October 2009 – Page 2 – Seabrooke Leckie

Late fall moths

Bicolored Sallow, the most abundant species at my lights right now

As mentioned in yesterday’s post, last night was quite warm, for the time of year; the overnight low hovered around 10 C (50 F). After a couple of weeks of near- or below-freezing temperatures, I was delighted to have the opportunity to put out my moth trap and catch some moths. When I went to bed I saw a few moths circling around the light, but mostly what I saw were Giant Water Bugs. I was excited to open up the trap this morning and see what had flown in while I was sleeping.

Morrison's Sallow, the species that got the honour of first moth of the year last spring

There were seven or eight water bugs in the trap, which I had to carefully release without triggering a phobic freak-out (I can’t help it, there’s just something about them). Once they were out of the way, I could examine the rest of my catch. There ended up being about 14 species of macromoth (those that are on the second half of taxonomically-ordered species lists, generally larger species) and several micromoths (those in the first half of the list, mostly small).

Ipsilon Dart, missing the corner of its left wing

I would classify my skill level with moths as intermediate-newbie – that is, I could probably identify a third to half of the moths coming to my lights over the course of a year, and have a reasonable sense of taxonomic groups, but I’ve still got looooots left to learn. And that’s just for the macromoths. The micros, I haven’t even really touched them yet. I’ve already got my hands full. So the micros from last night, for the most part, went unidentified.

Grotes Pinion — Grote's Pinion, one of a couple of gray pinions that all look kinda similar

Autumn isn’t the most colourful season, as far as moths go. There are lots of browns and tans and grays, colours that blend in with the muted leaves and bark that dominate at this time of year. Still, most of the moths that are on the wing in the cooler months are subtly beautiful in their own way, with intricate patterning and soft hues.

Bethune's Pinion, vibrating its wings to warm up the muscles before it flies off (I'd chilled it in the fridge to keep it still for the photo)

The majority of the species I caught last night are probably ones that will overwinter as adults, tucked into a nook somewhere. A few may have laid eggs that will hatch out come spring, while the adults die with prolonged cold weather. In general, the pinions, sallows, and some of the darts are the fall/spring groups, with members from these three groups comprising the majority of a catch. Eight of my macromoths last night belonged to one of these three groups.

So many familiar faces: every one of the moths above were at my lights in the spring, too. They’ll head off for a long winter’s snooze, but I’ll see them again in five or six months. It’s kind of nice to have two opportunities a year to learn these species; others may only fly for a short span, some as few as two or three weeks in the middle of summer, and it can be hard to learn and remember some of these from one year to the next.

Waxed Sallow, nearly identical to sister species Silky Sallow

New faces, too. This guy, and the next, below, and the one after that, they were all new to me last night. I find this an exciting aspect of mothing that one doesn’t really get with many other groups of organisms. Once I’ve learned the birds of my yard, the 150 species or so that I might expect to encounter in the area, that’s pretty much it; every bird you see is most likely going to be one of those 150. But moths, there’s so much less predictability in moths. Even my friend and co-author Dave, a long-time moth’er, still gets species he’s never seen before, or maybe seen once or twice, turning up at locations that he’s been mothing for years and years.

9878 - Lithomoia germana - American Brindle — American Brindle, a pinion that poses like and so could be confused with a prominent in the genus Schizura

For me, part of the reason I’m getting so many new species is just that I’m still so new to the hobby, relatively speaking. It may be possible to learn your birds in a year or two, if you apply yourself, but moths will take years. Part of it is that Dan and I have been moving around a bit the last couple years, and each new location, with new habitat, provides new species. However, a large part of it is that there are more than 2000 species of moths in Ontario, many of them rare and/or local in occurrence. To see all of Ontario’s species will require time and patience, and perhaps a good bit of traveling to different regions and habitats.

Dashed Gray Pinion, another new species for me

You’ll notice that most of the moths presented here have a green ruler alongside them. The marks on the ruler are millimeters, and give you a sense of scale. I didn’t used to include a ruler in my moth photos, but have been trying to make a point of doing so lately. The measurements will be used in the new field guide, and taking a photo is easier than writing it all down in a notepad, since I’m taking the photo anyway. Also, it allows Dave to confirm my ID, or to identify something for me if I don’t know it. I still defer to him in that department – I can’t wait till there’s a better guide out for identifying moths! All the parts of the book that actually require being able to identify the moths I’ve left to him to tackle; it seemed best.

