images into my system, where I can easily lay hands on them if needed. So, from time t time, I will probably out a photo or two from the past, as I come across temporarily forgotten gems (although I'm not sure anyone would consider a Gibellula fungus and its unfortunate victim a "gem").

Lawrence's Warbler

A scrubby successional habitat in Medina County, on a fine morning. I visited this site on June 11, 2025, to seek a very special bird. Letha House Park is part of the Medina County Park District, and it contains a diverse mixture of habitats: old fields, young forest, wetlands, a pond, and most germane to this story, young shrubby thickets.

On April 29, the rare hybrid Lawrence's Warbler was discovered in the very patch in my photo above. The white flowers, by the way, are Smooth Beardtongue (Penstemon digitalis). It wasn't that herb that lured the Lawrence's Warbler, though, it was the mixture of young pole-sized trees and associated brushy growth.

While I can't recall now who found the bird, I think it was Debbie Parker, and/or Joe Wojnarowski. Both reported the bird to eBird on April 29, the first date it was reported. I watched the reports with great interest as time went on but was too busy with various activities to make the trip, although the Lawrence's was reported daily throughout May.

As always, click the photo to enlarge

Finally! June 11 arrives and so does a free and clear day. I hit the road long before sunup and arrived on a beautifully sunny morning with excellent light for photography. I don't think I had even fully exited the vehicle before I heard the hybrid's distinctive buzzy song and soon found the singer in a young sycamore.

The Lawrence's Warbler is a hybrid between the Blue-winged Warbler (Vermivora cyanoptera) and Golden-winged Warbler (V. chrysoptera). The former parent species remains fairly common where appropriate habitat remains, while the latter parent has declined alarmingly across much of its range.

If one uses the Biological Species Concept as a framework for deciding what constitutes a species (as many scientists do), they will be confronted with this tenet: The biological species concept defines a species as members of populations that actually or potentially interbreed in nature, not according to similarity of appearance. Although appearance is helpful in identifying species, it does not define species.

Differing visual appearances sometimes have little to do with speciation. Take the Eastern and Western meadowlarks (Sturnella magna and S. neglecta). Most birders would struggle mightily telling those two apart visually. But their songs are different as night and day and with the slightest experience, anyone would instantly recognize them. Those songs probably serve as a primary barrier in limiting contact between the two. There is a narrow band of overlapping range, but even there, hybridization is apparently very rare.

Yet the Blue-winged and Golden-winged warblers look completely different. Anyone would think they were different species with just a glance. And indeed, they are and always have been treated as separate species. But should they?

The Medina County Lawrence's Warbler strikes a pose. I would argue that it is more beautiful than either parent species, or its fellow hybrid the Brewster's Warbler.

About 190 years ago, the legendary frontier ornithologist John James Audubon wrote a letter to his mentor and confidant, John Bachman, in which he speculated that Blue-winged and Golden-winged warblers were the same species. Audubon, a keen observer if there ever was one, no doubt noted mixed pairings and similarities in songs and structure.

It wasn't until 1886 that the inaugural American Ornithologists' Union Checklist of North American Birds appeared, over 50 years after Audubon's prescient Blue-winged/Golden-winged observations noted in his September 15, 1835, missive to Bachman. This checklist is widely considered the standard for North American bird nomenclature. Numerous editions and supplements to the checklist have been published since, but from the first to the current checklist, Blue-winged and Golden-winged warblers have been maintained as separate species. I would note that the scientific name of the Blue-winged changed three times over the checklist's history, and the Golden-winged's twice. English names tend to be far more stable than the ever-shifting landscape of scientific nomenclature.

In the mid-2010's, scientists with the Cornell Lab of Ornithology undertook an intensive study of the genetics of the Blue-winged and Golden-winged warblers. The results weren't very surprising, in my estimation, but provide solid evidence of their genetic similarity. In short, the two "species" are 99.7% genetically identical. Only six regions (0.3%) of the genome reflect distinct differences. This is basically akin to the differences between a human with red hair, and one with blond hair. The Cornall researchers note that the genetic differences between the two groups of Swainson's Thrush (each comprised of three subspecies) are greater than the differences between the two warblers.

