Category Archives: Nature Photos

The odd introduction

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I recently addressed some of the many introduced species in Texas, including various deer in addition to blackbucks and aoudads.  It’s true that there are many nonnative mammals inhabiting the Lone Star State.

But what I want to address now is the odd introduction: the house finch (Carpodacus mexicanus).

A male house finch (Carpodacus mexicanus) perched on a reed (2009_11_26_042079)

This bird indeed is endemic to Texas.  In fact, Texas is the only place where the native territories of house finches and purple finches (Carpodacus purpureus) come close to each other.  Purple finches are an eastern species whilst house finches are a western species.

So to the chagrin of “purist” birders in North America, house finches are an introduced species everywhere east of the Rocky Mountains except Texas.  That’s right: if you don’t live in Texas and if you live east of the Rocky Mountains, house finches are a nonnative species.  To wit, you can lump house finches in with house sparrows (Passer domesticus) and European starlings (Sturnus vulgaris).

A male house finch (Carpodacus mexicanus) eating fruit (2009_12_20_045823)

Before the 1940s, house finches were resident only in Mexico and the southwestern United States.  But pretty birds don’t stay localized for long; people capture them and take them everywhere.  Then stupidity sets in and the birds wind up released.  So when “Hollywood Finches”, as they were called at the time, were deemed illegal east of the Rocky Mountains under the Migratory Bird Treaty Act, what did owners and dealers do with them?  They released them, of course.

A female house finch (Carpodacus mexicanus) perched on a branch (2009_11_07_037504)

According to scientific studies, house finches are shown to displace native purple finches in eastern North America.  In fact, they’ve also displaced house sparrows in some areas.  Sounds like pick your poison, or at least pick the lesser of two evils.

Most troubling, though, is the purple finch issue: purple finch numbers are declining throughout their territory, and evidence suggests that house finches and house sparrows are at least partly to blame (the two species have been documented as out-competing purple finches for food and nest locations).

A male house finch (Carpodacus mexicanus) perched in a tree (2010_04_03_052372)

So it goes without saying: if you live east of the Rocky Mountains but outside of Texas, and if you practice a “native first” mentality with regards to nature, house finches should be your enemy if you hate house sparrows and European starlings.  Otherwise you hate the native purple finch and you are hypocrite, cognitive dissonance notwithstanding.

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The next post in this nonnative series will be about a truly invasive species.  We’re terribly anthropocentric, so we call “introduced” species “invasive” since we don’t want to own responsibility for their presence.  But an invasive species is quite different from an introduced species: introduced means we’re responsible while invasive means the critters are responsible.  In the scheme of things, the vast majority of hated creatures are introduced, not invasive.  And some invasive species are loved, which is precisely the kind of species I’ll cover next.

And yes, I’m increasingly disgusted with nature purists.  How selective they are.  Shall I mention their dislike of brown-headed cowbirds and their attempts to kill this species in hopes of protecting other birds?  Shall I mention their disgust with house sparrows and European starlings whilst they pretend cattle egrets are A-OK?  Shall I mention their hate of rock pigeons while they ignore the hunting of mourning doves—deaths in the millions each year?  I’m only just getting started…

Undiscovered islands

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Long have I served as the navigator to undiscovered islands.  For more than seven and a half years I have guided myself on a journey with no map.  Much to my surprise I found others following, reveling in the discoveries, enjoying the travels, waiting for the next experience.  Thus is the public nature of blogging.

Through the writs and images here, I have met some of the most influential people in my life, some of the most important people in my life, some of the best teachers I could ask for, and some of the dearest friends I never expected.  I have learned and I have taught.  I have seen much and I have shared a fraction of that through this blog.

As catalysts go, xenogere ranks as one of the most influential in my life, a personal endeavor I began cobbling together in December 2002 with the idea of practicing my writing and providing a communication medium for friends and family.  But it took on a life of its own.  The depth and breadth of the experience grew to encompass far more than I thought possible—or had even imagined.

Throughout this intellectual exercise I have seen life and death in all their splendid glory and all their horrific terror.  I experienced the greatest joys and the greatest sorrows.  And I learned that sorrow is joy unmasked, that the wellspring of happiness is the selfsame chasm from which pain erupts.

