Her name is Patience

She is an ambush predator.  She understands the meaning of diligence.  She epitomizes calm.  She knows how to wait.

A female green lynx spider (Peucetia viridans) perched on the petals of a plains sunflower (a.k.a. petioled sunflower or prairie sunflower; Helianthus petiolaris) (20080704_09121)

She is young, this spider, yet already she demonstrates keen intellect.  Find the food others need to survive, then become a statue at its edge.  Soon they will come.  And soon she will dine.

A female green lynx spider (Peucetia viridans) hiding on the leaf of woolly croton (a.k.a. hogwort or doveweed; Croton capitatus) (20080809_10702)

She, too, is young, though older than the first.  In the dim light of an overcast day, she is all but invisible as she watches the stem leading to the plant’s flowers.

A female green lynx spider (Peucetia viridans) clinging to the leaf of purple morning glory (a.k.a. common morning glory; Ipomoea purpurea) (20081011_13666)

She is mature, pregnant even, and soon to create an egg sac.  Not her first, I think, for the year is late.

Close-up of a female green lynx spider (Peucetia viridans) sitting on the leaf of purple morning glory (a.k.a. common morning glory; Ipomoea purpurea) (20081011_13693)

She hangs effortlessly and becomes a part of the leaf, unmoving yet seeing in all directions.  She is an ambush predator, and soon she will eat.

— — — — — — — — — —

All photos are of female green lynx spiders (Peucetia viridans):

[1] Perched on the petals of a plains sunflower (a.k.a. petioled sunflower or prairie sunflower; Helianthus petiolaris); taken at White Rock Lake in Dallas.

[2] Hiding on the leaf of woolly croton (a.k.a. hogwort or doveweed; Croton capitatus); taken at the family farm in East Texas.

[3-4] Clinging to the leaf of purple morning glory (a.k.a. common morning glory; Ipomoea purpurea); taken at the family farm in East Texas.

Bad birds – Part 3 (with bonus alligator)

I generally avoid people when I stroll around White Rock Lake (or anywhere else for that matter).  Nothing chases away nature faster than a legion of yammering halfwits or a crush of unobservant dweebs.  Yet I’m not always antisocial: I rarely turn down an opportunity to talk to like-minded or sincere parties if they offer real interest, such as asking questions about what I’m photographing or pointing out a worthwhile subject.

But children tend to be a wholly different animal, up to and including teenagers.  They simply lack the awareness of nature’s needs, and often they lack any semblance of humanity (especially when traveling in packs, though individuals can surprise me).

So imagine the shock I felt during a walk in January 2009 when a family strolling along the norther floodplain of Dixon Branch towed along a young boy who couldn’t stop stopping.  He had to point out everything of interest, from simple flowers to birds to the neat design of sunlight dappling the ground as it passed through naked branches.  I heard this from quite a distance and made an effort to watch them indirectly.

Once they caught up to me, which I allowed against my better judgment, the boy wandered over even as his parents told him not to bother me.  I had been watching some birds in the barren canopy, so he followed my gaze and immediately asked, “What are you looking at?”

Before I knew it he was sitting on my knee looking into the treetops through the camera.  I should point out that the camera, from viewfinder to lens hood, was almost as long as he was tall, so we’re not talking about a large kid.  He couldn’t hold the camera due to its weight, so I held it for him as he snapped photos and scanned the area.  (I didn’t mind if he took pictures since he was only wasting digital space, not film.)

His mother said repeatedly that he should leave me alone and let me enjoy the day.  I countered that he wasn’t bothering me at all—a truth that shocked me.  How could I not feed his hunger to know about nature, to notice all it had to offer?  It would have been a crime had I turned my back on that opportunity.

A nonbreeding male American goldfinch (Carduelis tristis) perched in a tree (2009_01_17_004505)

The spark of a true naturalist seemed to be lurking inside him.  I wasn’t going to waste the opportunity to throw fuel on the fire.  I answered his questions and identified the various birds, plants and insects he pointed out.  But finally his parents insisted that they should move on.  So with a downtrodden expression the boy thanked me, then the group of them continued east toward the bridge.

