Category Archives: Nature Photos

Texas mosquito

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You’ve heard the adage that everything’s bigger in Texas, right?  I mean, who hasn’t!

So along those lines, here’s a quick introduction to the Texas mosquito.  It’s larger than any you’ve ever seen: a wingspan up to three inches (7.5 centimeters), a body up to two inches (five centimeters) long, and legs that stretch over five inches (12.5 centimeters) across.

How’s that for big!

A giant western crane fly (Holorusia rubiginosa) hanging on the window screen (183_8332)

Imagine the amount of blood that thing could drain from you.  In fact, they make for convenient air travel because you can toss a saddle on one and ride it across the state faster than you can get through an airport, onto a plane, in the air, and to your destination.

But I jest, of course, for this is not a mosquito at all, yet this creature’s undeniable resemblance to those bloodsuckers has earned it that very moniker… among many others, such as mosquito hawks (because it’s wrongfully thought they hunt and eat mosquitoes, which they don’t), daddy long-legs (which is actually a nickname in the U.S. for a harvestman in the order Opiliones [note daddy longlegs are not spiders]), and galnatchers (don’t ask).  They’re also called many other things, and you can even find some who wrongfully call them mayflies because of the time of year they normally make an appearance.

Despite their mosquito-ish looks and daunting size, they’re not harmful.

A giant western crane fly (Holorusia rubiginosa) hanging on the window screen (183_8336)

This particular specimen is, I believe, a giant western crane fly (Holorusia rubiginosa), although I could be terribly wrong in that identification.  Insects tend to be harder for me to name scientifically because there are so many of them, and far too many of them look alike but are slightly different in obscure ways.  To make matters worse, there are at present at least 14,000 species of crane flies, so you’ll excuse me if I’ve misidentified this little beast.

I’m also guessing that this one is a female… and I’m not entirely confident in that guess.

Most people know crane flies because they tend to be rather clumsy in the air, seen bouncing off obstacles and generally looking as though they haven’t a clue what to do once in flight.  They wobble uncontrollably and look to be on unpredictable courses.

A giant western crane fly (Holorusia rubiginosa) hanging on the window screen (183_8331)

If you’ve ever tried to catch one, you know precisely how fragile they are.  Their legs break off with very little effort—sometimes without direct contact—yet it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to nab one.  Again, they don’t fly very well.  That makes them easy pickings if you’re intent on a closer look.

I found this one hanging out on one of the patio’s window screens.  It sat quietly while I snapped a few photos.  But once I got a little too close, it scrambled off in ungainly, awkward flight as it attempted to find its way to… well, to somewhere.  I doubt it even knew where it was going or how to get there.

Dark wings at dusk

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While I realize this photo is not of the highest quality, I nonetheless wanted to share it with you because it holds a certain fascination for me.

Taken many weeks ago, I contemplated this image’s fate many times since then.

Finally, I decided to post it.

I stood at the lake’s shore one evening as the sun climbed down its celestial ladder toward the horizon.  When the sky fell dark and the land turned to shadow, even as the last vestiges of light struggled to show at land’s end, I stood quietly and absorbed the moment.

That’s when a male great-tailed grackle (Quiscalus mexicanus) flitted by me and landed on an old concrete block mostly buried near the water.  I slowly turned and faced the creature, its feathers painted with ink so black as to be bright in the growing night.

As I watched it, it watched me.  We stood no more than a yard (a meter) apart.

Neither of us moved, and neither of us seemed all that concerned with the other.  At least not fearful, I should say.

I slowly raised the camera, pointed as best I could in the absence of light, and pressed the button.

Even though the flash marked an unexpected brightness in an otherwise black scene, he still didn’t move.

So we stood and watched each other, one a clumsy ape wielding technology as though it meant something, and the other a free spirit of winged beauty.

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Little Bunny Foo Foo

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I’ve just returned from the wildlife clinic.  They will be tending to the medical needs of our overnight visitor, after which they will hand the bunny over to a wildlife rehab center.  That’s assuming the little darling survives.

I say that because its condition deteriorated even after a hopeful improvement overnight.  This morning I enjoyed seeing the baby rabbit breathing normally, hopping around a bit, and looking significantly less frazzled and panicked than it had looked the night before.

Yet it seemed to turn in the other direction shortly before we left for the clinic.  Its breathing slowed dramatically and it became lethargic.

None of that means the situation is hopeless, though, since it’s so young that it might just need IV fluids and some warm milk given via syringe.  Well, that and antibiotics to stop any current or possible infection of its wounds, which also need to be treated.  And I’m assuming it has no internal damage.

At least I know it’s getting the medical attention it needs, and it can get whatever nutritional support it needs that I’m not equipped to offer.  I’m hoping for the best.

Meanwhile, let me introduce you to Little Bunny Foo Foo.  And forgive me for using that name.  The damn childhood rhyme has been bouncing around inside my head since I discovered the two little rascals.