Throughout this journey I have learned more than I could foresee when I began.  At the birth of xenogere, I could not have differentiated a great-tailed grackle from a common grackle, I did not know a cuckoo wasp from a sweat bee, and I thought any snake in the water had to be a cottonmouth.

Throughout these literal and metaphorical travels I have seen the best and worst of people.  I found that some wear the internet like a mask so they cannot be recognized as they troll the world looking to tear others down in an attempt to lift themselves up.  But I also found that some wear the internet like a beacon so they can be recognized as they attempt to experience and appreciate this global bounty.

Throughout the personal interactions made possible by xenogere I have discovered kindred spirits worldwide.  There are people out there who approach every personal encounter with the goal of teaching or learning, or the goal of making both parties better for the time spent together.  There are people out there who see nature as art to be appreciated and protected rather than a disposable resource to be squandered.  There are people out there who practice reason and compassion out of habit rather than for selfish ends.

Yet one belief I hold firmly is that all things are made to be broken, that all things end in time.  Hence more and more of late I have contemplated xenogere and the whole of its life.  I have wondered if—or perhaps even assumed that—the time had come to focus elsewhere.  I still have unfinished book manuscripts.  I have travels that dangle like carrots in front of my face.  I have energy that seems destined to push me in other directions.

This feeling of wandering through the final moments of blogging has had me asking if there are no more undiscovered islands.  Has the hour grown late?  Have I lost my way in the twilight of blogging?  Or more simply, have I been at this so long that I’m burned out?

It behooves me to admit that my recent wasp experience was as close to death as I have ever been.  Melodramatic as that might sound, it’s quite true.  My reaction to stings grows exponentially more severe each time it happens, and three at once had me stumbling along the precipice.  Such moments have a way of making us look differently at the world.  No, I didn’t find any gods in the experience, though I do admit wishing for the skeletal hand of Death to pull me away from the worst of it.  And in the end it did give me pause to consider things in a very different way.

At the behest of full disclosure, I must also admit that the potent mix of medication I have to take in response to that medical emergency has always caused erratic and dramatic shifts in my mental and emotional states.  Because it will be several weeks before I finish the regimen, now is not the time for any major decisions.  The heavy fog through which my thoughts now travel could easily lead me astray and leave me lost; therefore, I must not act but must instead wait.

Nevertheless, I cannot deny what I have felt these past few months.  Is this all?  Am I done?  Do I now stand in xenogere’s autumn of years, limbs turning bare and life migrating to other places?

This will be the final post here for a few weeks.  For now, I am simply taking a sabbatical.  I will use this time to focus on getting better.  I will use this time to ponder where I intend to go with xenogere.  Perhaps rest is all I need to discover a newfound passion for this, to realize there are yet more undiscovered islands to be found.  Or perhaps I will discover a permanent silence.  In any case, I’ll post an update on or about August 7.

To those who visit, who read, who comment, I say this: Thank you!  All other remarks from me would be dry platitudes falling at your feet like dead leaves.  So again, thank you.

And to those whose blogs I follow, I’ll still be haunting your digital doorsteps.  What happens here changes nothing about what happens there.

Meanwhile, take time to look for your own undiscovered islands.  Nature is full of them, life is full of them, the cosmos is full of them.

Pugnacious polistes

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As a young child I would cry when a bee or wasp stung me.  What little kid doesn’t?  At that age, the injection of venom feels like the end of the world.

Then I grew older and learned to ignore the pain.  It became inconsequential, a barely noticeable pinch, a slight burn that lasted no more than an hour.  By then I was playing many an afternoon in the garden catching bees and wasps with my bare hands.  I never really understood what the game was about—despite it being a game of my making—but I always knew how the game ended: when my hand was too swollen to close around the next insect.

When I reached puberty, however, all that changed.  I developed a deadly allergy to the sting of bees, wasps and ants, a twofold dilemma that includes an allergic response (anaphylaxis) and an immune response (sepsis).

Yet despite the very real threat, I don’t fear things that sting or bite.  When a bark scorpion stung me twice several weeks ago, it was because I was trying to pick it up so I could show it to a friend, only it was in an advantageous position that made me an easy target.  All sorts of stingy and bitey things live around and visit my home, and we get along just fine.

