Monthly Archives: February 2010

House of Herps #3 – The Time Machine

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On January 20, 2010, a gang of thuggish thunderstorms unleashed more than half a dozen tornadoes throughout parts of Texas and Louisiana.  “Spring has sprung!” I proclaimed.  The size of the outbreak and the time of year felt like a signal that spring had barged through the door with the intention of kicking winter to the curb.  After all, here in Tornado Alley we have the bad habit of slipping from winter’s embrace right into the arms of severe weather season.

But Old Man Winter had no intention of leaving without a fight.  In the weeks following the tornadoes, record snowfall hit the Deep South, back-to-back blizzards crippled the middle Atlantic states, and much of Europe found itself trying to stay warm as ice and snow piled up to alarming levels.  Even Florida got a taste of the white stuff.  So much for spring being right around the corner.

This sadistic hissy fit by winter put a real dampener on walkabouts and all but strangled the hope of seeing a herp or two.  I mean really: what self-respecting amphibian or reptile would want to waste that hard-earned body heat trying to navigate through feet of snow and subfreezing temperatures?  Thankfully both herps and bloggers are hardy folk, not to mention ingenious, and my worries about hosting a paltry winter edition of House of Herps quickly gave way to a heartwarming herpetological hoedown made possible by time travel.

So if you’ll all climb aboard the time machine, we’ll be on our way.  Please, no pushing and shoving.  There’s plenty of room for everyone.  Sir, she got the window seat first, but I’m sure we’ll find you a nice spot over here.  Who hit me with a spitball?  Are we adults or not?  Behave or I’ll pull this time machine over right now!

OK, please remember to keep your hands inside the ride at all times, don’t throw anything from the vehicle, and remain seated until we come to a complete stop.  Now let’s be on our way…

The Past

“Well, let’s see.  First the earth cooled.  And then the dinosaurs came, but they got too big and fat, so they all died and they turned into oil…”[1]

Oops!  Too far back.  I’m not quite sure how these controls work.  Let’s try that again.  Ah, here we are…

Moe of Iowa Voice couldn’t locate any dinosaurs in spring 2007 but had no problem finding a logjam of painted turtles.  I am equally delighted by their beauty and entertained by the fellow down in front who seems to be mooning the camera.

Michelle of Rambling Woods guides us forward to spring 2008 when she witnessed a territorial dispute between two bullfrogs.  I have to admit this is a better show than Saturday night wrestling could ever have staged.

Ted of Beetles in the Bush pulls us into summer 2009 when he temporarily set aside his beloved coleopterans to talk about North America’s most bizarre lizard.  For someone who prefers exoskeletons, he does a fine job presenting things that keep their bones on the inside.

Shelly of Explore Missouri leads us to autumn 2009 when she reminisced about a tree frog who took up residence in a birdhouse during the previous summer.  Now if that’s not the cutest doggone critter in a box…

Dr. Dolittle[2] of Dolittle’s Domain draws us into February 2010 by lamenting winter’s missing chorus of tree frogs.  She remembers a humanitarian relocation performed last autumn.  She thinks the little soul might have enjoyed the ride, but I bet it was more a sense of appreciation for safe transport through enemy territory.

And now we’ve reached…

The Present

Dave of Living Alongside Wildlife unexpectedly jumps back nine years and humorously recalls his first sighting of a poison dart frog in the wilds of Costa Rica.  He then returns to the present—back in Costa Rica I might enviously add!—and experiences the same entertaining childlike glee when faced with a crocodile.  Be sure to tell him his discovery is “neat.”

Since he’s in Costa Rica, no doubt basking in warm tropical sunshine on the beach while enjoying those colorful drinks with cute little umbrellas in them, Dave also discovered an important point to keep in mind when traveling abroad: even if the water looks inviting, remember this ain’t like the swimmin’ hole back home.  By the way, aren’t those photos just “neat”?

And obviously because I said one too many times that his crocodiles were “neat”—or more precisely because he’s in a tropical country where herps aren’t frozen under near permafrost—Dave rounds out his welcome trilogy of offerings with some present-day dinosaurs living right there in the tropics: land iguanas that time forgot.  Now that’s pretty doggone “neat”!

But Dave isn’t the only one who was smart enough to get the heck out of the way of winter.  Jill (a.k.a. Johnny Nutcase) of Count your chicken! We’re taking over! escaped the brutal cold by traveling to Trinidad and Tobago.  It’s OK to be jealous.  I know I am.  But even better than wishing she’d taken us along, get a load of the souvenirs she brought back for us: photos of giant boas!  Check out the beauty—and especially the size—of those snakes.