First to provide some scale, here’s a photo showing the baby sitting in my hand.

The baby bunny sitting in my hand (185_8555)

As you can see, it was quite small.  If it stretched out completely, it was about as long as my hand.  That’s not very big at all.

That image also shows part of the huge wad of fresh grass in the bathtub.  I pulled a wide variety from around the area, and I pulled roots and leaves to make it as natural and comfortable as possible.

When I first put the bunny in the bathtub right at the edge of the grass bed, it suddenly seemed horribly small, unbelievably disproportionate to its new environment.

The baby bunny huddled next to the pile of grass in the bathtub (185_8510)

I even put the stopper in the drain for fear it might get caught in the hole.  Mind you, that’s also why I felt it would be safe in the bathtub.  It was simply too small to get out.

After I made sure it had water and plenty of bedding, I left it alone.  Only without me hovering around could it calm down and find some level of comfort.

Much later when I returned to check on it, I found it snuggled up on one side of the green pallet.

The baby bunny lying in the pile of grass in the bathtub (185_8539)

I then left it alone for the night.

This morning I went first thing to the bathroom as I feared it might not have survived.  Getting through the dark hours was its greatest challenge.  If it had been too hurt, it likely would have succumbed to its wounds while I slept.

Although its position in the grass had changed, and the entire mass appeared to have been slept in in several spots—or at least trampled down—I was thrilled to see the little bunny had indeed lived through the night.  In fact, it seemed to have a bit more vigor and vitality.

The baby bunny lying in the pile of grass in the bathtub (185_8547)

Finally it was time to go.  I had called the wildlife rescue clinic as soon as it opened.  They were happy to hear it had survived even though its sibling had not, and they were looking forward to its arrival.  The veterinarian had been informed of its worsening condition and wounds.

The baby bunny lying in the pile of grass in the bathtub (185_8530)

I went in the bathroom and scooped up the rabbit and grass together, placed them in a small box, and carried that out to the car with me.  It took only about five minutes to get to the clinic.

The baby bunny nestled in the pile of grass in the bathtub (185_8525)

My sincere hope is that the bunny requires nothing more extreme than proper nutrition and some minor health care.  It certainly had gone through enough already.  I think it deserves to live.

But there is a dark side to this story, as I mentioned before.  It was not just one baby rabbit that I found.  There were two, but only one of them was alive.

To save those of weak emotional constitutions the undue burden of seeing photos of the body (before it quickly vanished), I’ve placed them below the fold.

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Beautiful camouflage

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When I talked about the stunning Polyphemus moths (Antheraea polyphemus) hanging about at the family farm, I also mentioned the usual presence of large numbers of Luna moths (Actias luna).  Truth be told, East Texas’ second growth offers a comfortable habitat for many creatures, and that includes an untold number of giant moths.  I even shared some images of the blinded sphinx moth (Paonias excaecatus) I discovered.  He unfortunately escaped unnoticed while everyone was otherwise occupied with the rather large snake which had invaded the chicken coop.

Nevertheless, those two examples are but a small taste of the large winged beasts living in that area.  There are also smaller moths, yes, but it’s the ginormous variety that often—and more easily—catches people’s attention.

But they don’t always get seen.

While I scampered about snapping photos during that visit, I chanced upon another giant moth that had gone unnoticed by everyone else.  In fact, Mom specifically mentioned she would never have seen it had I not pointed it out to her.

It’s position on the central light pole kept it just above eye level.  As humans are disinclined to notice things above and below a forward glance, this position helped the impressive monster go undetected until I arrived in the middle of the morning.

By that time, most of the fist-sized moths had disappeared.  Many had fallen to the ground, their life energy expended in the final throws of mating passion.  Others—all of them male—still had vitality left to share with available females, so they had flown away in search of the next coupling.

I walked around the pole capturing image after image of wings softer than wisps of air.  That’s when I saw this:

A plebeian sphinx moth (Paratrea plebeja) beautifully camouflaged as it hangs on a piece of wood (177_7752)

Perfectly hidden above prying eyes and beautifully camouflaged against ashen wood, this plebeian sphinx moth (Paratrea plebeja) held its ground as I approached.  Not once did it so much as twitch even as my camera moved within a whisper of its body.

I snapped a few photos in this position before trying to get something from the side.

That’s when it bolted.

I never did get a view that would help identify its gender.  With so much life left—at least enough to fly away with great speed and agility… for a moth—I suspect it was a male.  Then again, it equally could have been a female who either had not mated and laid eggs, or who had not expelled her last breath while laying eggs.

Off it went, though.  I watched its gossamer wings flutter effortlessly on still air.  Safe from the digital menace I pushed into its personal space, it flitted toward thick woodlands and disappeared amongst heavy foliage.

I wish I had more to offer of this stunning and large moth.  Even though I don’t, I can tell you the larger version of that image provides striking details of this flier’s exquisite magnificence.