Southern flying squirrels! Many, many!

I recently had the opportunity to tag along on one of professor Don Althoff's southern flying squirrel research projects. This was not my first time at the flying squirrel rodeo. I wrote about a previous excursion RIGHT HERE.

The article mentioned above goes into the nuts and bolts of Don's research, and the biology of flying squirrels. This post is more a pictorial documentation of my recent excursion with Althoff and company.

We had a sizable group on hand, as evidenced by the photo above (and two or three people are not in the photo). Many are Don's students, and others are just smitten with flying squirrels, and interested in the dynamics of this interesting research. I have met very few academics who are as good at stimulating an interest in conservation and biology as Don is. He welcomes students and others in a hand's-on immersion into the world of one of the world's most intriguing mammals. Accompanying Don on one of his "flying squirrel trails" is an experience that no one will soon forget, especially if the squirrels cooperate.

Don Althoff, who teaches at the University of Rio Grande, atop a ladder deep in an Athens County woodland. He's got nearly 350 "flying squirrel boxes" up in trees on a number of southeastern Ohio sites. This particular woodland has about 25 boxes, and investigating them is a lot of work. A ladder must be toted along, as well as a bunch of research equipment.

Flying squirrels reliably use these boxes as winter roost sites, as well as for nesting. There's always a mood of expectant anticipation when Don scales the ladder to check a box. The throng below awaits his yea or nay, and if a yea, down comes the box for inspection of its inhabitants.

The first occupied box we encountered had, as I recall, two squirrels. Here's the box down on the ground being prepared for squirrel extraction. These little mammals move at the speed of light, so a careful protocol must be followed to ensure the subjects do not escape. In all, we located 18 squirrels, including a remarkable 13 in one box. That number tied Don's best box number, but a few days after this work he found two more boxes, each with 13 squirrels. So, will he find 14 in a box someday? Time will tell.

Each captured squirrel is weighed, various other data is collected, and it is carefully photographed before release.

Flying squirrels sure are cute, and seeing one like this always prompts oohs and ahhhs (or awwws). Note those sharp, long yellowish incisors peeking through, though. Flying squirrels can quickly cut away the hardest of hickory hulls. Experienced researchers soon learn to handle these wee beasts with the utmost respect.

A captured flying squirrel lays into a gloved hand. They get feisty when handled, understandably, and if given a chance may nip the hand that holds them. While those gloves are pretty tough, a squirrel's saberlike teeth can go right through, and I'm told they hurt.

This student got a lesson in aversion therapy in regards to careless squirrel-handling. The little mammal punched right through his glove and drew blood. Fortunately rabies and other diseases are unknown in this species, but sharp teeth sunk into flesh still hurt and bitees quickly learn to watch how they hold these animals.

Althoff demonstrates a proper hold. We can see the squirrel's amazing tail, which serves as parasail and rudder when in flight. Along with the patagia - winglike flaps of tissues along the body - the tail acts as a wing on the squirrels' amazing glides.

A squirrel just released and plotting its next move. They recover from the trauma of capture quickly and dart aloft. A flying squirrel going full tilt up a trunk is an amazing thing. They can move with ridiculous speed, and grip as if Velcro boats their paw pads.

The brown pelage of a flying squirrel blends remarkable well with this dead tree snag. Dead and dying timber, and their attendant cavities, are vital to the survival of flyers. This mammal is totally nocturnal, which is why people seldom see them. They require cavities for roost and nest sites. And there are a lot of flying squirrels in need of cavities, at least in wooded areas. There might be 4 or 5 flyers per acre, as compared to 1 or 2 gray squirrels in the same area.

A flying squirrel prepares to launch into space. First-timers are always dazzled by their inaugural view of a flying squirrel "flying". If an Altoff squirrel check is fruitful, as this one was, participants are sure to see glides. Released squirrels are placed head high on a tree trunk, and soon if not instantly dart high aloft. Then, usually, the squirrel will launch into space, arcing between limbs and gliding away.

Shooting "flying" flying squirrels is a tough photographic challenge, and this shot is no award winner. But it shows well enough the furry cape outstretched into a wing suit, with the rudderlike tail helping with steering. While these squirrels cannot produce sustained flight, their glides are incredibly aerobatic and can extend the length of a football field.

In all, a fun and highly educational day learning about Ohio's most common woodland squirrel. I thank Don Althoff for his generosity in sharing his work and subjects with interested parties, and creating awareness of one of our little-known mammals.

Nature: Tiny southern flying squirrels a sight to behold

A southern flying squirrel/Jim McCormac

Nature: Tiny southern flying squirrels a sight to behold

Columbus Dispatch
December 31, 2023

NATURE
Jim McCormac

Six long years have elapsed since I last wrote about southern flying squirrels. That column ran on Dec. 31, 2017, and was made possible by the doyen of flying squirrels, Professor Don Althoff of the University of Rio Grande.

Althoff has devoted a big chunk of his career to studying flying squirrels and may have handled more of them than anyone. Over approximately 25 years of working with them, Althoff has laid hands on over 3,300 squirrels. The vast majority of people reading this have probably never seen one!

The southern flying squirrel — there is a northern species, from about central Michigan northward — is one of Ohio’s most common squirrels. Prior to settlement, it would have been the most common squirrel by far. It favors heavily wooded areas, and in such regions of the state it still is the most frequent squirrel species.

Flying squirrels are strictly nocturnal, and roost in tree cavities during the day. They’ll take readily to artificial boxes though, and will even nest in them. Althoff has 400 boxes in “trails” of 25 boxes each, distributed between eight sites in five southeastern counties. He and his helpers check each box during the months of January and February.

On Dec. 19, Shauna Weyrauch and I attended a box check. Shauna is an Ohio State University researcher who works with bobcats but is intensely interested in all mammals. I figured this outing would produce her “life” flying squirrel. We met up with Althoff and 15 of his helpers on a frosty morning along a backroad in Hocking County. If 15 helpers seems like a lot, well, you’d have to know Althoff. Charismatic and engaging, he draws people in with his passion for squirrels and the entirety of nature, as well as his breadth of knowledge. The promise of seeing “Rocky” in the flesh is certainly an allure, although you’ll have to go further afield to see Bullwinkle.

