You might recall my previous postings about the Osprey pair that built a magnificent nest near Estral Beach last year. The couple led a successful domestic life for the season and then headed to South America for the winter. This is the way of Osprey life.

There is no locking up of the “old place” when leaving and no certainty that it will still be standing upon their return.  In fact, there is no certainty that it will be their place upon their return – even if it remains intact. Great horned Owls are infamous for taking over large nests since they do not build their own structures. They start their nesting in mid-winter and therefore gain squatting rights over what are essentially abandoned nests. There are frequent accounts of these great Owls horning in on existing Osprey nests. This occupation is not contested by the returning Ospreys who immediately seek alternate nest sites.  This is also part of Osprey life.

This season our dedicated Estral Beach Ospreys were unceremoniously booted from their original nest by honkers as opposed to hooters. As unlikely as it may seem, a pair of Canada Geese have claimed the lofty pad and they are now “in a family way.” I suppose it is naturally legal for geese to do what owls do, but there must be some sort of code violation involved.  The sight of a lone female goose sitting atop a giant tree nest is certainly an odd fit. She can be seen peering nervously over the edge at anyone who pauses beneath the nest.  I would say hers is the look is of “guilt” but everyone knows that geese do not have any such emotion (they could not live with themselves if they did)

This is not a unique situation. There are plenty of examples where geese have taken over Osprey nests. This is the first time I’ve ever seen such a thing, however, and thus the reason why I am bringing it to your attention.

At issue in this case was the fate of the now homeless ospreys. The dauntless pair returned to find a fertilizer dispenser in possession of their nest and did what they are hard-wired to do – they immediately sought another location. Never mind that they are physically capable of tearing the goose apart and tossing the bloody shreds to the wind. That is not the Osprey way.

Unfortunately, the birds innocently started to build their new nest atop a transformer on a nearby pole and this created a potential problem with the DTE energy people.  The goose was looking even guiltier as it appeared that the ospreys would have to be evicted yet again. People finally stepped into the picture but the final answer did not involve a shotgun (unfortunately, I might add).

One of the humans involved was USFWS Biologist Greg Norwood (the nest site is adjacent to a unit of the Detroit River International Wildlife Refuge). Greg filled me in on what happened next. “The whole thing started on the Monday the 16^th” he said “when the Ospreys built their new nest on the transformers.” He, along with the folks from DTE, “had to drop everything” and come up with a solution.  What these folks did was simply amazing.

DTE’s Jason Cousineau came up with a ready-made Osprey nest platform and the power company’s crew stuck a Yellow Pine telephone pole into the ground on the refuge land adjacent to the goosified nest.  The platform was secured into place and the whole thing was ready to go by Friday the 20^th.  The Ospreys took to this structure as if it was made just for them (which it was, but that is beside the point). By the time I drove up to the scene the birds were diligently working on their new nest and looked very much at home. One can only hope the rest of the season goes smoothly for them.

As for the goose, who watched the whole affair from “her” nest, I can only hope that she remains ignorant of guilty feelings (such a thing would tear up a nobler beast).  I would like to be there when her fat little goslings have to leap from the nest and plunge 50 feet to the ground. Wood Duck ducklings do this all the time, but geese are not Wood Ducklings. We will see if goslings bounce.

Yeah, I know. Seeing Wild Turkeys is nothing special these days. It is even more  “un-specialer”when you are talking about Northern Michigan. NOT seeing wild turkeys is probably a more reportable subject. Because of this I have long resisted the temptation to feature turkeys on my blog expect to focus on the rare occasion when I am able to capture them doing something different.  I’ve yet to see any doing the Tango on a barn roof or playing rugby.  Strutting turkeys are spectacular, so I am always on the look-out for this behavior. I attempted to show you some courting turkeys last year in this blog, but my shots were taken from a quarter mile away. They were admittedly of Loch Ness Monster quality.

The peak of the gobbling season – when the males puff up, fan out their feathers, and gobble incessantly for the benefit of the gals – can begin as early as February and runs through May. The birds commence their courtship while they are still concentrated into their wintering areas. Late April- early May is the peak time.

