A photographic amble through a prairie marsh

Battelle Darby Metro Park, as seen from Google Earth. This is just a snippet of the sprawling 7,000 acre park, but this patch is my favorite spot. It is a recently restored wet prairie, and the transformation from barren croplands to vibrant prairie has been remarkable to watch.

A few times a year, I'll get here and always take the "Teal Trail", as outlined in red. It's about a mile and three-quarter hike, and passes by great habitat. I always find interesting animals along this path, and today was no exception.

Fog-enshrouded prairie just before sunrise. A distant pair of duetting great horned owls and a pack of singing coyotes provided the soundtrack. Lapland longspurs were passing overhead, giving their melodious whistles and dry rattles, and a pair of northern harriers was hunting the meadow.

While shooting animals was my main mission, the early morning light and fog was just too beautiful to not fully drink in, so I grabbed 16-35mm and 70-200mm lenses (Canon, of course), and set out to make some images of the landscape. It was still too dark for good animal photography work, anyway.

Last time I was in this spot - many months prior - cattails were starting to dominate this marsh. Not now. Muskrats have stepped up to the plate and opened the marsh back up. Their conical lodges were quite conspicuous, and so were the aquatic mammals as they swam about harvesting plant material and mud as they labored on their lodges.

After taking this shot, I returned to the vehicle for some heavy artillery: my tripod-mounted Canon 800mm lens linked to the Canon 5D IV, and attached to a Black Rapid strap around my neck was the Canon 5DSR and 500mm f/4 lens. The latter setup is so light it can easily be handheld for birds in flight, or that are within the 800's minimum focusing distance of 19 feet. The Black Rapid strap makes carrying a camera much easier, even a fairly heavy one. It distributes the weight in a balanced manner, and takes all the pressure off the toter's neck and shoulders. More about these straps HERE.

While gear like that isn't cheap, the big telephotos are worth their weight in gold when stalking wildlife. My main game when out on solo missions like this is to try and locate the quarry before they see me, or at least approach subjects in a way that doesn't overly disturb them and allows me to get fairly close. With big lenses one doesn't have to get too near, and thus the critters will often go about their business as they normally would. This always leads to better shots, and is better for the critters.

A muskrat melds glop from the marsh bottom into his lodge. When it dries, it will help anchor the cattail bulwark in place. The industrious little beast made about a trip every two minutes, returning with construction material.

Muskrats are much maligned (like chipmunks), and that's a shame. Much of the vitriol directed at them is due to problems they create with people's structures, such as dikes. Muskrat can be enthusiastic tunnelers and over time their burrows can undermine levees. But in the big picture these mammals are an important part of a mixed-emergent marsh community and a keystone species. Their handiwork creates diversity in a wetland's plant community, thus increasing habitat diversity. This in turn spawns a spike in the abundance and diversity of other animals, everything from dragonflies to ducks. And it's no mystery why mink abound here - the large weasels prey on muskrat.

A muskrat takes a well-earned break, chewing on a cattail tuber at the base of his gargantuan lodge.

I was hoping for waterfowl, but we haven't yet had a big push into this area. All I saw was a smattering of mallards, northern shovelers, gadwall, ring-necked ducks, and a few other species. This is a pair of trumpeter swans, and I must confess I wasn't overly thrilled to see them. Our Division of Wildlife began an ambitious introduction program in 1996, and the birds are clearly taking hold and expanding. There's no indisputable evidence that trumpeters ever bred in this region, and as we've all learned by the disastrous introduction of "giant" Canada geese to areas where they didn't historically nest, large fowl can run amok and quickly become semi-domesticated. We shall see how the swan saga plays out, but I will not be surprised in the least if problems eventually arise. All that aside, trumpeters are spectacular birds, and their throaty bugles provide interesting aural ambience to the marshscape.

Sparrows abounded in the marsh and prairie, including plenty of song sparrows like this one. Swamp sparrows were at least equally numerous, and small flocks of American tree sparrows harvested grain from the prairie grasses.

I had already heard the harsh chaks of two marsh wrens when I encountered this aggressive little fellow. He took umbrage to my presence and followed me along the trail for a good 100 feet, cursing me in wren-speak from the dense cattails. As is typical of these feathered busybodies, he mostly kept to the dense growth but did reveal himself a few times and I was ready.