Amber of Birder’s Lounge took advantage of the pause between flooding rain and cold snow to head outside with one of her canine friends, Roxie, both of them hoping to find a herp or two.  What they discovered was a mystery: a snake who recently tied the knot.

Swamp4me of SwampThings stumbled upon a warm weekend tucked between a major freeze and subsequent weekly snow storms, and by golly she not only enjoyed a nice hike but also enjoyed learning the meaning of cottonmouth.  You know, I do believe I’ve seen that photo staring back at me from the mirror after a night of binge drinking.  Oh my dear!  I digress.

It goes without saying that swamp4me has a bit of a thing for frogs.  Don’t tell her I said so.  It’s a secret and she’s going through immersion therapy in hopes it will help give her another fix cure her of this dreaded ailment.  Nevertheless, I’ll let you take a quick gander at her most recent session when she scored her first green tree frog of 2010.  I don’t know if her therapist is happy or sad about this turn of events.

Which finally brings us to…

The Future

Bernard of Philly Herping knows of what he speaks when he says “[n]othing cold-blooded is moving at 25 degrees…”  Heck, for that matter very little that’s warm-blooded is moving at that temperature.  But did he let arctic air stop him?  Of course not.  Cold weather be damned and full speed ahead and all that stuff!  Bernard plans ahead for herping adventures even when the weather conspires to provide no such adventures today.  He deftly lays out plans for scouting out new areas and “laying boards,” a term I didn’t know until he thrust me into the future with his insight.

And now, the time machine giving me the low fuel indicator, we return home to the present.  The ride has stopped and safety harnesses have been released.  Please exit the ride to your left and follow the arrows back to the fairway.

Despite foul weather this past month, things appear to be improving across the Northern Hemisphere.  Snow is melting, temperatures are warming (a relative phrase by the way), and winter migrants are making their first appearances of 2010.  I hope you’ll consider participating in future editions of House of Herps, especially now that you might not lose fingers to frostbite while out looking for amphibians and reptiles.

Amber and I are also looking for future hosts for the carnival.  If you’re interested, please contact us at submissions [AT] houseofherps [DOT] com.  Otherwise, visit the House of Herps site for news on upcoming editions.  The deadline for the next installment is March 15, so send those entries to the submission e-mail address above.

Happy herping!

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Notes:

[1] The quote is from the movie Airplane II: The Sequel.

[2] At some point in the future, perhaps I’ll let you in on the secret of who Dr. Dolittle really is.

Rusties

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A male rusty blackbird (Euphagus carolensis) perched on a tree limb (2010_02_07_049513)

What happened to all the rusties?  I’m speaking of rusty blackbirds (Euphagus carolensis).  While no one was looking over the past 40 years, the entire population declined 85%-99% throughout North America.  That’s a catastrophic collapse.

I remember more than two decades ago how common they were in autumn and winter.  Oh, never in overly large groups mind you, but always in sufficient numbers to stand out from the crowd in the mixed flocks they inhabited.  And now?  Let’s just say I feel gifted to see three or four over the course of an entire season.

I don’t remember a winter during which I did not see a rusty blackbird, though I can say it once was easy to find them.  Now it takes patience and time.  Where once I could see a dozen or more with ease, today I have to look carefully to find the one or two hiding amongst various other species.

Rusty blackbirds often forage within flocks of starlings, cowbirds, grackles and other blackbirds—most notably around these parts within flocks of red-winged blackbirds (Agelaius phoeniceus) who share the rusties’ affinity for wetlands.  This perhaps explains how they slipped below the radar for so long and how their numbers dropped so abruptly in only four decades.

Well, that and the fact that they literally are black birds.  Like the many species of sparrow that leave most people happy to simply call a bird a sparrow, black birds cover a lot of territory: starlings, grackles, cowbirds, crows and ravens, and blackbirds.  How many would know which kind of bird they were looking at if they were looking at a black bird?  And assuming you could pin it down to a true blackbird, which of the handful of species is it?

Add to those complications two very simple facts: most people do not like or are ambivalent to black birds no matter what species they are, and black birds lack the pretty colors and patterns that most people look for when watching birds.  So they’re boring and they’re ignored, if not reviled, a double-whammy for the rusties.