Because this is the prime courting time, my eye has been peeled for turkey gangs. I came upon some strutting spring Gobblers near West Branch the other day and, because I actually was able to view these dandies at a fairly close distance, and (this is a big AND) because the day was clear and the angle of the morning sun was just right, I was able to both see them and photograph them.  So (he continues un-necessarily) I bring them to you. These fowl delivered a slight twist on the usual story, however.

There were at two Toms performing for the benefit of a half dozen hens in this cluster. There was a bit of gobbling going on, but the dance was fairly quiet. The two males were paralleling each other as they strutted and fanned – they were never more than a few feet apart. In fact it was hard to get a picture of one without getting the other in the viewfinder.Wing tips dragging on the ground and tails fully fanned, the two stepped forward with measured military precision. Their heads were held back to display their bright blue and red fleshy wattles and “snoods” (the floppy projection that drapes over the beak). As impressed as I personally was with the show, there was something amateurish about the dancing Toms and the hens quickly became uninterested. They started to file away toward the brush and left the guys to follow meekly behind (see below).

I noticed several things about these gents. Mature Toms normally have prominent beards – those bristly tufts that project from the mid-line of the chest.  The display posture (chest out) is meant to highlight this feature. These two birds had very short beards which barely made it out past the layer of chest feathers. They also had very short spurs on their legs. Mature birds have spurs in excess of 1 inch while these spurs barely qualified as nubs. In short, we were dealing with a pair of dorks here.

The un-equal tail feathers were probably the most obvious dork feature. You’ll note in the pictures and movie (here) that the central tail feathers were much longer than the rest. The outer feathers were ragged and worn looking. This feature became apparent when the fans were fully displayed. Young turkeys don’t fully molt their tail feathers until they have reached their 2^nd autumn.  The molting process proceeds from the inside out which means that the new central feathers come in first and the full complement of tail feathers are not replaced until late in their sophomore year.  In other words, an unequal tail indicates a bird in it’s first Spring. These fellows were barely out of the Freshman class.

The sight of a puffed out Wild Turkey is a spectacular thing even if if all the feathers and bling aren’t all in place. These guys looked like Thanksgiving candles and the sight was satisfying enough. Probably the only reason I was able to approach them so closely was because they were inexperienced. Thanks for the show, Boys, and good luck with the chicks and the frustrated hormones.

My first introduction to the Golden Dung Fly was out on the windy Pointe Mouillee dikes.  Perhaps it goes without saying, but I was not seeking them (one can’t seek what one is ignorant of, one can only discover). I wandered slightly off the path to look at a dancing cloud of midges (something I was not ignorant of, but still not seeking). I crouched down and “discovered” that I was hovering over the dried carcass of a muskrat. The critter was little more than a flattened piece of rawhide with some feet and a tail sticking out. It didn’t smell due to the persistent easterly breeze and the fact that I was east of the dead ‘rat.

The skin was populated by a half-dozen large flies and they immediately grabbed my attention.  To heck with the dancing midges, I thought, these carcass flies were much more engaging. They were big, bold, and covered with a bright golden fleece. Dare I say it, but they were almost pretty (I’d say “cute” but that would probably trouble many of you beyond reason and cause you to abandon this post).  These yellow fellows were very active as well.

I spent a grand total of ten minutes observing these flies. Their activity consisted of jumping at, and over, each other like kids playing hopscotch. O.K., I realize that comparing children to carcass flies may seem a bit insensitive, but I suspect the flies probably wouldn’t take too much exception to that comparison. Never once did they feed on the carcass or enter into its oily crevasses – as small children would invariably do. The reason for this became obvious after I later researched them. In spite of their name, Golden Dung Flies don’t really eat dead stuff or even dung, for that matter. Dung flies feed on other flies that do eat dung and dead stuff!  Ladies and gentlemen allow me to introduce you to the Golden Dung Fly.

Now don’t get me wrong, now, these flies are all about dung and smelly things and every phase of their life revolves around it.  Their scientific name, Scathophaga stercoraria, pretty well sums this up. It means, through a combination of Latin and Greek words for dung, “poop loving poop beast.” It is like naming your child Poopy Crap McDung. It is recorded that these guys prefer the dung of horses and cows (or “pats” as they are euphemistically called). The adults feed on other flies visiting the pats, although they have also been known to ingest pollen from time to time.

