There are certain rules of life that seem to be set in stone. Pigs and Lobsters don’t fly, for instance, and butterflies fly during the day and moths fly at night. Every rule needs a caveat, however, and few are absolute. Pigs and lobsters can fly if they are aboard a jet. Lobsters fly all the time as they are transported cross country from lobster pot to cooking pot. I’m not sure if any live lobsters take this flight, but dead ones certainly do. I just heard that live pot-bellied pigs are allowed to fly aboard jet-liners if they accompany a human as an official  “companion” or seeing-eye pig (in a pig’s eye, you say).

In the case of the day-time butterflies and night-time moths, this rule works almost all the time but is far from perfect. I’ve frequently seen butterflies flying after 6 pm and often well into twilight on warm evenings. None fly in the dark of night, so you could say this part is true. On the other hand, there are many moths that will fly during the day and some that fly only during the day. Probably the best known of the day flyers are the Clearwing moths. One of them, the Bumble-bee Clearwing Moth, actually looks something like a flying lobster.

I came upon one of those Bumble-bee Clearwings the other day – or, I should say that it came upon me. You never know when or where you will see one of these moths (actually not a set rule, because if you hang around the proper nectar plants long enough you will increase your chances dramatically).  This creature was nectaring at a stand of pink-flowered Bergamots. I was watching a Silver-spotted Skipper imbibe (see here) on the same set of flowers when the Clearwing came buzzing into view.

These are frantic feeders and rarely stay around for long (note that I didn’t say “NEVER stay long” because that would be another one of those breakable “rules”). I felt lucky to have about 30 seconds of observation before this insect moved on. In action it appeared as a tiny hummingbird and in appearance like a large bumble bee, but their feeding style was pure hawkmoth.

Clearwings are members of the Sphinx Moth family – sleek jet-winged moths also known as Hawk Moths. As caterpillars, members of this family typically have a “horn” projecting off their posterior end (not ALL of them do) and raise up into a sphinx-like pose when alarmed (thus the name). As adults they nectar at long-tubed flowers and feed by un-coiling and inserting un-naturally long tongues into the flowers. They do so while in constant hovering flight and typically maintain position by extending the front pair of legs so that they are in contact with the petals. In moth-like fashion, most sphinxes do fly at night but the Clearwing clan performs their daily rounds under the full light of the mid-day sun.

My Clearwing carefully probed from flower to flower as it sought the freshly opened blooms on the Bergamot heads. Antennae held high and wings ablur, the creature flared out the “hairs” on the end of its abdomen to look like the tail of a miniature lobster. This was the only part of the creature upon which I could focus. The camera lens could not capture the motion of the wings which buzzed in the manner of a bee.

I did a little research after the fact to find out exactly how fast these wings were beating so that I could say something beyond “really fast.” I did come up around 85 beats per second. This is about the same as the Hummingbird but much slower than that of the Bumblebee (which apparently doesn’t really bumble if you consider that it buzzes at 130 plus beats per second). One account put the speed of sphinx moth wingtips at around 20 mph. That is “really fast.”

There are four species of Clearwings, so the exact identity of my subject was questionable. The dark legs, golden-brown color, and thorax stripe peg it as a Bumblebee Clearwing, but admittedly I would not have been able to make that call without having the stop-action pictures in front of me. There was little doubt that it was a Clearwing because it had clear wings with purplish scale on the wing margins.

Of course, it would be fitting to end this discussion by saying that even Clearwing moths don’t always have clear wings. It’s all about that solid rule thing. When they first emerge out of the pupae, their wings are fully covered with scales. The scales are loosely attached, however, and they quickly come off as the moth buzzes into action.  The Bumblebee Clearwing, like all the Clearwings, burst into active life in a cloud of floating scales and their path of life becomes clear.

When I first came upon a clump of white fuzz sticking to a cluster of Black Walnut leaves hanging over the trail, my first thought was “oh, the fall webworms must be starting up.”  Even when I stopped to give them a closer examination, and noted there were several tight groupings of pubescent caterpillars engaged in group feeding, I said “oh, the fall webworms must be starting up.” Though I noticed that there were no actual webs to go along with these webworms, I still stuck to my automated mental response. Webworms, surely…webless webworms, or worms currently without a web, but webworms none-the-less.

