INSECT CAMOUFLAGE-NOW YOU SEE THEM, NOW YOU DON’T!

In nature, survival is the name of the game. Over the millennia, animals have evolved countless ways of avoiding danger, especially to defend themselves against predators. Insects in particular have a stunning array of defenses at their disposal. They run, jump, fly, bite, sting, and pinch. Many have bodies coated with itchy hairs or bristling with sharp, painful spines. Others have bright, conspicuously colored bodies that warn potential predators of their bites, stings, or foul tastes. Some are mimics, sporting the colors and behaviors of pugnacious, bad tasting species, but are in fact harmless themselves. But most insects protect themselves by simply remaining out of sight. And many of them do this with camouflage.

Camouflage, the French word for disguise, first appeared in popular English usage in 1917. To many, the word camouflage brings to mind the color patterns used on military combat uniforms and armaments, patterns that have since been adopted as the “official” garb of many anglers and hunters. But these and other uses of camouflage were all inspired by examples in nature, especially insects.

The simplest type of insect camouflage involves having body colors and patterns that help to conceal their bodies against specific backgrounds in their environment. For example, the leafy green hue of some praying mantids helps them to blend in among shrubs and low growing herbaceous vegetation.  In other species, such as the Carolina mantis, gray individuals are better suited for concealment on tree bark. The cryptic lifestyles of these and other predators help them to mask their presence from both predators and prey.

Toad bugs are small, squat, bug-eyed predators with grasping front legs. They hop along the shores of streams and lakes in search of small insect prey.

The shores of streams, rivers, and beaches are frequently occupied with ground dwellers whose body colors and textures are perfectly adapted for living concealed lives along the edge. One of my favorite examples is the aptly named toad bug. These small, squat, bug-eyed predators with grasping front legs hop about the wet sands and fine gravels, ever ready to pounce on even smaller insect prey.

Some grasshoppers and caterpillars have the ability to change their colors to match temporary backgrounds. Locusts can adjust their colors to match dry, open ground or lush, green vegetation. Many caterpillars avoid detection by using counter shading and are usually lighter below and darker above.

Not all cryptic species of insects resemble rocks, sticks, or leaves. The early stages of spicebush swallowtail caterpillars have white and black blotches on their body that makes them look like a bird dropping.

The colors and patterns of these and other insects have developed gradually through the process of natural selection. Individuals that avoid detection by predators through camouflage are able to pass along their favorable traits to their offspring generation after generation. Over time, this continual fine-tuning eventually results in colors and patterns that are ideally suited to enhancing their survival in a particular habitat. But effective camouflage isn’t just about matching colors and blending in. It is also about breaking up the outline of an insect’s body so that it looks less like a prey item to a hungry bird or lizard.

Stick insects look and behave like a stick. During the day stick insects remain almost motionless, lest they give their position away. But sometimes they will gently rock back and forth, as if they were swaying in a breeze.

Another camouflage tactic is to match the color and look of specific objects in the environment. This form of camouflage is called crypsis, a word derived from the Greek word kryptos, meaning to hide or conceal. Cryptic insects not only have the same colors as sticks, leaves (living or dead), and rocks, but their bodies are also shaped to look like them, too. Hungry predators pay little attention to these and other seemingly inedible objects when they are on the prowl for flesh.

Effective crypsis is more than just looks; it’s also about behavior. Cryptic insects have to select the right background and orientation so that color and form blend seamlessly into the right background. Landing on the wrong place, or settling in the right spot but in the wrong direction will inevitably lead to discovery and death.

With its stiff body and gray, bark-like skin, this geometrid moth caterpillar is a dead ringer for a twig.

Once, while walking down a path, I saw a twig-mimicking caterpillar stiffly protruding from the middle of the pavement.  Its gray, warty skin was a dead-ringer for a twig. Had it been on a tree or shrub, I never would have noticed it. But for whatever reasons, it had decided to conspicuously take its defensive pose out in the open on a flat, black background.

The java leaf insect, cousin of the stick insect, has a flat, leaf-like body covered by a pair of leaf-like wings, all supported by six leaf-like legs.

Some of the most stunning examples of insect crypsis are species found in tropical rainforests. It is not uncommon to see these insects utilize every part of their body to help them look like something else. Java leaf insects, cousins of stick insects, have a flat, leaf-like body covered by a pair of leaf-like wings, all supported by six leaf-like legs.

This Costa Rican katydid is a dead leaf mimic. Note the markings on the wings suggesting the veins of a leaf.