One of the scientifically significant things about Golden Dung flies is that they have long been studied for their mating practices. The males and females gather at the smelly places, eat, and then mate with each other.  There is usually quite a bit of aggressive competition between males for mating rights. The study part involves a mechanism within the female which allows her to store the male sperm and selectively control the fertilization process. Sexy, eh?

Regardless of where she was impregnated, the female then lays her eggs in a choice fresh pile of pat. The larvae emerge and burrow through the waste seeking other insect larvae to feed upon. So, there you have it, even the kids don’t eat the waste- they just play in it. After 21 days, they pupate and later emerge as the golden hairy flies shown in these pictures.

I do believe that enough has been said regarding the Golden Dung Fly without beating a dead horse – or a dead muskrat. When next you encounter a putrid pat or carcass rare, seek the golden-fleeced fly and embrace it (mentally that is).

I was never of fan of 70’s rock – either during the 70’s or now – but I could not resist borrowing a Deep Purple line for this blog title. It fit so well and like, man, it is a groovy thing when art meets nature. Smoky yellow clouds of tree pollen are landing on the still marsh waters and creating wonderful swirled patterns on the surface. There is smoke on the water and in the air.

This is a good time of year to think about tree pollen because it is everywhere. Not all of it is bad for you but a good part of it (that is, the part that isn’t landing on the water) is travelling into your nostrils and travelling deep into your head.  It originates from numerous forms of tiny tree flowers, but most of the smoky water coating pollen comes from two wetland loving trees – Black Alder and Cottonwood.

Both of these trees produce their flowers on catkins. They are prompted by the warmth of spring to open up,  expose their flowers, and shed their pollen.  It is a form of “letting one’s hair down” I suppose. Only the male flowers produce pollen, so if you are in a sneezy mood you need to place blame on the masculine side of the picture.

It is easy to tell the boy from the girl flowers on a Cottonwood tree because the boys wear red dangling ear-rings (above) and the females wear green ones that eventually turn to fluff. This is a horribly simplified view of things, but as a horribly simple person I find no problem with a statement like that. Cottonwood trees are either male or female (“He said/She said” plants or “diecious” if you are a stickler for term accuracy). The male trees are now holding out their reddish catkins for the world to see. They are shedding cascades of tiny pollen grains into the air.

Cottonwood pollen grains are perfectly round and have a crackled surface. They look like Jovian moons when viewed under high magnification. On the water surface they look like yellow smoke, but you already know that.

The larger portion of that yellow water smoke, however, is contributed by the Black Alder trees.  Immigrants to our neck of the woods, these trees are among the first pollen shedders in our area. Both the male and female flowers are found on the same tree (“He-she trees” or “monecious” if you are a stickler for term accuracy). The dangling pollen-shedding catkins (see below) are male while the delicate feminine flowers are encased within cone-like structures.

Alders are world class pollen shedders because they produce so many flowers. In one study, it was determined that an average Black Alder produced some 7,300 catkins per tree. Each catkin had an average of 580 flowers in it.  That makes for around a gazillion flowers per tree (rounded off, of course). Each catkin produces over 19,500,000 pollen grains. The catkins are so pollen-laden that even after they fall from the tree they still leave worm-like pollen marks on the ground (see below).

Alder pollen grains are slightly smaller than Cottonwood grains buy a few micrometers (a micrometer is 1×10⁻⁶ of a meter or “super eensy-weensy” if you are still insisting on technical talk).  These grains look like stuffed Ravioli pasta with dimples at each corner (most have four dimples, while others have five or six). Perhaps the most telling of Alder facts is the estimated pollen poundage per tree. Based on that same afore-mentioned study each tree can produce an average of 884 grams of pollen per season. That’s nearly two pounds of pollen dumped into the wind per tree per season.

Although I couldn’t track down the pollen figures as they relate to the Cottonwood, you can safely imagine that we are also talking in terms of poundage per tree. That means lots of smoke on the water and lots of itchy eyes, wheezing, and dripping humans. For allergy sufferers this excess love dust is like “fire in the sky.”

NOTE: I don’t show you any images of pollen grains, but can refer you to the sculpture work of Jo Golesworthy to get an idea of what they look like. This artist produces giant pollen sculptures that any hay fever sufferer would love to have in their garden.