Unfortunately, the webless part was difficult to overcome. But, they looked so much like webworms that it was hard for me to clear my mind for anything else. Every avenue of inquiry led back to the same answer.

I will admit to getting stuck, from time to time, in such mental loops. For instance, the water pump at our cabin went out recently and I assumed it was due to a power surge that tripped the breaker. I flipped the breaker switch once with no result. This should have confirmed that electricity was not the issue, but I insisted on flipping it again and again and again for good measure, just in case. All my logic roads led back to the breaker and I was left helplessly flipping the switch back and forth like a trained monkey looking for a peanut reward. (It turned out to be a clog at the well pump head.)

I finally did a web search (go figure!) with the keywords “webworms without webs” just to quell my obvious confusion on the caterpillar question. I was hoping to find an entry that talked about how a webworm colony starts off without a web or that there are rare occasions when they don’t build a website. No such luck. While Webworms will hatch out in a mass, they immediately set about wrapping a silk bag around a bunch of leaves and will feed within the protective folds of the structure. As the colony grows the web bag expands. The larvae do not leave the confines of the web until they leave the colony to pupate. In other words, they are never truly webless until their last stage.

It was a random on-line picture that finally cleared the cobwebs from my head. The communal fellows pictured here were early stage Hickory Tiger Moth caterpillars. This species starts off in a colonial mode but the individuals go their own way after a fairly short time. One by one they drop from the main tree via a silk line and start anew and alone. By the time they are ready to pupate later in the summer, they bear little resemblance to the lightly haired worms of their youth. The larvae take on the appearance of a dirty white toothbrush with a row of stout bristle clusters running down their backs. Tufts of black setae will project from the front and back ends and the alternate name of Hickory Tussock Moth will become suitable. As newly emerged caterpillerets, however, they look like…well, fall webworms.

It might seem odd that Hickory Tiger Moths would be feeding on Walnut – especially given the fact that Fall Webworms love Walnut. But, like many moth larvae, they are eclectic in their tastes and will feed on a variety of nut trees as well as a number of non-nut trees. “Nut ‘N’ None-nut Tree Tigers” sounds rather awkward, so we must accept the “Hickory Tiger” name and move on.

After having said all of this, I will admit that the identity of these creatures was not really all that crucial. It was their neat side by side ordering that initially attracted my attention. Even though the larvae were not especially interesting as individuals, as a gang of precision leaf munchers they were eye-catching. The only reason I needed to find their true identity was so that I could justify this post this with a solid species label (I just HATE not knowing what something is before I pretend knowing something about it).

NOTE:  I am including a photo below & here of an actual group of Fall Webworms that I took after posting this entry. If nothing else it might help plead my case for caterpillar confusion (see the webs…).

Have you ever had one of those days when everything seems to be on a theme or running on a script?  Sometimes the script is from a bad movie, but usually it involves the repetition of a certain word or subject – such as hot dogs or German adverbs – or a sequence of events involving dead phones, computer glitches, and failing cameras.  Well, I had a Cooper’s Hawk day last week and I’m going to tell you about it. None of the following actually happened to me but they were all related to me on the same day.  As a naturalist, people tell me things and ask questions and this is the reason I became the common factor on this issue.

Granted, I realize this particular thing is probably a naturalist specific event and might need some explaining. Cooper’s Hawks are medium sized, long-tailed,  members of the Accipiter group of hawks. They are bird-eating hawks which specialize in plucking house finches and doves from feeders and rendering them into piles of feathers and blood.  They nest on stick platforms constructed high up in the branches of woodland or parkland trees and can be very aggressive when it comes to nest defense. There, I think that does it. We can now proceed without any further explanation to case no. 1.

A museum patron named Linda walked in the door and leaned over the counter. She had a camera in hand. By the curl of her eyebrows I knew that she had an identification question relating to a picture on that camera (you could say I’ve seen this before). She proceeded to show me a photo of a young hawk sitting next to a little girl and told me that they encountered the bird in the play area at Willow Metropark.  I told her that it was probably a young Cooper’s Hawk and she went on to explain that there was a large nest in the tree above this spot.

