Monthly Archives: April 2010

Fuzzy turtle

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After photographing some impressive turtle logjams, I walked across the bridge spanning the inlet to the heron bay.  And there beneath me was this fuzzy turtle.

A red-eared slider (Trachemys scripta elegans) with algae on its shell (2009_06_21_024620)

OK, it’s just a red-eared slider (Trachemys scripta elegans) with algae on its shell, but doesn’t it look all cuddly and cute with that green coif?

A red-eared slider (Trachemys scripta elegans) with algae on its shell (2009_06_21_024622)

The interesting bit is that turtles come out of winter hibernation with algae, then it clears off as they spend more time out of the water soaking up sunshine.  But then when it gets hot—like summer hot—the algae starts to grow back because they spend less time out of the water.

It’s like a seasonal wig.

Soon

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Counting the days.  This time of year leaves me increasingly restless, waiting expectantly until the first eastern cicada-killer wasp (Sphecius speciosus) appears.

A male eastern cicada-killer wasp (Sphecius speciosus) perched on my fingers (20080622_07465_c)

My favorite insect.  Gentle giants.  Docile and inquisitive.  Beautiful.  Intriguing.

A male eastern cicada-killer wasp (Sphecius speciosus) perched on a leaf (2009_07_05_025997_c)

Years of drought and the subsequent dearth of cicadas wiped out two of the six colonial nesting sites in the area.  The largest, the one that surrounds my home on all sides, was nothing but a shadow of its former self when last year only a dozen or so of the wasps emerged for their short summer lives.  In good years, nearly a hundred adults strike fear in the hearts of passersby whilst simultaneously providing me with weeks of entertainment and drama, not to mention protection (I’ve always said I don’t need a guard dog in summer because I have giant wasps instead).

A male eastern cicada-killer wasp (Sphecius speciosus) perched on a leaf (2009_07_05_025992)

Thankfully, last year offered a glorious resurgence of cicadas in such vast numbers that I suspect the remaining wasp colonies will once again fill the air with clouds of buzzing wings.

So I wait.

[note these photos are of males; the females are significantly larger; see this post for some bad photos showing a mating pair as it will give you a sense of the size disparity]

Harlequin eyes

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I pause.  The first yellow-crowned night-heron of the season lurks about the reed beds that cloak the swamp.  Though no clear view exists, the silhouette of a hunter is unmistakable, a shadowy figure defining stillness even as it moves.  I watch the bird as I might watch a shadow, as I might watch stealth in action.

Yet even as I kneel in verdant grass watching a predator stalk the shallow waters, something else calls to me, some flash of color, some bit of ungreen in a sea of green.  Right next to my knee rests a weary beast who wishes for darkness even as sunlight blankets the world.

A corn earworm moth (Helicoverpa zea) clinging to grass (20080712_09250)

No greater mystery exists than what can be found in the harlequin eyes of a corn earworm moth (Helicoverpa zea), eyes swimming in an ocean somewhere between green and yellow, somewhere betwixt chartreuse green and green, somewhere amongst the shades of green that define lush worlds.

The deeper part of me froze, stopped breathless as I swam through that ocean of green, that delightful and surprising depth seen only in the eyes of a moth.

Close-up of a corn earworm moth (Helicoverpa zea) (20080712_09250_c)

Those bright harlequin eyes…  What a marvel.  What a beauty.

Grass climber

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A long walk.  Six hours plus change.  And enough mosquitoes to make the experience frustrating, not to mention a wee bit itchy.

Oh, and throughout my jaunt I accidentally inhaled such a large quantity of midges that I could create my own personal swarm should I choose to cough them up later.

One thing the Old Fish Hatchery Nature Area at White Rock Lake offers is a plethora of wildlife, including the aforementioned mosquitoes and midges.

After concluding I’d had enough of my tender bits being nibbled on by bloodsucking flies, I decided to leave.  So back up the trail toward the paddle boat house I went.

On the way, something caught my eye, something in the trees at about chest height.  A hawk!  I couldn’t resist the opportunity to visit with my medicine animal, so I crouched in the grass and watched.  No need to take photos.  This moment was jut for us, the hawk and me.

Then something dark lurking in the blowing grass forced me to look away (at which time the hawk vanished without a sound—as one would expect).  There trying to climb through the little giant of a jungle that rested at my feet was this:

A rove beetle (Platydracus maculosus) climbing in grass (2009_04_16_015639)

A rove beetle.  But not just any rove beetle.  A respectably large rove beetle, at least 1.25 in/30 mm in length.  Specifically, it was Platydracus maculosus, a common sight around these parts.

A rove beetle (Platydracus maculosus) climbing in grass (2009_04_16_015640)

Like an idiot unprepared for the environmental conditions, I was forced to back away so the 400mm lens I was using could focus on this bitty behemoth, yet the near biblical winds kept the grass, the beetle and the lens moving at what can only be described as hurricane speeds.  Relatively speaking of course.

