Lesser scaup (Aythya affinis); male (drake)
put on your faces – lesser scaup
Monthly Archives: December 2009
Announcing ‘House of Herps’
Amber of Birder’s Lounge contacted me once and asked why with all the nature blog carnivals there seemed to be nothing for amphibians and reptiles, collectively called “herps.” In truth, I didn’t have a good answer for her. And thus began a conspiracy which now becomes reality: a new nature blog carnival called “House of Herps.”
Our vertebrate cold-blooded cousins deserve as much time in the limelight as our feathered, invertebrate, ligneous, floral, oceanic and other natural wonders. This is their chance.
Rather than bore you by repeating myself, let me announce this by directing you to my introductory post at the carnival’s site: Introducing ‘House of Herps’.
Go. Read. Participate.
Walking with spiders – Part 2
Despite my passion for creepy crawlies (i.e., insects, arachnids, etc.) and my passion for flowers and my passion for—well, you get the point—despite my love of the smaller joys nature provides, I have yet to invest in a macro lens. Times are tough and finances are tight, so I don’t see such an investment happening soon. Nevertheless, I can’t allow lack of equipment to interfere with my desire to see and photograph as much life as I can find.
This female filmy dome spider (Neriene radiata) built her web alongside a creek in the shade of surrounding trees. Hardly more than a hand’s width above the ground, she patiently hung from the underside of the web as she waited for a meal to drop by. These small, delicate spiders have a habit of building webs anchored at multiple points vertically, and that design effort creates a domed sheet web unlike anything I’ve ever seen before. Getting her photograph proved challenging with her nearness to the ground and the shape of her food trap—especially with me trying desperately to avoid snagging or breaking any of the anchor lines—yet she sat quietly and never budged as I contorted myself into odd shapes looking for at least one reasonable view.
Still nibbling on prey which long before had stopped being identifiable, this female black & yellow argiope (a.k.a. yellow garden spider; Argiope aurantia) soaked up some rays at the woodland edge. The floodplain stretched out before her like a living smorgasbord of food. Behind her, thicket at the drip line gave way to riparian woodlands. Her position offered her a delectable banquet of goodies on which to feast while she prepared to create her first egg sac. I had hopes that a mild winter would allow her to survive (females of this species, when they survive the winter, live into the following year whilst continuing to grow, hence they become massive). Unfortunately for her and for my hopes, our winter started early and hard freezes have already occurred…with more on the way. No matter: her children will survive and they will take her place at the dining table starting next spring.
One of the joys of photography comes from discovering surprises in the frame when you review the images later. Thus was the case with this wolf spider (Hogna sp.). I knelt in mud and flooded grass trying to get a picture of a cricket frog. Such frogs are small, mind you, and they vanish quickly beneath even the shortest ground cover. But later that day when I looked at the results, there in the depth of field stood this little hunter whose stillness and shadow-like colors kept me from seeing it to begin with.
I never for a moment thought I could get a respectable image of this female spinybacked orbweaver (a.k.a. crab spider, spiny orbweaver, jewel spider, spiny-bellied orbweaver, jewel box spider or smiley face spider; Gasteracantha cancriformis). I stood on the opposite side of a large creek from where she and her web hung in the shadows. In fact, I didn’t realize she was there until a small insect hit her trap and she scampered off to grab it. I waited for her to return to the center of the web before I tried to get her photo. Despite their unique appearance, these spiders tend toward the small end of the scale and usually go undiscovered until someone walks through their web.
With heavy dew on the ground, seeing this female funnel-web grass spider (Agelenopsis sp.) proved easy: a small plot of land no larger than a car had four shimmering traps stretched across the wet grass. Thankfully she caught a small leafhopper just as I took her photo. You can barely see it there near her mouth. Here’s another view that makes the prey a tad easier to see.
Interestingly enough, grass spiders like this do not spin webs that are sticky. The silk dries and serves a more net-like purpose, trapping insects by entwining them when they land and keeping the critters held for a second or two. Just long enough for the spider to erupt from the funnel, grab and bite the prey, then return with it into the recesses of their web where they remain unseen. This helps ensure other insects don’t associate the web with danger, and it also helps the spider enjoy its meal without interruption.
