Monarch on Blue Giant Hyssop

I have blogged about Monarch Butterflies—this individual perched atop a Blue Giant Hyssop in the Carleton College Arboretum last Sunday. This mint is a summer-bloomer, usually lasting into September. October nectar must be quite attractive butterflies. This wildflower brings in bees. People are also attracted, since the flower makes for licorice-flavored teas and jellies. Blue Giant Hyssops are found in north-central and northern North America. Thanks to Nancy Braker of the arboretum for identification help.

Winter Wren

The diminutive, somber-plumaged Winter Wren, like this one I banded this week, is awash in scientific controversy. I previously blogged about Winter Wrens currently being considered three species—the eastern Winter Wren and the western Pacific Wren, plus another species in the Old World.

In Europe and Asia, at least 44 races are described. DNA research indicates that, in the Old World, at least four groups exist, possibly containing several distinct species. The groups reside in Europe, eastern Asia, Nepal, and in the Caucasus. The potential, new species within these groups are said to be cryptic—you can only identify them with a DNA laboratory in your field vest.

Winter Wren races have different habitat preferences. North American birds breed in coniferous, boreal old-growth forests. Clear-cutting and forest fragmentation have reduced the numbers of North American Winter Wrens. European Winter Wrens breed in deciduous woodlands and in urban parks and gardens. In North Africa, these wrens are limited to forested streams at elevations of 1200 to 1800 meters. In the Himalayas, they are found to 4575 meters (Handbook of the Birds of the World Alive).

All this is confusing enough, but DNA work also indicates that Winter Wrens are more closely related to Cistothorus, a genus of Old World warblers, than they are to other wrens—even other wrens that currently share the Winter Wren’s genus, Troglodytes. Many ornithologists now argue, using both DNA evidence and other morphological data, that Winter Wrens should put in a separate genus, Nannus (Hejl et al. 2002). I do not believe, however, that anyone is suggesting that these birds are not wrens.

Finally, DNA studies suggest that wrens, traditionally listed near dippers and mimc thrushes, are actually closer to treecreepers, gnatcatchers, and nuthatches. I don’t know about you, but all this confusion finds me beginning to recite Shakespeare ("a rose by any other name would smell as sweet").

Syrphid Fly and Wasp Warning

Erika and I had a bad September. Underground Paper Wasps, 10,000 of them, built their nest under our peony bush. Erika was stung three times, I, twice. We didn’t do anything to deserve this viscous attack—we were just standing in the garden. I swelled up, but did not go into anaphylactic shock like I did the last time I was stung. Erika ended up in the emergency room of the Northfield Hospital as she broke out in hives, lost her vision, and passed out. One thing that saved us was our taking two Benadryl right after being stung.

So, in the past few weeks, we have not been outside much. Only now, after dispatching the wasps, have we ventured into the garden. I took a few meadowhawk photos on Tuesday. I gasped upon seeing this bee—had the wasps returned? No, this creature turns out to be a fly, probably an American Hover Fly, famous for mimicking bees and wasps. This look-alike strategy is called Batesian Mimicry, since the fly is harmless to humans.

But hover flies are not harmless to aphids, often the scourge of gardeners and farmers. The larval flies eat aphids and scale insects. Researchers are trying to use hover flies as a biological control of the smaller pests. The adults feed on nectar and pollen. The maggots require aphid meals to complete their development—they are “aphidophagous”—a new word I learned while writing this blog. Releasing hover fly larvae into fields quickly reduces aphid infestations or even eliminates the aphids (University of California).

American Goldfinch

The chickadee I wrote about in my last post was not the only species feasting on aster seeds last Sunday. A couple of American Goldfinches also gorged themselves on seeds, although not quite as acrobatically as the chickadees. Because of its jet-black wings, I assume this bird is a male. The otherwise drab plumage suggests an immature. See my blog post of February 2010 for more information on aging and sexing goldfinches.

Black-capped Chickadee

One of the advantages of photography and blogging is the joy of seeing and sharing images of even very common birds. This Black-capped Chickadee is a good example. Many birders barely pay attention to this abundant species. On Sunday, Erika and I stood in the Carleton College Arboretum wondering why we were not seeing many migrants. Just next to us, a chickadee flew up and briefly fed on aster seeds. The bird flew off, but repeatedly returned to the same seed-heads. Apparently the bird was intent on consuming every seed, regardless of the acrobatics necessary for this mission,

Prairie Falcon

Prairie Falcons breed across much of the western United States, Baja California, north-central Mexico and barely extending into southestern Canada. They fill in non-breeding areas in the winter, moving east into the Dakotas south to central Texas—perhaps as far east as western Minnesota. Their narrow “mustache” stripes and black “armpits,” visible on flying birds, are keys to identification. This photograph was taken in central South Dakota.