The family was at their annual reunion in the picnic area when Jessica, Linda’s niece, walked over to her and started to tell her about her new friend. Jessica said something to the effect that her aunt needn’t worry because her friend wouldn’t hurt her.  This, of course, caught Linda’s interest and she asked to see this person.  “Her name is Rebecca,” spouted Jessica and she led her over to the slide. There on the top platform was a rather befuddled looking young Cooper’s Hawk.  It had a hefty covering of down but was in the process of molting into sub-adult feathering – resulting in a male pattern baldness appearance.  Like a puppy, it was obviously destined to grow into its feet! The pictures will do better than words for this part of the story (although I can’t explain the heavy glove in the shot).

Jessica and her aunt talked it over and decided to let Rebecca…er, the  bird… stay where it was. Jessica was worried that a “Park Ranger” might put it into a cage and take it away (those bad old park rangers). They both said a little prayer for the bird and walked off. As a parting gift, the niece left a few of the prizes she had won in some of the earlier games on the slide platform with Rebecca. Eventually the hawklet flew off the slide and sauntered off into the woods and all were happy.

Lucky for Jessica and Linda, the parent birds were not in the immediate vicinity of Becky the Coop. This story may not have ended so delightfully if they had.

Shortly after this delightful story was told to me, I received a call which went about as follows.  A lady reported a baby hawk of some sort in Memorial Park in Lincoln Park (next to the John Wilkes Toll Booth – just kidding).  It had a white chest with “tannish streaks” on it, a longer tail with bands on it, and was about 12 inches tall.  You, the reader, need only to look at the pictures of Rebecca to make your judgment as to what was being described.

This gal had been watching the nest from a distance for some time now and needed to settle an argument with a friend who said it was a Peregrine falcon family.  She thought it was a Cooper’s Hawk. Sight unseen, I was able to confirm that her friend was a stupid idiot because our local Peregrines nest on the sides of buildings and not in tree nests.  In order to separate it from a possible Red-tailed Hawk nest I asked what kind of prey the adults had been bringing to the nest. “Birds, “she said, “it was bringing birds to the nest and plucking them into pieces for the young.” Yes, it was a Coopers Hawk or else I am a stupid idiot.

Finally, as if these two Cooper capers weren’t enough, a fellow called up a few hours later and told me about something that happened to him. “I was on the bike trail (through Lake Erie Metropark) this morning and something attacked me”, he said. “I felt some claws dig into the back of my head and then something flew off. It was a large bird, but I didn’t get a good look at it. I was more shocked than hurt.” When asked where on the trail this occurred he said it was the portion that goes through the woods at the north end of the park.  “Ah, “I said, “there is a Cooper’s hawk nest there – I’ll bet you were in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“Wow,” I then said after I hung up the phone,” the world is being overtaken by Cooper’s Hawks.”

NOTE: ALL PICTURES IN THIS EDITION OF NATURESPEAK WERE TAKEN BY LINDA GAWLIK AND USED WITH HER PERMISSION (there was no permission from Rebecca).

I’m not sure why, but Pied-billed Grebes are often referred to as “Hell Divers.”  They don’t look especially nasty and they live in cool water, so the whole idea is rather lame. Technically, they don’t even dive. It makes for a good title, however. When you add the word Hell to anything it adds immediate interest (Hell children, for instance, are more fascinating than just children).  Grebe children – aka baby grebes – should be called “Hellians” if we stick to this formula, but they really look and act more like confused little stripy chicks.

I came up several sets of confused little stripy Grebe chicks at Pointe Mouillee recently and was lucky enough to digitally bag a set – along with their mom. The attending adult in this case displayed the usual traits of the species.  The adult birds (both male and female) look alike in their plainness. Both are chunky chicken-like birds with a light coffee-with-cream brown complexion.  They have long necks and virtually no tail (this part being reduced to a pathetic tuft of feathers). During the breeding (hell season) they have a black chin beard and a light blue bill circled with a dark band.