These warm spring days have lured out a host of hibernating people and insects. Commas, Question Marks, and Mourning Cloak butterflies have been flitting about since early March, and queen Paper Wasps have joined in the seasonal pageant – primed to set up their monarchies.  Lots of large hairy flies have crawled out from under “bark and stone” seeking putrid refreshment. Large hairy men, sporting tank tops, have also been spotted mowing their lawns already. Ah, spring.

Ladybugs – or Ladybird Beetles if you please – are among the creatures venturing forth as adults. They hibernate in crevices, under leaf litter, or in house attics and become active at the first warmth of spring.  Most members of this beetle clan are orange with multiple black spots and they are easily identified as ladybugs by large hairy men and small hairless children alike.  The number of spots can be baffling, however. They can range in number from none to 20 or so. Asian Ladybugs are especially varied and no two look exactly alike.  The morbidly named Twice-stabbed Ladybug takes this spot-madness even further. By being jet black with two red spots, they reverse the usual color combination. At least they are consistently two-spotted.

 The name of this particular Ladybug is appropriate. The scientific name has the term “stigma” as the species name. This literally means “spot or mark,” but the word is more often associated with wounds (the “stigmata” of Christ, for instance).  

 Speaking of Twice-stabbed Beetles, I’ve noticed something.  At present, there is hardly a Red Maple tree that doesn’t have at least a few of these black shiny critters crawling about on the sunny side of the trunk. I don’t believe this is because I am looking only at Red maple trees, but because these things are truly clustering there. There is a tight association of Twice-Stabbed Beetles with Red Maples. I have a guess as to why that is so. Ladybugs are predators, so it’s not about feeding on the tree buds or leaves, but instead it is about feeding on the other tree pests. Cottony Maple Scales, tiny relatives of the aphid, are known to infest Red Maples and Ladybugs – especially Crucified ones- are well known scale eaters. So, they are seeking Cotton Candy there upon the Red Maple trees and saving the world for you and me.

 You’ll note the rhyme in the previous sentence. That just came off of my fingers as they flew across the keys. Ladybugs will do that to a person. Perhaps you’ve heard “Ladybug, ladybug fly away home.  Your house is on fire and your children will burn (except little Nan who sits in a pan weaving gold thread as fast as she can”). As usual, ladybug verse is both odd and arbitrary. There are more, but since I am talking about a two-spotted critter here it would be best to concentrate strictly on spot legends (see spot, see spot run, run large hairy man run).

 Ladybug spots have long been the subject of a whole host of stupid legends. For instance, if a woman sits on one accidently, the number of spots on the squashed bug will indicate the number of children she will bear.  There is nothing about age in this particular legend, so we wonder if it is possible for a 97 year old to have twins? Another tale relates the falsehood that if a ladybug falls onto a farmer’s shoulder, the number of spots on that individual will predict the success of the harvest. If the critter has less than 7 spots then the harvest will be good. If more than seven spots then death, destruction, and famine will follow. I would advise all you farmers out there to stand under a Red Maple Tree.

 In truth, those red spots on the stark black background of the Twice-stabbed Ladybug serve as a warning to all potential predators that the bearer is nasty tasting.  In other words “heed this warning and save yourself the trouble of eating me. I will make you sick.” This negative advertising insures that a wandering “bug” can stay alive along as it avoids feminine hind ends, third stabbings, and large hairy men in tank tops.

There are quite a few cavity nesting birds in Michigan but few of them, other than woodpeckers and their kin, are equipped to excavate their own places. Wood Ducks are a classic case in point.  They are ducks with duck beaks and not ducks with woodpecker beaks yet they nest in tree holes. Let’s add bluebirds, tree swallows, wrens, kestrels, screech owls and a host of other cavity nesters that are ill-equipped to do woodwork of any kind.  All of the above are entirely dependent upon woodpeckers, rot, gnashing squirrels, and handy humans to produce their hollow homes.

Chickadees are cavity nesters as well, but they do not belong on the previous list of unsuitable carpenters. It is a surprising fact of nature that these tiny dynamos can – and often do – excavate their own nest holes. They have tiny beaks suited for insect grabbing and this appears to be a major evolutionary problem. After-all, wood excavators need powerful chisel-like beaks and re-enforced skulls in order to do their job and stay healthy while doing it. Sending a Chickadee out to do this type of work would be like putting the kicker in as a linebacker against 300 pound opponents. It would all be over in seconds with a flattened kicker, or a smash-faced chickadee, on the field.