Heck, I live in the middle of a massive colony of one of North America’s largest wasps, eastern cicada killers (Sphecius speciosus), and I spend a great deal of time sitting in the middle of the swarm, provoking them to perch on me, handling them at every opportunity, observing every facet of their short lives.

But in general what I don’t like are paper wasps.[1]  My experiences with them have taught me one thing: as a rule they are unpredictable and belligerent, always ready to pick a fight and always ready to put the hurt on you.[2]  I like watching their nests from a distance and I don’t mind individuals getting close to me, but en masse they’re too disagreeable for my taste.[3]

What with names like Polistes bellicosus and Polistes comanchus, not to mention Polistes instabilis, even the scientific community recognizes their contrary nature and tendency to sting first and ask questions never.

Which brings me to last October…

A nest of paper wasps (Polistes apachus) (2009_10_18_032568)

I was wandering around the Lake Lewisville Environmental Learning Area when I spied a large nest of paper wasps (Polistes apachus).  Colloquially they are known as Apache paper wasps, a name meant to imply something about their collective personality.

I was being good and staying on the trail.  They were being good and staying on their nest, which was hanging in the brush alongside the trail.  Being a smart fellow—or at least a fellow with his personal safety foremost on his mind—I used a telephoto lens to grab a few shots, then I gave them a wide berth as I passed.

A nest of paper wasps (Polistes apachus) (2009_10_18_032575)

I returned along that trail about an hour later after exploring the mostly flooded riparian paths.  As I walked back toward the car, I could see things had changed.  The wasps were agitated.  At least half of them buzzed through the trail as if looking to pick a fight.  The other half hurried all over the nest.

And not too far away I could hear a child crying from where the trail intersects the path to the camping area.

A nest of paper wasps (Polistes apachus) (2009_10_18_032578)

I made a mad dash through the swarm and came out the other side with nary a sting.  As I passed the camping area, I pretty much felt certain I understood what had happened.

A young boy sat cradled in a woman’s arms, his mother I assumed.  He had several noticeable stings on his face, arms and legs.  I stopped long enough to ask if they needed me to call for medical help.  The woman assured me that he’d be OK, that he wasn’t allergic.

Then almost in a whisper she said he was learning a necessary lesson the hard way.  “Next time he’ll know I’m serious when I say he shouldn’t get too close.”

I would agree.  From the welts still swelling on his body, it looked like a painfully memorable lesson.  And selfish though it was, I couldn’t help but be grateful that it was him instead of me.

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Notes:

[1] Not all species of paper wasps are angry little creeps looking to pummel you at the first opportunity.  Polistes annularis is a good example.  These large and intimidating critters are pretty docile.  I can get close to them without worry.  But that’s an exception to the rule since most paper wasps are just damn crazy mad.

[2] To relay a story my mother told: She walked outside at the family farm and stepped to the edge of the back porch.  She did not know paper wasps had built a nest right under her feet.  They swarmed out from under the porch and attacked her legs.  She received more than a few stings.  Keep in mind my mother is a small woman and she couldn’t possibly have caused that much disruption simply by walking over the nest.  But it was enough to piss off the wasp population.

[3] Yesterday I ran into a collection of my archenemy, the red wasp (Polistes carolina).  Their nest had fallen from a tree.  A friend and I came upon it unexpectedly.  This is the only species of wasp to sting me since my allergy developed, a total of three stings since the early 80s.  Yesterday, however, they upped their ante: they stung me three times at once.  That equated to more than eight hours in the emergency room.  And now it means having to cancel a vacation in early August as well as a surprise trip to Canada next week when I intended to meet someone I really want to spend time with.  I can’t promise that the whole of P. carolina will pay the price, but you can bet they’ve made the most inenarrable day of my life an event to remember—and they certainly made the list of enemies to be dispatched by me at any cost.

Yet another introduction

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Last year I made a point of trying to find and photograph some of the exotic animals introduced in Texas, like blackbucks and various deer species.  As a state full of hunters, plenty of interesting critters have been released into the wild to make killing and eating more interesting[1].

According to The Handbook of Texas Online, “more species and greater numbers of exotic big game are in Texas than anywhere else in North America.”  It goes on to say that the “most numerous species have developed substantial free-ranging populations.”  These include chital, nilgai antelope, and blackbuck from India; sika deer from Southeast Asia; mouflon sheep from Sardinia and Corsica; fallow deer from Asia Minor and southern Europe; and wild boar from Europe[2].