This bill feature is the reason behind their common name of Pied-billed Grebe. “Pied” refers to the two color bill. Although “Pie-bill” would be easier to say and write, the name is “Pied-billed” and that is that (hell of a name, eh?).  It is useful to think of them as “Pie-bills” in an odd sort of way because their bill is wedge, or pie, shaped. Theirs is a beak more akin to that of a chicken.  It is a beak used for feeding on fish, crayfish, and aquatic insects.

Young grebes do not look like their parents at all. They are marked with a wonderful array of dark and light stripes and a red face patch. This patterning probably serves to camouflage their outlines when among cat-tail and reed stems. Born atop floating mats of vegetation, the chicks leave their nest immediately upon hatching but do everything they can to stay out of the water – including riding mom’s back whenever possible.  I can say with some small bit of authority that they are slow to develop their diving abilities.

The chicks pictured here were obviously alarmed by my presence (note the “what the hell!?” look). Instead of doing the usual Grebe thing, which I will explain in a moment, they swam around in circles. It soon became apparent why they didn’t dash for the cover of the nearby cat-tails when mom bobbed to the surface. She had ducked out of sight when I arrived and they were waiting for further instruction.

Grebes are champion submerged swimmers. Once they get a handle on their technique they can swim great distances under water. Instead of actually diving, they simple submerge in the manner of a submarine. When they go down the last thing remaining above the water is their head (as opposed to other avian divers which leave you with a view of their hind end as they descend).  Here are a few pictures (below & here) of another adult grebe in the process of sinking. This behavior is a great identifying feature when you see one of these small marsh chickens disappear from a distance.

In order to submerge, Pied –billed Grebes are able to adjust their buoyancy by compressing their feathers.  Already possessed of rather dense bones, they can choose their sinking depth by forcing air out from beneath their feathers. Often they submerge to the point where just their heads remain peering out and they will swim for a while in this position.  Otherwise, they will sink and swim.

Unfortunately, the little hellions in these pictures were unwilling, or unable, to follow their mother’s lead when she initially sunk out of sight. They milled about until she returned to guide them to cover via the surface route. No doubt the family engaged in some submarine practice after I left. So, the next time I see them I won’t see them (what in the hell did I just say?).

 “A cat-tail plant seems so poorly named,

unless you’ve seen one in June.

when it flowers atop with a long slender wand,

like a cat’s tail outlined by the moon.”

 If you are the logical sort, you might have had a hard time figuring out why Cat-tail plants are called Cat-tail plants. For most of the time they look like a hot dog on a stick- or a corn dog to be precise  They don’t really look like a cat’s rear appendage at all. It would have been better to call them “Corn Dog” plants and save years of confused and anguished conversations such as:

 “Look Timmy, this is a cat-tail plant”

“Why is it called a cat-tail plant?”

“Because it…it…was named that”

 “Why was it named that – it looks more like a Corn-dog on a stick?”

“Yes, it does, Timmy, but Corn-dogs were not around when this plant was named long ago”

“Why weren’t Corn-dogs around – what did people eat at the baseball games?”

“Baseball games weren’t around then either”

“What did people eat then?” 

“Cats, Timmy, they ate cats and all that was left was the tail after they ate them!”

“But these plants still don’t look like a Cats tail!”

“Well, you are right but…never mind. A very Smart Person named it long ago and that’s all that matters”

“They must not have been very smart then because it doesn’t lo…”

“Yes, Timmy, yes you are correct but…” “

…and if they ate cats they should have known better and…” 

“Yes, yes, you are right, Timmy.”

“…and, if they were smar…t……”

” Oh my gosh, will you look at the time! We’ve got to get going.”

“But you said we had all morning for this nature walk!”

“I forgot that we needed to get back and eat – er, I mean – feed the cat”

“You don’t even like the cat. You told me once that it should be thrown into the river.”

So, you get our drift. Fortunately, we are here to help. The next time you show Timmy a Cat-tail plant you can tell him that it is called a Cat-tail because during a brief two week period in early summer the plant produces a flower that really does look like a cat’s tail. Not to confuse the issue, but during this brief time there are two “corn dogs” on each plant. The top one is the male flower and the bottom one is the female flower. The male flower eventually produces a cloud of pollen, withers, and then falls off. This leaves the female flower to develop into that “corn dog-like” structure full of fluff and seeds.