Of course, no defense strategy is 100% effective. Birds and other sharp-eyed predators can pick up the presence of cryptic insects by their symmetrical shapes. Tropical katydids have gotten around this by having asymmetrical wing shapes and patterns. Each forewing has its own set of spots and notches suggesting leaves that have been randomly attacked by insects and fungus.

Sometimes symmetry is detected by the narrowest of shadows. Many cryptic insects purposely avoid casting shadows by pressing their bodies and appendages tightly against the substrate. Others have fringe lining their bodies and appendages that eliminates shadows altogether.

Every time I go out in search of insects, I am continually fooled by bits of vegetation that appear at first glance to be a cryptic insect. But every now and again I am rewarded for my efforts with yet another surprising example of insect camouflage. This and other revelations are constant reminders that there are lifetimes of insect discoveries to be made.

©2009, A.V. Evans

NATURAL HISTORY COLLECTIONS INFORM PAST, PRESENT, FUTURE

I recently attended a behind-the-scenes tour of the National Museum of Natural History, part of the Smithsonian Institution’s core network of museums. Although I have worked with museum collections for years, I still had that sense that I was in a scene from Citizen Kane or Indiana Jones as I wandered the labyrinth of hallways and dimly lit passages lined floor-to-ceiling with stacks of cabinets and shelves chock full of specimens from around the world.

Yet, it is sobering to note that over the years natural history collections are on hard times as funding and public interests have waxed and waned. Many universities and smaller museums have divested themselves of their collections of pressed, impaled, pickled, stuffed, and skinned specimens of plants and animals. Administrators, policy makers, and the scientists among them are hard pressed to justify the “care and feeding” of collections, preferring instead to direct ever-shrinking resources into other projects that are more likely to attract supplemental funding. However, as support for collecting and collections dwindles, the need for the information they provide continues to increase.

Biodiversity research has long been the primary motivation behind the use of natural history collections. However, the traditional uses of these collections for the purposes of identification, the study of relationships, and evolutionary biology through the examination and comparison of specimens are only part of the story. These very same specimens are now useful tools for tracking changes in populations and habitats over time.

Like “biological filter paper,” natural history specimens can reveal past and present environmental conditions. Chemical analyses of feathers, hair, bone, muscles, blood, stomach contents, and vegetative tissues are now used to trace migratory movements, uncover feeding behaviors, reveal changes in habitats over time, and determine the epidemiology of diseases that affect animals and crops.

For example, analysis of old egg specimens demonstrated the devastating effect DDT had on bird reproduction and ultimately resulted in legislation that banned its use in this country. Similar studies were conducted to trace the increase of harmful mutations after nuclear accidents (remember Chernobyl?), the origin and movement of crop diseases (think Irish potato famine), and the rise of mercury levels in marine animals.

I have always thought of natural history collections like libraries, only the references contained therein are in the form of specimens. Like books, carefully prepared collections provide unique information that links identity, geography, and history. This is the very information that conservationists rely on to inform their decisions regarding the rarity of species and the potential impacts of climate change on those species.

Like a library, the relevance and vitality of natural history collections is maintained through new acquisitions in the form of specimens gathered during ongoing field surveys. Data gleaned from both rare and common species will better inform scientists and policy makers to address the inevitable challenges wrought by shifting populations and habitats. But will we as a society have the foresight and will to support such endeavors?

©2009, A.V. Evans

THE MAN AND HIS MILLIPEDES

The Buffalo Mountain Natural Area Preserve in southeastern Floyd County is a biological hot spot in Virginia. This 1,000 acre preserve, managed by the Department of Conservation and Recreation’s Natural Heritage Program, boasts six natural communities and supports a plethora of organisms. The mountain summit and its glades are home to at least 17 rare plant and invertebrate species.

In September of 2007, I paid a visit, along with my colleague Anne Chazal, to the northern flank of Buffalo Mountain to look for invertebrates. In spite of cool and dry conditions, our searches revealed several species of millipeds in and under a some rotten logs.

Of the estimated 12,000 of millipeds known worldwide just over 900 species live in the the United States and Canada. About 200 species are found in Virginia, nearly half of which have never been formally described and catalogued by scientists.

The study of millipeds has long been undervalued and underfunded by government and private agencies because millipeds do not destroy crops or spread disease. However, their habits, defensive behaviors, distributions, and critical role as forest decomposers make millipeds ideal subjects for scientists studying biodiversity, evolution, biogeography, and forest ecology.