Green Cloverworm, a variable species that's fairly abundant in fall and often seen flying during the day

The trap will get packed up and head back down to the basement again, now. If I’m lucky we might get another good night of moderately warm temperatures, but anything more this year I will consider a bonus; I’m expecting the season to be pretty much finished at this point. It’s so sad to put things to bed for the winter, but at the same time, it makes their return in the spring that much sweeter. I’ll be much more excited to discover a Morrison’s Sallow circling my porch light in March than I was yesterday.

Sensitive Fern Borer, looking a little worn and having some technical difficulties with its wings (though it arrived at the light so apparently flies fine)

And since I’ve now run out of things to say (I’m impressed I managed even 10 paragraphs of rambling), here are the rest of the moths from last night, sans ramble.

Autumnal Moth, which, appropriate to its name, flies in Sept/Oct; ours all seem to be quite pale individuals

Snowy-shouldered Acleris, one of the minority of micro species showy and/or common enough to have a common name

Caloptilia serotinella; no common name. This guy is less than a half inch long.

acleris sp — Maybe Speckled Acleris, Acleris negundana; there is some amazing variation between individuals of the same species in the Acleris genus, so it can sometimes be hard to make a confident ID

Tuesday Miscellany

I missed Miscellany last week; I didn’t have very many photos, and the ones I had were part of series that I wanted to post more than one image from. With the passing of summer, nature is slowing down outside. There aren’t as many bugs about, the wildflowers are largely finished. Most of our summer birds have headed south, leaving just the winter feeder visitors behind. My walks through the woods are getting quieter, and I have to make more effort to notice interesting things; they aren’t as abundant or obvious as they were.

I love playing with milkweed seeds. I have a hard time passing by open pods when I’m out walking. I like the way the seeds all grow in such careful organization, smoothly layered upon each other like scales. I’ll often pull out puffs and cast them to the wind, just for the joy of it. Last week I pulled out a full, un-fluffed bunch of seeds from a recently-opened pod, such as the one shown here. I peeled off the seeds, slowly, enjoying the silkiness of the down. When I got to the end, I was left holding a fascinating structure. It was papery, with paper-thin divisions running along its length. the down of the seeds was tucked neatly into these creases, securing it until the wind became strong enough to tease it from the pod (or a person pulls them out and tosses them into the air). Presumably this is an adaptation to make sure that there is sufficient wind to carry the seed away from the mother plant when the seed falls off, and not just fall straight down.

If the structure has a formal name (undoubtedly it does), I don’t know what it is, as I wasn’t able to turn up the answer with a web search. I did, however, find out that they make excellent fire-starting material because they’re so papery. Of course, so do dried leaves, which also happen to be abundant at the same time of year…

I found this pair hanging out on a milkweed pod last week. The upper one I’ve already mentioned once this fall; it’s a Small Milkweed Bug, a species that feeds on the seeds of milkweed plants. The smaller one below is a nymph of the same species. In most true bugs (that is, the group of insects that have a piercing tube-like structure for mouthparts and wings that are solid for only half their lenth and membranous the rest, leading to the group’s name Hemiptera – hemi/half, pteron/winged) the nymphs resemble wingless adults in shape but are usually differently, and often more brightly, patterned than the adults. This is a later instar of the nymph; younger nymphs are nearly all red-orange.

Speaking of bugs, I have been inundated with Giant Water Bugs this evening. After a spell of cold, near- or below-freezing nights, we’ve had two in a row that have been fairly warm, up near or slightly above 10 C (50 F). Last night I didn’t realize it was so warm until well after midnight, but tonight I was prepared, and set out my moth trap for a try at late-season moths. I plugged it in just before dusk, and then forgot about it. After dinner, I put Raven on her tie-out when she asked to be let out, and went back into the house. A few minutes later she started barking in alarm. I stepped outside and could hear something rustling in the leaves at the front of the house – clearly what had gotten Raven worked up. I grabbed my shoes and went around to investigate, and it was immediately obvious what she was hearing. There were dozens of these guys, on the porch, in the garden, in the lawn, and yes, rustling around in the thick bed of leaves under the trees in front of the house. Where the heck are they all coming from? I did finally walk through the forest that borders our meadows on the west, where I’d also heard spring peepers calling a few weeks ago, but couldn’t see anything near the edge that was very wet, or even perhaps a springtime vernal pool. I’m hoping not too many of these things actually go into the trap.