That special flowering time of year is right now. Take Timmy out and show him a cat-tail plant and point out the cat’s tail curling off the top. This will end years of potential confusion and the telling of small white lies. People never ate cats and old-time people weren’t any smarter or dumber than we are now.  If you wish, you can mention that these plants were also known as Cooper’s Reed (used by barrel makers to wedge into cracks), Reed Mace (for another reason that is far too complicated to get into now) and even Bulrush (meaning big water plant).  Unfortunately most of these fancy names are European in origin and they only make sense in Europe, so we are pretty much stuck with Cat-tail.

It’s that time of year again – early June when the local White-tailed Deer bear their fawns. In usual parlance, it is said that the Does “drop” their fawns. Although this may sound rather drastic and random it simply means that they place their delicate cargo in the tall weeds and leave them there for an extended time. In the original plan, that is according to the Ancient and Venerable Book of Instinct (a mental text hard-wired into the biological I-Pad of all creatures), the newborn deer is supposed to stay put while mom while mom deer is away. Since newborns don’t have any body scent, they are safe from the probing nose of predators.

But, not all fawns have an equal understanding of this instinctual text.

One such non-compliant fawn was found wandering across the road just north of Lake Erie Metropark. It was a brand new deer with a small portion of the umbilical cord still attached. When one of the park police, Officer Kathy to be precise, came upon the critter she attempted to shuttle it off the road. Unfortunately, the fawn decided to selectively recall another passage of instinctual protocol and immediately dropped into a freeze position right there on the edge of the road. Not sure exactly what to do, and fearing it might be hurt in some way, our officer piled the motionless deer into the passenger seat and took it for a ride to the museum.

Freezing is a hard-wired response employed by many little ungulates (hooved ones). Technically it is termed “alarm bradycardia” and physically it looks like the creature has fallen into a coma. During this reaction, the heart-rate goes down by a third and the creature is spared a nervous breakdown. This “stop and drop” reaction removes the burden of thinking for small mindless beings that have no worldly experience. Until they know better and can run better (in about a week), all things are potential threats.  It is best to drop before actually being seen, but that is a fine detail which natural selection usually irons out.

When the fawn arrived at the museum it was passively laying on the seat like some guilty shoplifter. Although its eyes were open it was completely unresponsive and allowed for a complete examination. Following the details of the instinct handbook to the letter, this deer was not going to move even if we chose to play volleyball with it (using it as the ball, of course). Even though I do not like deer, I have to admit that little deer (like little cats) are tolerably handsome. The spot pattern is beautiful, the tiny hooves precise, and the blue eyes becoming. Hearing the complete story, I decided that a quick return would be the only option here.  There was nothing wrong with this deerlet other than the fact it was a deer.

Kathy asked about a cut on the fawn’s back leg (see below) and I gave it a look see. This apparent cut was actually a gland. It appears as a darkened tuft of hair on the hock of adult deer and serves as one of many scent glands on these smelly beasts. I was able to show her the identical gland on the other foot. This gland was non-functional as of yet.

With the frozen fawn on my lap we rode back to its point of origin, I walked it back into the brush, and “dropped” her gently back into position. Like a trusting sack of potatoes, the blue-eyed creature never moved a muscle during the entire trip. In all, this fawn was frozen for at least a half hour. I can only assume that it thawed soon after we left.

We never saw “mom” but I am confident that she was nearby and that she returned to her pseudo-orphan and spirited it off to a better hiding location. Since fawns around here rarely come in singles, her wiser twin sister/brother was probably nearby. The next time I see this individual she will probably be brown-eyed and un-cute. We can only hope that the adult version does not attempt to re-enact its patrol car ride in Officer Kathy’s vehicle.

“How many turtles can sit on a log

depends on the log -not the turtle.

Turtles can stack if the need does arise

but to lengthen a log is a hurdle.”

 It was upon the occasion of a recent bird walk that I stumbled across an unusual site. In theory, one should be looking up during such an activity but my eye was drawn to an impressive sight down at the water level. The subjects were reptilian and not avian in nature. I guess I was breaking a few birding rules in this process, but because I was leading the hike at the time this kind of thing didn’t matter. I was looking at a bunch of turtles on a log. 

