It is a general rule of wildlife photography that, if you really want to see something amazing, just leave the camera at home. Better yet, leave your binoculars home.

I didn’t have time to go home and get binoculars, much less get the camera, come back and take pictures, and still get to my meeting. Instead, I stopped off at the park headquarters to tell the naturalist; he was not there.

So I called a wildlife photographer friend and told him, but he was nowhere nearby–and he has a day job–so he couldn’t come out to get pictures.

So, I left…but there were a couple of details that bothered me: the bird seemed awfully brownish, and there was this long, egg-yolk yellow leg. Now, at certain points in their development and from certain angles, a Peregrine might appear brownish. And that yellow leg, maybe that belonged to the duck. After all, Peregrines used to be called Duck Hawks, and there is a large population of Mallards at the lake.

I really wanted a photo of that bird, so I postponed my meeting, went home and got the camera, and came back to get the shot that would establish a record for the park. I may not have had binoculars, but I’ve got good eyes and, after all, that executioner’s-hood head pattern of the Peregrine–unmistakeable.

Wrong again.

Not a Peregrine Falcon, not even a falcon

It was the raptor formerly known as a Marsh Hawk, the Northern Harrier (Circus cyaneus)–they have long, egg-yolk yellow legs. It was a female; you can tell because they are brownish. The males are grayish (and slightly smaller).  They are neither common nor rare in these parts in the winter, but they are normally associated with large grassy meadows or marshlands where they hunt by coursing back and forth, hovering into the wind whenever some movement–or noise–in the grass catches their attention, and dropping like a stone to catch small mammals.

To most folks, a Harrier is a fighter aircraft. The military likes to name fighter planes after birds of prey,  the U.S. F15 Eagle, F16 Fighting Falcon, and F22 Raptor, and Great Britain’s Hawker Sea Hawk for example,. Back in the 50s, Great Britain came up with the idea of a Vertical/Short Take Off and Landing (V/STOL) fighter jet that would not be limited to operating from large, developed air bases. They came up with the “jump jet” concept; a jet that could hover. They named it for one of the few Euorpean birds of prey that could hover–the Harrier  Today the Harrier is primarily used in support of maritime forces, where it can provide jet fighter capability off of capital ships smaller than aircraft carriers.

A U.S. Marine Corps AV-8B Harrier II attached to Marine Attack Squadron 223, Marine Corps Air Station Cherry Point, N.C. DoD photo by Petty Officer 3rd Class Andrew King, U.S. Navy. (Released)

I finally got around to letting folks know that I had completely bonked the ID on the hawk. In speaking with the park naturalist. I learned that the two piles of feathers were actually dead Canada Geese that had been lying on the ice for several days. This is interesting because I wasn’t aware that Harriers fed on carrion. It was also a most un-Harrier-like place, a small frozen lake sandwiched between two forested ridges.

As to that unmistakeable pattern on the head, I have no idea how I got that so wrong–inasmuch as my only other excuse would be advancing age, I choose to blame the heavy fog. Ironically, the Harrier’s facial pattern is quite distinctive, and the owl-like feather structure contributes to the hawk’s ability to hunt by sound, like an owl and unlike any other North American hawk that I am aware of.

Norther Harrier (Circus cyaneus)

Most dragonflies probably spend their entire lives in the vicinity of the body of water in which they spent their larval phase. Not all. Amongst dragonfly aficionados, the most famous travelers are the Wandering Gliders (Pantala flavescens), those mustard-colored dragonflies that you see trying to lay eggs on cars in parking lots in mid to late summer.

And they do wander. Here is the description from the Pitcairn Island government site that sells stamps featuring the Wandering Glider:

“This dragonfly is the world’s most widely distributed dragonfly being found in the tropics as well as in temperate zones. It breeds on every continent except Europe and Antarctica and is found all around the world. This species flies almost constantly and drifts with the wind as it feeds. It flies thousands of miles over oceans and because of its characteristic gliding flight, its common name is the Globe Skimmer or Wandering Glider. It can be seen flying almost anywhere in open country, sometimes in great numbers. They rarely perch but at sea they have been known to land on ships far away from land.”