Imagine my surprise to see in all the various haphazard images he captured that somehow he’d focused on this nonbreeding male American goldfinch (Carduelis tristis).  Some of the other photos seemed to be close to the mark as well, but this one really showed that he was in fact looking at something and not just intrigued by the 400mm zoom.

Other than cropping it, I left the picture just as he took it.  Sure, the camera settings were wrong and he’d actually focused on a branch just above and to the right of the bird, but the bird was almost centered and no doubt was precisely the object he was interested in.

His parents seemed genuinely supportive of his naturalist’s heart, answering his questions as best they could and often pausing longer than they’d like so he could look—really look.  If he’s an example of the next generation, perhaps there’s hope for the world yet.

In early May 2009 we suffered torrential rains that flooded the entire area.  So much water washed into the lake that the Sunset Bay sandbar vanished as the confluence ripped it apart with rushing rapids.  But floods always mean something interesting here, always mean the standing water on the floodplains will bring all sorts of life to the once grassy fields.

Two white-faced ibises (Plegadis chihi) standing in a flooded field (2009_05_04_017730)

I drove by slowly on my way home and immediately noticed two white-faced ibises (Plegadis chihi) strolling through the deep pond that sat along the southern edge of Dixon Branch.  Wow!  I rushed home and grabbed my camera and tripod, then I ran the short distance back to the park.

But here’s where the frustration of the day materialized.  There was simply too much water to get close to them; they stayed on the opposite edge of the field.  Each time I stepped into the water, I’d sink, lose a shoe—or both, or the tripod would sink (even with tripod coasters).  Sometimes all three happened at once.

The only way to take photos was to keep moving, to stay ahead of the constant sinking.  The tripod stayed upright no longer than a few seconds before one or more legs would plummet (several times I thought I lost the coasters).  I slipped and fell more often than I’ll admit.  My shoes had more mud inside than outside.  It just wasn’t working out the way I’d hoped.

Wilson’s phalaropes (Phalaropus tricolor) swimming in shallow water (2009_05_04_018178)

But ibises weren’t the only floodplain visitors, so I wasn’t giving up no matter the obstacles.

A large flock of Wilson’s phalaropes (Phalaropus tricolor) swirled and swam in a temporary waterworld.  Along with mallards and blue-winged teals, the phalaropes seemed to be having a swimmingly good time.

I knew there had to be plenty of food available since the standing water would bring loads of invertebrates to the surface.  No doubt all of the birds appreciated the veritable buffet.

Just like the ibises, however, the phalaropes remained far across the floodplain.  This plethora of avian visitors was proving difficult to photograph due to the environmental issues.

A lesser yellowlegs (Tringa flavipes) wading through shallow water (2009_05_04_017651)

By the time I saw them, I was drenched, muddy up to my knees, struggling to keep the camera from falling in the water, and starting to curse not having a canoe or kayak.  Still, half a dozen lesser yellowlegs (Tringa flavipes) wandering about the swamp put a smile on my face.

They and the phalaropes tended toward the same areas, though not always.

I do have additional photos of both which I’m hoping to fix.  Some of them show the proximity of the two, including one that looks like the yellowlegs are acting as advanced guards for the phalarope flock.  Hopefully I can fix those images (which is not one of my strengths).

After walking out of both shoes simultaneously, kneeling in the mud and deep water trying to locate two of the three tripod coasters, and finally realizing I was losing the battle, I decided to head to the opposite side of the lake.  So off I went…

But things didn’t improve when I got there.

Canada geese (Branta canadensis) flying across White Rock Lake (2009_05_04_018113)

I saw two Canada geese (Branta canadensis) standing along the edge of the lake just beyond the paddle boat house.  They seemed unconcerned with my presence, so I slowly approached hoping for some great snapshots.