Most millipeds eat rotting vegetation rather than living plant tissue. Like earthworms, they ingest soil and extract organic materials for nutrition. The bits of leaves and other plant materials that make up their fecal pellets provide ample surface area for fungi and bacteria to become established and speed up the decomposition of plant materials.

Typically slow and usually unable to bite, pinch, or sting, millipeds are hardly defenseless. Their hardened exoskeleton affords them some protection, especially those species that coil up their bodies to protect their vulnerable underbellies.

When attacked, many millipeds exude mildly fruity to downright smelly fluids from pores located along the sides of their bodies. This chemical cocktail contains repellent compounds that are sometimes toxic to small soil-dwelling animals, as well as effective antifungal agents.

Identifying millipedes can be difficult. Fortunately, one of the world’s leading experts on millipedes works just down the road at the Virginia Museum of Natural History in Martinsville. Anne and I carefully bagged up our many-legged catch, along with some cool and moist bits of punky wood, moss, dead leaves, and lichens, and headed east on Highway 58.

©2008, C.C. Wirth

We arrived to find Dr. Richard L. Hoffman in his lab surrounded by jars and vials of preserved specimens, most of which were millipeds. Thanks to his efforts, the museum houses one of the world’s largest and most important milliped collections.

Dr. Hoffman recognized the first two Buffalo Mountain species immediately, while another two required a brief inspection through a binocular microscope before their identities could be confirmed.

His seminal work on the classification of millipeds nearly 30 years ago set the standard for scientists studying these endlessly fascinating animals. Dr. Hoffman has also made substantial contributions to our knowledge of reptiles, amphibians, and numerous groups of invertebrates in Virginia, especially beetles and true bugs.

Just a week after our visit, Dr. Hoffman was feted with a reception, milliped symposium, and banquet hosted at the Virginia Museum of Natural History in celebration of his eightieth birthday and his lifelong scientific achievements.

The list of scientists, students, and other well-wishers at the fete read like a “Who’s Who” of North American milliped workers and field zoologists, several of whom specifically attributed their choice of career paths to Dr. Hoffman’s influence, support, and guidance.

Dr. Hoffman ascribes his success over the years to a combination of factors, including supportive parents, growing up in a place of incredible natural beauty, freedom to explore nature as a youth, being in the right place at the right time, and the continual support of family, friends, and colleagues.

Showing no signs of slowing down even after his recent retirement, Dr. Hoffman is still collecting, writing, and mentoring. Ever curious and insightful, he continues to enlighten and inspire all those who have had the pleasure and good fortune to know him, this writer included.

My thanks to Chris Wirth for the image of me and Richard Hoffman.

©2009, A.V. Evans

OUR SEAS OF PLASTIC

I want to bring to your attention the efforts of a former colleague of mine at the Natural History Museum of Los Angeles County, Dr. Marcus Eriksen. Marcus is a man of many talents: scientist, educator, author, conservationist, and adventurer. As the Director of Research and Education at the Algalita Marine Research Foundation , he is actively involved in the protection of marine watersheds through research, education, and restoration. Marcus and the AMRF team are at the forefront of studying the massive accumulation of plastic debris in our oceans and the impact of this pollution on marine life and the human food supply. Hundreds of millions of tons of bottles, bottle caps, cigarette lighters, bags, food containers, toys and other plastic items are washed through our watersheds and into our oceans each year.

Phase I of this AMRF study, dubbed “Message in a Bottle,” began with a research voyage into the North Pacific Gyre to investigate plastic pollution that has been dubbed the “Great Pacific Garbage Patch.” In Phase II, Marcus and a colleague sailed 2,600 miles from Los Angeles to Hawaii last summer on a raft made from 15,000 plastic bottles to raise awareness of plastic marine debris fouling our oceans.

Phase III begins on Saturday, 4 April when Marcus and his fiance Anna ride their bicycles 2000 miles from Vancouver, British Columbia to Tijuana, Mexico. Along this route they will distribute samples of plastic debris collected from the North Pacific Gyre to legislators, educators, and organizations to raise awareness of plastic debris in our oceans.

The problem is that plastic is designed to last forever, yet we use it regularly to make products that are thrown away. Although recycling is effective for paper, metal, glass, and other materials, it is not the answer for plastics. And as a petroleum product plastic, like our consumption of gasoline, keeps us dependent upon foreign sources of oil.