When they come into contact, Blue-winged and Golden-winged pairings result in two distinct - and fertile hybrids: the Brewster's Warbler, and Lawrence's Warbler. Brewster's manifests the dominant traits such as the yellow throat and white underparts, while the Lawrence's Warbler manifests recessive traits such as the black throat and yellow underparts. Brewster's hybrids occur more frequently, hence my interest in seeing and photographing the protagonist of this blog post (only the second Lawrence's that I've seen).

The only other member of the genus Vermivora is the now extinct Bachman's Warbler, named for Audubon's confidante and a great naturalist in his own right. That species, which was a specialist of canebrake habitats in the southeastern U.S., is now extinct with the last documented observations dating back to the 1960's.

Blue-winged and Golden-winged warblers have probably long hybridized, and for whatever reasons this species complex never fully separated. Their hybridization may serve them well; in helping the Blue-winged/Golden-winged group (I don't think they should be treated as separate species) adapt to changes in the environment, much of which is man-caused. While the recessive and more fragile Golden-winged group of this species complex may die out (and I certainly hope that it does not!), at least the species in the bigger picture may carry on.

Moth talk, and screening new movie, Nocturnes, this Friday evening, Franklin Park Conservatory

 

A male Polyphemus Moth (Antheraea polyphemus) stares us in the face.

Franklin Park Conservatory, at 1777 East Broad Street in Columbus, is hosting what should be an interesting evening with the moths this Friday, October 10. The event starts at 7pm and begins with a talk by your narrator entitled Mysterious Moths: The Darker Side of Butterflies. That'll be all about the role of moths within the eastern deciduous forest region of eastern North America, the important roles that they play, and their numerous curious quirks. The program will be rich in imagery, needless to say.

Following that, there'll be a screening of a fascinating movie, Nocturnes. Two researchers illuminate the incredible diversity of moths in an especially biodiverse region of the Eastern Himalayas. The movie is exceptionally well done and exposes the audience to a mind-blowing assemblage of seldom seen moths.

All of the details are RIGHT HERE and hope to see you there!

Toadlike Bolas Spider

 

As always, click the image to enlarge

We were ecstatic to encounter this Toadlike Bolas Spider (Mastophora phrynosoma) during an epic nocturnal outing at Fernald Preserve in Hamilton County, Ohio, back on September 13. She has spun a simple silken trellis underneath a redbud leaf, and from this position is hunting moths.

The large, bulbous spider (which looks remarkably similar to a bird dropping when at rest) emits pseudo pheromones from her body that mimic those of certain groups of moths. Males of those species flutter closer, thinking a female moth is nearby. When one gets in range, the spider flicks that sticky silken droplet on its fishing line of death and snares the hapless creature.

Upon impact, the tightly woven sticky silken ball essentially explodes, further entangling the moth, which is then reeled in and eaten. We actually watched a moth come in, land on the leaf over the spider, then flutter downward at which point the bolas spider began whirling its glue-like droplet at it. It missed, but it was amazing how fast the spider reacted and the rapidity with which it could fling its bolas.

Katydids have their ears near their knees

 

Up close with a Greater Anglewing katydid (Microcentrum rhombifolium). Katydids "sing" with their wings, rubbing the bases together in a process known as stridulation. One wing contains a file, the other a scraper. In the case of the Greater Anglewing, males create a series of soft clicks, as if two pebbles are being tapped together. It stands to reason that these insects would have good hearing, as males create the songs to attract females or maintain unique territories. Indeed, they do hear well, courtesy of ears on their forelegs, just below the knee. It's that elongate vertical slit on the katydid's foreleg in the photo.

Katydids and their orthopteran allies represent the genesis of intentional sound. Fossil records of katydid relatives date back 250 million years ago, replete with the file/scraper sound system. Although life on earth began over 3.5 billion years ago, the earliest animals were mute. Animal sound didn't originate until the katydids came along, and over the eons the faunal soundscape has evolved into a gorgeous, complex aural tapestry that involves legions of different animals making their own types of music.

Alas, the orthopteran symphony will soon cease at northerly latitudes, like where I live in central Ohio. But they're still going strong, and we've probably got another two weeks or so to enjoy their ancient melodies.