And finally a barn spider (Neoscona crucifera). Often confused with the spotted orbweaver (a.k.a. cross spider; Neoscona domiciliorum), the barn spider will be the focus of part 3 of this series. Why one post dedicated to one kind of spider? Because just when you thought it was difficult to differentiate one species from another or one gender from another, wait until you see how polymorphism makes this species a real challenge to identify.
Merlin the mighty sparrow slayer
Despite my intentions to post more spiders today, I once again interrupt my plans to celebrate a bit of exciting happenstance…
Yesterday I spent the cold first Saturday of December curled up in bed with a fever and chills and a general malaise. How marvelous for me. But anyway…
While lying under heavy covers wishing I could sleep away the hours I otherwise would spend tossing and turning, from the patio came a rather morbid sound, something akin to an abrupt—no, more like an interrupted peep-cum-scream. The noise smelled of death. Immediately on the heels of that brief and strange sound came a thud against the patio fence. Sick or not, I had to take a look.
After gently relocating several cats, I squirmed from beneath the covers and stumbled to the patio door. Gently and slowly, I moved the blinds. Two steps away from where I stood was a merlin (Falco columbarius) with a still-writhing male house sparrow clutched in its talons. The falcon happened to be looking right at me, so of course moving the blinds and sticking my big ol’ eyeball in the window sent it into full escape mode.
It didn’t go far, though. Wingtips sharp like blades cut through the bright winter sky and carried the predator-and-prey combo to a tree perhaps 40 yards/meters away. It alighted in the treetop and proceeded to dine. Meanwhile, I ran to grab the camera.
I had no intention of going after it for close photos. Strong wind and cool temperatures made me shun the outdoors lest I get worse, so instead I cracked open the bedroom door and stuck the lens through the opening. Even from that distance, I could see the sparrow had stopped moving—and the merlin was spitting out a mouthful of feathers. No time or interest in grabbing the polarizing filter, I instead fiddled a bit with exposure and began shooting.
The tuft of feathers already had fallen, but the predator continued working unwanted debris from its mouth. A few flicks of the tongue and another feather popped out. It continued to glance around as it cleared its beak.
All of the feathers gone, the merlin paused. It almost seemed to look at me. No one else was in the area, at least that I could see, yet the distance between us seemed to negate the possibility that it was staring at me. Or had it heard the door, perhaps the shutter on the camera, or both? In any case, it then leaned down to take another bite.
This time when it lifted its head, I could plainly make out a bit of sparrow meat stuck to the merlin’s bill.
It was only then that I became starkly aware of the bird’s size compared to the house sparrow. Merlins by no stretch of the imagination are large falcons. Yet despite their small size, they are aggressive hunters and females are known to take larger prey such as doves.
Which made me think of yet another aspect of this bird: its plumage indicated it was either a female or a juvenile of the boreal subspecies (Falco columbarius columbarius). By sight alone, I doubt anyone can tell the difference between an adult female and a juvenile of any sex. But the prey offered the one clue that the plumage could not: a female hunting at White Rock Lake would have her pick of mourning doves, white-winged doves, rock doves and a plethora of larger birds, hence this one taking a house sparrow likely was a juvenile male.
Though the bird remained in the treetop enjoying its catch, the cold wind forced me to give up this long-distance photo shoot in favor of closing the door and climbing back into bed. Even so, visions danced in my head of that merlin perched on the patio fence with its meal, the two of them no more than a few steps away. I felt good about getting at least a few photos to document the encounter but felt even better about having seen them so close that I could have counted the feathers on the predator’s chin.
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And an update as of this morning: The merlin is still here. I heard a great cacophony of house sparrow panic just now and rushed to the patio. Sure enough, the merlin had another sparrow pinned to the ground. Meanwhile, the rest of the sparrow population scattered in all directions. The falcon secured the sparrow in its talons and vanished into the cloudy sky.
If it hangs around a tad longer, I should be able to get some better photos of it. Here’s me keeping my fingers crossed…
Another baby
When the Cooper’s hawk triplets made their first appearance, I didn’t realize how much fun it would be getting to know them during their childhood. I also didn’t realize how much I would be affected when they started moving away to find their own territories. White Rock Lake, as far as accipiters go, belongs to their parents, so I knew all along the triplets would eventually leave, yet spending most of the year together let me know them as more than just predators, more than just raptors. They became individuals, unique personalities who were as recognizable as my own face, each a distinct being with habits and ways shared by no other.