The “Message in a Bottle” project has encouraged me to rethink how I use plastic products at home and in the workplace. My first small step into this brave new world is to avoid purchasing or using drinks of any kind in plastic bottles, especially water. Then I am going to try to encourage my favorite take-out eateries to start using more eco-friendly to-go containers. A recent trip to the grocery store was sober reminder of just how pervasive plastic is in our culture, but there are lots of creative people out there who are coming up with practical and interesting ways for reusing and recycling these containers.

If we all do our part, and encourage our colleagues, clients, and visitors to do the same, we can make a difference and help to reduce the amount of plastic debris that finds its way into our oceans!

DARWIN WAS A BEETLE MAN

Just a few days ago I was rummaging through my backlog of reprints and journals when I discovered a filing folder labeled simply “Darwin.” How propitious that this meager collection of notes and papers on Charles Robert Darwin’s   entomological influences and contributions should surface just days before his 200^th birthday on February 12!

Back in 1994, I had embarked on what could be called a Darwin quest. I read as much as I could about him and, more importantly, by him.  I started with a book entitled Darwin for Beginners for a light, yet interesting overview of his life before sinking my teeth into meatier works, such as Darwin, which provides a detailed and engaging account of this great man’s amazing life. I then read “The Autobiography of Charles Darwin and Selected Letters” edited by his son, Francis Darwin, originally published in 1892, just 10 years after his father’s death (see another edition). Then it was on to “The Voyage of the Beagle,” published by Darwin himself and one of the great natural history classics of all time. And finally, I attempted to absorb what is perhaps his best known work, On the Origin of Species, By Means of Natural Selection or the Preservation of Favoured Races in the Struggle of Life, which has been reprinted many times over. Hardly an exhaustive reading list, I know, but it was what I could muster in the six months before my trip to England in October.

One of the many aspects of Darwin’s life that continues to resonate with me is the fact that insects had such an influence on him throughout his life and work. Although none of his writings are exclusively entomological, Darwin still incorporated various aspects of insect behavior in widely disparate works as he constructed his syntheses to describe the underlying principals of natural selection.

As indicated in his early letters and autobiography, Darwin’s young life was often consumed by collecting insects, especially beetles.  He was later introduced to entomology through his cousin, W. Darwin Fox. It was Fox that introduced young Charles to other naturalists while attending university, including Professor John Stevens Henslow at Cambridge, the man who would eventually recommend Darwin for the job of the sole naturalist on the H.M.S. Beagle on its voyage around the world from 1831 to 1836.

While studying at Cambridge, Darwin would slip into the countryside at every opportunity to search for rare species. Recounting one such adventure in his autobiography, Darwin wrote “I will give proof of my zeal: one day, on tearing off some old bark, I saw two rare beetles, and seized one in each hand; then I saw a third and new kind, which I could not bear to lose, so that I popped the one which I held in my right hand into my mouth. Alas! It ejected some intensely acrid fluid, which burnt my tongue so that I was forced to spit the beetle out, which was lost, as was the third one.”

I have two favorite Darwin “beetle quotes.” The first appeared in a letter he wrote to botanist J.D. Hooker in 1858 that appears in his autobiography: “I feel like an old war-horse at the sound of a trumpet when I read about the capture of rare beetles—is this not the magnanimous simile for a decayed entomologist? It really almost makes me long to begin collecting again.” The second quote is taken from The Descent of Man: “From the small size of insects, we are apt to undervalue their appearance. If we could imagine a male Chalcosoma with its polished, bronzed coat of mail, and vast complex horns, magnified to the size of a horse or even of a dog, it would be one of the most imposing animals in the world.” When it comes to what we humans consider important, size apparently does matter!

My actual pilgrimage began not long after I arrived in London when I walked into Westminster Abbey to visit his final resting place among the remains of other great scientists, writers, politicians, royalty, and other important figures in English history. I found Darwin’s name, and date of birth and death all carved in stone. His body was interred in the north aisle of the Nave, just a few feet from the grave of Sir Isaac Newton. Later in the week I stopped by the Royal Entomological Society, where Darwin had long been a member in good standing. To this day I can still see and smell all those classic insect books in the library and continue to marvel at all of those incredible tomes together under one roof!

But the pinnacle of my Darwin pilgrimage was Down House in Kent, Darwin’s home set in the North Downs countryside just 16 miles from downtown London. He lived here as a country gentlemen from September of 1842 until his death on April 19, 1882. It was also here that he immersed himself in research, corresponded with the imminent scientists of the day, and penned his greatest works.