A greater Anglewing poses on the foliage of Winged Sumac (Rhus copallinum). The large katydid is a remarkable leaf mimic.

An Ohio farm attracts migratory congregations of monarch butterflies

Dozens of monarchs in a silver maple/Jim McCormac

NATURE-WILDLIFE

Jim McCormac

Columbus Dispatch

September 21, 2025

An Ohio farm attracts migratory congregations of monarch butterflies

 

"The caterpillar does all the work, but the butterfly gets all the publicity."

— George Carlin

Monarch butterflies undergo a complete metamorphosis, or a four-part life cycle. Life begins as a tiny egg, which soon hatches an elfin larva, or caterpillar. The caterpillar does much of the heavy lifting on the road to butterflydom. It is an eating machine, increasing its body mass scores of times as it grows through, in the case of the monarch, five molts.

Life is fraught with peril as a caterpillar, and many are eaten by predatory insects, birds and even some amphibians and reptiles. Less than 10% of caterpillars survive to enter phase three, the chrysalis. This seemingly low survival rate is better than most species of butterflies and moths. Monarchs' host plants are milkweeds, which are infused with toxic cardiac glycosides. The caterpillar, and the butterfly to come, sequester these poisons, which render them distasteful if not unpalatable to many would-be predators.

Butterfly chrysalises are magical chambers of transformation in which the tubular caterpillar morphs into an entirely different body form. The monarch takes chrysalis creation to a high art form. The two-inch-long shiny case is a beautiful emerald green, adorned with a showy black and gold band. As the chrysalis ages, it becomes opaquer and toward the end, the black and gold butterfly can be seen within.

After about two weeks, the butterfly emerges. From egg to butterfly takes about a month.

America’s best-known butterfly is a source of endless fascination. Perhaps the most incredible aspect of the monarch is its incredible migration. Virtually all monarchs breed in North America north of Mexico, some as far north as southern Canada. Excepting a small resident population in southern Florida, the butterflies stage a mass migration to oyamel fir forests in the mountains of central Mexico. Some butterflies travel over 3,000 miles from their site of origin.

Once ensconced in the Mexican fir forests, the gregarious monarchs blanket the trees. Accurate estimates of individual numbers are nearly impossible, so researchers measure the acres covered by the butterflies. Assessments of the wintering population began in 1993, and the highest number of butterflies was in winter 1996-97, when a whopping 45 acres of forest was cloaked in butterflies.

As time has elapsed, it’s clear that monarchs are on a downward spiral. The lowest winter count was in 2013-14, when only little more than an acre and a half of forest harbored butterflies. Winter 2023-24 found butterflies in only 2.2 acres of oyamel forest. For the first decade of wintering ground surveys, monarchs covered an average of 21 forest acres. For the last decade, that’s plummeted to 11 acres. An estimated 80% of the migratory eastern population of monarchs has vanished since surveys began.

Ever-increasing use of herbicides and insecticides, habitat loss due to various development, disease and degradation of wintering habitat are all key contributors to monarch reductions.

But there is much that people can do to help. And some people are helping on a grand scale.

Lorene and Robert Miller of Plain City, in Madison County, farm 120 acres. Their farming practices are organic: no fertilizers or pesticides, use of cover crops, composting to increase soil health and crop rotation. Every three years, the Millers plant large swaths of their land in red clover, which enriches nitrogen in the soil. After the growing season, the clover is tilled into the soil, further enriching it.

A fabulous benefit of the clover crops is the formation of enormous migratory congregations of monarchs. The butterflies are drawn to the clover flowers, and gather there en masse, and form impressive nighttime roosts in an adjacent windbreak of Norway spruce and silver maple.

The Millers first documented the monarch swarms six years ago, then again three years ago, and in keeping in sync with the clover crop cycle, they are back again this fall.

I visited the Miller farm on Sept. 10 and was stunned by the spectacle of 1,000 or more monarchs swarming the trees as they came in from the fields near dusk. Dozens of fellow butterfly enthusiasts were there as well.

One visit was not enough, and I returned with Shauna on Sept. 14. That’s when I made the accompanying photo. The butterflies in my shot are just the tip of the lepidopteran iceberg. Almost as cool as seeing the butterflies was observing the reactions of the onlookers. Hundreds of people from as far as Kentucky and Michigan have visited. Admirers formed a ring around a favored silver maple roosting tree, staring in slack-jawed reverence at the scores of beautiful butterflies.

