Bird Banding

I got to get afield with a bird banding operation down near Chillicothe yesterday, which is always interesting and educational. This particular operation has been at it for a long time, and is led by Bill Bosstic, Kelley Sieg, and Bob Placier. It's quite different to be able to see small songbirds closeup in the hand. They look much different than when seen through bins from afar, and one can really appreciate the subtle plumage features which, even on the plainest Jane, are quite striking when seen well.

We were out at the crack of dawn, setting nets up. Eventually, some 30 people arrived, including a number of Bob and Kelly's students. Quite a learning experience was had by all. This was a type of site that I hadn't been involved with banding before; a large field dominated by Tall Goldenrod, Solidago altissima. Normally I don't think of goldenrod meadows as being overly productive for bird biodiversity, and in general, it wasn't. But, as ye shalt see, we caught some very interesting birds that we likely wouldn't have nabbed in other habitats.

Here's one of the interesting subjects, at least to a birder. A juvenile Henslow's Sparrow. We caught six of them in all, and at least one or two got away. They bred in this area, and it's likely that the birds that we caught were locally raised. It will be very interesting to see if we can catch them again next year. Henslow's prefer fields with a range of coarse herbaceous vegetation, not just various grasses.

Henslow's Sparrows are striking animals when seen well. They have flattened heads that are a gorgeous shade of greenish-olive, and these juveniles had most feathers broadly fringed in buff. I've been in one a number of Henslow's Sparrow captures over the years and have held many. Ironically, for a bird that is often thought of as the epitome of a secretive shrinking violet, they are savage biters and don't hesitate to nip the hand that holds them. Very little in the way of fear is shown, and this bird just hunkered in this person's hand for nearly a minute, not being held and just checking things out, before deciding to fly off.

Here's one that can and does fool people. We caught two of this species. This is a juvenile. Adult males are simple to recognize. See what you can do with it.

A beautiful warbler, this one. The "masked bandit", an adult male Common Yellowthroat, Geothlypis trichas. They produce the loud witchity-witchity-witchity song one hears in all manner of open scrubby sites and wetlands, and is perhaps our most common breeding warbler.

Although the day started out a bit foggy and with temps in the low 40's, by early afternoon it was in the 70's and a picture-perfect fall Ohio day. There really isn't many finer places to be on fall days like this, when the sky is crystal blue, the concert of autumnal insects is in full chorus, and the air is full of wonderful fall aromas.

Sabine's Gull!

The big news the past few days, for those of you not tied into the Ohio Birds network, is a Sabine's Gull, Xema sabini. This small species ranks high among the world's most beautiful gulls, and is probably my favorite amongst the Larid tribe. It is a major rarity in Ohio with only a few reports a year, and most of those are flybys on Lake Erie on blustery October or early November days. That's how I've seen my two of my Ohio birds. Except for the oddity that overwintered at Cleveland in 1989 and stayed along the lakefront throughout much of the remainder of that year. This one is a juvenile, as are nearly all Ohio birds.

This bird has been present at least since last Tuesday at the fish hatchery on the eastern shore of Grand Lake St. Marys in Auglaize County. Interestingly, it is at least the second record for the lake; another was found near here back on October 20, 1956. Thanks to Troy Shively for being good with the camera and getting these pics.

Unmistakable brown and white wedges of a juvenile Sabine's Gull. This species is very pelagic and winters off the coast of South America in the Pacific, although birds from the eastern part of the breeding range winter off Africa. This one has a long ways to go.

Another nice shot by Troy Shively.

And Troy's best effort, a truly great shot of this gorgeous gull. Work certainly gets in the way of things; I would have been over there in a heartbeat to see this animal otherwise. But, it has been there at least three days and that's certainly atypical for this wanderer. Who knows, maybe it'll stay for a while longer and we can all get over to appreciate it.

The American Chestnut

This is a sight that was once common as can be, but now an extremely rare part of the landscape. We're looking into the crown of a mature forest, and into the canopy of a mature American Chestnut, Castanea dentata. This is the biggest tree of this now nearly vanished species that I've ever seen, and it's probably one of the largest left anywhere. I was fortunate to get to view this specimen, in an off the beaten path locale in Erie County.