My list of photographic targets included all of those and more, including the aoudad (a.k.a. barbary sheep, arui or waddan; Ammotragus lervia) from North Africa, another free-ranging exotic in the Lone Star State.

Two aoudads (a.k.a. barbary sheep, arui or waddan; Ammotragus lervia) resting near a fallen tree (2009_05_22_020816_f)

In the unrelenting heat of May somewhere on a dirt road that wound through the hills, I caught a lucky break: some aoudads resting in a clearing.  One of them had tucked itself so far beneath the fallen tree that only its horns and the top of its head were clearly visible.  The other lay comfortably in the grass where he could be seen clearly.  Still, I wanted something other than drowsy shots of half-conscious critters.  So I drove on.  And found just what I was looking for.

A female aoudad (a.k.a. barbary sheep, arui or waddan; Ammotragus lervia) resting with her young (2009_05_22_020809)

As I rounded the hillside, there nestled together on the side of the road was a female with her young[3].  By the time I snapped the photo, she was already beginning to stand up.  The baby quickly followed, and before I knew it both vanished down the hillside.  It was enough, though.  That smile-inducing child comfortably leaning against its mother was enough to satisfy my aoudad craving.  It was more than I expected to see.

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Notes:

[1] The interesting thing about all the exotic game animal introductions in Texas is that the state has the largest population of white-tailed deer compared to any other U.S. state or Canadian province.  The current estimate is that there are more than four million whitetails roaming around the state.  It begs the question of why so many (almost 100) exotic species have been let loose here.  (The obvious answer: stupidity.  See note [2] below.)

[2] Many of the exotic introduced species have since become pests, although the aoudad has yet to reach that status.  And because the majority of these nonnative animals are ill adapted to the Texas climate and ecology, they die out in large numbers during the extremes.  For example, I mentioned in June 2009 that entire herds of chital died out and wild boars were starving because of our last drought.

[3] Though called barbary sheep, aoudads are not actually sheep.  They are caprids, a type of goat-antelope bovid.  And since they’re not true sheep, I’m not convinced the young are called lambs or cossets, the females ewes, or the males rams, hence my avoidance of those terms.

Another introduction

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Not satisfied with introducing various deer species in Texas, the great state of hunters also decided to introduce antelope.  Sure, Texas has pronghorns (Antilocapra americana), but they’re not antelopes.  So in 1932 the state began establishing free-ranging herds of blackbucks (a.k.a. Indian antelope; Antilope cervicapra).

A young male blackbuck (a.k.a. Indian antelope; Antilope cervicapra) walking through a field (2009_05_22_019975)

Native to Pakistan and India, the introduction of blackbucks didn’t go as well as it did with chitals (a.k.a. cheetal, chital deer, spotted deer, or axis deer; Axis axis) and fallow deer (Dama dama).  It would seem the far-from-home antelope is a lot more sensitive to Texas threats.

A mature male blackbuck (a.k.a. Indian antelope; Antilope cervicapra) standing in grass (2009_05_22_020923)

Cold weather keeps them from the northern and western parts of the state, parasitism keeps them out of the east and coyotes keep them out of the south.  What started as a statewide release turned into a population confined to the middle of the state, mostly around the Edwards Plateau region.

A male blackbuck (a.k.a. Indian antelope; Antilope cervicapra) grazing in a field (2009_05_22_019978)

Despite the challenges, there are now more blackbucks in Texas than in their native homeland.  And of all the exotic species introduced here, only chitals outnumber blackbucks.

Close-up of a female blackbuck (a.k.a. Indian antelope; Antilope cervicapra) (2009_05_22_020930)

If you watch them long enough, you learn the evolutionary advantage of the long horns.

A young male blackbuck (a.k.a. Indian antelope; Antilope cervicapra) scratching his hindquarters with his horn (2009_05_22_019983)

They’re for scratching those hard-to-reach places.

[this is our last full day in México; Preciliano and I have had a fantastic time; his family impressed me beyond words, just as the sights and experiences have done; overindulgence probably best defines the last week, but vacations are meant for excess; though I must admit I need to buy a “get well soon” card for my liver after what I’ve put it through; tomorrow it’s back to Dallas and back to being responsible; well, at least back to Dallas]