The migratory swarm will soon disperse, probably by the time that you read this, and the butterflies will continue to work their way south to the Mexican fir forests. They’ve still got about 1,700 miles to go to get there.

Major thanks to the Miller family for allowing so many visitors to come revel over the monarchs. And even more thanks for their excellent environmental stewardship and strong land ethic.

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.

Elk!

 

As always, click the photo to enlarge

The Cataloochee Valley in the Great Smoky Mountains National Park in Tennessee. This is one of the famed viewing spots for Elk (Cervus canadensis) in the eastern U.S.

I presented a talk at the Cullowhee Native Plant Conference in Cullowhee, North Carolina back on July 17, and Shauna was able to come along on that gig. As an aside, that conference is one of the best plant conferences I have been to. Huge crowd of like-minded plant enthusiasts, the overall vibe is awesome, there's lots of knowledgeable speakers, and great field trips. As an enormous bonus, attending inserts you into one of the regions of richest biological diversity in the eastern United States. The mountains of western North Carolina are a botanical paradise in utterly stunning landscapes.

For us, it was an easy diversion to wend our way northward and through the Great Smoky Mountains and Tennessee on the way home. Targets were many on this return trip to Columbus, but Elk was high on the hit list. So, we made sure we were in the Cataloochee Valley bright and early and were rewarded with beautiful foggy landscapes.

It didn't take long to spot an Elk. Indeed, we about had to shoo this cow off the road. I had visions of distant herds in the foggy vegetated meadow in the first image and was looking forward to such scenes. It was not to be, and in this general area, this semi-tame cow was the only Elk that we saw,

Things would get better, though.

An Elk in richly forested habitat. The huge ungulates spend much time in woodlands, and I really wanted shots of them in forests. At one point, we came across a small group of cows in a grassy opening and were watching and photographing them when the herd began moving towards the forest, which was bisected by a beautiful mountain stream.

Anticipating their movements, we dashed into the woods and into a position that would allow photos of the animals in the woods, and hopefully, in the river if they decided to cross that.

Sure enough, and lucky us, the elk did cross the stream, and we were in position for shots. While many Elk photos that one sees are in meadows, that's probably mostly because that's where it is easiest to see and photograph them. Hence, my interest and shooting the ungulates in forested habitats, where they also spend much time, more so than the meadows, probably.

Elk are truly impressive mammals. Cows can weigh in excess of 600 pounds, and big bulls can eclipse a half ton. Watching the big beasts for an extended period in their forested habitat really made me think about the ecological role they must have played at one time, when they were far more common and widespread. Many plant species have coevolved with mammalian disturbance, such as the so-called buffalo clovers. There are two species of those, and one, the Buffalo Clover (Trifolium reflexum) seemed to favor more wooded environs than its more famous brethren, the Running Buffalo Clover (T. stoloniferum). Both clovers have become much rarer, presumably in part due to the loss of large ungulates such as elk and buffalo.

Unfortunately, humans hunted out Elk very early in the eastern U.S. For instance, they were shot out of Ohio by the end of the 1830's, and this was before anyone would have been documenting much if anything in the way of elk-plant relationships.

Here's a young bull Elk that I photographed in Presque Isle County, Michigan, on May 26, 2018. Like the animals that we imaged this year in the Smokies, the northern Michigan Elk are the result of reintroductions. Efforts to reestablish the big mammals have met with some success, and herds now exist in Kentucky, Michigan, North Carolina, Pennsylvania, and Wisconsin. However, the overall landscape is quite different than pre-settlement and there aren't that many large relatively unpopulated regions conducive to Elk reintroduction. Nonetheless, it's great to have Wapiti (the native Shawnee name ("white rump") back on the eastern landscape, even if only a minute fraction of the numbers that once existed.

Caterpillars, Part III

Here's the last of lots of cool larvae found over the past two weeks or so. Most of them were discovered and photographed during this event RIGHT HERE.