Breeding birds prefer dry habitat and nest along cliffs and buttes. They prey upon ground squirrels and birds. In the winter, they favor Horned Larks and Western Meadowlarks. Being basically a desert bird, Prairie Falcons avoided the onslaught of DTT and other pesticides better than did many other raptors. Now the birds face "agricultural encroachment, livestock-grazing, energy development activities, off-road vehicle use, and military training” (Steenhof 1998).

Northern Harrier

Northern Harriers breed in the north half of North America and winter south to northern South America. Although they are common, I find them hard to photograph—perched birds usually fly before I get my camera focused, and taking pictures of flying birds is always a challenge. This photo was taken during a snowy spring in South Dakota.

Harriers are reognized by their long wings and tails; the gray males are smaller than the brown females. Both sexes show white rumps. They often fly near the ground over fields—their primary prey are voles (although I have also seen them take small birds, and harriers do take a wide variety of other prey). One reason for flying low is that, unlike other hawks, harriers rely on auditory, as well as visual, cues to find their prey,

Northern Harriers are intimately tied to their vole prey, so much so that Frances Hammerstrom wrote a book called “Harrier, Hawk of the Marshes: The Hawk That is Ruled by a Mouse.” When vole numbers are down, few harriers are seen; when vole populations expand, harriers become common. But the story does not stop there—males are often bigamous, especially when mouse populations are high. During abundant vole seasons, some males have up to five mates. The females incubate and brood their young, while the males provide most of the food for both their mates and young (Smith et al. 1011).

Wilson’s Snipe

On Wednesday morning, John Holden and I birded the Great Western Industrial Park near Randolph, Minnesota. The park is being developed in beautiful prairieland and, in any season, is a great place to look for birds. You would think that people with foresight would build their park in a cornfield rather than in lovely, pond-studded grassland.

One highlight of the visit was this Wilson’s Snipe. This species breeds across Canada and the northern United States, wintering southward all the way through South America. Despite being common within its range, relatively little is known about its biology. The snipe’s marshy habitat, camouflaged coloration, and because it usually forages at dawn and dusk, all combine to make the species difficult to study.

This species is variably named the Common or Wilson’s snipe. What you call it depends if you consider our species to be the same as the Old World's Common Snipe. These days ornithologists treat the Wilson’s Snipe as a distinct species from the Common—their breeding displays, when they dive while making a winnowing sound with their outer tail feathers, are different. They also look slightly different.

Some snipe trivia from Mueller (1999): the word “snipe” is derived from “snite,” meaning “snout”—a reference to their long bills. As do other sandpipers, the bill has sensory pits near the tip, so snipes can detect their prey under their muddy, marshy habitat. Finally, snipe eyes are set relatively far back on their head—they are able to see right and left, but also to the rear—even when their bills are probing the mud, they can watch for predators from behind.

Red-breasted Nuthatch

October brought this fall season's first Red-breasted Nuthatch to the banding station. I last banded one of these nuthatches on 7 June. I have previously lectured on the dangers of misinterpreting Red-breasted Nuthatch summer records. In Minnesota, the species breeds in the Northeast, south to Minneapolis/St. Paul. Nevertheless, by October, this nomadic invader from the northwoods is a harbinger of the winter to come.

Amber-winged Spreadwing

Because every record is vetted by experts, not just the rare ones, Odonata Central is more rigorous than eBird. Of course, birds are better known by citizen scientists than are dragonflies—and far more bird records are submitted to eBird than dragonfly records go to Odonata Central.

My record of an Amber-winged Spreadwing took a long time to be vetted. I submitted the record from Erika’s garden on 7 August 2013 and it was not vetted until 20 September. I assumed that the script-like thorax markings and the brown-banded abdomen were diagnostic. The wings are not particularly honey-colored, but Paulson writes that this color is not always obvious. No other spreadwing has dark bands across bright yellow sides, although admittedly, the sides of my damselfly are not particularly bright.

Odonata Central shows this species’ range to be northeastern North America, west to Minnesota, Iowa, and Missouri. Only four records come from southeastern Minnesota; mine is the second from Rice County. The species is to be expected near a variety of wetlands.