The spot where I shot this marsh wren was a goldmine. A late common yellowthroat popped up, and sparrows were everywhere. A quick movement down the trail materialized into a mink, which briefly bounded down the path in its slinky-like gait. Longspurs whistled overhead and as a finale, a merlin rocketed low over the marsh, spotted me and juked slightly off to the west, depriving me of possible photos. No worries, I was mostly interested in my diminutive but sassy stub-tailed wren.

By now, temperatures were in the low 40's, sluggish western chorus frogs and spring peepers slowly creaked out their songs, and, amazingly, a few fall field crickets and striped ground crickets were attempting to sing. Four hours had already passed by, and it was time to head for home.

Patch of prairie outperforms lawn

Coneflowers and wild bergamot add color and earth-friendliness to a former lawn.

 

Patch of prairie outperforms lawn

 

 

COLUMBUS DISPATCH

August 2, 2015

 

NATURE

Jim McCormac

 

Turf grass blankets 40 million acres in the United States.

 

That’s an area three times larger than our largest national park, Wrangell-St. Elias in Alaska.

It takes 8 billion gallons of water to irrigate all that grass — daily. That much water would fill more than 12,000 Olympic-sized pools.

More than 30 million tons a year of fertilizer keep the emerald carpets lush. Mountains of pesticides ensure that pesky bugs or unwanted weeds don’t despoil the lawns.

Pampered grass requires lots of cutting, and Americans’ mowers suck up 800 million gallons of gas a year. The fleet contributes almost 10 percent of our air pollution.

Lawns are little better than cement in fostering biodiversity. They are biological dead zones.

All of this is mostly for aesthetics. The manicured lawn is perpetuated by peer pressure and lack of imagination. We can do better.

In spring of 2012, we eradicated one-third acre of turf grass at the Ohio Department of Natural Resources’ headquarters in Columbus (where I work). The site was seeded with a mixture of native prairie plants.

The results, just three years in, are stunning.

This planted prairie is a riot of color. The blossoms of prairie coneflower and oxeye sunflower create a yellow tidal wave. Jots of purple and magenta stipple the prairie, courtesy of purple coneflower and wild bergamot. Prairie grasses add architectural majesty, and there are many other species of plants.

We have spawned a biodiversity factory. The meadow is awash with nature’s ultimate pollinators — bumblebees — and legions of other pollinators: flowerflies, moths, beetles and more. I’ve tallied about 25 species of butterflies thus far.

Monarch butterflies use the prairie as a way station in their long migrations. Some pause to lay eggs on the milkweeds. The fledgling prairie has already contributed monarchs to the world.

Interesting predators lurk among the flowers, capitalizing on the burgeoning populations of lesser insects. Tiny citrine forktail damselflies pluck bugs from the foliage. Massive green darner dragonflies juke about overhead, seizing victims on the wing. Cute jumping spiders pounce on wee prey, and gargoyle-like ambush bugs sit frozen in flowers, awaiting victims.

This food factory hasn’t gone unnoticed by the birds. Song sparrows dart into the prairie to grab caterpillars to feed their nestlings. American goldfinches seemingly burst with elation at the huge seed crop. Their joyful tunes are a constant part of the prairie’s soundscape. An indigo bunting has moved in the past two summers; the electric blue songbird winters in Central America.

The site is a thousand times more interesting than when it was a grass monoculture.

Help the planet, and pulverize some lawn. Replace it with prairie plants or native shrubs and trees. It’ll make the world a better place.

Naturalist Jim McCormac writes a column for The Dispatch the first and third Sundays of the month. He also writes about nature at www.jim
mccormac.blogspot.com. 

A ruthless killer battles fearsome parasitoids (and will probably lose)

I took this photo almost exactly one year ago - October 9, 2013. It is, or should I say, was the view from my office window. This shot wasn't taken from my window, but when I look down from my nearby office, this is pretty much the viewscape. I really detest vast grassy expanses of turf grass. Such a habitat is pointless, in many cases. Poaceous emerald deserts have their place in parks and other places where people gather outdoors for recreational pursuits. I accept that and have no quarrel with lawns where needed. But the country is overrun with nonnative grass. WAY too much. There is over 40 million acres of the stuff in the United States, which makes grass our biggest crop, supposedly. That's an area the size of Connecticut, Delaware, Kentucky (the Bluegrass State!), New Hampshire, and Rhode Island. Oh, we have to also add Yellowstone National Park to match the turfed over acreage of the lower 48 states.