Spotted Apatelodes (Apatelodes torrefacta) are cool cats indeed, although we must watch getting a bit jaded to them, as they turn up quite commonly. They resemble tubular Pomeranian dogs and come in two color forms: this lemony hue, and bright white. Apatelodes (Ah-pat-eh-lo-dees) are always crowd- pleasers, especially once you show people the party trick that follows.

As always, click the photo to enlarge

They have bright cherry-red booties! Although, as this is mostly a science blog, I suppose we should refer to them as anterior prolegs.

Spotted Apatelodes caterpillars are quite cooperative, and it's pretty easy to coax them onto a small petiole or twig, which then can be rotated for optimal booty photography.

A closer view of those cherry-colored anterior prolegs. Quite showy and equally pleasing in both yellow and white forms of the caterpillar. The million-dollar question: why are they bright red? Insofar as I know, this remains one of life's great mysteries. Many brilliant minds have pondered this question for much of recorded history, yet it remains a deep and apparently unfathomable enigma.

Here's another cat with spotted in the moniker, the Spotted Phosphila (Phosphila miselioides). It is an extreme specialist, eating only greenbriers (catbriers) in the genus Smilax. Greenbriers are not very beloved. They form low shrubby tangles in woodland understories and are heavily armed with stout thorns. Those of us that hunt cats love greenbriers though, because they host this caterpillar and the one to follow and also THIS WACKO SPECIES, a true Holy Grail of caterpillar hunters.

A bevy of Turbulent Phosphila caterpillars (Phosphila turbulenta) rests communally on the underside of a Greenbrier leaf. This species is highly social and when you find one, there's nearly always plenty of others. Turbulent Phosphilas appear two-headed, and it can be hard to tell which end is which. The rear of the caterpillar is more prominently marked with larger white spots.

Head on with a feeding Sycamore Tussock caterpillar (Halysidota harrisii). It is well-named and there is only one plant species that it could be eating: Sycamore (Platanus occidentalis). It is another extreme specialist, but its host plant is very common and so are the caterpillars.

A Virginia Creeper Sphinx (Darapsa myron) feeds on the leaf of a Riverbank Grape (Vitis riparia). It is a specialist on members of the grape family (Vitaceae), which in Ohio includes five native species of grapes, and two creeper species. Plants in this family host a variety of interesting, beautiful caterpillars, and we always give them the once-over when hunting cats.

The interesting slant-faced caterpillar of the Walnut Sphinx Moth (Amorpha juglandis). National Wildlife Magazine once did a short piece on this oddity, featuring an image taken by your narrator. The cat is particularly notable as it can make loud hissing sounds when threatened, typically violently thrashing its body at the same time. The effect is remarkably snake-like.

This is one of a number of sphinx cats that specialize on ash, the Waved Sphinx (Ceratomia undulosa). Even though the invasive Emerald Ash Borer has been hard on our ashes, and their deaths due to that beetle has altered the composition of some woodlands, ash remains common. As far as I know, this sphinx uses all of Ohio's five ash species (all in the genus Fraxinus).

Perhaps suggestive of a sphinx but in a different family is this White-dotted Prominent (Nadata gibbosa). It eats oak, primarily, but also other members of the Fagaceae family such as beech. A rather large, handsome cat, last instar (fully grown) specimens can engage in a remarkable snake-like display when threatened. First, the caterpillar will bare its mandibles, creating the illusion of scary eyes, then slowly sway back and forth like a cobra in the snake charmer's basket. Pushed further, it'll coil its body and throw its head over the loop in another snake-like display. I have pictures of those poses HERE and HERE.

Beautiful in a rather indescribable way is this Wavy-lined Heterocampa (Cecrita biundata). It mimics its leafy autumnal surroundings remarkably well, the dappled browns on its body suggesting aging necrotic leaf patches. This species is more catholic in its diet than many caterpillars, eating many species of woody plants.

One of my personal favorites is this Witch Hazel Dagger (Acronicta hamamelis). It is yet another hyper-specialist, eating only its namesake plant (Hamamelis virginiana).

Finally, we will end this caterpillar tour with a butterfly, even if these lesser day-flying moths only constitute a tiny fraction of a percent of the lepidopteran species that occur over the Eastern Deciduous Forest region. This one is particularly cool though. It is a Zebra Swallowtail (Eurytides marcellus).