A rove beetle (Platydracus maculosus) climbing in grass (2009_04_16_015641)

Mind you, the beetle didn’t help either.  Were I to describe its in-the-wind grass-climbing skills, I would have to say it was pathetic.  Funny to watch, sure, but there would be no records set with this ascent, no applause when it ended, no horde of fans talking about the breathtaking excitement.

A rove beetle (Platydracus maculosus) climbing in grass (2009_04_16_015642)

By the time I reset the camera settings to compensate for both the weather and the critter’s lack of staying power, it had fallen from the Lilliputian treetops and vanished into the understory below.

And that’s about when I got smacked in the face by a tree branch blowing in the unrelenting winds.  OK, time to go.

The birds and the bees and the crane flies too

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It all started with this:

A large leatherjacket (a.k.a. crane fly larve; Tipula sp.) inching its way across a concrete floor (2010_03_11_050960)

A leatherjacket.  Or in the common tongue, a crane fly larva.  In this case some unidentified flavor of Tipula.

This rather large and delightfully vulgar looking critter made its way onto the patio and found itself being blown around by gusty winds.  It didn’t help that the patio floor slopes in that area.  With no legs, a cylindrical shape and only an ability to inch along on its belly, the poor kid rolled all over the place.

Which of course meant I crawled along on all fours trying to keep up with it so I could take a photo or two.  What a scene that must have made, especially given what the leatherjacket appears to be from even a small distance.

“Is that man chasing bird poop?  With a camera!?”  The imagery banged around inside my head.

Moving on…

After watching the little giant roll beneath the fence where it probably had a better go at maneuvering, I began my quest to answer that age-old question: Mommy, where do leatherjackets come from?

The journey would take me to the far reaches of the world.  Or at least to the riparian woods around Dixon Branch right here at White Rock Lake.  The lush drip line teems with crane flies this time of year.  I just knew one or two of them would be willing to satiate my jones for knowledge.

But the first pair seemed too busy for me.

A mating pair of crane flies (Tipula tricolor) (2010_04_03_052296)

Tipula tricolor.  Good, I was in the right ballpark.  Well, in the right genus anyway.

I couldn’t understand why they perched in a buttocks-to-buttocks position, though I did understand they ignored my queries as if they couldn’t hear me.  How rude!

It’s not like I was asking for the meaning of the universe or the formula for cold fusion.  Heck, I wasn’t even asking where babies come from.  I just wanted to know where leatherjackets come from.  How difficult can it be?

After several minutes of no response, I moved on.  I felt confident I could locate friendlier crane flies who would be willing to help me.

Mating crane flies (Tipula colei) hanging from a dandelion (2010_04_03_052317)

Nestled against a tree I found this dandelion with two crane flies practicing their trapeze act.  Strange that their performance felt so still and uneventful.  But who am I to judge what entertains these insects?  For all I know this represents breathtaking excitement.

A quick glance at wing venation and pattern told me their ID: Tipula colei.  Again good for me on finding the right kind of folk with whom I might converse.

Yet like the first pair, I couldn’t even get these two to look at me, let alone talk to me about leatherjackets.  Golly gee, you’d think I hadn’t taken a shower or was carrying a gun.  But all I had was a camera, and I had in fact taken a shower thank you very much.

Perhaps the Tipula clan consisted of nothing but impertinence and impudence.  I was beginning to think as much.

Moving on…

Two crane flies (Tipula colei), one perched atop the other (2010_04_03_052255)

OK.  Same species, so I held little hope of a different response.

And what precisely did they think they were doing?  A conga line in slow motion?

But wait a minute!  What’s going on down here…

The connected abdomens of mating crane flies (Tipula colei) (2010_04_03_052263_c)

Three abdomens.  Again with the buttocks-to-buttocks position and the third hanging out behind a wing in the corner of the frame.  Maybe a wider view would be beneficial.

Mating crane flies (Tipula colei) with a second male perched atop the female (2010_04_03_052263)

Crikey!  More trapeze acts, only this one adds the ooh-and-aah excitement of a third wheel.  Yawn…  If just hanging there is some sort of fun, I don’t get it.

I did ask this trio about leatherjackets.  They never flinched.  I politely pointed out that my interest stemmed from a pure naturalist’s heart and had nothing to do with invading their privacy.

Still nothing.

After two hours of one-sided conversations with crane flies, I walked away from the experience none the wiser on the origin of leatherjackets.

So I was left to my own devices.  Logical deduction would have to guide me.

If leatherjackets look like bird poop, then obviously they come from birds.  If they show up in spring, they must come from migrating birds who only pass through at that time.  Now what species might be the source…

Storks!  That’s it.  I finally had my answer.  Baby crane flies come from storks who fly overhead and drop these cute little bundles to the ground where they wriggle and writhe until blossoming into adult crane flies.

Darn I’m smart.