Another sighting of puzzling origin is this guy. I’d stepped outside this afternoon to dump the compost while I could see what I was doing (I’d created a large pile last night when I prepared and froze a batch of carrots from our garden), and right beside the porch steps was this little snake. Only 6 or 7 inches (15-17 cm) long, it was in the rocky, mostly empty soil bed beside the walkway. I quickly put down the compost and hurried back inside for my camera. At the time I just assumed it was a young milk snake. I took a few photos, then picked him up and move him away from the house. Sitting down to blog this evening, I had another look at him. Eastern Milk Snakes usually have a pale Y-shaped mark at the back of their head and this one didn’t have that. I wasn’t sure if that was because it was a juvenile, or because it wasn’t a milk snake. Some poking around suggests the answer is the latter. I believe this is actually a young Northern Water Snake, Nerodia sipedon. Although adults tend to remain closely associated with water, juveniles seem to often stray across land, perhaps as they disperse looking for new water to colonize. The solid bands in the front half, turning into a checkered pattern in the back half of the body, seem to be characteristic of the species.

I found this caterpillar clinging to the inside of the porch screen last week. I’m not quite sure how it got in, but it was a very chilly day, and it wasn’t up to going anywhere further. I took a few photos, and then put it outside where it could hopefully find a more appropriate place to hole up. I believe it’s the caterpillar of a Hitched Arches, Melanchra adjuncta, a species of moth. I’d encountered the adults at the lake house last August (2008), and then again in May (this year). I caught one again this summer, after moving to this house. The species is found across much of North America, and flies for much of the year, May through September. Presumably they overwinter as caterpillars or pupae, thus delaying their appearance in spring.

We’ve had a couple of hard frosts now, and even the frost-hardy plants have wilted away. The grapevines are nearly bare of leaves, exposing the clusters of dark blue Concord grapes, and the mass of woody stems twining and crawling and sprawling across the side of the shed. As I was standing looking at the vines, thinking I should collect up some of the remaining grapes and freeze them to make pie with this winter, I noticed a clump of twigs tucked into the back of the tangles. Looking closer, it turned out to be a nest. It was quite large, appropriate for something robin-sized. It had probably finished up and fledged its young before Dan and I moved in in July, assuming it was even from this year. Determining the identity of the builders of nests can be difficult, with the exception of a few distinctive species (such as robins, or swallows). I’m not sure what species this one belonged to, although if I had to hazard a guess I might say Brown Thrasher, which build chunky, twiggy nests, usually on the ground but also sometimes tucked into thick shrubs or vines.

Nearly all of our leaves have fallen now, and they form a thick bed across the lawn under the trees. I was tempted to rake them up today, if only because it was such a nice warm afternoon and it would be a reason to be outside. I didn’t, however, instead tossing the ball with Raven and Dan. Here Dan’s commanding Raven to “Drop it!”, which she does, though generally only after a good bit of bounding about in circles playing keep-away. She tosses up sprays of leaves like she’s running through water. A few more weeks and we’ll be feeling less inclined to stand still and toss a ball around outside.

Giant otters at Cocha Salvador, Manu, Peru, by Sarah_and_Iain on Flickr

Day 5 on the Kolibri Expeditions’ Manu bloggers’ tour takes us to Cocha Blanco (roughly translated to “White Lake”), an old oxbow lake that is now home to waterlilies, sunken logs, fish – and a family of Giant Otters. The largest species of otter, and by extension the largest species of mustelid (weasel family), it lives up to its name with males reaching 5-6 feet (1.5-1.8 m) in length. In some areas, and historically, it was also known by the name of “River Wolf”, for its huge size and carnivorous habits. Like other otters, they’re highly social, living in family groups and vocalizing frequently. Unfortunately, it is now endangered, primarily to habitat loss, with nearly 80% of its original South American range now unsuitable. Because their occurrence tends to be so patchy, population estimates are hard to make, but are thought to be less than 5000 individuals. Suriname and the Guianas are the otter’s stronghold, with a scattering across the rest of northern South America. The promotion of responsible ecotourism can lead to habitat conservation efforts that will help this species and others. Back in January Julie Zickefoose did a great post (one of a few) about Giant Otters she saw in Guyana, which made me keen to experience these creatures.