Somehow, chickadees seem to manage the impossible. Actually they have found a way to get around the impossible (letting the 300 pounder motor past and tripping him up, you could say). I recently watched a pair of these black and white birds working on a nest cavity and found myself admiring the process (watch short movie here).  Their chosen site was a Hawthorn stub broken off about six feet from the ground.  The snag itself was partially rotten – which is key to this type of Chickadee peck-work. These birds can’t possibly chip away at hard wood but can make do with firm rotten wood.

They were working a spot about 6 inches from the top and had opened up an entrance about 1 inch in diameter by the time I came upon the scene. A brief check of the literature (I don’t like to make everything up!) revealed that most Black-capped Chickadee holes are located within 10 inches of the stub tip. I would assume that this is the place where the wood is punkiest, so it makes sense in that regard. Oddly enough, these birds don’t show any preference for orientation – they place the hole where ever it is easiest to make. Yes, I read that also.

Taking turns, each bird worked the hole for about 5 minutes before yielding to their mate.  The improbable woodpeckers flew down to the hole, braced themselves with a wide stance, and then directed measured blows at the wood. Their action was like that of an ice pick – repetitive but not spastic. Wood chips were mostly tossed to the side and larger chunks were carried off. The act of carrying off one of these larger pieces appeared to be the signal for the other bird to come forward.

In between sessions the birds sat around for a minute, as if shaking off a headache (see above), before starting to seek food.  Once, when one of the birds returned to work, he (or she?) started on the wrong location – the actual end of the stub – and pecked at if for a half-dozen blows before realizing its mistake and dropping down to the correct hole.

I do believe I was witness to a case of Chickadee fatigue in that case. The chickadees stopped soon after this incident and left after 20 minutes of hard work. Their labors resulted in a cavity with the entrance defined and an internal space of only about ¾ of an inch. It was a good start, but only a start. Being so ill-equipped for the job they will spread the labor out over an extended period of time.  This is about the only thing that these animated birds do that can be considered slow. The job will get done but it will be on Chickadee time.

Just in case you need another sign of impending spring (other than Peepers, Chorus Frogs, Honeysuckle leaflets, tornado warnings etc.) the Wood Ducks are now seeking out their nest holes. I know this because I happened upon a pair sizing up a tree cavity on the north bank of Swan Creek. When I first spotted these birds they were perched on a dead limb.  They weren’t doing anything per se, except a lot of nervous head-bobbing. There was a hole in the trunk below and they soon directed their attentions to it.

Wood ducks are called such because they nest in tree holes and the hunt for suitable sites takes place as soon as the birds arrive back. Both the male and female birds are involved in the real estate hunt, but it is the female that makes all the decisions (of course).   It is she who was reared in the immediate area and she who will eventually incubate the eggs on her own, so it is her house. The male is there only to provide a little color and the biological contribution that insures that the nest will have eggs.  He has nothing to say in regards to the final choice (which is why he has that perpetual “yes dear, no dear” look).

Her requirements are fairly tight. Wood Ducks seek holes that are at least 4 inches across at the entrance, 6-8 inches in the interior and around 24 inches in depth. Granite countertops are not essential but the doorway should be well off the ground (20 – 40 feet).  A vertically facing entrance is also preferred and that was the only feature of this hole that I could verify.

The hen flipped off the branch, dove for the cavity, and poked her head in for a look.  The drake stood watch on an adjacent limb. His attention was focused on me. His ruby red eyes virtually burned a hole in my direction. Unfortunately, I was not the only potential fly in this domestic scene. A pair of frantic starlings – birds less than a third of his size – were darting back and forth. They had also staked ownership to this cavity and were attempting to keep these house-hunters out. Their actions were ineffective, however, and hen entered the hole without pause and stayed inside for the duration of my observation time– a good sign that she approved the set-up.

There was nothing that the Starlings could really do about it except hope (and pray, if indeed birds do such a thing) that the cavity would prove unacceptable.  Ours is not to feel sorry for them. Starlings, even though small of body, are large on aggression and they are one of the biggest competitors for tree cavities. For those folks who put out Wood duck Boxes, keeping these pesky birds away is a serious challenge. I read about one earnest Wisconsinite who resorted to hanging dead starlings around the entrance as a morbid warning to any new interlopers.  We are not sure how this action affected the Wood Ducks, but it apparently didn’t have any affect on the Starlings what-so-ever (a satisfying idea, though!).

