Ebony Jewelwings and GBSF

On a recent foray into the wilds of Adams County, I came across a small stream flowing through the limestone glades. The most conspicuous insect occupying the waterway and vicinity were one of our most beautiful damselflies, the Ebony Jewelwing, Calopteryx maculata.

You've probably seen jewelwings before. They are very evident and easily identified. Their flight appears languid and fluttery, but that's deceptive. Like other dragonflies, jewelwings are quite speedy, especially if the situation calls for it. This one is a female, as can be told by the bright white stigmas, or spots on the corner of the leading edge of the wing.

We didn't encounter any of the females near the stream. All were back in the forest on either side, and not within a few hundred yards of the water. I suspect this might have been because of the testosterone-charged males, which don't stray far from the creek banks. If one of the females put in an appearance, these guys would be all over her.


This is the male, with solid coal-black wings. Their bodies are stunning in coloration; shiny iridescent green, turning to a bright blue depending on how the light strikes the insect. The small Adams County stream was full of male jewelwings, making sorties out over the water, briefly perching on overhanging vegetation, and duking it out with each other.

I caught this video of one of the males engaging in an almost hypnotic wing-flashing display; a kaleidoscope-like effect that is quite fetching. I think its purpose is to send a message to other males - "back off - this is my turf!" Note the Wood Thrush singing in the background.

Several of the stunning Golden-backed Snipe Flies (GBSF), Chrysopilus thoracicus, were also encountered in this same forest. These flies of early summer are striking in the extreme. Like many small insects, they'd be easy to miss, but if one pays careful attention you'll notice one sooner or later. I believe this one is a male, with a narrower tapered abdomen.


Top down on a GBSF. It's as if their napes were made of brushed golden silk. Like so many insects, precious little seems to be known about this species and its life cycle. If I knew more about Golden-backed Snipe Flies other than their name, I'd pitch it out there. But knowing the name and identity is a start, I suppose.

A tale of two ferns

I have been remiss in blogging vegetable matter of late, and I know that at least some people who scan this blog like plants. We all should; without them there would be no animals, including us. Anyway, on a foray into Shawnee State Forest a few weeks back, I happened upon an interesting assemblage of ferns.

A lush bank in the lushest of eastern North American habitats: the great Eastern Deciduous Forest. This scene caught my eye, as growing intermixed are two of our largest, most spectacular ferns, the Cinnamon Fern, Osmunda cinnamomea, and Interrupted Fern, O. claytoniana. Both are common in the right haunts, but aren't often bedfellows.

We shall move in for a closer look at these spore-bearing wonders.

A big Cinnamon Fern can arch three or more feet skyward, and when they are at their sporulating best the plants are real showstoppers. For people with a penchant for using native plants in their landscape, this'd be a goodie.

The namesake of the fern - these gorgeous cinnamon sticks. Cinnamon Fern is dimorphic; that is, the sterile chlorophyll-bearing leaves are distinct from the short-lived ferile leaves that produce the spores (fern seeds). A foot long+ cinnamon stick like these produce countless thousands of minute spores, which when ripe will be launched to the winds. Some of them could sail to Siberia, who knows.

Cinnamon Fern is not that common in Shawnee State Forest, where I took these shots. It is more a species of extremely saturated soils, such as occur along the margins of bogs and in swampy woods, etc. However, some of the forested slopes in Shawnee have spring outflows, which create mucky quagmires suitable for this plant.

In slightly better drained microhabitats in and around the Cinnamon Fern were luxuriant tussocks of Interrupted Fern, as seen above. To me, it doesn't have quite the panache of the former, but it isn't far behind and can grow nearly as large. Interrupted Fern is a classic inhabitant of rich, mesic (moist) forested slopes.

A quick glance and it looks the innards of the fern are dying. Black clumps of dead foliage hang from its inner stems.

But wait - those blackish clumps are actually the spore-bearing fertile leaves. As they grow on the sterile leaves and right in the center of the frond, the sporulating fronds break up the leaf - hence the name Interrupted Fern.

Even when these similar-looking jumbo ferns have passed from their relatively short-lived fertile stage of spring, it isn't too tough to separate them. The frond above shows the tip of an Interrupted Fern frond. Note how it is broad and rounded, and the individual segments, or pinnules, are rather robust, smooth, and oval-shaped.