I’m going to Peru with Kolibri Expeditions as part of their blogger promotional series. Want to come? I’d love to have you along! My departure leaves November 13, 2010 and returns the 21st, well before the US Thanksgiving. You can get more information about the trip, including itinerary and, of course, cost, at this page. Don’t forget that if you’re also a blogger you get $100 off. In addition to having a great time, meeting some great bloggers, and seeing some fabulous birds, you’ll also be supporting the local communities as they work toward developing a sustainable ecotourism industry for their area. It’s a win-win!

Tay Meadows Tidbit – Marbled Orbweaver

A couple of days ago, as we were relaxing in front of the tv in the evening, Raven suddenly got up and walked to the back of the room, where she started growling. Normally when she does this it’s because she’s heard something outside, or seen a reflection in the window that looked suspicious. But this time she was staring at the wall. After a moment she went up to the wall and snapped at something. That’s when I finally saw the spider. I have no idea how I missed it initially, because it was BIG. Its abdomen was nearly spherical, and about as wide as my thumbnail. I told Raven to sit and wait while I hurried off for my camera. I took a few photos, then caught it in a container to keep overnight – it was below freezing outside by that point, and I wasn’t sure that if I put it outside it wouldn’t just freeze to death shortly after. I let it go the next day, and took the opportunity to take a few more photos in daylight.

The spider is a Marbled Orbweaver, Araneus marmoreus, and is actually a species I encountered at the old house, as well, very close to this time of year. I blogged about it October 20th; it had been crawling across the road when I’d taken Raven out for a walk. I can still recall the spot where I found it. The species is found across Canada and the eastern US, with the majority of records from BugGuide.net submitted in September and October, persisting into November for some of the states southward of me. The species is incredibly variable, with individuals ranging from bright orange (like I found last year) to pale with a huge dark spot (such as this one), bright yellow or white with dark markings to nearly completely dark.

I don’t think that the morphs are specific to particular regions, although all of the pale-with-dark-blotch individuals submitted were from boreal or Shield-edge regions of Canada and Alaska. Interestingly, I made a note in last year’s post that the pale-with-dark-blotch morph was restricted to Eurasia; evidently I was obtaining my information last year from a source other than BugGuide.net. Maybe it meant the form was only found naturally in Eurasia, and individuals in North America have been introduced through international commerce. I think this one arrived at our house on a large potted Norfolk Pine that my mom had left sitting outside all summer.

The Moth and Me #7

The Moth and Me #7 is now up at Reflections on the Catawba. Lori runs a Tuesday Night Moth Club in western North Carolina as a regular event for the nature park where she works. She’s relatively new both to moths and to blog carnivals, so let’s all pop over and make her feel welcome! While you’re there, check out some of the links she’s posted on how to get started in mothing, see some of her latest catch, and check out all the other goodies submitted to her or that she’s collected from around the web.

The November edition, #8, will be hosted by Susannah over at Wanderin’ Weeta. Even though here in the northern hemisphere our snow-less season is drawing to a close, there’s still some last few moths to be caught on the warmest nights. Folks further south of the border might yet find things on the wing for a couple of months. Blog about what you find and send your links to Susannah (wanderinweeta AT gmail D0T com) or myself (sanderling AT symbiotic D0T ca) by November 13.

The Moth and Me will be on hiatus for the northern hemisphere winter, December through February. We’re looking for hosts for March 2010 and beyond next year. If you think you might be interested, drop me a note with the month you’d like and I’ll pencil you in.

Eau de la viande pourrie

This has to be the coolest mushroom I’ve ever personally encountered (and that includes the one that will colonize peoples’ nasal cavities). I went down the road to the 100-acre woods this afternoon, bundling myself up snugly and pulling out my long johns and winter coat for the first time. I also got to try out a new toque Dan’s mom brought home for me from Scotland, one that extends down the sides of the face in cozy ear flaps. It’s my new favourite toque. Despite the brisk 5 C (41 F) temperature (which will feel balmy in a few months), I was nice and comfortable for the walk. This was important, because if I hadn’t’ve been, I would’ve decided to skip the last loop of the trail. Since I was comfortable, my ears weren’t frozen and my thighs weren’t numb, I figured we might as well hike ’round it and enjoy the last section of forest. And if I hadn’t done that, then I would’ve missed this awesome mushroom.