That’s when I slipped in the mud and landed flat on my butt.

Do you think the geese remained unconcerned?  Hardly.  The litany of vulgarities streaming from my mouth coupled with my loud and graceless crash to the ground caused them to immediately take to wing.

I rolled over in the mud and snapped one picture as they glided above the lake’s surface.

A common moorhen (Gallinula chloropus) standing in a marsh (2009_05_16_018929)

Probably my favorite bad bird photo: a common moorhen (Gallinula chloropus) standing in a marsh at the Aransas National Wildlife Refuge in May 2009.

What makes it my favorite?  The circumstances, of course!

I had just spied the moorhen swimming amongst the reeds.  After finding a usable opening in the surrounding brush, I focused on it to get a feel for the scene, then decided to change a few settings to get the image I wanted.

From behind me came a rather abrupt crash in the thicket lining a tidal marsh.  I pressed the shutter button as I turned to see what was approaching.

A large American alligator (Alligator mississippiensis) was climbing up a gator slide and in my direction.  It couldn’t have been more than six feet/two meters away.

Knowing how to move through nature without being seen, heard or smelled is an advantage in that it allows you to get closer to wildlife than most people can imagine.  The flip side of that coin is the disadvantage of wildlife not knowing you’re there and stumbling upon you with little or no notice.

As for the alligator, yes, I got a photo.  In fact, several.  Mind you the large reptile entered the trail then did an immediate u-turn when it saw me swing around in its direction.  A quick slide back down the hill and into the water gave it an easy escape.

Without missing a beat, I aimed and fired the camera sans worry for the settings.  Here’s the u-turn sequence for those interested in close calls.

An American alligator (Alligator mississippiensis) turning around (2009_05_16_018627)
An American alligator (Alligator mississippiensis) turning around (2009_05_16_018628)
An American alligator (Alligator mississippiensis) turning around (2009_05_16_018629)
An American alligator (Alligator mississippiensis) turning around (2009_05_16_018630)

I immediately followed the critter.  After stepping over to the slide and finding a clear view through the brush, here’s the alligator retreating back into the marsh.

An American alligator (Alligator mississippiensis) swimming into a tidal marsh (2009_05_16_01)

It quickly disappeared behind the reeds.

Photography 101: Nature photography part 1

Nature photography comes in many different flavors: landscape, wildlife, macro, underwater, flora, weather, astronomy, and on and on the list goes.  In this two-part episode of Photography 101, I will focus on general nature photography that is subject-oriented (i.e., specific flora or fauna).

(1) Be patient
Nature moves at its own rhythm and on its own schedule.  You shouldn’t expect a brief visit to the lake to produce the exact photo you want of a great blue heron swallowing a fish, and you shouldn’t run through the woods for an hour expecting to run out with award winning images of mountain lions and elk.  As with most types of photography, rushing is the enemy.

So far as wildlife is concerned, it may be necessary to sit for hours waiting for the right scene to take shape—or even for the right wildlife to show up.  If you want the shot, you’ll wait for it.  There are times when you should hurry; mostly, though, not so much.

There is a difference between casual images (e.g., snapping photos of birds as you walk along a forest trail) and formal images (e.g., sitting on the bank of a river waiting for the otters to show up at their favorite dining spot).  I’m obviously referring to the latter more than the former.

(2) Use blinds
As a general rule, wildlife disapproves of human presence.  We are, after all, predators—though sometimes also prey, in which case our presence is much appreciated.  Animals grow accustomed to human presence under certain circumstances (e.g., in parks), yet even then they have little interest in being near people unless they’ve also learned we can provide food—either from our pocket or from our flesh.

Amazingly, a lot of creatures feel much more comfortable around us when they can’t see us.  Or at least when they can’t see us clearly.  This is where the use of blinds comes into play.

Blinds take many shapes: standing behind a tree, wearing full-body camouflage, artificial structures, and even sitting in a car.  We are viewed as less of a threat so long as something separates us from our subject.  Use that to your advantage.