The Hocking County squirrel trail commences with a long steep uphill slog to a ridgetop carpeted with oaks, hickories and other trees. As each box is mounted 12 to 15 feet up a tree trunk, a ladder is part of the equipment. Trying to keep pace with the 69-year-old Althoff, ladder over his shoulder, as he navigates the rough terrain, can be challenging. Even for his much younger assistants.

Upon reaching a box, standard modus operandi is to place the ladder, then Althoff ascends, cork in pocket. Upon reaching the box he quickly plugs the entrance/exit hole with the cork, then opens the front of the box to expose the innards. A mesh screen prevents occupants from escaping. Our first eight boxes had no squirrels, but shredded bark and cored acorn and hickory nuts — sure evidence of squirrel tenants — were in most of them.

The ninth box was a jackpot — seven squirrels! Later we found another box with six squirrels, for a 13-squirrel day. Flying squirrels are quite social and typically roost together. Don’s record is 13 animals in one box. By huddling together, they create a warm furry quilt and their collective body heat warms the box to a temperature significantly higher than that outside the box.

A box with squirrels is taken to the ground, where an impromptu lab is set up. One at a time, the squirrels are shunted out of the box through a clear pipe and into a bag. A handler wearing thick gloves — squirrels can bite HARD — then removes the animal. It is weighed, detailed photos are taken, and a small metal ear clip is attached. The latter allows for positive identification of recaptures. The oldest squirrel Althoff has documented was about six years old. That’s two to three times the probable average life span. Finally, the squirrel is placed on a nearby tree trunk. They normally quickly ascend to a high limb, get their bearings, and then often leap into space, thrilling the observers with an impressive twisting glide to a distant tree.

Up close, flying squirrels are tiny but impressive. The biggest — pregnant females — weigh about 100 grams. The average weight is approximately 75 grams. That’s about the same as a large chicken egg. Disproportionately large dark eyes lend a “cute” (nearly everyone uses that adjective) look to the squirrel. A flattened miniature beaver tail serves as an aerial rudder. While mostly invisible at rest, membranous folds of skin stretch between the forelegs and hindlegs. When on glides, these membranes, known as patagium, transform the squirrel into a highly efficient paraglider. Flights can encompass several hundred feet and involve impressive twists and turns.

Hundreds of people have thus far participated in Althoff’s squirrel surveys. The vast majority have seen the flyers up close and personal and been dazzled by the exquisite little aeronauts, just as Shauna and I were. Here’s to many more squirrels for the indefatigable Althoff, doyen of the squirrels.

Naturalist Jim McCormac writes a column for The Dispatch on the first, third and fifth Sundays of the month. He also writes about nature atwww.jimmccormac.blogspot.com.

Professor Don Althoff checks a flying squirrel box/Jim McCormac

Nature: Ohio scientists finally learning flying squirrels' secrets

A southern flying squirrel in Athens County/Jim McCormac

Columbus Dispatch

December 31, 2017

NATURE

Jim McCormac

Perhaps no one knows as much about southern flying squirrels as Don Althoff. The professor of biology at Rio Grande College in southern Ohio has devoted two decades of study to these fascinating mammals.

I spent one early-December day shadowing Althoff as he conducted squirrel research in the rugged, forested hills of rural Athens County. We weren’t alone. The squirrels intrigue many of his students, and at least 15 of them joined us.

While largely out of sight and mind, flying squirrels are often the most common of our squirrels, at least in wooded habitats. They frequently occur in well-treed urban neighborhoods, including many in Columbus and its suburbs.

But southern flying squirrels are strictly nocturnal. Sometimes they’ll visit bird feeders, and if the feeders are lit by nightlights, people may notice them. Sometimes slathering peanut butter on tree trunks lures them in — Jif is irresistible to the elfin fliers.

A flying squirrel is much smaller than the more familiar, daytime-active gray and fox squirrels, which outweigh them by factors of 9 and 11, respectively. When seen in the flesh, a flying squirrel appears impossibly tiny: a lemur-eyed woodland sprite appended with a miniature beaver tail.

The indefatigable Dr. Althoff goes to great lengths to connect with his subjects. He has hung dozens of wooden nest boxes at five southeastern Ohio sites, all of which are far from the beaten path. Each box is about 12 feet aloft, tacked to a tree trunk.

Working a “squirrel trail” means lugging a large ladder and various research gear through dense woods and up and down steep slopes.

During the day, the squirrels hole up in cavities and readily adopt artificial boxes. Our expedition inspected 25 of them, and four boxes contained a total of 19 squirrels. The wee beasts are highly social and prone to sharing cavities. Althoff’s record is 13 in one box.

Between the mammals’ shared body heat and the insulating effect of plant material they place in the cavity, the inner box temperature remains quite toasty — an advantage on frigid winter days.

When researchers arrive at a box, they prop a ladder into place and go up. They quickly plug the entrance hole and bring down the box. An Althoff-engineered tube system safely funnels the squirrels from the box, and each is inspected, its weight and sex recorded. Each also gets a small ear tag for future identification and is photographed and released.

A squirrel’s liberation is interesting. After being placed on a tree trunk, it’ll typically scamper high at lightning speed. Then, earthbound observers are sometimes treated to a spectacular glide.

Flying squirrels are endowed with a membranous web of skin, called a patagium, between their fore and hind legs. When an animal throws its legs out upon launch, it becomes a mammalian parasail.

While the furry batmen can’t sustain flight, their glides can span hundreds of feet. They adeptly jig and jag to avoid limbs and trees, and sail unerringly to a desired target. Just before the squirrel lands, it throws its flat, wide tail upward, which acts as an air brake. Upon landing it runs to the opposite side of the trunk — perhaps a built-in behavior to thwart owls that might be in pursuit.

The only comprehensive treatise on Ohio’s mammals is Jack Gottschang’s book “A Guide to the Mammals of Ohio” (1981). In the southern flying squirrel account, he states, “No one has studied it in detail in Ohio.”

I’m glad there are intellectually curious researchers such as Althoff who attempt to unravel the mysteries of little-known creatures such as flying squirrels. Because of his work, we better understand their abundance, population cycles, reproduction, food requirements and preferred habitats.

Naturalist Jim McCormac writes a column for The Dispatch on the first, third and fifth Sundays of the month. He also writes about nature at www.jimmccormac.blogspot.com.