It wasn’t until 2007 that the IUCN Red List changed rusty blackbirds from “least concern” to “vulnerable.”  The limited research and observation data indicate the population continues to decline; the decline has intensified over the past 10 years; and worst of all, no one has a clue as to the cause of the collapse or how to reverse it.  In other words, rusty blackbirds are teetering on the edge of extinction and got there so quickly and with so little notice that we’re scrambling to get our minds around the event before they’re all gone.

Unfortunately for the birds, it may already be too late.  As their numbers have dropped faster in the last ten years than they did in the 30 years prior to that, the cause and effect seem intent on beating any action we might take.  It would not surprise me to see them listed as endangered within the next year or two.  At the current rate they’re disappearing, that will be akin to closing the barn doors after the horses are gone.

[cross-posted to The Clade]

Remembering the dance

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This is from my personal journal.  It’s from late 2000.  Amazing how time passes…  See/hear this for appropriate mood music.

We stand in a circle speaking in tones both hushed and abrupt, shouting over the pounding music to whisper friendly secrets to one another.  Who is that guy?  Are they together?  Who did she arrive with?  Is that shirt for real?

My friends and I enjoy the party.  Some of us single, perhaps we feel disassociated by the couples dancing about, yet many of them are dear friends with whom we enjoy ineffable camaraderie.  Others of us are happily engaged in one form of affair or another, whether it be married, dating, stalking, or the simplicity of a purely physical relationship founded upon flesh itself.

Despite my seeming aloneness, nothing can be further from the truth.  I love these people.  Being here now with them satisfies my very carnal need to be with someone.  I feel their love, their affection, and I bathe in it.  Nevertheless I feel a beckoning, a voice from within asking why I do not enjoy the company of a significant other in the midst of such diverse coupling.

As we are apt to do under most circumstances, vast amounts of lascivious ogling is joined with biting commentary.  We identify other singles in our midst, laugh about why they might be single, and give nary a thought to the loneliness which we all feel but keep hidden.  My arm aches from the memory of bodies now past which it once embraced.  My lips yearn to meet the lips of another.  Fear clenches my heart that I might once again sleep alone.

I do not long for a lover.  I do not long for a relationship.  I merely crave the feel of another’s body pressed against mine, even if only momentarily, so that I might relish the togetherness.  My soul calls out in hope that there is another soul listening for that very summons.

The song changes to yet another techno dance beat.  The writhing bodies contort and brush against one another.  The heat brings sweat to my brow as it stirs my longing.  As I scan the party and offer insights to my friends, my sight falls upon a young man sitting across the room.  Did I notice him when I arrived?  I believe I did, and I believe I allowed my eyes to linger on him for just a moment longer than would be deemed inconspicuous.

He is an attractive man, yet my impression is that he is just barely a man.  Knowing I am more than a decade removed from high school means that anyone younger than 30 is barely a man.  I suspect he is in his early twenties, cleanly groomed in that GQ way, a touch of stubble to indicate maturity and a stylish ensemble to denote taste.

Of college age and boyish looks, he meets my gaze time and again.  I am embarrassed my fascination with his allure is no longer secret, and a few of my friends comment to that effect.  I ignore their polite shoves as they speak to me words of encouragement (go talk to him, go say hello, ask him to dance, and the like).

I am not here looking for a date.  Despite the truth in that, I can’t refuse the draw of his image sitting in the chair alone, occasionally speaking to the odd passers by, laughing briefly with someone I assume to be a friend, and sipping a drink with such intention so as to allow his eyes to fall upon me over the glass rim.  I recognize in him something akin to what I myself am feeling.  Is that a touch of loneliness?

When the music slows, I leave my friends and cross the room, maneuvering between people while never taking my eyes off him.  I am drawn closer, unable to stop my own forward motion.  Couples join into single bodies as they sway to the slow and mesmerizing sounds coming from the speakers.  This song, whatever it might be, sparks within me the need to feel, to be with someone, to sway together like so many reeds blown by the wind.

His embarrassment becomes obvious as he realizes my destination.  He glances away, looks into his glass, lets his eyes dance in this direction then the other.  I know by all of this that he hopes for the same as I.

Standing before him, I reach out my hand and offer the physical invitation that remains unspoken.  He in turn reaches out and takes my hand, and then he comes to me without hesitation and follows me into the dancing mass.  We speak not a single word to each other, yet we join together not as strangers who shared brief smiles and glances across a crowded room.