Stupid.

The attendant loss of biodiversity - the plants and animals that make the world go 'round - is staggering. And most of it is completely and utterly unnecessary.

Here's nearly the same vista as the above photo, shot a few weeks back. I finally put my money where my mouth is insofar as the work complex's landscaping, and convinced the facility managers to install a prairie on the site of the aforementioned grassy wasteland. And bless their hearts, they did it! Many people - maybe most - are interested enough in biodiversity and doing good things for the environment that they will act in Nature's best interest when a chance presents itself. That's what happened here, and the results have been staggering. Keep in mind that the seeds of this prairie were not sown until May 21, of this year.

Major thanks go to Bob Kehres of Ohio Prairie Nursery for providing the seed, and all manner of expertise to help us get our prairie out of the ground.

Needless to say, I've been fascinated with the biological changes resulting from our little one-third acre prairie. At least once or twice a week I take the Canon outside and see what critters I can document. Where one year ago you could count on one hand the few tough animals that would utilize the lawn, it is now a veritable cornucopia of animal life.

The photo above shows a Yellow-collared Scape Moth, Cisseps fulvicollis, plundering nectar from a black-eyed susan. I made this image, and those that follow, this afternoon.

With the now abundant flowering plants providing nectar galore for pollinating insects, the predators have moved in to take advantage of the bounty. This Bold Jumping Spider, Phidippus audax (I think), glares at your narrator from atop a black-eyed susan. No dummy, the spider knows that lurking near a flower will soon produce a meal. It has been amazing to see how quickly the prey-predator food web has developed.

Last week I discovered jagged ambush bugs in the genus Phymata ensconced on the flowers of fleabane. I wrote about these recently, RIGHT HERE. Once again, I was surprised at just how rapidly these interesting insects found and colonized the brand spanking new prairie.

Anyway, sorry for the above deviations into turf grass bashing. It is this ambush bug, which I think may be Phymata fasciata (ID corrections always appreciated!), that I really want to discuss.

I strolled over to check the fleabanes where I had seen the ambush bugs last week, and quickly spotted one who had made a meal out of a tachinid fly. Note the ambush bug's long death-dealing proboscis, firmly injected into the fly's abdomen. The bug will slowly - and with great pleasure, I am sure - suck out the liquefied innards of the fly, leaving behind a desiccated husk.

This is all cool enough, but WAIT! A third insect lurks, to the right of the drama, on the ray flowers of the fleabane. It is truly tiny - so small that I didn't notice it in the field as I fixated on capturing images of the ambush bug. It wasn't until I downloaded the pictures and reviewed them that I saw the six-legged third wheel.

Who is it, and what might it be doing? My first thought was that it is a fly, and was perhaps waiting for an opportunity to drop its eggs on the fly carcass. Maybe its larvae would use that as a host. Those thoughts were quickly dispelled with a closer look - the elfin onlooker is actually a wasp!

This little wasp is too small for even my Canon's 100 mm macro, although I might have done somewhat better had I noticed the thing in the field and took direct aim. Ah well, live and learn.

Now that its identity (I think) has been established as a wasp, it's a bit easier to speculate about what is going on. The world is full of tiny parasitoid wasps that lay their eggs on all manner of insect hosts, and I figured that's what this wasp was scheming to do. A bit of searching around revealed a wasp known as Telenomus phymatae, and I wonder if that's this critter. It is a parasitoid of jagged ambush bugs, but not the adults. It seeks out freshly laid eggs of the ambush bug, and injects its eggs into the ambush bug eggs. The wasp grubs hatch first, within the host eggs, and eat them. So, if the wasp is indeed Telenomus phymatae, it is probably loitering around the ambush bugs awaiting the deposition of some eggs. Ironically, the tachinid fly is also a parasitoid, laying its eggs on some insect victim. What goes around comes around, and we've got a lot of paybacks being dealt out in this photo.

The overarching message of this post is this: plant diversity, especially native plants, spawns extraordinary animal diversity. Even right under our noses, in highly urbanized landscapes, in prairies that were planted only four and a half months ago.

GO NATIVE, and be sure to attend the 2014 Midwest Native Plant Conference.