This is the frond of a Cinnamon Fern, which is much more acute, or pointed, at the terminus. The pinnules are denser and not as robust - an all, a very different vegetative appearance.

Some tough beetles

I’ve got tiger beetles on my mind. In the course of preparing a general interest article on these fascinating killers, I’ve been studying up and reminiscing on the various tigers that I’ve seen in the wild. Following are a few photos of these interesting insects, and I am grateful to John Pogacnik and Warren Uxley for graciously providing their work for others to see. Ditto the aptly named tigerbeetlefreak who has some fantastic stuff on Flickr.

The most common and wide-ranging of the twenty species of tiger beetles recorded in Ohio: Six-spotted Tiger Beetle, Cicindela sexgutatta. This incredible photo by John Pogacnik shows several of the features that characterize tiger beetles, and make them such formidable predators. Their mandibles are long and scimitar-like, and rimmed with jagged teeth. Once prey is captured, the beetle makes mincemeat of it quickly. Note the proportionately very long legs. This enables Ferrari-like acceleration, and a top speed that can allegedly approach five miles per hour for some species. For a ½ inch long insect, that is stupefying velocity, and some authorities believe tiger beetles to be the fastest land animals, if their size is taken into account.

Dorsal, or top view, of the Six-spotted Tiger Beetle courtesy Warren Uxley. You may have seen this one. It frequents shady woodland paths, and is often conspicuous as a brilliant emerald glimmer before rapidly darting off. Sneak up for a good look, and you’ll perhaps be able to see the six beige spots edging the carapace, or upper shell, that give it its name.

One of the rarest of the rare among Ohio’s tiger beetles, a Claybank Tiger Beetle, Cicindela limbalis. This photo from John Pogacnik, who took it along the few – maybe only - northeastern Ohio streams where they are still known to exist. The mandibles as seen in this shot are impressive indeed, and the curtains would quickly fall for anything unfortunate enough to get seized by this brute. Note too the massive bulging eyes. The better to see you with, my little pretty.

Even the larvae of tiger beetles are daunting in the extreme. This photo comes from the repertoire of tigerbeetlefreak, via Flickr. It shows the larva of a White-cloaked Tiger Beetle, Cicindela togata (taken in Nebraska), at the mouth of its burrow, waiting to pounce. These grubs dig long tubular tunnels – in some species up to several feet deep – and then sit motionless at the entrance. A special hooklike appendage helps them to prop stiffly against the tunnel walls, and probably also serves to help them from being drug from the tunnel should they seize something too large and powerful. When an unsuspecting prey item happens by – might be anything from a caterpillar to a bee – this horrifying grub of action lunges out and snares it with mandibles similar to the adults. The victim is then pulled to the bottom of the tunnel and consumed. What a great way to go.

The aptly named Festive Tiger Beetle, Cicindela scutellaris. I captured this one earlier this spring and wrote about them HERE. This macro shot shows a typical substrate favored by tiger beetles: loose sand.

Finally, another amazing John Pogacnik shot, taken in the sands of the Oak Openings west of Toledo. This is a Ghost Tiger Beetle, Cicindela lepida, one of numerous strange critters that inhabit sandy Oak Openings habitats. This is another rarity, known from only four Ohio counties.

Although a bit of effort is required, tiger beetles are fascinating to observe and if one is patient, they will often resume going about their business of hunting and killing in close proximity. They also serve as great environmental barometers, and are worthy of monitoring. As top-end predators, these beetles are akin to Peregrine Falcons in the bird world, and may be among the first organisms to vanish if things start to go amiss with the ecological chain.

A smattering of sparrows

A huge irony strikes me when I go birding with people at the Wilds during the breeding season. And it hit me again during last weekend's Birding by Ear workshop.

OK, the Wilds is the country's premier research facility for the study and conservation of some REALLY BIG critters. We're talking Reticulated Giraffe, Sichuan Takin, Bactrian Camel, Fringe-eared Oryx, Bison, and many more. There are even Painted Dogs with their curious dish-sized dumbo ears, and Cheetahs. All very well, and of great interest to visitors, birder or not.

But what is it that the birders really want to see? Sparrows! The polar opposite of the aforementioned beasts. Cryptic in plumage and shy and retiring by nature, nevertheless it is the classic little brown jobs that the binocular set wants to see.