For a few tense moments, the drake stood guard over the west side of the tree and one of the Starlings stood his place on the east side (see above). The Woodie grew increasingly nervous about my presence and finally opted to take a flight down to Swan Creek and keep guard from a safe distance. To his credit, he whined out a few warning calls before departing his loved one. Perhaps he told her to stay in the hole until I went away or informed her of the persistent Starling standing vulture over the hole.  I should say that he “suggested” the above actions because drake Woodies are not the master of their house.

I will keep an eye on this domestic situation and see how it plays out.

I recently attended a conference at Michigan State University which highlighted the latest and greatest in Great Lakes research. Just to prove that I actually was paying attention, I wanted to bring you a simplified version of one of the papers. This gathering of minds showcased current work in the field of ecology, geo-morphology, chemistry, and something else which I’ve already forgotten. There was a lot of talk about detecting Asian Carp DNA in the Chicago water system and the dynamics of drowned river mouths (bet you didn’t know that rivers could drown, eh?) etc. Not all of it was stimulating, but all was potentially interesting to at least someone in the room at any given time.

The one that really stuck in my gray matter was a paper titled “The Invasive Spiny Water Flea: Disrupting Great Lakes Food Webs through Eating and Scaring Zooplankton Prey – Scott Peacor, Associate Professor, Department of Fisheries and Wildlife, Michigan State University, East Lansing.” I assumed that there was a typo which converted “Scarring” into “Scaring” – after all un-eaten prey are often scarred, right? You know, that torn ear or rump scar resulting from a failed attack. Although it was hard to visualize how this could possibly affect population dynamics (possibly rump scars are a turn-off for reproductive efforts or something?)

Well, this clever title turned out to be exactly as printed. It really was about how a dangerous new invader called the Spiny Water Flea (Bythotrephes longimanus) both consumes and scares the living daylights out of their prey species. These Water Fleas hitch-hiked into our regional waters from central Asia. They are one of the many hundreds of invasives that have wreaked havoc on the ecological systems of our Great Lakes. Unfortunately we already had a host of native water fleas here when this foreigner arrived. Not only are these natives in great danger, they are apparently suffering from PTSD as well.

                                                                                                                                                             Spiny Water Flea

Spiny Fleas look as nasty as they sound. Their dominant feature is an exceedingly long spine – a spine with smaller spines upon it, as a matter of fact (see my drawing above). Although only about half an inch long in total body length, most of this length is given over to this needle-like appendage. With a tail like that, our native fish are less than enthusiastic about eating them. The Spiny Water Flea, however, is very enthusiastic about eating any critter smaller than itself. High on that menu list are plant-eating water fleas called Daphnia. None of these guys are actually “fleas”, by the way, they are members of a crustacean group called the Cladocerans (a late 1960’s folk group that once played with Pete Seeger?)

Scott Peacor specifically studied the effect of Bathotrephes on Daphnia. Without taking any of his thunder, allow me to summarize what he found out. Spiny Water Fleas are visual predators equipped with a single huge eye. They need good light in order to track down their prey and generally keep to the upper waters during the day. Historically, Daphnia are also light-loving creatures that try to spend as much time as possible in those same well-lit upper waters. When the two populations collide, the Spiny Water Fleas tend to get fat and the Daphnia tend to get gone. This was pretty much already known and Peacor re-verified it in his study, but he also wondered what happened to those Daphnia that got away. Did they eventually learn to stay out of the upper waters?

In short, the answer was yes. Not all of them did, but a majority switched their routine so that they spent the daylight hours in the cold dark deeper waters and only returned to the surface at night when their new-found predator can’t see them. So, you could say that the living daylights were literally scared out of the Daphnia. You’d think this was a totally successful anti-predator tactic, but those scared shadow-seeking Daphina failed to thrive and eventually become pin-heads (my words not his). They didn’t reproduce well and their population plummeted. It can be assumed that the same thing is happening in nature. They are damned if they do and if they don’t -or “doubly screwed” if you want to put it in commoner style tongue.