A southern flying squirrel in flight/Jim McCormac

Southern Flying Squirrel Extravaganza!

A southern flying squirrel, in a rare moment of repose. 

I had a rare treat last night, when a friend, Roman Mast, invited me to see an incredible display of southern flying squirrels at his property in north-central Ohio. Roman is into birds, and puts out feeders for the feathered crowd. It didn't take him long, some years back, to realize that come nightfall an army of flying squirrels would descend upon his feeders.

He made some clever tweaks to the feeding operation to facilitate the squirrels (and the squirrel-watchers!), and they've responded to his largesse. While at least a few squirrels visit year round, for a few magical weeks in June/early July, the numbers are over the top. Last night, we estimated 50-70 of the furry gliders were around the feeders. But there's really no way to estimate them very accurately. Flying squirrels are such frenetic balls of energy, racing pell-mell through the trees, and routinely leaping into space to glide to a distant tree, that's it's impossible to keep any sort of tab on them. A possible explanation for this seasonal boom in numbers may be juveniles fresh from the nests. April is apparently a big month for birthing flying squirrels, and they remain under their mothers' care for about six weeks. It's possible that the parents bring the newly active juveniles to Roman's feeders for some easy pickings. As the youngsters become more adept at harvesting wild foods, and are forced to strike out on their own, the numbers of squirrels at the feeders drops.

At times, ten or more animals would be on one tree trunk in the vicinity of the feeders, and a glance into the towering white pines would reveal many others darting about. A hallmark of a flying squirrel is its astonishing ability to glide. A loose flap of skin - the patagium - stretches between fore and hind legs, and when the squirrel launches into space, it flares it legs and becomes a furry wingsuit. Glides in excess of 300 feet are possible, and the squirrel can adeptly jig and jag to avoid limbs and trees. When it's ready to alight, it flips its flat wide tail up vertically, which acts as an airbrake and serves to force its body down and head up. This positions the animal for a graceful landing, and oftentimes upon alighting, it'll race around to the other side of the tree. This may be a behavior designed to thwart owls that might be on their heels.

Flying squirrels are said to be the most common squirrel in wooded regions of eastern North America, including Ohio, and I'd have no reason not to believe it. This animal is so thoroughly nocturnal that few people see them. I do lots of nighttime field work and have done so for years, and I hear their high-pitched twitters and the scrabble of sharp claws on bark all of the time at night. The concentration of squirrels at Roman's place offers a window into their abundance. I don't think, nor does he, that there is anything exceptionally unusual about the overall habitat around his property. A mixture of various ages of deciduous forest interspersed with openings as is common in much of the state, excepting the regions of intense agricultural.

Here's a video from last night's flying squirrel extravaganza.

Nature: Sighting of fox squirrel came with a colorful twist

This melanistic fox squirrel appeared in the writer's backyard on January 9/Jim McCormac

 A normally colored eastern fox squirrel/Jim McCormac

Sighting of fox squirrel came with a colorful twist

Columbus Dispatch

January 19, 2020

NATURE
Jim McCormac

Four species of tree squirrels reside in Ohio, and all have their charms.

The smallest and least known is the southern flying squirrel. It is common but seldom seen because of its strictly nocturnal habits.

Slightly bigger is the red squirrel, which occurs statewide but is more localized than other squirrels. It has a distinct preference for coniferous trees.

Most common is the well-known eastern gray squirrel, the typical squirrel of parks and suburbia in this area. Those who feed backyard birds wage war with this mammal. The squirrels often win.

Then there is the largest squirrel of all, the gorgeous eastern fox squirrel. A whopper can weigh 3 pounds and stretch 3 feet or more from nose to outstretched tail tip. If there were a beauty pageant for squirrels, this one might wear the tiara.

They are foxy indeed, with underparts tinted in showy burnt-orange. The upper pelage is a lovely grayish-black.

From my experience, gray squirrels far outnumber foxes in Columbus and its neighborhoods. The latter becomes more common in rural areas.

I recently moved to Worthington, an area I have long been acquainted with. Gray squirrels are abundant, but I have never seen a fox squirrel in my neighborhood — until Jan. 9.

That morning, I glanced out a back window to see a huge black squirrel sitting prominently on an open snag. It was as if it was posing for me. I usually keep a camera with a big telephoto lens at the ready, in case something bizarre appears at the feeders. Photographic prep paid dividends in this case.

Not only did I document the yard’s first fox squirrel, but it also was a rare melanistic morph, or form. My first thought was that it was a melanistic gray squirrel, but the massive size and tinges of orange bleeding through on the animal’s underside gave it away.

Black forms are far more common in gray squirrels, and in some parts of Columbus such animals are local celebrities. Melanin-enhanced fox squirrels seem to be virtually unknown, at least in Ohio. I have many biologically literate friends, and not one has said they have seen a black fox squirrel.

Melanistic fox squirrels are known to occur, just in far fewer numbers than grays. Most black fox squirrels appear in the southern reaches of the range, which spans the eastern half of the U.S. Conversely, melanism in gray squirrels is more prolific in the northern parts of its distribution.

Although the genetic mechanisms that produce melanism in squirrels is well-understood, the role of environmental factors that favor melanism, and possible gene flow between fox and gray squirrels, is lesser known.

I have not seen the dusky fox squirrel since the day I discovered it. Maybe it’s the vanguard of a wave to come, or it was a flash in the pan. Such animals would certainly enrich our squirrel diversity, that’s for sure.

Naturalist Jim McCormac writes a column for The Dispatch on the first, third and fifth Sundays of the month. He also writes about nature at www.jimmccormac.blogspot.com.

Ubiquitous gray squirrel an acrobat - and a thief

A hungry gray squirrel dines in a box-elder/Jim McCormac

Columbus Dispatch

December 18, 2016

NATURE

Jim McCormac

One of the most widespread, familiar mammals in Ohio is the gray squirrel.

They occur in the wildest woodlands and the most urban parklands, the common denominator being trees.

Gray squirrels are a fixture of suburbia, and many bird lovers have waged war against the wily seed-stealers. Keeping gluttonous squirrels off backyard feeders involves both a battle of wits and superior engineering. Homeowners often lose.

It sometimes seems as if the animals have Velcro paw pads. A squirrel racing through the trees at full tilt makes for a spectacle. Running full-barrel up and down trunks, and racing across spindly limbs, the beasts make wild, death-defying, branch-to-branch leaps that would put any circus performer to shame.