“All birds look like sparrows to me. There are big sparrows, little sparrows, and gaily colored sparrows” Andy Rooney

Our Birding by Ear group out on sparrow safari. That's the "magic bus" that faithfully delivered us to all sorts of places in the course of racking up nearly a hundred species of birds. Some of them were sparrows.

We congregate around professor Danny Ingold of Muskingum College, who has been studying the breeding sparrows of the Wilds for a decade or more. Danny was good enough to allow us to watch him capture some subjects in his mist nets, then he shared the birds up close and personal.

The Field Sparrow may be a "little brown job", and I can even see how sparrows might all look alike to Andy Rooney, but at close range they are stunners. Note the pink bill and russet cap, both good field marks for this one. This song of this one sounds like an exceptionally melodic pingpong ball dropped on a table and bouncing to a stop.

Dr. Ingold often allows visitors to release birds, and advises them to place the bird in their open palm, upside down. It sometimes takes the bird a bit to realize it is free, and it will just lay there on its back, looking about. Thus, the peculiar feeling of having a wild bird in the hand is prolonged. Then, with a sudden awareness of its freedom, the sparrow will rocket off like a Lamborghini, and often is back singing from the rounds of its territory minutes later.

Grasshopper Sparrow, a truly quintessential LBJ. These are true shrinking violets, never extroverted. Most people would never notice one, and certainly not their song, which is a rather brief insectlike trill. Every now and again, they do give a much more complex stuttering assemblage of trills and other notes that really is quite nice.

All sparrows just require a good close look to see their beauty. This closeup of a Grasshopper Sparrow reveals the subtle palette of ochraceous tints that conspire to create ARTWORK IN BROWN. Such subdued patterning works to keep them exceptionally camouflaged in the meadows that they frequent. This one is in the genus Ammodramus, characterized in part by that flattened big head. They spend much of their time on the ground, creeping about like mice.

Grasshopper males in breeding finery are actually quite showy. It's as if the bend of their wing has been gilded in gold, and people who never really knew the bird well are always impressed when they see one like this.

Heather of the Hills meets Grasshopper Sparrow. It's pretty easy to see Heather's visceral reaction to the the wee chap; she likes him. The reaction of the bird is harder to fathom, as this species is rather inscrutable.

We also caught a Savannah Sparrow, a species with an enormous distribution. They breed across the length and breadth of the North American continent, and occupy a wide range of habitats. Seventeen subspecies are recognized, and Savannah Sparrow may eventually be split into three species. I once was with a group of banders near Chillicothe, and we caught about 80 in one morning in October migration. The variation among individuals was rather dazzling.

The birds that we see in Ohio typically have a strongly yellowish loral spot, blending into the supercilium or eyeline, and finely streaked breasts. They prefer habits that are very open, and have plenty of bare soil patches. Savannahs are not common breeders at the Wilds, as the grasslands are generally too thick and lush. Their song is an exceptionally pleasing two-level trill with some stumbling intro notes: t t tt tttsssseeee-tsssaaayyy! I have heard it numerous times in the background soundtracks of movies and ads, so I guess it must strike a chord with others, too.

Sometimes their name causes confusion. One might think that they are named for the plant community called a savanna (no H on end), with scattered large trees underlain by grasses. But the bird is actually named for its type locality; the place where the first specimen was collected. Which was Savannah, Georgia.

These sparrows bring out the paparazzi, and this may have been the most photographed Savannah Sparrow on planet earth this day. Most sparrows are charmers, and tolerate their brief captivity with seemingly endless patience and good manners.

Except for the next beast.

Henslow's Sparrow, easily the most coveted of the Wilds' nesting sparrows. They are abundant and easily found here - if you know what to look for. But overall it is not a common and widespread species, and is thought to be be decling rapidly. We didn't actually capture this bird during Birding by Ear - this shot comes from another banding venture a few years back. But we did have magnificent looks of the species through our scopes, and heard lots of them.

They are beauties in the hand, olivaceous heads contrasting with rufous-brown wings and back. The song of the Henslow's Sparrow, however, could be ranked among the worst of North American birds. It last but 3/5th's of a second, and sounds - to us - like a cricket in need of singing lessons. It is comical to watch one deliver this simple sound. Mounted atop a teasel or some other low plant, it looks around, tosses its head back as if to offer up a Winter Wren-like aria, and hiccups out a faint tssllik!