Speaking of simplifying, I was inspired to draw up a cartoon that summarized the whole feeling of Scott’s talk. It is the very one that appears above. I sent my impromptu cartoon to the researcher, Scott Peacor, on the outside chance he might want to tape it on his door or use it for a future PowerPoint. He graciously wrote me back and said that he loved it and will use it. He was especially impressed at how I made the Daphnia looked so scared.

For those who are wondering, I did not draw the cartoon as I watched the conference. I paid full attention, although I must admit to spending an inordinate amount of time mulling over how I could make the starry-eyed Daphnia look scared.

Ruddy Ducks are a prominent winter feature of life on the lower Detroit River. Sizable flocks of these compact little waterfowl raft about the icy waters along with coots, canvasbacks and merganser species.  Most of the North American population winters along the Gulf of Mexico, but a few hardy souls stick out the “r” months here at the glorious mouth of the Straits.

I recently came upon one of these tightly bundled Ruddy flocks in the protected bay formed by Sturgeon Bar Island at Lake Erie Metropark. There was a bright eastern breeze and the birds were resting.  Normally they would be actively diving for wild celery tubers and invertebrates –disappearing and bobbing to the surface like so many fishing bobbers with fish attached! But they were huddled against the cold on this day. Being round little things to begin with, when in the resting pose they look even “rounderer” because they throw their heads over the center of their backs and tuck their beaks under the scapular feathers. Eyes closed, and gently rolling with the waves, they look like fishing bobbers without the fish attached (to stretch an already over-stretched analogy). One writer likened them to Rubber Duckies (dark rubber duckies) and I agree.

Apart from being chunky, the position of their tail is a dead….er, a live… giveaway to their identity (given the future course of this essay perhaps I shouldn’t say the word “dead”). Members of a world group known as the “stiff-tailed ducks,” Ruddys indeed have stiff woodpecker-like tails which they tend to hold upright.  There was a good mix of males and females in this flock. All were in somber winter plumage, but the bright white cheek patches in the group highlighted the male birds. They will take on a bright orange ruddy color (thus the name) and a spectacularly sky blue bill as Spring draws nearer (nearerer?). The mottled females had secondary stripes running across their cheek patches. They will never look any better than they already do (because they already look great – right guys?).

My presence didn’t agitate them too much, but the whole flock moved to the far side of the bay upon spotting me. I had that happen at a party once, but I’m sure it was due to the kid behind me. Some (of the birds) merely adjusted their bobbing course with a few discreet foot maneuvers without even lifting their heads. Others launched into a short running flight along the surface. Ruddys cannot burst from the water like mallards, and other puddle ducks, and have to literally run across the water before take-off. In this case they only ran for about 20 feet in order to put distance between them and the human.

                                                  Look out! It’s those Nazi bird watchers again!!

This whole encounter got me to thinking how this relatively mild interaction would have played out in another part of the world. In Europe, you see, Ruddys are the enemy. Apparently some specimens escaped a captive English collection many years ago and established a wild breeding population in the early 1950’s. The ruddy hellions have spread to the continent and there is now a concerted effort to stop the wild population from spreading. There have been organized culls meant to kill as many as possible. You may wonder how much of a problem these goofy looking little ducks could possibly be. Why would anyone want to stop a Rubber Duckie?

The answer to the above question hinges on the fact that Ruddy Ducks are not native to Europe. They appear to be replacing the native member of the stiff-tailed clan called the White-faced Duck. According to biologists, the White-faces are already an imperiled species due to marsh draining and development. They exist only in isolated pockets from southern Spain, to the Middle East and Russia. Because the Ruddys can mate with and produce viable offspring with White-faced Ducks (they are members of the same genus) they are threatening to dilute the gene pool and possible wipe out the native type. In other words they are out-competing the natives directly and indirectly.

We in North America are used to this alien species scenario as it relates to some invasive European plants and animals on or turf, but give little thought to the reverse scenario of the ugly American in Europe. It’s not the Ruddy Duck’s fault, but it is a great problem- and one without a clean answer better than culling. Unfortunately there are groups that are against all efforts to curb the invasive Ruddys. As usual, these groups display extreme emotion for their reasoning. One of them, called Animal Aide, even goes so far as to claim that this is “killing in the name of blood purity” and that it is intended to “weed out misfits and defectives” just like what “went on in the 1930’s.”  All this is for the benefit of “Bird-watching Bigots”, they say.