 In most circumstances, the sight of turtles sunning on a log doesn’t merit more than a glance. To date, probably the most impressive “turtle on log” sightings involved a lone map turtle perched high above the water on an exposed root like a high dive act and a snapping turtle in a tree. Up until this year I had never seen a Snapping Turtle actually sunning itself. Last month I saw a sizable Snapper that had hauled itself well up onto the trunk of a fallen tree (see photo below). It took a header and dropped like boulder as I approached.  

Getting back to the present case, however, it was a matter of sheer quantity that prompted my gawking factor.  The morning sun was just peeking through the trees on the opposite bank of the Detroit River. The exposed (above water) portion of the tree limb was probably only about ten feet long.  There were no fewer than 41 turtles  positioned along that length– a figure determined after the fact through intense photo analysis (1 turtle, 2 turtle, 3 turtle, four…).

  I’m sure this is not a record by any stretch but it was a personal record. The turtles were Map Turtles (as indicated by their high ridged shell) and they are famous for such communal sunning feats. They will often stack up on each other two or three high. Only a few of these turtles were actually stacked and I have the feeling that this gang wasn’t finished yet. You’ll note at least a dozen more little heads sticking up in the surrounding water. These were turtles waiting in line to gain access to the log (which was apparently the only parking lot for miles around!).

 Apart from the numbers, the arrangement of this crowd was amazing. Again I refer you to the picture. These two shots overlap by about eight turtles. Nearly the entire contingent of little map turtles were on the right side (see top picture). They were facing left.  Most of the big map turtles were on the left side and they were equally divided into left facing  and right facing pose (see bottom picture). The only remaining space was upon the shell of the bigger turtles and a few of the little guys were beginning to stack upon the big ones.  Who knows how many would have eventually covered the log? Unfortunately, I had to go look for birds and we will never know the answer.

Many swallows are named after their preferred nesting sites. Barn Swallows, for instance often chose the overhanging eaves and beams offered by barns and Bank Swallows operate out of holes tunneled into sandy banks. These names are only suggestions, however, and none of these birds are required to follow their restrictions.  Cliff Swallows, in the absence of natural precipices will build their mud pottery structures on the stone-like substructure of bridges and overpasses. Barn Swallows are equally open to the support beams on docks. Bank Swallows will not switch to 5/3^rd Banks. Swallows refuse to pay interest on rental property.

Tree Swallows, to continue on this theme, are closely associated with tree cavities. These green and white birds frequently use old woodpecker holes and are often the first tenants to move into a newly vacated Downy Woodpecker home. They will readily take to man-made “tree” cavities as well. Bluebird houses really should be referred to as Tree Swallow houses- given the number of these birds that take up residence in them.

Although wood cavities – either man-made or woodpecker made – are the preferred housing material there are further exceptions. At least one local pair of Tree Swallows have gone trailer park. These birds have opted for the metallic confines of a parked boat trailer for their nest hole.

When I saw a swallow dive into the open end of a boat trailer support last week I thought the bird might be doing some creative exploring. They will often check out a number of false leads. (Just the other day I watched another pair scoping out the exhaust pipe on a car. The female was peering into the pipe as the male sat on the ground nervously looking about). When the trailer swallow flew off I took the opportunity to look into the depth. Sure enough, there was a wad of nesting material about two feet down at the point where a cross beam intersects the angled slope of the upright (see above). It was a nest site.

This particular bird posed a bit of a problem at first. Unlike the typical iridescent green/blue of the species, it was brownish and appeared to have a dusky stripe across her chest in the manner of a bank swallow (see above). Even terribly misguided Bank Swallows don’t nest in man-made structures, so this seemed unusual on two levels. The problem was quickly solved when a perfectly normal looking male Tree Swallow showed up and perched outside the trailer nest. Even terribly misguided Tree Swallows don’t take up with Bank Swallows, so the brown female was, in fact, a first year female Tree Swalllow.

Perhaps it was the inexperience of the female that led here to chose such an unpromising location. The open end of the trailer tube was angled up to the weather and nothing seemed conducive to success.  I returned later in the week, expecting the place to have been wisely abandoned, only to discover that the nest was now fully lined with feathers and the female was incubating eggs. They were giving site No. 175 a chance.