One of the things that has always fascinated me about great scientists with a penchant for popular writing is not only how and when they write, but also where they work. The condition and layout of Darwin’s study was just as it was when he was alive and delving into the mysteries of the natural world and claiming his place in history. There was even a display of a portion of Darwin’s beetle collection, nearly all British in origin and unlabeled. Then there was his beloved “Sand-walk,” a graveled path where the great man would ambulate each day around noon to think. Seeing the very same landscape in which Darwin retreated to ponder, synthesize, and create “On the Origin of Species”  and his other important books was truly a humbling experience. A visit to Down House and its surroundings is indeed a visit to hallowed ground.

An important and engaging summary of his entomological work by Jeanne and Charles Remington entitled “Darwin’s Contributions to Entomology” appeared in the Annual Review of Entomology in 1961. Another enlightening and very useful overview is Darwin’s Insects, edited by Kenneth G.V. Smith and published in the Bulletin of the British Museum in 1987. Within this fascicle is a collection of notes and comments by Darwin on the insects he collected in Britain and on his voyage on the H.M.S. Beagle.

There are lots of Darwin sites on the web. To see and read Darwin’s works and letters, or descriptions of his specimens, visit The Complete Works of Charles Darwin. See also Darwin 200, the Darwin Collection at English Heritage, and AboutDarwin.com.

©2009, A.V. Evans

OUT WITH THE NIGHT SHIFT

It’s late afternoon. The air is hot and thick, draped like a hazy, wet blanket over the landscape. The dull orange sun hangs heavy over the tops of trees lining the lake and soon drops out of sight. Whirligig beetles drift lazily in the placid water, barely leaving a ripple in their wake. Dragonflies dart back and forth, gobbling up their final meals of midges and other tiny flying insects for the day.

As dusk approaches the throbbing wail of cicadas loses its urgency and eventually stops, as do the relentless attacks of blood-sucking deer flies. The white-throated swifts that had ruled the skies for most of the afternoon are now settled in for the night, giving way to their mammalian counterparts, the bats. Several of these amazing animals skim the lake’s surface right in front of me to drink.

I am in the vicinity of Group Camp 7 in the southernmost reaches of Pocahontas State Park. Accessible only on foot or by horseback, this sylvan oasis within the park definitely has a feel of remoteness seldom experienced so close to a major metropolitan area.

With more than 7,600 acres, Pocahontas is the largest state park in Virginia. Located just 20 miles southwest of downtown Richmond, the park is probably best known for its swimming pool, camping and conference facilities, outdoor performances, and music festivals. But it is also a favorite haunt among local naturalists, especially birders. I have visited the park regularly for the past five years to observe and photograph Virginia insect life during the spring and summer.

As the day shift winds down, the creatures of the night slowly begin to stir, gearing up to take their place on the evening stage. With the arrival of twilight there seems to be a moment or two when all insect life seems to pause briefly, and then the night shift takes over.

The twinkling lights of amorous fireflies begin to appear about the low growth sprinkled along the woodland floor. Neither bugs, nor flies, these soft-bodied insects are actually beetles. Males engage in a slow, looping flight with repeated dips to create a J-pattern with their lights. At the bottom of the descent their abdomen glows bright yellowish-green, becoming dimmer before shutting off completely at the top of their ascent. Their oversized compound eyes are trained on the not-so-distant darkness, hoping to see the light of a female responding with her own perfectly timed and pulsating response amidst the low, herbaceous growth.

Later in the evening another species appears, flying high and fast in the canopy, releasing its light in rapid bursts of three. Fireflies have developed this system of luminous Morse code to locate mates of their own kind among the tangled growth and avoid fruitless encounters with the wrong species.

Chunky June beetles begin to rustle, slowly rising through the air from their daytime hiding places amongst the leaf litter with a buzz. They plow through the night air as if they were trucks in low gear, slowly gaining speed as they begin their nightly search for mates and fresh leaves to eat .

With a headlamp strapped to my sweaty forehead, I venture forth like a bright-eyed Cyclops in search of more of the Commonwealth’s nocturnal insect and spider fauna. The forest floor seems to glitter with tiny stars, which turn out to be the tiny, unblinking eyes of wolf spiders reflecting the beam of my light. They too are searching for insects.

As my headlamp cuts through the ever-growing darkness, moths, beetles, and other airborne insects fly in and out of the sharp beam. Some plummet into my face as they try to reach the light’s source.