Because the threesome lived a few steps from my door, they filled my observational time and caused me to miss some of the other children born and raised at the lake. For you see, at least five breeding pairs of hawks nest within the 2,100 acres/850 hectares of this park: the Cooper’s hawks nesting near my home, a pair of red-shouldered hawks nesting in the woods of the old fish hatchery, a pair of red-tailed hawks nesting in the woods at Boyscout Hill, a pair of red-tailed hawks nesting on the arboretum grounds, and a pair of red-shouldered hawks nesting in the woods around Dixon Branch.[1]
You might remember that last pair, the red-shouldered hawks (Buteo lineatus) nesting around Dixon Branch. They offered a spectacular public display of affection in February. I might add they repeated that display several times. And afterward I expected to see the usual brooding and rearing activities followed by the eventual appearance of one or more juveniles. I unfortunately spent all my raptor babysitting time with the Cooper’s kids, hence I failed to track down and monitor the red-shouldered nest built not too far from my home. I saw the parents regularly, of course, but never the offspring. At least not until now.[2]
Perhaps a week ago when I stepped outside early in the morning, a great avian raucous filled the air. Crows, titmice, towhees, mockingbirds and a few wrens made such a fuss that I ran inside, grabbed the camera and dashed to the woodland edge to see what was happening.[3] I could only view the target of their ire through a tiny opening in the trees. Still, I had no problem identifying what had the birds so upset: a juvenile red-shouldered hawk. I snapped a photo before making the five-minute run around the trees to a spot on the floodplain where I hoped to have a better view. The entire scene disbanded while I traveled, and only the sound of mobbing crows moving in the opposite direction told me what I feared: the hawk and its pursuers had gone the other way. As my luck would have it, I would have been better served had I remained in my original spot since that’s where the birds went. Oh well…
Then just two days later on a very gloomy, very cloudy morning, I meandered along the treeline around Dixon Branch and stopped cold when I noticed something perched in a low branch of a massive cottonwood tree. I at first thought it an owl since I could only see it from behind and its colors played in the browns of the woods that surrounded it. One shadow against another from my position, so I circled at distance until I could see a profile view. Suddenly I felt tremendous joy thinking somehow I was making up for lost time.
I moved as a snail might move, slowly and cautiously, and I never stared directly at the young hawk. I used sideways glances and peripheral vision, and I let the camera shield my face as much as possible so the hawk could not see my eyes. Mostly it looked elsewhere with a few occasional glances in my direction. Yet it didn’t leave even as I drew myself beneath the same tree.
Then in came the crows, five of them, and though they had no interest in the hawk (I don’t think they knew it was there), the juvenile still took flight and vanished into the woods. I followed it with my eyes and saw it land on another low branch not too far inside the forest. So off I went again.
I found the one nearby opening that gave me some kind of view of the bird, albeit not a clear one. After capturing a few more images, I left the raptor in peace. Just seeing it, especially seeing it close by, left me feeling great joy at the continued success of our local hawks. And it left me feeling that perhaps I hadn’t failed to enjoy more than the Cooper’s triplets, that perhaps in being surrogate parent to them I had simply waited later in the year to find more of the local children.
Now I’m just hoping for an opportunity to photograph this youngster when there’s better light and fewer obstacles…
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Notes:
[1] Additional raptor breeding pairs might reside at the lake. Those I mentioned represent the five distinct pairs I have thus far identified, though a single person covering such a large area hardly can be certain of exact numbers. Other accipiters or even falcons might nest here, and owls might nest here (owls definitely roost here); however, I doubt other buteos nest here given four resident pairs who occupy strategic territories around the park’s perimeter.
[2] Given the time of year, I at first suspected this to be a winter migrant. Since our first encounter, though, I have seen it repeatedly—and I have seen the adult red-shouldered hawks tolerating it within their territory, even within the very woods where they nest. The two pairs of red-shoulders leave each other alone only so long as each pair remains on its respective side of the lake. The same is true with the red-tailed hawks. In light of this usual détente by distance, the adults tolerating this juvenile within their territory of many years leads me to believe it must be their offspring.
[3] The location of the bird mob and the number of species involved made me think that perhaps the bobcat was around. As it was just after dawn and sufficient light existed to get at least one or two photos, I hoped that was the case as the feline has so far expertly outwitted my attempts to get a few pictures.