Tree Swallows – actually all swallows as far as I know -use feathers to line their nest. They do not use their own, but seek out large light-colored duck, chicken, or heron feathers (whatever the nearest source might be). The Barn Swallows building their nests under the nearby docks do the same thing and I captured on of these fellows in the act (see here). The pale brown female Trailer Swallow sat patiently as I observed her through the top of the tube. She flew off on her own after I backed away and this allowed another peek at her clutch of fragile white eggs (see below). Both parents dive bombed me during this attempt so I backed off and left them to their own.

I just checked Trailer 179 yesterday and the birds are still at it. She was so deeply surround by feathers that I failed to see her nestled within their folds. When she left I was unable to see whether the eggs had hatched (it takes around 14 days) and chose not to stick a probe down the tube and disturb things anymore than I already had.  One large heron feather was arched over the spot.

Fortunately the boat trailer will be parked in its present position for some time (the owner has his boat in the marina for the summer).  The nest is in no danger of becoming a mobile unit. We can safely watch the progress of these Trailer Swallows through to the end.

It’s not like I captured an Eyed Click Beetle just for the sake of showing it off to school children. The creature came to me. It was under my camera bag in the passenger side seat of the car. When I lifted the bag and saw a pair of pseudo eyes starring up at me from the seat, I assumed it was a gift from God. One does not take God-gifts lightly, so I took the creature and started to give it the naturalist’s once over (which means “looking, lensing, and liberating” – the three “L’s” that imply close observation, photography or hand lens work, and eventual release.)

I decided to waylay the last “L” step (muttering “what the “L”) when I realized that this thing would be a great show ‘n’ tell item for the multiple “Going Buggy” Kindergarten programs that were on my docket for the upcoming week. It was large and would perform on cue. That decision turned out to be 2/3rds of a good one, but I believe my next action might have strained my relation with God a bit. I looked at the car seat, where the camera bag had been, to see if there was a stack of hundred dollar bills that I might have overlooked. It was worth a try, but in retrospect I believe Moses got into trouble when he struck that rock a second time.

The Eyed Click Beetle is the largest member of the click tribe in the region. It is a large, nearly tropical sized, beetle which spends most of it’s time in the vicinity of rotten wood. All other click beetles are only around a ½ inch or so in length while this one is closer to an 1 1/2 long. The two large dark eye spots on the thorax are the features responsible for the name. The rest of the creature blends into its chosen background fairly well, but you can imagine how those “eyes” would take an attacking bird aback upon initial contact. The real eyes are rather small and located in the usual spot near the base of the antennas.

Not one to rely solely upon trickery, however, this beetle will take action in order to thwart any attacker.  It will instinctively draw in all appendages and begin to “click.” The action not only produces a loud snapping sound (frightening enough to a bird brain) but it often propels the beetle into the air like a tiddly-wink. Because the insect is encased in a hard shiny exoskeleton, those snapping moves also make it difficult to hold onto. You can watch this on the video here.

The clicking mechanism consists of a stout projection that extends from the bottom of the thorax onto a grooved shelf located between the second set of legs. When the beetle arches back, the end of the projection is forcibly pulled out of the groove and snaps down. About the only way I can explain it would be to have you put the tips of your middle finger and thumb together, stand on a stool, and pull the edge of your middle fingernail over that of your thumbnail. The resulting click will not only sound just like that made by the Eyed click Beetle but it will also give you an impression of how it feels. The stool standing part? Well, that is actually un-necessary but it sure made you look silly didn’t it!

As I mentioned earlier, I did bring this fantastic insect for my “Going Buggy” presentations. I had to do three in a row and the beetle performed admirably for the first two. I know from the looks in the eyes of the Kindergarteners before me that they were delighted (a live insect is so much more entertaining than one with a pin through its back). They could hear the click and watch it at the same time. I was smugly convinced that these little ones were learning a valuable lesson and that I – the educator – was doing my job to show them how accessible and interesting nature can be.

The third presentation started out as well as the first two but it appeared that the beetle was getting wise to my intentions. It locked into a planking position and slid about on the hard plastic bottom of the container as I tried to pick it up. In the process I managed to position one of my pointer fingers over the creature’s head and it bit me.