We move closer, holding each other firmly and affectionately, our bodies becoming one as the melody filling the air overwhelms our senses.  His body against mine, I can feel his trembling.  His face brushes against mine as he embraces me and I him.  The soft touch of his hair against my face enraptures me to understanding: there is tremendous loneliness inside, hence the shaking firmness in his hold on me.

Despite his need and mine, despite this moment that we share, we never speak.  There really isn’t anything that needs to be said.  As we sway together and our embrace strengthens, I feel the connection made betwixt us and allow my mind to slumber in its warmth.  This that we share now needs not be more complicated than it is.

When the song ends, our lips meet briefly before he returns to his world and I to mine.  Surrounded by my friends again, I feel safe while a part of me aches for one more dance.  We glance again at each other as our respective friends envelope us.  Only moments later, I lose sight of him.  The party lasts for hours more, but my needs are satiated to the degree I will allow.  I need nothing more.  Our arms wrapped around each other, our faces passing lightly against each other, our lips meeting only in passing but with sufficient hunger and desire to speak volumes to our hearts, we both enjoyed meeting the needs of the other.  A slow dance of strangers defined by shared passion and solitude.

After these subsequent years, even to this day I will occasionally relive those moments.  I close my eyes and hear the music surround me.  I breathe deeply and enjoy the scent of him, of his hair against my face and his shirt upon which my head rests.  My arms feel his memory, they wrap around his body, and his warmth once again cloaks me.  I recognize his loneliness and the satisfaction of joining it with my own.  I miss what we shared, yet it was perfect in its brevity and anonymity.

How is it one can know love and its loss in a single dance?  How is it that the almost lover we knew once can be so important these decades removed?  Never will I comprehend those answers but always will I know their undeniable truth: I lived a lifetime then, and my life will always be measured by remembering the dance.

Bad birds of Aransas

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One thing I’m rather skilled at is taking bad photos in uncooperative weather.  When last I visited the Aransas National Wildlife Refuge, calling the weather uncooperative would be understating the matter.  Dense fog, heavy and constant drizzle, occasional rain and breezy conditions offered an unrelenting world of challenges[1].  That thick cloud cover kept it looking like dusk rather than day certainly didn’t help with my efforts to grab some respectable images[2].  And the cool temperatures kept birds on the go or hidden from the elements.

Still, the trip wasn’t a complete failure.  For every species I photographed, I saw several others who never got memorialized in digital form.  I thoroughly enjoyed myself, including seeing whooping cranes for the first time in my life.  Sometimes it’s more important to enjoy nature than it is to focus on taking pictures of it.  That’s a belief this trip reminded me of with every passing minute.

Contrary atmosphere aside, I did capture some images of things I’ve not shown here before.  So without further ramblings, here are the bad bird photos from Aransas.

A swamp sparrow (Melospiza georgiana) perched on a vine (2009_12_13_043954)

Small and always on the go, swamp sparrows (Melospiza georgiana) were everywhere.  From the freshwater marshes to the salt flats, they scampered about under cover and flitted quickly from here to there and back again.  And from time to time one paused for only the briefest of moments.

A swamp sparrow (Melospiza georgiana) standing in a reed bed eating seeds (2009_12_13_044177)

But mostly what they were focused on was eating, which is precisely what I caught this swamp sparrow doing in a brackish slough near the Rail Trail.

A gray catbird (Dumetella carolinensis) standing atop a bramble (2009_12_13_044164)

The sound of meowing cats was heard all along the coast.  A few times I even heard a cat fight.  But there were no domestic felines to be seen.  Instead, it was the call of the gray catbird (Dumetella carolinensis).  Anyone in catbird territory has probably looked for the lonely sounding kitten in the bushes only to see a gray bird fly away when approached.  Hence their name.

A great kiskadee (Pitangus sulphuratus) perched in a tree limb (2009_12_13_043996)

The loud calls and large silhouettes of great kiskadees (Pitangus sulphuratus) followed me everywhere, from coastal flats to inland marshes.  These tropical flycatchers overflowed the refuge.

A great kiskadee (Pitangus sulphuratus) perched in a treetop (2009_12_13_044214)

They unfortunately made appearances only in the treetops.  Otherwise they hurried around looking for something to eat, most of that time rushing through dense woodlands or heavy brush.