The range of the gray squirrel delineates that of the great eastern deciduous forest, which once stretched from the Atlantic Ocean to the Mississippi River, south to the Gulf of Mexico and north to southern Canada. Before settlement, this was probably the second most numerous squirrel in the East. The secretive, nocturnal southern flying squirrel was likely even more common.

A healthy gray squirrel is a handsome animal. Taping out at nearly a foot in length, a squirrel’s length doubles if the thick, brushlike tail is added. A healthy specimen might tip the scales at a pound and a half.

While the coat normally lives up to the squirrel's name — grayish with a white underbelly — color variants are not uncommon. Occasional albinos sometimes become conspicuous celebrities. In some areas, many or most squirrels are melanistic, or black. The Columbus area has small pockets of black squirrels, but it seems that in places like Kent, most gray squirrels are black.

Rural squirrels tend to be far warier than their citified brethren, and they serve vital ecological roles. They harvest and stash a wide variety of tree fruit, some of which will be forgotten and sprout new trees. While acorns, walnuts and other large woody nuts are favored, squirrel diets are quite varied.

The squirrels themselves often become meals. Large raptors such as great horned owls and red-tailed hawks are fond of squirrel meat. Foxes, bobcats and even big black rat snakes also take them.

Squirrel hunting is popular with some people, too, and many gray squirrels are harvested annually in Ohio. Partly because of reasonable bag limits, hunting doesn’t affect populations of this prolific breeder, but that wasn’t always the case. The earliest settlers often had crops ravaged by large numbers of raiding squirrels. One squirrel reduction hunt in 1822 killed nearly 20,000 animals.

Now that the leaves have fallen, basketball-sized leafy clusters high in trees become conspicuous. They are dreys, or squirrel nests. The animals use these botanical forts to raise young and as shelter during cold winter days and nights. Sometimes, multiple animals live in a drey, and their collective body heat can raise the internal temperature far beyond that outside.

Naturalist Jim McCormac writes a column for The Dispatch on the first, third and fifth Sundays of the month. He also writes about nature at www.jimmccormac.blogspot.com.

More fun with Southern Flying Squirrels

 

Yesterday dawned crisp and snowy, but plans were afoot to join Professor Don Althoff of the University of Rio Grande and other squirrel enthusiasts to conduct research on one of our most interesting mammals, the Southern Flying Squirrel (Glaucomys volans). The temps were in the low teens when Shauna and I departed Columbus early that morning, and it was probably about 20 F when I made this image in northwestern Athens County. Our squirrel "lab" was those distant woods.

The meadow above is dubbed the Dennis Profant prairie and is part of Hocking College's land lab. Dennis was a professor there, and a real jack-of-all-trades when it came to the natural world. A true natural philosopher, with an especially keen interest in moths. We lost Dennis in 2015 - far too early - and this prairie is a fitting memorial to him. HERE IS a short piece that I wrote about Dennis.

This was our crew on this snowy, blustery day. Almost all 14 of us. Our fearless leader, the indefatigable Dr. Althoff, took the photo. Almost everyone here has been on at least one of these Southern Flying Squirrel (SFS from here on) box checks. I think it was my fifth, time, Shauna's second, and some of these people have been far more times than that.

Our leader, Don Althoff, scales the 35 lb. ladder that must be lugged over rugged terrain. One of the large boxes that the squirrels use for winter roosts - and nest sites in the breeding season - is in front of him.

Don has 16 squirrel trails in about a half-dozen southeastern counties, and each has 25 of these boxes. My iPhone recorded a distance of about 1.5 miles to get around this one. Not far at all, but throw in the hills, fairly deep snow, and the equipment that must be hauled along, and it's a pretty good workout (at least for the equipment-haulers).

This was cool, and highly unusual. As Don placed the ladder and began scaling the tree to this box, I noticed something in the hole. A SFS! The curious beast was peeking out to see what was going on. Such behavior is very rare as I understand it. Normally the squirrels are all sacked out at the bottom of the box, but either this guy wanted a peek at the winter wonderland, or he heard our approach and wanted to see what was happening.

One of the 16 SFS that was captured that day. One box had nine SFS inside! Althoff has had boxes with 15 squirrels on a few occasions. Why so many (there is almost always multiple squirrels roosting together)? SFS are highly social, but heat plays a big role in the formation of these squirrely scrums. Pack three, five, nine, or 15 squirrels in a box and its warm as toast in there, or at least far warmer than the outside air temperature.

All Don's gear is specially designed for the squirrels and expedites their safe and speedy handling and release. Each is weighed, sexed, and given an ear tag with a unique number that allows it to be positively identified if recaptured. Other data is collected as well, and over the nearly three decades that Althoff has studied SFS, he's generated a mountain of information on this little-known completely nocturnal mammal. Oh, squirrel releases are possibly the coolest part of the process. the SFS is placed on a tree trunk, and usually as soon as its handler lets go, it races upwards, 20-30 feet or higher. Then, oftentimes, it launches into an incredible glide that must be seen to be believed. Winglike flaps of tissue extend between forelegs and hindlegs, and when stretched taut form wings. The squirrel cannot fly, in the sense of sustained flight, but the furry aerobats are quite dexterous and jig and jag around trees and branches. While rare, these flight/glides can be 150 feet or more, although one-third or so that distance would be much more common. When the SFS lands, it flips its broad, flat beaverlike tail upwards. This sends the animal's head upward and slows the airspeed considerably, allowing for an easy landing. Almost invariably the newly alit squirrel dashes to the other side of the tree. That's likely an adaptation to thwart would-be predators such as owls, that may have been following it.

The following is a quote from the book Mammals of Ohio, by Jack Gottschang (1981): "Perhaps because of its nocturnal and secretive habits, this squirrel has escaped close investigation by all but a few mammalogists; no one has studied it in detail in Ohio."

Gottschang's words are now sorely dated, and I'm sure he'd be glad of it. Because of Don Althoff's remarkable tenacity in studying the difficult to access SFS, we know FAR more about them and their life history.

HERE IS a link to another piece that I wrote about Don and his work, this one from my Columbus Dispatch column, Nature, dated January 1, 2018. I've got a few more posts about SFS on this blog, with many more pictures. Just type "Althoff" into the search box at the top upper left corner of the blog.