For years entomologists have taken advantage of the fact that many insects are attracted to lights at night. Using the ultraviolet component of distant light to orient themselves, many insects are uncontrollably drawn to nearby artificial lights, such as flickering campfires, hissing gas lanterns, brightly lit store fronts, and streetlights. Not the sad, dull yellowish lights that inhabit city streets, but the bright, inviting glow of mercury vapor lights that dot the lesser populated areas of the state.

Lights strong in the ultraviolet spectrum are especially attractive to nocturnal insects. I use several BL black lights specifically for attracting night flying insects. Set in front of and above white sheets for reflectivity and contrast, and powered with 12-volt gel cell battery, the eerie purple glow works like a bug zapper, but without the zap.

Warm, humid, moonless or overcast skies seem to be the best nights to “black light” for insects since there is less ultraviolet light to compete with my set up. The greatest insect activity at lights is right after dark, between 9:30 and 11:00 PM, although some of the larger beetles and moths seldom make an appearance before midnight.

Nocturnal insects can easily maintain a steady flight path in relations to distant sources of light. However, they must fly in ever-tighter spirals in order to maintain their orientation to a nearby light source. Eventually they alight on the sheet or nearby vegetation. If left undisturbed, most would remain within sight of the light until dawn when the rising sun would drive them to seek shelter from the heat and hungry birds.

As night falls, insects swirl about my black light like small comets. My sheet was soon covered in a dizzying array of insects ranging from tiny gnats and beetles just millimeters long, to relatively giant mayflies and June beetles. Dozens of plump, fuzzy moths of all colors settled on the sheet like fighter planes on a flat top. Shiny, smooth and streamlined aquatic beetles emerged from the nearby lake and clambered awkwardly beneath the light, like proverbial fish out of water. Perhaps 200 different species of insects in all made an appearance at the light. The preparation and identification of this relatively small showing would require the full-time efforts of an entomologist for at least a year.

Occasionally a bat hurtled through the cloud of insects, gobbling them up as if they were bellying up to an airborne buffet. Using a series of high-pitched clicks like radar to locate airborne insects, the bats dart and bank sharply through the night air in pursuit of hapless insects.

But not all insects are defenseless against bats. Some moths and mantids have special “ears” capable of picking up signals bats use for their echolocation system. Upon hearing the call of a nearby bat, these insects will take sudden evasive action by pulling in their wings and dropping to the ground or making a spiral power dive to safety.

After 11:00 PM the waves of incoming insects began to slow to a mere trickle. I packed up just after midnight, but the choruses of frogs, katydids, and crickets continued to rise and fall. Although I am sure that they sound like a raucous cacophony to many, I found the chirps, clicks, buzzes, twangs, and bellows to be joyous noise, a perfect sound track for an evening out with the night shift.

©2004, Arthur V. Evans

LEAVE NO CHILD INSIDE

The single most important ingredient that ignited my lifelong passion for insects and all natural history was…freedom.

Supportive parents, teachers, librarians, and scientists all fostered my interest in insects and natural history, but it was the freedom to explore and discover nature at my own pace that really made the difference.

As a youngster, I spent many glorious hours on end wandering along trails, hiking up canyons, mucking about in streams, turning over rocks, examining flowers, and peeling back bark.

These early explorations taught me a great deal about the natural world. They also rewarded me with invaluable self-knowledge that continues to serve me well today—that the outdoors is my own personal refuge.

Sadly, unstructured time for most children has become a thing of the past. Recess time outside has been eliminated from many elementary schools. Overburdened with homework, sports, and other structured activities, children today have little time or inclination to just step out outside and ‘be.’

Freedom to explore, to get dirty, and to be ‘human beings’ instead of ‘human doings’ has all but vanished for children. Studies show that their outdoor time is down by 50% when compared to that of their parents and grandparents.

Cheryl Charles, president of the Children and Nature Network, notes that during the past two or three decades, well-intentioned parents have replaced nature with scheduled activities and events. She notes that technology, such as computers, iPods, television, etc., have their place but are consuming a disproportionate amount of their children’s time.

Parents are justifiably worried about the safety of their children, but the Internet has proven to be more dangerous than the outdoors, which is even more reason to encourage children to spend more time in “green space” than with “screen space.”

As human beings, we need the colors and rhythms that only nature can provide. The sights, smells, and sounds of nature provide us with vivid of memories that last a lifetime.

Years from now it is these shared experiences outdoors—not those in front of a television or computer screen—that will help us and our children to recall family and friends long since gone.

The disjunction between children and nature is not only to their detriment, but also to the detriment of nature itself. After all, we only save what we love and we love only what we know.