A least grebe (Tachybaptus dominicus) floating in a brackish pond (2009_12_13_044277)

I discovered this least grebe (Tachybaptus dominicus) floating in a brackish pond where it hid amongst the reeds.  Though I could get close to it, the only clear view I had was from the opposite side of the pond through a tiny window in the reed bed.  I couldn’t complain, though, for it was a pleasant surprise to see one.

A female common yellowthroat (Geothlypis trichas) standing in a reed bed (2009_12_13_044231)

Living up to their name, common yellowthroats (Geothlypis trichas) were ubiquitous.  This female dashed in and out of brambles and thickets around the marshes.  For every one of these birds I saw, I heard ten others.

A male common yellowthroat (Geothlypis trichas) perched in reeds and looking at me (2009_12_13_044168)

And a male common yellowthroat.  He perched in the reeds quite near the female above.  I never doubted that he was checking me out, even if momentarily.

But no worries: not all the photos were bad.  I have some rather nice images of other species, and I also have a collection of species as seen through the heavy fog along the coast (which made for some fascinating scenes).

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Notes:

[1] I suspect that at least half the photos I took were followed immediately by having to wipe the lens clear of accumulated moisture.  It took mere seconds to have a nice glaze of wet on the end lens element, from condensation to direct droplets of rain or drizzle blowing into the hood.

[2] Photography on cloudy days usually is a breath of fresh air for me.  I love sunny days when taking pictures, no doubt, but cloudy days kill harsh shadows and help draw out color depth that sunshine normally washes away.  However, one thing I always struggle with is taking photos of something against a cloudy sky (e.g., a bird in a treetop).  The clouds produce a bright backdrop without directional light, hence you can’t move to reduce the glare.  There’s a trick to this that I haven’t learned yet.

What’s your name?

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A major joy of living in Texas comes from our biodiversity, something evident with more than 30,000 known insect species (it’s accepted that we lack a true count of insect diversity here or anywhere else in the world given insects represent more than half of the planet’s total biomass).  And in any given winter, insects rarely vanish for more than a few days, give or take sufficient warmth.

But sunshine does not mean warmth.  This is a fact insects and arachnids learn the easy way or the hard way.  The easy way is they stick their head out long enough to realize their mistake and immediately vanish back into the warmth of their overwintering hideout; the hard way is they leap into the light only to learn too late that cold temperatures spell their demise.

Before the gray overcast of our recent snow storm settled in, a few winks of sunshine bathed my patio long enough to lure critters out with empty promises of comfort.  The patio floor is now littered with half a dozen carcasses of leather jackets (crane fly larvae) who didn’t heed my warning about not going into the light.  Only in retrospect did I realize they were too young to have seen Poltergeist.

Yet another critter that made an appearance on the last sunny day did listen to me and smartly made a u-turn after recognizing the sun’s deception.  Over the course of about 90 seconds, this beetle larva covered a short circular distance in the open as it came from and returned to its bed beneath the wall.

An unidentified beetle larva scampering across the patio floor (2010_01_22_048737)

Had I not been standing there watching the goings on and thinking of Carol Anne the whole time, I would have missed the brief visit.  By the time I fetched the camera the young beetle had completed three quarters of its round trip, so I snapped a few hurried images before it scrambled out of sight.

An unidentified beetle larva scampering across the patio floor (2010_01_22_048743)

About one inch/2.5 centimeters long, its size and general appearance said it was either a rove beetle (a staphylinid; Staphylinidae) or a ground beetle (a carabid; Carabidae).  Telling the two apart requires details I can’t determine from the few bad images I snapped, such as the number of leg joints and number of claws on each foot.  Also, because this cold insect was covered with dust and dirt from under the wall where it had been sleeping away the winter, important aesthetic details are unfortunately obscured.

An unidentified beetle larva scampering across the patio floor (2010_01_22_048780)

Were I to guess, I’d say it’s a rove beetle larva.  That’s based on experience.  In ten years in this home, at least five rove beetle species have visited the patio regularly, two of them being large species.  I have on many occasions seen adults scampering into hideaways beneath the walls.

Many ground beetles have visited the patio in that time as well; however, the species have not been as consistent and the sizes have been mostly small.  The difference is environmental: the ground outside the patio represents heaven for rove beetles but is less inviting for ground beetles.  Five paces away in the grass and sandy drainage areas, that ratio flip-flops and rove beetles become the minority.

So all I know is that a respectably sized beetle larva is sleeping beneath the patio wall.  Its identity remains a mystery.  And whether or not I see it again, I know its kith and kin will visit often in the coming warmer seasons.