Furry Spidermen

While out in the cool dark woods capturing Northern Saw-whet Owls a while back, we had an encounter with one of our more interesting animals. And one that is surprisingly common, although relatively few people have seen one.

If you are out in the woods at night, and very quiet, there are many animals to be heard. Quiet shuffling in the leaf litter gives away the little guys, like White-footed Mice, while louder clumsier shuffling might be a Virginia Opossum. Sometimes bloodcurdling screeches come from spatting raccoons.

But listen very quietly and you might hear a distinctive scrabbling of tiny feet on tree bark, coupled with chitters nearly inaudible to our ears. If you do hear this stuff, its likely to be foraging Southern Flying Squirrels, and that's what we encountered on our owl expedition. We heard the feet on bark, lit the tree up with the flashlight and there was the little guy, big eyes aglow. Like a circus trapeze artist, it put on quite a show for the group, racing high into the tree, darting from limb to limb with impossible speed and grace, and culminated his act with an impressive glide from the tree's summit out into the gloom beyond our pool of light.

These fuzzy little wack-jobs are something else. It's like someone took a quadripedal dwarf, covered him in fur, amped him up on Powershot and Espresso, applied superglue to the paws, then tied a bottle-rocket to his tail.

Off they go, roaring about the timber like maniacs. Hardly still for a second, and if multiple units are present short-lived battles are sure to ensue as Alphas and wanna-be Alphas duel for first place. The speed and sureness with which flying squirrels race about is nothing short of incredible, and what do they have to worry about? Falling? Not. A quick stretch of the appendages flaps open the patagial membranes, and you've got instant mammalian hang glider. They have been documented soaring for the length of a football field, and can even shift direction as they soar along.

No dummies, when a flying squirrel uses that beaverlike rudder of a tail to stall its airspeed and alight on a tree trunk, it promptly runs around to the other side. Good strategy and one no doubt learned the hard way as squirrels were sacrificed along the evolutionary trail to screech-owls who followed their flight plans.

Bob Placier, one of the owl banders, sent me a note reporting that a flying squirrel was recently caught in one of their nets. He reports that it was high-strung in the extreme, chittering and biting as they attempted extrication and only ensnaring itself even more. Eventually, they had to cut it free, thus liberating the big-eyed madman but essentially destroying the net in the process. Southern Flying Squirrel - 1. Owl Banders - 0.

If you've got decent-sized trees, even in suburbia, you've likely got flying squirrels. Wanna lure 'em in and watch the show? Slather Jiffy peanut butter up on a tree trunk, about as high as you can reach. Use the crunchy varieties; these are discerning little beasts and you don't want to make them mad.

I took the shots above at a friend's suburban feeding station, and it was a show, let me tell you that. Up to seven El Locos were in the tree at once, squeaking, chasing, combating, gliding, and grabbing Jiffy's finest until displaced by another beast, and every one of those scenarios generally took place in about three seconds per squirrel. They burn the calories, these boys.

But what a show.

Southern Flying Squirrels!

A southern flying squirrel, Glaucomys volans, pauses nuthatch-like, headed down a tree trunk. Last year, about this time, I received an invite from Roman Mast to come to his place in Knox County to see an extraordinary assemblage of these furry paragliders. You can read about that trip RIGHT HERE, and it explains a bit of Roman's relationship with the squirrels and why so many visit his yard.

Well, Round II for me and the squirrels was last Wednesday. I got word from Roman that numbers were building - June is the peak month - so off I went to see my friend and his amazing mammals. Once there, we didn't have to wait long. Flying squirrels are strictly nocturnal, but don't wait very long to emerge once the sun has fully set. I asked Roman when the first squirrel would appear and he said "9:13". Darned if I didn't see the first shadowy movement of a squirrel high in the trees at precisely that time, and by 9:15 some animals were down to the feeders.

A flyer in a rare moment of repose, and it's only still because it's eating a kernel of cracked corn. These little speedsters race about at the speed of light, maneuvering up and around trunks and branches at speeds that make your head spin. It's as if they have Velcro for paw pads.

That isn't to say they always get it right. Squabbles between apparent alphas and lesser squirrels are frequent, and in some cases physical tussles lead to a squirrel falling to the ground from lofty heights. We saw this several times last night. It reminded me of someone with a dud parachute that sort of slows the descent, but they still hit the ground with a good thunk. Apparently there isn't time for the squirrel to spread its patagium (the loose flap of tissue between the legs that forms a sail when stretched taut) and catch enough air to sail out of the fall. But each time, utterly unfazed, the squirrel would bounce right up and back into the tree.

Here's a brief video of a few flying squirrels working the primary feeding tree. Turn your volume up to hear a nice symphony of singing gray treefrogs.

Thanks to Roman for so graciously sharing the squirrels with me, and many others.

Mammals of the North Woods

My recent NettieBay Lodge Expeditions in northern Michigan's Presque Isle County were mostly about birds, and we did well - 153 species in a week. We also learned a lot about plants, and I wouldn't even try to tot up that total list. In short, we look at anything and everything, but always prioritizing the birds. After all, a bird can fly off so it's always best to immediately avail one's self of a viewing opportunity before the bird in question decides to bail.

Another group that we did well with was mammals. I already blogged about the porcupines and their dens, but that prickly rodent was only one of seventeen mammal species that we observed. Followng are a few of the ones that I managed to turn into pixels.

There are scads of beaver up there, and we saw a few true jumbos. But none of the chunky tail-slappers came in range of my camera. Here's some big, in your face, evidence, though. The local beavers of this particular lake had recently dropped this bigtooth aspen, at least in part so they could get at the succulent upper branches. Note how they've stripped the bark from the upper part of the tree, down there at the far end.

A striped skunk waddling through a field and rooting about for grubs. I initially misidentified this one. How, you may ask, did our blogger manage to botch the identity of one of the most recognizable mammals in North America? Well, it was broad daylight, and this skunk was way off in a field of tall grass. I could only see little patches of it as it rustled about, and my first thought was, badger! After all, badgers are white and black on the face and probably more prone to be out and about during the day.

Anyway, I tossed the car to the roadside and ran towards the animal in the hopes of working my way closer. It didn't take but a few lopes in the beast's direction before I saw what it truly was. Oh well, it allowed me fairly close and I ws able to make a few photos. Skunks are actually fine-looking animals if one can get over their reputation.