According to researchers at Cornell University, children who spend time in the wild fishing and camping before the age of 11 are more likely to grow up to be environmentally-minded and committed as adults.

The very notion of “leave no child behind” must begin with the basic concept of “leave no child inside.” The next time you really want to do something for a child, spend time with them outdoors. Just go out into the yard, or visit a city, state, or national park. It will do you both a world of good.

To learn more about movements to reconnect children with nature visit < http://www.cnaturenet.org/> and the National Wildlife Federation’s “Green Hour” program <www.GreenHour.org>.

©2007, A.V. Evans

BIRDS, BUBBLES, BUGS: MY FIRST FIELD TRIP OF 2009

Paul Bedell is a man of many talents. A double bassist for the Richmond Symphony, he is also a gifted naturalist. And he is a first-class birder, an indefatigable odonatololgist with a penchant for finding new state records and, as of late, Virginia’s leading authority on robber flies. Paul invited me to join him to today on a survey of rusty blackbirds for the Cornell Lab of Ornithology on a plot of land along the James River near Bremo Bluff in Fluvanna County. The temperature was supposed to surge up to a relatively balmy 60 °F, so I jumped at the opportunity.

Some beetles in eastern North America come out for only a few weeks or so in early spring. They are sometimes considered rare simply because many entomologists have yet to emerge from their own winter torpor in time to find them. I didn’t think that it had warmed up enough for a sufficient period of time to trigger beetle activity of any kind, but figured this would be a good opportunity to get my kit together for the upcoming field season.

There might be other insects out, too. For example, I might happen upon the first mourning cloaks and question marks of the season. These butterflies tuck themselves under bark and other protected places for the winter and are quickly spurred into action by the sudden appearance of a warm winter day. Maybe today would be one of those days when I would see them rocketing from one sunny patch to the next, or sipping nectar oozing from freeze-cracked maple trunks. Or not.

At 9 AM the sky was clear and the temperature had already passed 40 °F as we headed west on Highway 6 on the north side of the James River. We passed through the little towns with names like Manakin, Crozier, and Goochland. Just past Columbia, we turned left toward Bremo Bluff. Our final destination was a plantation called Glenarvon about an hour drive or so from Richmond. The beautiful home with its three columns and four chimneys was built in 1832 by William Galt Jr.

The origin of the name “Glenarvon” is uncertain. There is speculation that it was inspired by the title of a book by the same name penned in 1816 by Lady Caroline Lamb. This quasi-fictional gothic novel was inspired by the author’s four month-long affair with British poet Lord Byron. Or perhaps it was the name of Galt’s birthplace in Scotland. But I digress.

Upon our arrival, we were greeted by Glenarvon’s owner, Bill Winston. Knowing that I was an entomologist, Bill asked me if I knew what these large dark beetles were that he would find dead every now and again during the summer. I suggested a few possibilities, but nothing clicked with Bill. So, I suggested that he save the next one for me so I could identify it.

With a herd of curious cows looking on, Paul and I suited up with our birding, bugging, and photographic gear. We wandered down a narrow road into a ravine cut by a small creek as it flowed toward the James. The stands of trees mostly contained individuals with trunks no larger in diameter than the girth of my thigh. However, right along the creek’s edge stood several giant beeches. I imagined that the smooth, gray, and elephantine trunks of these trees were the legs of a small herd of long-necked sauropods that had come to drink. Again, I digress.

Finding one of these freshly downed trees of size with slightly loosened bark would be like hitting the mother lode. Many beetles and other wood-dwelling insects would find such a resource perfect for feeding, mating, and laying eggs. But I had no luck in finding such a tree. Instead, I contented myself with peeling back small patches of bark at the bases of several standing pine snags, none of which proved to be particularly productive.

I carried on down the road until it ended in a small field. Skirting the edge of this small opening was yet another small creek. I walked over to what looked like a mini-oxbow lake that was no more than three feet deep, 10 feet across, and about 25 feet long. Looking down from the bank, I could see right through the thin sheet of ice that covered the water down to the bottom of the creek.

In hopes of seeing some aquatic insect activity, I walked down to the water. As I approached the edge, a short series of marble-sized bubbles forced their way up from the depths of the submerged leaf pack. The rising spheres quivered like drops of quick silver as they rose up through the water column. Hitting the ice, these parcels of air were instantly pancaked and skittered along the ice, propelled by the current of the creek. No insects were in sight.