(3) Get away from people
This is probably the simplest way to begin seeing things that go unseen by most.  Nature is nature when it doesn’t have to contend with us.  Even in an urban park, you can discover a vast world of hidden treasures if you get off the beaten path and away from crowds.  The fewer people around you, the more nature you’ll find.

Of special importance is that the effect is generally cumulative: The more people who frequent an area over time, the less wildlife you’re apt to see at any time.

(4) Don’t smell like the perfume counter at Macy’s
Humans have a laundry list of smells that go unnoticed by our primitive noses: our hair smells of shampoo and conditioner; our skin smells of soap and lotion and cologne and chlorine; our clothes smell of detergent and fabric softener; our bodies smell of sweat and houses and car exhaust and deodorant; and a plethora of other scents litter our presence.

Though the casual photographer need not worry so much about this warning plume, those wanting to see more of nature should consider this issue carefully.  Our human smell is bad enough and something that takes much time in the wild to diminish, but you can do something about the other smells if you’re heading out for some serious wildlife photography.

First: Don’t bathe for several days.  Sounds gross, I know, but it helps diminish the various smells that cling to our skin and hair.

Second: Wear the same clothes for several days.  Again, a nasty proposition, but it will allow the chemical smells in the fabrics to fade away and for the clothing to pick up natural scents (like sweat, dirt and dust, pollen, etc.).  These should be the clothes you intend to wear in the wild.

Third: Get out in the wild as quickly as you can, then stay there for as long as you can.  The longer you’re away from cars and homes and shops, the sooner you slough off the smells that come with civilization and start picking up the smells of the wilderness.

Four: Don’t use insect repellent.  It creates a toxic cloud that follows you everywhere.  As if you didn’t already carry enough olfactory baggage, the pungent aroma of sprayed-on chemicals makes a bad situation worse.  If you can’t handle the nibblers chewing on you, consider an insect suit.

(And of significant note to photographers: DEET will destroy your camera.  On the can it says it’s very bad for plastic, let alone a long list of other materials.  Yes, it is a dangerous enemy that can demolish your camera, including lenses and other equipment.  Even a little DEET can cause problems.  Keep in mind it’s harmful to guns and watches; now imagine what it can do to your expensive dSLR.)

Assuming you’re not aiming for a serious nature photography session but are instead looking to enjoy some of what’s out there that the average person doesn’t get to see, you can skip those rules and jump right to this one: Avoid anything with strong smells (e.g., insect repellents and colognes/perfumes).

(5) Use your powers wisely
Anything of interest will not rush out waving arms, petals, wings, branches, legs or other parts so it can get your attention.  When you want to photograph something of interest in nature, you have to find it.  That’s where your powers of observation come in.

Sight is obviously the most useful tool.  You can’t take a picture of something you don’t see.  Yet most people only see the obvious, and that’s why most people rarely see more than the mundane.  You need to look for the gems lurking about in the natural world.  Don’t just walk by the dandelion assuming it’s a boring, introduced, lawn-ruining rascal.  Stop and look at it.  See what might be crawling about its form.  But if you must walk by it, at least keep scanning around you for the things that aren’t as obvious or are too small to grab your attention during a casual stroll.

Learn to watch without looking.  Our peripheral vision is more sensitive to motion than is our foveal vision (direct gaze), so it’s easier to find all the hidden movement if we don’t stare at it directly.  And if you don’t know where to look for something, slowly move your head from side to side and scan the area.  If something is lurking about in the shadows, you’re more likely to find it by letting your peripheral vision locate the movement.  This is why I often stare into space while out in nature.

Also, peripheral vision is more sensitive at night than is foveal vision.  When light is limited, try scanning from side to side rather than staring.  You’ve probably already seen this in practice if you’ve been in low-light conditions and seen something move at the edge of your vision.  The motion caused you to turn and look directly, at which point the motion vanishes and it looks like nothing’s there, but then you turn your head again and the motion returns.