Wow, them in some incendiary words. Someone needs to sit in a nice warm tub with a rubber duckie and calm down.

At any rate, I thought it was interesting to glimpse a global view of what appeared to be a purely regional thing. The good news is that Ruddy Ducks here on this side of the pond are loved and appreciated. They belong here in the winter river.  Although they are hunted during the brief fall waterfowl season, Ruddys are not subject to any pressure for most of the year and they are thriving. We bird-watching bigots can enjoy them for what they are.

I’m certain that thousands of folks have ventured to Brookside Cemetery in Tecumseh, MI this winter. There’s a lot to see and do in this quaint little town, but the burial ground has been the happening place as of late. Although a precious few may have been seeking solace there among the dead, most were actually out-of-towners in search of the living. As soon as a flock of White-winged Crossbills showed up on the rambling grounds, a flock of two-legged White-winged Crossbill watchers soon followed.  I was part of that human flock.

These peculiar little finches are winter visitors from the high northern taiga forests. Their appearance in Lower Michigan created a mild stir among birders and photographers. Crossbills regularly extend their winter range down to this neck of the woods, but such “irruptions” (as they are called) are undependable and sporadic.  A few years back they were even seen in cemeteries throughout NW Ohio and beyond. Why cemeteries? One might wonder if there is some creepy fascination with ancestor worship involved! The answer, however, lays not with what is below the ground at such places but what is growing above it – lots of evergreen trees.  Crossbills are evergreen seed specialists and the mature stands of spruce and hemlock found at places like Brookside Cemetery offer a rich source of food.

When I went, there were about 12 individuals twittering about the Hemlock trees – two of them were human and the rest were avian.  The birds were bunched into a tight flock (and the humans arranged in a loose flock around them). At first appearance the crossbills looked more like house sparrows because they were hopping around on the ground among the headstones.

Close examination revealed them to be a vari-colored bunch. Some -the male birds -were speckled with rose, orange, and off-yellow patches on their breast, back and rump. The female birds were yellowish olive and streaked with brown. All had the typical forked finch tail (say that three times) and all had two prominent wing bars. The wing marks, of course, are responsible for the common American name, although in Europe they are known as Two-barred Crossbills just to be contrary.  Yes, the Euro-name is actually better than ours, but let’s not make a big deal out of it.

In spite of the Europeans, the Crossbill part of the name is universal across the northern globe. There really is nothing else to call these things. Their bills are definitely crossed. This feature is unique among the vast array of bill oddities found in the bird world. Only a half dozen bird species have it and they are all finches in the crossbill clan.  In the case of the White-winged Crossbills, their lower mandibles project well out to the side and the tips do not meet – they are not even close.  This asymmetric feature goes against most evolutionary trends but it is not at cross-purposes with evolution. This is a perfect adaptation for prying open cones. The smaller billed White-winged Crossbills are adapted to feeding on the smaller cones of black spruce, white spruce, tamarack, and hemlock.

When a crossbill approaches a cone (while hanging upside down or while on a loose cone on the ground) it inserts the open beak into the space between the scales and moves the lower (the crooked) mandible sideways. This widens the gap and frees the seeds which are scooped out with the tongue or with a sweeping action of the severely hooked upper bill.  In the amount of time it takes to read those last few sentences a competent crossbill can pluck out two or three seeds. A slow crossbill could probably do 1. An un-crossed bill would be lucky to get .5 of a seed. In other words, these birds are really good at what they are designed to do. It has been estimated that they can extract over 3,000 seeds per day. Hemlock cones and seeds are very tiny (see below) , so it takes a lot to get a lot out of them.

There is one more amazing Crossbill fact that I’d like to fling at you before we leave these cemetery birds alone. The direction of the lower bill varies between individual birds. Some are right-handed (with the bill crossing to the right) and others are left-handed (with the bill crossing to the left). There are far more right-handed White-winged Crossbills than left handed ones.  In fact, the ratio is 3:1. This is not the case with other crossbill species. It doesn’t seem to impart any advantage one way or the other, so it is probably a random matter of genes.

Dorsal view of left-handed and right-handed crossbills

Soon all the lefties and righties will depart for the northland. We’ll have to wait another year or two before we get a chance to see another one at our local cemetery. In the meantime, please Rest in Peace er…, wait a minute…perhaps that was not the best thing to say.