Once covering about 9 million acres of forested lands from the New England states south to Florida and west into the Ohio Valley, an estimated 4 billion American Chestnuts were an integral cog in the eastern deciduous forest. In places, perhaps one in four mature trees of any type were this species. So abundant were they that some woodlands were said to appear snow-capped from afar, due to the prolific white blooms of chestnuts in June. The tree above is big, but chestnuts could get far bigger, rivaling any of the other sylvan giants of the forest.

Enter the chestnut blight. First detected in 1904, this Asian fungus attacks chestnuts, which have no natural resistance and quickly perished as the fungus spread through the landscape. By 1950, this magnificent species had disappeared, with the exception of the odd tree, like the one above. Many others persist as root sprouts that arise off old stumps year after year, but after these shoots hit 10 or 15 feet in height they are atacked by the blight and killed back. From left are Cheryl Harner, Jim Decker, and Daniel Boone admiring the jumbo chestnut. And yes, that's really Dan's name.

They got a lot bigger than our fine specimen in the old pre-blight days, though. This whopper was in the southern Appalachians, and the photo is probably from the early 1900's.

A chestnut involucre; the prickly case that holds the fruit. Although this tree bore prolific fruit, all were apparently abortive; not producing nuts apparently because a lack of cross pollination. These "burs" are quite prickly and have been referred to as vegetative procupines. Good protection for the sweet nutlets that normally would have resided within. And those nuts were coveted by many a mammal, from humans to turkeys to squirrels to deer.

This would have been a common scene a century ago in much of the eastern forest in fall - the forest floor littered with spiny chestnut burs. It was a real privilege to get this glimpse into a vanished part of our forest heritage, even if only through this one tree.

Red-footed Cannibal Fly

You won't want to mess with this one. Some of the robber flies are truly beastly-looking insects, and the Red-footed Cannibal Fly, Promachus rufipes, is one of them. Robber flies are highly predatory, and as Kenn Kaufman aptly notes in his book Field Guide to Insects of North America, they are "...to other insects what falcons are to other birds".

As with so many insects, too little is known of many species' life histories and distribution. I took these photographs in and around prairies in Adams County over the past few weeks, and have seen this species there on several visits. It's the only place that I've noticed them, but perhaps they are more widespread. Whatever the case, the Red-footed Cannibal Fly is an amazing insect. Big, the size of a huge wasp but much more bulked up, they hunt patiently much like flycatchers or some dragonflies. Sitting tight on a prominent perch, the cannibal fly waits for suitable victims to fly by. With eyes like this, they don't miss much. Rather tame, they will allow close approach if you are careful in your movements. Then, you can watch the insect tilt its head about as it watches potential prey wing by, waiting for a good victim. When it sees something it likes, the cannibal fly dashes out after it like an F-16 scrambling after enemy aircraft and seizes it in those long legs, wrapping the victim tight and injecting it with its proboscis-like mouthpart.

There is little hope of escape once the prey has been ensnared by those powerful legs reinforced with stiff raptorial spines. Soon, the paralyzing chemicals that the fly injects into the victim's tissue goes to work, and paralyzes it. Acid-like, the toxins break down and liquify the innards of its meal, and eventually the cannibal fly sucks out the contents just as we would tap the sweet liquid of a chocolate milkshake through a drinking straw.

The Red-footed Cannibal Flies are watching, always watching. I'll tell you this, if I were some small and relatively defenseless bug, I would not want to bumble into the sights of this thing. Species in the robber fly family are some of the world's fiercest insects, and larger species have even been known to take down hummingbirds, allegedly.

Hairy-necked Tiger Beetle

Sure, I know you've eagerly awaiting info on this stunning beast, but wait! The tiger beetles are really interesting creatures. And many of them seem to be in a state of decline, as a number of species are very habitat-specific and their haunts have suffered. At least nineteen of them in the genus Cicindela are - or were - known from Ohio.

You may know this one, the Six-spotted Tiger Beetle, Cicindela sexguttata, which is common throughout Ohio. If you see an astonishingly rapid, iridescent green beetle shooting along the path ahead of you, it may be this. A close look will reveal six tan spots along the edges of the carapace.

This is the beach along the north shore of Kelleys Island, home to one of few populations of the much rarer Hairy-necked Tiger Beetle, Cicindela hirticollis. And this may be the largest group ever assembled that is specifically looking for them. We took a trip over to the island the Friday prior to the big warbler symposium two weekends ago, and Judy Semroc and Larry Rosche quickly found the beetles; a new station for them, I believe.