Here's a head-on view of the Zebra cat noshing on a leaf edge. And that could only be one species of leaf: Pawpaw (Asimina triloba). Like many of the moths that I have shared, it too is highly specialized.

To truly practice conservation of biodiversity, it is necessary to protect and provide habitat for ALL plant species. That's about 1,850 species just in Ohio, and we haven't done a particularly good job. Over one-third of our native plant species are officially listed as endangered, threatened, potentially threatened, or extirpated (no longer known to occur in Ohio) by the Ohio Department of Natural Resources. Here's the LINK TO THE LIST.

It's the little things like caterpillars, fostered by native flora, that are the building blocks of biodiversity. And far few too many people, even those involved in management of natural resources, have a good grasp of that. Fortunately, with the ever-increasing popularity of moths, more and more people are tuning into a greater ecological awareness, and that should only be good for true conservation of our natural resources into the future.

Monarchs galore!

A slight interruption from the caterpillar programming - I should have one more upcoming post featuring some really cool larval finds from recent days.

For the third time in six years, a large group of migratory Monarch butterflies (Danaus plexippus) has formed on the farm of Lorene and Robert Miller of Plain City, Ohio. There are least a thousand butterflies, and at least on peak days, probably a lot more.

I'll post a more detailed story about this phenomenon later, but for now, here's two images from last night's visit.

Dozens of Monarchs cloak a favored maple. This was just the tip of the lepidopteran iceberg.

A Monarch rests atop a Norway spruce. A small windbreak of these trees is also a favored nighttime roost.

PHOTO NOTES: An issue for photographers with photographing this roost at its maximum glory is light. Many of the butterflies do not come in until the sun has nearly set, and some are still returning after the sun has set. Thus, in the shady environs of the silver maple above, which is also blocked from the sun by the spruce windbreak, ISO levels can and do rise to very high levels at prime time, even with lenses wide open and shutter speeds as low as one can reasonably manage.

To combat this problem, I used the amazing Canon 200mm f/2 lens for the roost shots. The second image of the Monarch in gorgeous late day light perched on a spruce, was made with the Canon 400mm f/4 DO II. Light was no issue there. But it certainly was around the maple tree. For those images, I shot the 200mm lens wide open at f/2, and as slow as 1/60 second (the lens also has superb image stabilization which greatly improves one's ability to handhold). For the image above, my settings were f/2, 1/100, and ISO 2500. That kind of ISO, while higher than I would prefer, is processed well by the Canon R5. Also, I was able to compose images such that very little, or no cropping was necessary. A bit of noise reduction via Photoshop later, and all looks good. Some photogs around me were reporting ISO's as high as 25,600 by the time I made this image, and most had stopped shooting by then.

While wildlife photographers might not have a lot of use for a relatively short focal range 200mm lens, it is worth its weight in gold at times due to that huge f/2 aperture. This lens is also almost eerily sharp, even wide open. I just tried to find a situation where as many butterflies as possible in the center of the composition were pretty much in the same plane and focused on those. Then, let the chips fall where they may. I personally love the look that this bokeh monster creates at open apertures (and even when stopped way down).

Caterpillars, Part II

Okay, back to our regularly scheduled programming - caterpillars! To see the explanation for all of this caterpillar imagery, SEE THIS POST. I plan on posting one more series of cool cats later.

A Drab Prominent (Misogada unicolor) on the underside of a sycamore leaf (Platanus occidentalis). It is an extreme specialist, eating only the foliage of this tree. The caterpillar is also a midrib mimic, with its white dorsal stripe similar to the midrib of the underside of a sycamore leaf. When not feeding, the caterpillar typically rests with its body aligned exactly with the midrib, as this one is doing.

A Hickory Tussock (Lophocampa caryae) under attack from a nymph soldier bug. The predatory insect will jab the caterpillar with its elongated proboscis and essentially suck the life from it. Predation rates in most caterpillar species are extreme, approaching 99% in some cases. This is why female moths often lay hundreds of eggs. It is necessary in order to get some of offspring through the predatorial gauntlet and to the reproductive stage. But this is also why caterpillars are such a major underpinning of food webs. I did not intervene in this case.