Eastern chipmunks were everywhere. The cute little busybodies are generally in perpetual motion. One individual was making regular raids on the NettieBay Lodge feeders, stuffing his cheeks with peanuts. Once full of loot, he'd race off to a distant woodpile to cache them. Try as I might, I never managed a shot of the chippy with cheeks bulging out to nearly double the size of his head. HERE'S a piece I wrote a while back about chipmunks and the sounds that they produce.

There were also scads of eastern gray squirrels, but with a twist - most of them are melanistic; so-called "black" squirrels. Maybe because I am used to seeing the gray-colored gray squirrels, I can't get enough of these exotic beauties. There were normally colored individuals, but they were outnumbered by these dark versions, which also appeared to be more aggressive.

A genetic trait causes the dark coloration, and litters of squirrels can have both gray and black individuals. Black squirrels have long been known from scattererd locales in Ohio, but they appear to be becoming more frequent.

King of the squirrels, a red squirrel, sometimes known by the monikers chickaree or red jimmy. They are hyper aggressive and rule the roost. A red squirrel will easily drive off much larger gray or fox squirrels despite being dwarfed by these bigger species. Their loud shrill scolding notes are quickly learned by birders working the north woods.

We stopped at a convenient state park for a break, and noticed a thirteen-lined ground squirrel loitering about the mowed grassy lot in an uncharacteristically bold fashion. Sure enough, just like the chickadees at your feeder, this guy had been the recipient of handouts and had become acclimated to people.

I don't condone feeding ground squirrels picnic fare, but if others do I'll take the photo ops. Thirteen-lined ground squirrels are not exactly extroverts, but the lure of this chip was too much, and he slowly jigged and jagged nearer.

Finally, with a gentle tug he took the chip and raced to one of his holes to enjoy the spoils. I suppose the positive side of this unusual taming of a normally wary mammal is that people who would never otherwise see one of the handsome little ground squirrels get to admire one up close and personal, and hopefully become more interested in the natural world as a result. I made a more in depth post about ground squirrels HERE.

Finally, a life mammal for your blogger! A northern flying squirrel comes into the peanut feeder at NettieBay Lodge. I had heard these up here last year, but never laid eyes on one. This year, they had discovered the feeders and we noticed one gliding around one evening. So, we pulled up some chairs on the back patio and it wasn't long before one of the furry little fellows swooped in and lit on a feeder.

Just like the southern flying squirrels down here, this one was tame as a kitten and I was able to approach it within five feet. It cared not a whit, armed with the knowledge that it is probably 100 times faster and more agile than your camera-wielding blogger.

I love watching flying squirrels, and am delighted that the lodge setup is attracting them. These feeders are full of great birds during the day, and now at night we can watch these tiny squirrels. I don't know if you've ever seen one of these, but flyers are about the fastest arboreal mammals you'll ever want to see. They'd make Spiderman look like the clumsiest of oafs. It's as if they've got velcro for footpads, and an excited squirrel will roar up, down, and around the trees at astonishing speeds, occasionally launching into space and gliding to another tree. Quite a show.

We're doing two more of these forays at NettieBay in late May of next year, and attendees will get to see many of these mammals in addition to scores of birds, plants, and other interesting things not to mention beautiful landscapes at every turn. If you are interested, contact Jackie at NettieBay HERE. We keep the groups to ten people each, and I believe they're already over half full so let her know soon if you can make it.

Nature: Fast, gravity-defying red squirrels would give Spiderman a run for his money

A red squirrel de-husks a walnut in the writer's backyard/Jim McCormac

Nature: Fast, gravity-defying red squirrels would give Spiderman a run for his money

Columbus Dispatch
Sunday, November 7, 2021

NATURE
Jim McCormac

Four species of tree squirrels occur in Ohio: fox, gray, red, and southern flying squirrels. Of this quartet, I find the high-strung red squirrel the most interesting.

Thus I was pleased when a pair recently took up residence in my yard. The occasional individual has spent time here, but their stays were usually of short duration. The current duo seems committed to the backyard ecosystem. They have even appropriated a cavity in my black walnut tree.

Red squirrels reach peak abundance in northern coniferous forests. Columbus is near the southern limits of their range. This is probably the least common squirrel in Ohio, due to its decided preference for conifers, especially spruce.

These squirrels readily adapt to suburbia, but favor sites with some cone-producing conifers. Even ornamental Norway spruce will do. My neighbors have several large specimens of the latter, and I suspect that’s what drew the squirrels.

The red squirrel is a handsome animal, with a rich reddish-brown pelage, creamy underparts, and thick white eye arcs that impart a surprised look. A strapping specimen is only a foot long from nose to tail tip, and weighs less than a half-pound.

While small in size, red squirrels have enormous personalities. They seem almost psychotically aggressive, and often appear to be in a rage. Even if unseen, their near constant calls give them away. The bellicose mammals sputter out a barrage of chirps, clicks, clucks and discordant chatters. Their wall of sound is accompanied by frenetic flicks of the tail. If suitably irked, they’ll angrily stamp their feet.

My squirrels have developed a walnut fetish. The seeds of spruce cones are their normal stock in trade, but apparently the allure of walnut meat is irresistible.

Unfortunately for the local gray squirrels, they, too, are connoisseurs of the hard-husked fruit.

Fat chance the grays have of harvesting walnuts in my tree. The reds have dominion over the 75-foot tree and its myriad fruit. If a gray squirrel is spotted entering the walnut’s boughs, a red squirrel lights out after it like it was shot from a cannon.

A red squirrel at top speed would embarrass Spiderman on his best day. The red — which is half the size of a gray — tears after the interloper like an arboreal Usain Bolt, quickly driving the rival squirrel from the tree and usually out of the yard.

One possible explanation for this insanely aggressive behavior is the red squirrel’s need to defend numerous caches of cones, nuts, seeds and even mushrooms. The tough little squirrels don’t hibernate, and create warehouses of food tucked in tree crevices and other niches. They draw upon these larders when food sources are lean.

Other animals regularly try to raid the caches, but the vigilant red squirrels soon run them off.