But all is not what it seems, and what the female Henslow's hears might be quite different. When the short song is slowed down to one-third or one-half the speed, it becomes this incredibly ornate series of trills and other notes - far more complex than what we can hear.

To all appearances, the Henslow's Sparrow would seem to be the greatest shrinking violet of all amongst the grassland sparrows. Not when you get them in the hand, though. Here one of the savage brutes puts the pinch on your blogger. Given half a chance they'll not hesitate to make their feelings known, and it is certain that they resent being trapped in nets and handled like sheep. Most of the other sparrows never act this way, and are quite placid.

I've probably said it before, but I'll say it again. If you are looking for an interesting field trip this summer, visit the Wilds. And if you are from some distant land beyond Ohio's borders and are planning on coming to the Buckeye State, pay a visit. Not only will you clean up on grassland birds and many others, you can also admire the likes of Fringe-eared Oryx and Cheetah, and there aren't many places where all of these creatures converge.

Midwest Native Plant Conference

Another reminder is in order about this July's Midwest Native Plant Conference, to be held July 24 - 26 in fabulous Dayton, Ohio. A variety of speakers will talk on a range of subjects, from prairie restoration to the butterfly/native plant connection to wetlands and rain gardens, and much more. The big picture focus of the conference is to get more people interested in, and educated about, the native plants that make our world go 'round. And have a lot of fun in the process.

There will also be a number of vendors of native plants, so you can leave with armloads of cool vegetable matter for your own yard if you choose. Many natives are far more beautiful than their non-native counterparts, and infinitely more valuable in attracting wildlife - everything from butterflies to birds.

People are welcome to attend any part of the conference, or better yet, the whole thing. GO RIGHT HERE for the complete low-down and registration information.

The Hope Hotel and Conference Center is located smack in the middle of a former prairie region, and as an added bonus there will be Sunday field trips to some of Ohio's best fens and prairies. They'll be at the peak of their midsummer flowering glory. All are within a short distance of the conference center. The above photo is of Possum Creek Metropark, a stunning prairie restoration by Five Rivers Metroparks and one of the field trip destinations. You could do this in your yard, at least on a small scale!

Just go here for the complete scoop, and hope to see you there!

Robert of Lincoln

The Wilds is a sprawling 10,000 acre parcel that houses an operation dedicated to research into large animals such as rhinos, giraffes, wild horses, painted dogs, cheetahs and many others. The ultimate goal is to help conserve imperiled wildlife, and keep them a part of the earthscape. This place is truly one of Ohio's unique treasures, and if you've not been here, put it on your agenda.

The view above is typical of the place. If you were beamed into the Wilds via a Star Trek-like teleporter, you'd be forgiven for thinking that you had landed in the plains of the Serengeti. This is not typical Ohio scenery, and the Big Sky country of Muskingum County is sure to impress.

The gargantuan grasslands are the result of strip mine reclamation. Although an unnatural habitat very different than what was here pre-mining, these plains do a great job of supporting the various beasts that the Wilds works with. Those distant specks beyond the lake in the above photo are American Bison, which lend an almost surreal backdrop as one birds the area.

And birds abound. Wild birds. The acreage encompassed by the Wilds also contains a great diversity of breeding avifauna, and I spent the weekend just past helping with the Birding by Ear workshop put on by the Wilds' Conservation Education staff. We tallied nearly 100 species, including some real showstoppers like the star of this blog.

Merrily swinging on brier and weed, Near to the nest of his little dame, Over the mountain-side or mead, Robert of Lincoln is telling his name: Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link, Spink, spank, spink; Snug and safe is that nest of ours, Hidden among the summer flowers, Chee, chee, chee.

Thus goes part of the poem that flowed from the pen of the great poet William Cullen Bryant, who was so moved by the Bobolink and its gregarious cacophonous ways that he took it upon himself to immortalize the bird in the annals of poetry.

Our group was every bit as charmed as Bryant, and spent a good bit of time admiring these showy blackbirds bedecked in the colors of a skunk, and with a nape of gold. The boisterous males chuckle their R2-D2 mechanical gurgles from the tops of low plants, then often, as if they just can't contain their irrepressible enthusiasm, flutter skyward and cascade their bubbly melodies to a wider audience.