But vision isn’t the only tool.  Sounds can be a wonderland of new discoveries.  In fact, sound is to nature photography what smell is to wine tasting: without it, you’re only getting half the flavor.

A splash from the creek, a rustle in the leaves overhead, the breaking of a twig in the distance.  Hearing can assist us with locating that which cannot yet be seen or with identifying that which is hiding right in front of us.  And remember that hearing is augmented by the shape and pattern of your ears (which serve to funnel sound into the ear canals).  Try cupping your hand behind your ear to augment this function.

Smell can be useful in locating signs, like scat or kills.  It can also lead to specific plants: Who hasn’t followed the smell of honeysuckle to its source?

Touch is a two-edged sword.  First is the warning I’ve always said: Never touch anything in nature unless you’re sure it’s safe.  A simple caterpillar can inflict a dangerous sting and a plant can serve up an oily dose of rash-inducing misery.  The vast majority of nature isn’t going to hurt you, though, so keep that in mind.  The point is to be aware of what you’re touching.

On the other side of the blade, however, is the joy of turning over a rock and finding a magical world of life.  Don’t hesitate to push apart the branches to look through to the other side of the brush or to check the undersides of the leaves for critters; just be sure you’ve checked the branches first for anything that might not like the intrusion.

While nature photography is a visual game, it hardly can be played by those who don’t use their other senses.

— — — — — — — — — —

Notes:

[1] I’m referring to wildlife in the wild.  I do not consider zoos, aquariums, wildlife parks or similar venues to be nature photography; they’re nothing more than canned hunts with a camera.  Not that there’s anything wrong with that; those are great avenues for raising awareness, promoting conservation and protection, educating, and exposing the masses to what we’re at risk of losing.  Just understand my nature photography is always from the wild since anyone can walk along a stone pathway and snap images of critters who can’t escape.

[2] In state and national parks and similar places, wildlife can be acclimated to people such that it’s easier to see, approach and photograph said critters without special considerations.  It behooves you to be familiar with the opportunities available so you’re prepared for the environment you’re entering and the wildlife you can see.

[3] There are natural alternatives to DEET.  While I’ve not tried them, I’ve read the most effective are those based on oil of lemon eucalyptus.  The concern is twofold: Do they work and what do they smell like.  If they work, that’s great, but if they smell like a chemical factory then you haven’t solved the real problem.

[4] Some clothing is now offered with built-in insect repellent.  Like the note above about natural alternatives to DEET, I don’t have experience with this new kind of clothing.  Regardless, the same consideration applies to this concept: If it works, that’s great, but if it smells like a chemical factory then you haven’t solved the real problem.

Let the symphony begin

We each measure the change of seasons by different sounds in nature’s symphony.  For those who live near White Rock Lake in Dallas, summer’s chimes at midnight ring with the arrival of the first American white pelicans (Pelecanus erythrorhynchos) who will overwinter here.

American white pelican (Pelecanus erythrorhynchos) landing at White Rock Lake (2009_03_07_011912)

This weekend, two of these magnificent birds marked the quieting of the world under the guise of autumn’s undressing and the lull to sleep of winter’s coming song.  More will follow, and too will come the falcons and hawks and eagles, the vireos and warblers and sparrows, and the legion vast of migrating musicians who bring with them an orchestra of change.

Already thousands of monarch butterflies fill the air with wings that tremble the earth with drumbeats we scarcely hear.  Hummingbirds amass like maestros leading a band of merry players along the road to warmer climes.  And pelicans rest their weary wings in an amphitheater welcoming of their artistic gift.

American white pelican (Pelecanus erythrorhynchos) landing at White Rock Lake (2009_03_07_011916)

Some of these travelers will offer their songs only as they pass through on their way to stages further south, but many will remain here and will bring with them a performance that warms us in the coldest months.

The players are seated.  The audience is hushed.  The houselights have dimmed.