Come early spring, the reds become amorous and begin courtships. This generally entails racing about at breathtaking speed, zipping through the branches and making death-defying leaps. When the female is suitably impressed, mating commences.

Eventually, 4 or 5 tiny naked pink kits are born, and hopefully, in my case, that’ll be in the walnut tree den hole. In only about 40 days, the kits go from blind, 7-gram, amorphous blobs to fully furred and active. After 2 to 3 months, the parents expel the youngsters from their home turf and they strike out on their own.

My neighborhood, I believe, could benefit from additional red squirrels. What better way to enliven peaceful suburbia than with gravity-defying maniacal peewee squirrels imbued with the ferocity of Genghis Khan and the agility of Wayne Gretzky, moving at the speed of bullets.

Naturalist Jim McCormac writes a column for The Dispatch on the first, third and fifth Sundays of the month. He also writes about nature at www.jimmccormac.blogspot.com.

 

Red-tailed Hawk eats Gray Squirrel!

Bright-eyed and bushy tailed, the Gray Squirrel (Sciurus carolinensis) is abundant throughout much of Ohio - certainly in central Ohio, where I made this shot. They are often amusing this time of year, as it's mating season. Soon after winter solstice, the lust to procreate and make more of their kind sets in. Amorous males set to chasing females, and this can put them at risk as their intense focus may cause them to lose track of their surroundings. Just as we notice these wild pursuits, sometimes involving several males hot on the furry heels of a female, so do others. Including formidable predators. I wonder if this is how the protagonist of this post picked off his victim, which apparently let down its guard in some way. But I did not see the actual kill, only the aftermath, of which a brief photo essay follows.

Last Wednesday, January 11, I was traipsing through Green Lawn Cemetery in Columbus, Ohio, on the heels of a Merlin (Falco columbarius). I was with a photographer friend, and we had just finished a nice session with a cooperative Merlin on a dead snag. After it finally flew, we set out on foot to relocate it or another we had seen.

I noticed a slight movement within a bushy part of a maple and Voila! There was an adult Red-tailed Hawk (Buteo jamaicensis). We quickly saw it had dispatched and was eating a victim. I made this shot soon after the discovery. While the big raptor is glaring our way, it paid nearly no mind to us. We were respectful of its space, and quiet (quietness seems to be becoming a rare commodity where birders and/or photographers gather).

The bird had bagged a Gray Squirrel and was engaged in preparing and eating its meal. From the looks of things, the raptor had been at its work for a while. Much of the mammal had been defurred already, but in this photo the head is mostly intact. In all, we were able to observe the hawk eating its meal for about a half-hour. At that point, I managed to fill my 128-gigabyte memory card. That's not hard when shooting in burst mode with a 45-megapixel camera and shooting video as well. I would have gone back to the vehicle for another card, but by then the rain was setting in, and it was time to leave.

The red-tail with fresh squirrel meat. It came from the one of the rear legs, the remnants of which can be seen sticking up in front of the bird's left leg.

The raptor starts in on the other hind leg. The de-meated other leg sticks up next to it. The back legs must be a delicacy as they are one of the first things this bird dined upon.

At one point, the hawk went on point and was obviously watching something in the distance. I was sure it was another raptor but try as I might, I could not locate the object of its interest. This red-tail was in fairly thick cover in the lower boughs of a large maple and wasn't very conspicuous from most angles. Therefore, I would think it would have been difficult for it to have a good sightline to distant points. But raptors are nearly magical in their situational awareness and with vision far keener than any human, they don't miss much.

On the way out of the cemetery - which is 160 acres, 2nd largest cemetery in Ohio - I spotted another Red-tailed Hawk, perched in a tree far removed from the squirrel-eater. I'd bet it was this bird flying around that "our" hawk spotted. Another red-tail certainly would have put him on point and monopolized its attention.

As always, click the photo to enlarge :-)

Eventually the hawk got to the head and commenced eating the nose - another delicacy? In this image it has deftly grasped the squirrel's eyelid. Raptors deal with prey like this with surgical precision, using the bill like a scalpel and manipulating and repositioning the prey with those large powerful feet and talons. They are more efficient than most people would be with fork and knife.

If nothing interfered, I'm sure the bird left little but fur and bones. Almost nothing goes to waste. My only regret - and it isn't worth regretting as there is nothing one can do - is that the day was a typical gray leaden Ohio winter day. Light was abysmal as it is so often around here in winter, and it only deteriorated as heavy cold rains moved in. How these scenes would have popped in golden morning sunlight! Ah well, I count myself lucky to have had a ringside seat to a dining Red-tailed Hawk. He was still there feeding away when we departed.

Here's a brief video of the red-tailed feeding. I was hoping that the snaps and cracks of tendons and muscles separating would come through, but the camera didn't seem to pick those up. I could hear it, though, and the sound effects added interest to the experience.

A fabulous evening of caterpillaring

 

As always, click the photo to enlarge

An American Dagger (Acronicta americana) moth caterpillar noshes on the leaf of a Red Maple (Acer rubrum). We saw many of this species on this evening. American Daggers are polyphagous - they can eat the foliage of scores of plants. It is often one of the most common caterpillars we find on night prowls, if not the most common.

Last Saturday, August 22, Shauna and I headed southeast and into the hills of Jackson County. This is one of the most biodiverse counties in Ohio. We headed towards the property of Julie and Rod Sheets, friends that we met last spring during a flying squirrel research project that took place on their 195 acres. After traipsing over some nice swaths of the place during the squirrel project, I probably commented to Rod and Julie that "this place would be great for moths/caterpillars!" 

And there we were, returning at a peak time for lepidopteran subjects. While the mothing (if you're new to the term, "mothing" entails luring moths to an illuminated sheet) was a bit tepid, their larvae were quite robust and put on a great show. And some of these caterpillars are featured here.

Usually, between keeping an eye on the sheet for moths, we search nearby habitats for caterpillars. Our efforts are greatly aided by the use of blacklight flashlights ("UV BEAST" is a good brand). A great many caterpillar species fluoresce, often quite brightly, when caught in our purple beams. 

We didn't make it 20 feet from the sheet when Shauna shouted "look!" She had found not one, or two, but three!! Saddleback Caterpillars under a single redbud leaf. That fortuitous find proved to be a good omen, and we went on to find many more interesting larvae. Some photos of those follow.