A Hairy-necked Tiger Beetle racing along the beach. Extraordinarily wary for an insect, some patiance is required for a close approach. Around here at least, this species seems to need largely unmolested sands of Lake Erie beaches. Intense use by people undoubtedly drive it out, and that's been the fate of most Ohio beaches.

Two days later, while leading a field trip to the beach at Sheldon Marsh as part of the warbler symposium, Ben Warner and I found some Hairy-necks there. Ben, amazingly, was able to snag one. After study and photos, it was released unharmed. Sorry about the blurriness of the shot; nonstop rain that day and I couldn't keep the camera lens dry. Still, you can see the ornate markings on the upper wings that characterize tiger beetles. They can be quite difficult to spot against the sand, though.

Voracious predators, as you might deduce from the large pincers. They in turn are preyed upon by many other insects. Tiger beetles warrant monitoring, as many species seem especially vulnerable to habitat degradation.

Climbing Fern

Ohio is a good state for Pteridologists - those who study ferns. We have nearly one hundred species, and if you are really into bedeviling yourself with maddening identifications (sometimes), there are many known hybrids.

The following fern isn't hard at all to recognize, although I'd bet few who read this have seen it, at least in Ohio. Climbing Fern, Lygodium palmatum, is one of three species in the Lygodiaceae (Climbing Fern Family). Ours is the only North American native; the other two species are Asian and sparingly introduced in Florida and nearby states.

I stopped by one of the only known Scioto County stations for it last Saturday to get my fix. Climbing Fern is known from only about eleven of our southernmost counties, and it normally is sparing in distribution and low in density. Vinton County, in the vicinity of McArthur, is the Ohio epicenter. There, I have seen it growing so thickly it looks like Japanese Honeysuckle from afar.

A typical Climbing Fern site - an open roadbank, in this case, cleared for a powerline right-of-way. The fern thickly festoons the vegetation, clambering up stems and forming a ground cover. It prefers acidic soils.

A closeup of the leaves, which are strongly dimorphic. The sterile pinnae (leaves) are palm or hand-shaped; the fertile pinnae are many forked and much more delicate.

A closer view of the sterile pinnae. This is quite a showy fern, with it's long-creeping wiry brown stems and lush, tropical-looking foliage.

In close on the fertile pinnae, which somewhat resemble the sterile leaves, just on a minute scale. The little whitish bumps on the segments of the leaves are the sori, or cases which hold the spores. As with all of our ferns, the tiny spores are windborn and can be transported great distances. I have heard that any sizeable air sample taken nearly anywhere in the world is likely to contain fern spores.

Climbing Fern is an exceptionally beautiful species, and forms luxuriant beds. It would be a natural for those interested in growing native species. I've not seen it in cultivation, but perhaps it is somewhere. The two Asian species are; escaping from cultivation is how they became established in Florida.

Timber Rattlers

Few animals are as symbolic of wilderness in Ohio as the Timber Rattlesnake, Crotalus horridus. Once, this snake ranged widely across the state, but now it is restricted to a few areas of southeastern Ohio where extensive, remote forests still occur.

I got the opportunity to go along this weekend with herpetologist Doug Wynn, and help release some young snakes and their mother. Doug collects data on Timber Rattlesnakes, and tracks a number of individuals to keep tabs on populations.

Mamma snake. She was a big bruiser. I've now gotten to see about 15 of these magnificent animals in the wild, and not a single one of them has ever rattled. They are incredibly docile and non-reactionary. Nonetheless, only a fool would attempt to handle one without training or get too close. And most people certainly wouldn't want to; they are fairly intimidating.

The business end, forked tongue and all. You can see the facial pits, and the cat-like pupil.

The rattle. They make a dry rapid buzzy sound; something to be alert to if you are in their woods. An assessment of a snake's age can be ascertained by the rattles, but not with complete accuracy. This one had apparently lost a few segments.

Here's the little guys; only a few weeks old. There are five of them in this shot; they soon dispersed and started heading off in the direction of mom. Their den was not far off. Timber Rattlesnake young are born live, and these were already about a foot in length.

I know not everyone likes animals like this, and many absolutely despise snakes. Nonetheless, the Timber Rattlesnake is a fading part of Ohio's wilderness, and we should be glad that there are places left that still support them. Not only that, but we should protect Timber Rattlesnakes and their habitat with diligence. Even though you may not like these snakes, the bounty of other biodiversity that comes with forests that supports them is staggering.