Now, mind you, this is a fairly large and powerful insect, so when that beetle clamped down and grabbed a piece of my skin it did so in a vice-grip manner. All this happened with my back to the crowd. I figured that I could pull it off and resume things normally.  The bite didn’t exactly hurt, but my attempts to pull the creature off were futile. I do believe that a piece of my fingertip would have been ripped off in the process. So, seeing that there was no recourse, I simply turned around and presented the beetle to the kids as it hung down from my finger.

Their reaction wasn’t quite what I expected as they recoiled at the thought that this thing was biting me. I assured them that it didn’t hurt, but still they backed away as I walked closer. The end came when the beetle finally released its grip and fell into the palm of my other hand. A rich red bead of blood appeared at the bite site before I could cover it up.  The children screamed and a few stood up and prepared to dash for the comfort of their parents in the back of the room. I calmed them down, told them it didn’t hurt, and continued with the “clicking” part of the show. But, it was too late. Instead of fascination, they all looked at the creature in horror – it not only ate humans but made a scary sound as well.

Unfortunately, I ended up releasing 30 small children from that classroom who will probably be scarred for life.  They will end up being exterminators. I liberated the beetle without malice and returned it to God’s tender care. I had paid for looking twice under that camera case.

I now know that I have at least four aquatic mammals in Dollar Lake. The muskrats are, by far, the most visible but there is ample beaver evidence at the south end of the lake to prove the existence of these large rodents. An occasional mink track reminds me of their presence as well. Up until this year, I was fairly certain that these three mammals made up the entire hairy contingent in “my” lake. This spring, however, a forth critter made itself known. Imagine my surprise when I spotted an otter gamboling about the waters off the end of the dock. I was otterly surprised.

River otters are large animals, so it is hard to understand how one had been present in Dollar Lake for the last three years without being spotted. An average male weighs around 25 pounds (a female comes in at around 15 pounds) and they range from 3-4 feet in length.  Because they tend to be nocturnal in habit, I guess it is very possible for a daytime human to overlook them.  In spite of the above reasons, I’m guessing that this individual was a newly arrived visitor (a wandering otter known as an ottermobile).  I’ve now spotted it over the course of the last several visits – usually towards late afternoon/early evening.

Otters are primarily fish eaters, so it is not a surprise that when I see him he is fishing. They do eat crayfish and prey upon an occasional muskrat or two, but fish are the mainstay diet for these hefty members of the weasel family. Dollar Lake is stocked with an abundant supply of small bullheads, perch, bluegill, and sunfish and in that regard it is an otter paradise.

When on the hunt, the first evidence of activity appeared as a bubble trail issuing to the surface. The trail twisted and turned with amazing velocity as the otter darted back and forth under the water in active pursuit of its prey.  The frothy evidence would often disappear and then suddenly re-appear, within the blink of an eye, at a point several yards away. According to the literature, these creatures can swim 7 mph and can stay submerged for up to 8 minutes.  They are as agile as the fish they are chasing.

I never saw the Dollar Lake Otter submerge for more than a minute at a time before the rounded head bobbed to the surface. More often than not he was chewing away on the last remnants of a finny meal and displaying a formidable set of teeth.

I never knew exactly where the thing would come to the surface and therefore had a very difficult time trying to get a decent picture of it. It would only remain exposed for a few seconds before diving again. My sole still photo for the first half of the month was a single shot of an otter butt slipping beneath the surface. The thick muscular tail was obvious in the shot, but little else. In this particular case, the beast slipped beneath the surface and didn’t re-appear until it was half-way across the lake and well beyond my camera range.

Fortunately, the swimmer presented itself later in the month for a series of twilight videos (see here).

Play is the key component of otter life. They are well known for their Disney-like antics and my otter displayed a bit of this playfulness as I was filming it.  At the end of a feeding sequence, it came up within a bed of lily pads. He purposely wrapped himself up in the stems and performed a few belly rolls before breaking free. The twilight hunt had been successful and the creature was apparently playing out some extra energy before taking a break.

This video evidence provided me the opportunity to at least share my otter amazement using something other than words and a single butt shot.