This is a Netted Stinkhorn, Dictyophora duplicata. Also known as the Skirted Stinkhorn (the name it goes by in the Lone Pine mushroom guide I have) or Veiled Stinkhorn, it takes its name from that lacy fringe that hangs down from the cap. This one happens to be a very modest fringe; in some it can flare out from the stalk like an A-line skirt on a dancer doing pirouettes. Incidentally, that’s a very inappropriately pretty image for this mushroom. It is also sometimes placed in the genus Phallus, a genus of stinkhorns named for their suggestive shape. And it takes the other half of its common name from – you guessed it – its smell.

If you can read French, then you already know what it smells like from the title of this post: rotten meat. The individuals I came across today were only just getting started, but a stinkhorn in full stink is detectable from a considerable distance away. It’s so strong that this website recounts a meeting of the North American Mycological Association where a specimen of a stinkhorn had to be isolated outside, even though all the other fungi were on tables indoors.

The mushroom uses the smell to attract insects that come to carrion, primarily flies. When the flies arrive, they’re drawn to the sticky cap, which is covered in a gooey, sweet (apparently) layer that the insects can feed on. Embedded in this goo are the mushroom’s spores. When the insects land and walk across it, some of the goo and spores get stuck on the insect’s legs or body and carried off. Eventually the insect will probably land and deposit the spores somewhere appropriate for the fungus to grow. The stinkhorn is completely dependent on flies and other insects to transport its spores, since they can’t be carried on the wind as with most mushrooms.

Netted Stinkhorns grow in rich soils in deciduous woodlands. Unlike most fungi, which have a root-like network called a mycelium from which the fruiting body itself sprouts, stinkhorns begin life as an egg. It starts out small (obviously, since the spores are microscopic) and gradually grows in size. When it breaks the surface of the soil it may resemble a small puffball. The difference is that inside a baby fungus is forming; if you slice a stinkhorn egg open, you’ll find a tubular formation that will eventually grow into the full mushroom.

When it’s ready to emerge, the “skin” of the egg splits and a nearly full-grown stinkhorn cap emerges. In the first photo, the egg is the peachy-coloured mass at the base. The stalk is rapidly grown underneath of the cap, pushing it out. The growth of a stinkhorn, from egg to full length, is incredibly fast – a matter of hours, you could almost set up a lawnchair to watch. To save you some time, though, check out this time-lapse video of four stinkhorns emerging and then dying. The full video is over the course of 77 hours (3 days 5 hours), with frames taken at 5 minute intervals. The whole video is 43 seconds. The first stinkhorn to emerge lasts only 24 of those seconds, and takes just 2 seconds to reach full length. Two seconds of video works out to about 3.5 hours.

As the stinkhorn ages, its cap goes from a smooth sphere to slightly wrinkled (see second photo) to very wrinkled. By the time all the goo has been picked off the cap by insects (and what isn’t often liquefies and runs or is washed off), all that’s left is a thin network of white creases. Eventually the skirt deteriorates and the stalk may break and fall over. This was an older one that I actually found last week when I was hiking through there. At the time it was the only one I saw. It had disappeared by today, but three others had grown to take its place. It was a warmer day last week, which probably accounts for the greater number of flies on the dead one than the fresh ones – although, I did notice that it was considerably smellier than any of the three today were.

This species of fly seemed to be the most abundant visitor at the stinkhorns. No, don’t ask me to identify what it is. Someday I’ll learn to at least ID them to family, but I’m not there yet. A few websites suggested that blow flies such as Bluebottles are among the most common visitors. Given the albinistic look of this one, though, I might hazard a guess that it was a Suillia sp., a group whose larvae grow “in carrion, dung, or rotting fungi”, according to the Kaufman guide to insects.

Although the smell would probably put anyone off wanting to try the mature mushroom, apparently the eggs are edible and reasonably tasty. That said, in cultures where such things are often practiced, the mature mushroom, sans cap, is sometimes eaten as an aphrodisiac (which makes sense if you subscribe to the believe that items from nature will cure ailments of those organs which they resemble).

I decided not to try any.