A Banded Tussock Moth caterpillar (Halysidota tessellaris). This species vies with the American Dagger for the most frequently found cat. It, too, is polyphagous and can seemingly ingest anything. Such a catholic diet is not the norm for caterpillars. Far more caterpillars are specialists, eating only one family of plants, one genus, or even only a single species. Nonnative plants species do very little for caterpillars. Most can't eat them, due to long-evolved chemical compatibly with only their host plant(s).

We were pleased indeed to discover this fully grown Elm Sphinx Moth caterpillar (Ceratomia amyntor). This species is a hyper-specialist, eating only plants in the elm family, and only those in the genus Ulmus. The Sheets' property has plenty of American Elm (Ulmus americana) and Red Elm (U. rubra), and I was watching for one of these four-horned beauties. In my photo, it is rearing up in what appears to be a defensive posture that they often adopt when disturbed. 

If you noticed how leaf-like the Elm Sphinx cat is in the first shot, this one should reinforce that. The larva clearly mimics the elm leaf both in color and venation. I couldn't get this one to cooperate very well, as I was trying to pose it so that its raised white stripe that runs the length of its back was aligned perfectly with the leaf's central midrib. That's how they often rest when not feeding. The caterpillar's angled lateral lines then mesh perfectly with those of the leaves.

This is a Hackberry Dagger Moth caterpillar (Acronicta rubricoma) and it wasn't even on my radar. I'd never before photographed one and can't remember even seeing one. But I don't keep a list and there are LOTS of bugs and I can't remember them all.

Anway, the aptly named Hackberry Dagger is a hackberry feeder, and hackberry is also in the elm family. It also apparently eats elm, and weirdly, it is claimed that they will also consume sumac (unrelated family). I checked Ohio records in iNaturalist, and while the species has been recorded statewide, records were rather sparse and scattered and probably the vast majority of those records were of the adult moth phase rather than caterpillars.

I've long wondered about the vertical stratification of caterpillars feeding in trees, and whether there might be a suite of species that typically feeds in the crowns. It may be that there are certain cats that are hard to clap eyes on because they are usually high overhead and out of sight. Maybe the Hackberry Dagger is one of them. There, now 43 people will tell me about all of the Hackberry Daggers that they encounter :-)

An Io Moth caterpillar (Automeris io) makes an artistic stinging edge to a dogwood leaf. Those envenomating spines will make you rue touching one. I did so accidentally once, and it was akin to an especially potent Wood Nettle (Laportea canadensis), the most painful of our nettles. The Io cat is also polyphagous and probably the most commonly encountered silkmoth caterpillar, at least for me.

We did well with the always interesting slug moth caterpillars such as this Jewel-tailed Slug (Packardia geminata). Some species resemble snails, as this one does. Its head, on the right, is extended; it's frequently not visible.

The reason for the insertion of "slug" into the name of this group is due to their curious method of locomotion. Instead of a series of central prolegs, slugs have sets of paired suckers. They glide along on a thin film of silk, much like a slug moves.

Here's the trio of Saddleback Caterpillar Moth caterpillars (Acharea stimulea) that started off the night prowl. In the words of entomologist and caterpillar expert Dr. David Wagner, slug caterpillars are "more fantasy than reality".

This species has one of the most painful stings of any North American caterpillar, so look but don't touch. Those columnlike extensions are bristling with envenomating spines. There is a venom sac at the base of the spine, and when triggered it blasts the hot sauce into the interloper like an injection from a hypodermic syringe. While stings will probably hurt anyone that experiences it, some people can react very badly.

A Saddleback cat resembles a little tubular chestnut horse draped with a lime-green horse blanket. Unfortunately for the larva in my photo, it is a walking dead caterpillar. Near the top left of its body, where there is a thin band of green, it looks like someone put a tiny cigarette out. That's either an air exchange hole for the larva of a tachinid fly, or its exit hole. Either way, the caterpillar won't survive the internal ravages of the fly maggot. Such parasitoidism is very common in the caterpillar world.

Yet another slug moth caterpillar and it isn't the last (almost, though). This is a White Flannel Moth (Norape ovina), and it is an outrageous insect. Check out those uber-long setae, and the showy jewel-like studding on the body. Those "jewels" are also studded with envenomating spines, and the sting is said to be quite painful (I could talk no one into getting stung so that we could learn about this).

Finally, insofar as the slugs go, here is our grand finale: the utterly bizarre Lesser Parasa Moth (Parasa chloris). Dr. Seuss himself couldn't make this thing up. To me, from certain angles, they look like hippopotami. This parasa is actively feeding and its head is tucked out of sight.

This is a White-dotted Prominent (Nadata gibbosa) and it's primarily an oak feeder. This one is apparently preparing a temporary bivouac by spinning a thick layer of silk. As the silk dries, the leaf will fold over the cat, concealing it. White-dotted Prominents are pretty common but always interesting. When agitated, they can perform an amazing act that suggests snake mimicry. I show a photo of one so engaged and describe that behavior RIGHT HERE.

Saddled Prominent Moth caterpillars (Cecrita guttivata) may be common, but they are quite showy. When one presents itself as nicely as this one did, I find it impossible to resist making photos.

Caterpillars grow through phases termed instars, and each instar stage is separated by a molt. Most of our larger species go through five instars excepting the slug caterpillars which typical have seven or even nine instars.

This is a Sycamore Tussock Moth caterpillar (Halysidota harrissii) and it is fairly young in its growth, probably in its third instar. At this stage, it eats holes from the centers of leaves of its host plant. And that host plant is the Sycamore (Platanus occidentalis). Nothing else will do for this extreme specialist.

Lastly, a fine pair of leaf-edge mimics. This one is the Checker-fringed Prominent caterpillar (Schizura ipomoea). We caught this one in transit, but when ensconced along the edge of a leaf dappled with browning necrotic tissue, the green and brown caterpillar can be quite hard to spot. The jagged back extensions provide further disruptive camouflage.

This one may one-up the previous species in the leaf camouflage department. It is a Red-washed Prominent caterpillar (Oligocentria semirufescens). From any distance, the cat - which usually hangs out on a leaf's edge - can be remarkably difficult to see, as it so greatly resembles senescent browning leaf tissue. 

Major thanks to Julie and Rod for inviting us over to explore, and for all of their conservation efforts which include many fine cats.