I remember telling someone in the group, that sacrilegious as it seemed to say, the crowds of Bobolinks could verge on the annoying. In places, so many of the exuberant males congregate that their collective singing nearly drowns out lesser vocalists, such as Grasshopper and Henslow's Sparrows. Ah, such are the hardships of birding at the Wilds.



I took numerous videos of the courting Bobolinks, especially trying to catch one as it did its aerial display. I did score one really cool video, which captures the incredible flight song. Fluttering on stiff wings in the manner of a meadowlark, the stud showers down song to the ochraceous females, who lay low in the grasses, presumably dazzled by these shows. But I have to figure out how to compress that one a bit before Blogger will upload it. The above video gives a taste of the melody of the Bobos, though. Turn up your volume and dig it.



Sweet and pure as these melodic blackbirds may seem, they are true players; feathered players seemingly devoted to charming as many of the girls as possible and notching up as many conquests as they can. Some of the older dominant males might have up to four females under their spell, all nesting in his turf. Competition for the hens is fierce; the above video captures two guys bookending a gal, vying feverishly for her attention.

If you get the opportunity, go visit the Wilds and as you roll down Zion Ridge Road, pause here and there to admire the Bobolinks. Do it soon, though. By mid-July or thereabouts, the "skunk blackbirds" will have largely fallen silent, and soon thereafter will begin preparing to head off to other grasslands very different from those of the Wilds. You see, the Bobolinks have traveled in an incredible distance to be with us - about 6,000 miles one way! - from Argentina and vicinity. This is about the longest migration undertaken by a North American breeding songbird, and hammers home the global impacts that result with the conservation of a place like the Wilds.

Bobcat!

I spent the weekend helping with the Birding by Ear event at the Wilds in Muskingum County, and we had a great time. Tons of interesting birds, and lots of great photos to share. I’ll get to that stuff in later blogs. But for now, I want to share one of the most exciting moments, which involved a wild cat! Read on…

In a moment of fortuitous prescience, I snapped this photo from the site of the science camp, where our group was based. I just thought it was a particularly showy vista, but later that evening we would see a Bobcat on that gravel road, about halfway between the bend and the point where the road disappears at the bottom of the photo.

Sharp-eyed Dan Vargo spotted a mammal leisurely strolling down the road, as we stood around enjoying the sunset on Saturday evening. I glanced over, took a peek through my binoculars, and saw it was a Bobcat, Lynx rufus, my first wild sighting in spite of many years of looking. This photo is unedited, and shows the cat shortly after we first spotted it. It is the little whitish lump along the right side of the road, in the center of the photo.

The cat was far off, and the light was waning, but we still enjoyed fantastic looks. My hunch was that the cat was hunting Eastern Cottontails, as scores of young rabbits are out now, and I had seen several along that very road.

We had time to get all twenty or so people involved with our group out to see it, and even got two scopes set up which allowed for excellent views. The Bobcat clearly saw us, but we were far enough off that it didn’t care. The photo above is an uncropped shot as it ambled across the road. Unfortunately the distance and dim light conspired to prevent obtaining good photos.

But, blown up a bit, there is no doubt about the identity. Note the stubby tail, and long-legged big-pawed appearance. Through the scopes, we could see everything – tawny-rufous coloration, dark blotches around the legs, characteristic vertical dark stripes on the face, and of course the stubby little tail. Bobcats are not large – a big one might hit 30 lbs.

Here’s the Bobcat Crew: Erin, Josh, Dan, Mark, Jean, and Jason. Thinking ourselves clever, we splintered off from the rest of our group, and snuck towards the cat. The Bobcat, of course, was hardly outwitted by our clumsy efforts to get nearer and obtain better photos, but we did manage to gain some distance on it before the cat began leisurely ambling back up the road. Needless to say, we are all very thrilled with this unexpected sighting, and it was a “life mammal” for nearly all if not all.

Bobcats are really on the comeback trail in Ohio, and sightings have been increasing almost exponentially each year. By the mid-1800’s they had been eliminated from the state, and the rebound has been slow. As recently as 2000, there were hardly any confirmed sightings. In 2008, there were 65 verified observations. Southeastern Ohio, including Muskingum County and the Wilds, is the epicenter of Bobcat reports, and hopefully the numbers of these spectacular little felines will continue to increase.