As I walked up the bank, a lone eastern boxelder bug flew past by and I watched it until it drifted out of sight. I thought that this colorful insect, pied with red and black, might prove to be the insect highlight of the day. But I was wrong.

Bill caught up with us later in the afternoon, plastic bag in hand. Inside was long dead female eastern Hercules beetle that he had found in the barn. A real beauty, she was. Bill said he had never seen a living one and wasn’t sure just how he would react if he ever did!

After investigating a few more fields and intervening woods, we decided to call it a day. Paul saw some good birds, but didn’t find his rusty blackbirds. But the relatively slow day failed to dampen our spirits. We both agreed that any day out in the field was a good day and began planning our next outing. Stay tuned.

©2009, A.V. Evans

 

 

MOURNING SCORPIONFLIES

Scorpionflies and their relatives belong to the order Mecoptera, a fascinating group of insects with more than 80 species in North America. They are so-named because males in the genus Panorpa (family Panorpidae) have bulbous reproductive organs mounted on the tips of their abdomens that suggest the stinger of a scorpion. However, unlike their arachnid namesakes, scorpionflies are incapable of inflicting any sting whatsoever and are harmless to humans.

The mourning scorpionfly, Panorpa lugubris, is easily distinguished from all other North American Panorpa by its mostly black wings sprinkled with a few white spots. Its body is also black, but with bright and contrasting patches of reddish orange. This species inhabits both the Atlantic and Gulf coastal plains, from Virginia south through the Carolinas, Georgia, and west across the Florida panhandle to Louisiana.

Adults prefer open habitats with sandy soils and are often found flitting about in sandhills and old fields. They are typically encountered in the fall and early winter, but some individuals are out and about from mid-April through early June.

Ollie Flint, Curator Emeritus of Neuropteroid Orders at the National Museum of Natural History, Smithsonian Instiution, stalks the wiley mourning scorpionfly at the Blackwater Ecological Preserve.

I observed some of my first mourning scorpionflies late one morning in September at Old Dominion University’s Blackwater Ecological Preserve in Isle of Wight County. Within the sand ridges of this preserve are two of Virginia’s rarest plant communities–longleaf pine-turkey oak flatwoods and longleaf pine savannas. What the scorpionflies called home was a patch of ground with open and sandy substrate punctuated by patches of low-growing huckleberries (dwarf and blue) and sheep-laurels. The overstory consists primarily of pond and longleaf pine, with an occasional loblolly thrown in for good measure.

Both males and females were found quietly perched with their heads upward on the vertical stems of the huckleberries, but quickly scattered as I approached. Some flew short distances and attempted to land on other low, vertical surfaces. Upon landing, they ran short distances over open ground with amazing speed before once again taking to the air. Others simply dropped down into the vegetation, listing to one side, and remained motionless among the detritus.

In North Carolina, mourning scorpionflies have been found scavenging parasitized tobacco hornworms in recently harvested tobacco fields. Captive adults happily dine on offerings of dead grasshoppers, but the larvae are somewhat more omnivorous. They too scavenge dead insects, but  will also consume bits of mushrooms, tobacco stalks, and tobacco seed capsules.

For an terrific overview of order the Mecoptera  in North American check out this issue of the Kansas School Naturalist written by George ByersEntomology Professor Emeritus at the Snow University of Kansas and a world authority of mecopterans.

©2009, A.V. Evans

WINTER STONEFLIES

In Virginia, one of the very first insects to make an appearance in the New Year is the winter stonefly, Taeniopteryx. These flat, slender, and sprawling insects are grayish brown and measure 9.0 to 11.0 mm in length. They are also known by other appellations, such as willowflies and early black stoneflies.

Most of their lives are spent as larvae that nibble on aquatic vegetation and submerged debris as they crawl along coarsely pebbled and rocky bottoms of large streams and rivers. Beginning in late January or early February, the mature larvae leave their watery past behind for good and haul themselves up on nearby rocks and vegetation. The freshly emerged adults, having just escaped their larval exoskeletons, soon festoon boulders, logs, bridges, and nearby buildings by the dozens, even hundreds. They are most evident on warmer days, but are seldom noticed by passersby, save for naturalists on the lookout for signs of life after a long winter or anglers reading the latest hatch.

For me, the sudden appearance of these hardy insects serves as an annual reminder that winter is almost over and spring is on the way. This is welcome news to entomophiles living in the frosty and leafless eastern United States!

Many thanks to Boris Kondratieff of Colorado State University for helping me with the intricacies of winter stonefly identification.

©2009, A.V. Evans