One of the more bizarre North American caterpillars, the Monkey Slug (Phobetron pithecium). It is said to mimic the look of a shed tarantula skin. Why would an insect mimic that, when tarantulas do not occur in its range? But the genus Phobetron is largely tropical and occurs where tarantulas are commonplace. And many of the migratory songbirds that might eat a Monkey Slug winter in such tropical regions. This theory also presumes that shed tarantula skins are not tasty and avoided by birds. Which they probably are.

Slug caterpillars sort of ooze along the foliage, courtesy of their sucker-like feet. Here's a Monkey Slug feeding/enveloping a leaf edge, as seen from below.

I've said this before (and probably will again) but most caterpillars are specialists, eating only a small suite of plants with which they have successfully coevolved. This one, the Moonseed Moth (Plusiodonta compressipalpis - now that's a multisyllabic mouthful!), is a hyper-specialist. It only eats the foliage of the moonseed vine (Menispermum canadense). The caterpillar is a wonderful bird dropping mimic, not an uncommon ploy in the caterpillar world. Apparently, nothing likes to eat bird droppings. If you believe in reincarnation, come back as a bird dropping if you don't want to be eaten.

This is an Ochre Dagger (Acronicta morula), a real gem of a larva. It is an elm specialist and the botanically savvy might note that this specimen is on a black walnut. That's because we, as I recall, found this one on the ground. No one could remember its host plant, and I wanted a shot of it on a plant, the walnut was handy, and Voila! Yet another inaccuracy on the interwebs. But we're here to admire the Ochre Dagger's good looks anyway, not floriferous backdrops.

The caterpillar of the Pawpaw Sphinx moth (Dolba hyloeus) is larval art. The caterpillar far outshines the large sphinx moth that it becomes (if all goes well). Another extreme specialist that only eats its namesake plant, Asimina triloba (Pawpaw).

A Red-washed Prominent caterpillar (Oedemasia semirufescens) noshes on a fairly fresh oak leaf. This species is a master of vegetative camouflage and a consummate leaf-edge mimic. When ensconced on autumnal foliage dappled with brown, necrotic patches, it can be nearly impossible to see, even though it is a sizable caterpillar. A great spot by the incredibly sharp-eyed and knowledgeable Norah Tempus.

A Sigmoid Prominent (Clostera albosigma) snacks on bigtooth aspen (Populus grandidentatus). It is a specialist on plants on the Salicaceae family, and mostly aspens and cottonwoods, although it is said to eat willow (also in this family). This was another great spot by Norah Tempus, on about the only aspen to be found where we were. It was a new caterpillar for me, and probably everyone else who was with us.

The utterly bizarre slug caterpillar of the Skiff Moth (Prolimacodes badia). It looks like a gall on a leaf. John Howard and I have often speculated that the small white dot on the lateral ridge not far up from the tail (the rear of the caterpillar is at the right) may mimic the egg case of a tachinid fly. Perhaps a female tachinid on the hunt would see such a mark on a potential victim and decide it already had been parasitized. Tachinid flies are parasitoids that lay eggs on caterpillar hosts (and many other insects). The larva soon hatches and bores into the caterpillar and commences to eat it alive from within. By the time the larva is ready to emerge, it can fill nearly the entire body cavity of the host. Needless to say, the caterpillar does not survive such an attack.

However, taking the wind out of that theoretical egg mimicry sail is the fact that a real tachinid fly egg case is right next to the "mimic" mark (just below and left). The fake egg case clearly did not deter this fly. The air exchange hole created by the fly grub within is just left of the apex of the center of the Skiff cat's body.

A truly amazing slug caterpillar (it's hard to avoid all of the superlatives when describing caterpillars) is this, the Spiny Oak Slug (Euclea delphinii). This is one of the less colorful forms. Some of them are clad in bright pigments of yellow, lime, red and orange.

The epithet of the scientific name, delphinii, bears mention as it is almost certainly a misnomer. I'm assuming delphinii is a reference to Delphinium, the genus of larkspurs. I'm about sure this caterpillar does not nor would eat larkspurs - Spiny Oak Slugs eat various woody plants, trees, primarily. Delphinium stems from Delphinus, Greek for dolphin. But I cannot see how anyone would be reminded of a dolphin when looking at this caterpillar.