Pitcairn Island stamp of the Wandering Glider

These dragonflies can wander.  Pitcairn Island is a British Overseas Territory in the South Pacific  famous for being the home of the descendants of the mutineers from the HMS Bounty of Cap’n Bligh fame.  It is 3000+ miles from New Zealand. 

I have been putting off writing this note in the hope that I could produce my own photo of a Wandering Glider—alas, so far, no joy.

However, I have been recently introduced to the Migratory Dragonfly Partnership, a worthy venture of the Xerces Society for Invertebrate Conservation to learn more about the phenomenon. Their logo for the Partnership contains a very nice Wandering Glider.

At the same time, I became aware of the “Dragonfly Swarm Project” run by the redoubtable Dragonfly Woman on her blog. Finally, her writing introduced me to the work of Dr. Martin Wikelski of Princeton, who has studied the migration of Green Darners (Anax junius) by gluing itty-bitty radio trackers to 14 dragonflies.  This is what Dr. Wikelski et al found:

“On average, they migrated every 2.9 ± 0.3 days, and their average net advance was 58 ± 11 km in 6.1 ± 0.9 days (11.9 ± 2.8 km d^–1) in a generally southward direction (186 ± 52°). They migrated exclusively during the daytime, when wind speeds were less than 25 km h^–1, regardless of wind direction, but only after two nights of successively lower temperatures (decrease of 2.1 ± 0.6°C in minimum temperature).”

Amazing stuff.

So, what do I know? Very little, actually, but that has never stopped me in the past. Here’s what I have on Anax junius in Central Pennsylvania.

Earliest sighting: 7 April  2010, shallow end of Holman Lake, breeding pair.

Green Darners, mating pair

Next earliest sighting: 14 April 2011, vernal pool, deep forest, Tuscarora State Forest, two breeding pairs.

Green Darners, mating pair--note the tadpoles and the egg clusters (Wood Frogs, I suspect)

Swarm sighting: 10 September 2011, Laurel Run Valley, Perry County, PA

Swarming dragonflies are very difficult to photograph. I have yet to succeed.

Latest sightings: 28 September 2008 and 1 October 2010–and therein lies a tale.

I generally don’t see any Green Darners past August. However, 28 September 2008, a storm had blown up the night before from the south.  The next day was damp and chilly, temperatures in the mid-60s at best. Beginning around noon, the sun would occasionally peek out from behind a cloud. Every time it appeared, even for a minute, several large dragonflies would launch out of my weed patch to hawk around the crab apple tree.  My backyard consists of lawn, a ½ acre weed patch, a bunch of scattered shrubs and trees, a small seasonal stream, and some outbuildings on a small clearing in the woods along a country road. It is not what I would normally consider Green Darner habitat.

Male Green Darner. It was a cool day, note the "mood ring" abdomen.

One thing to note in these pictures is the color of the male’s abdomen. Apparently, when they are cold, the normal bright blue becomes this darker purple—which, I suppose, helps to absorb heat. Assuming that they don’t like to be cold, that must be sort of like a built-in mood ring: blue butt—happy bug; purple butt—sad bug.

Female Green Darner

Almost exactly the same scenario occurred on 1 October 2010. Those are the only two times that I have seen Green Darners in my backyard.

Here are the maximum and minimum temperatures by day for the seven days ending 28 September 2008, as recorded at Carlisle (about 20 miles south):

Here are the maximum and minimum temperatures by day for the seven days ending 30 September 2010:

It raises some interesting questions:

Is it possible that migrating dragonflies “fall out” when confronted with contrary weather conditions?

I did not see them the day before (in all fairness, I wasn’t looking, but I think I would have noticed them). Did they just happen to land there before the storm passed?

Dr. Wikelski found that they only migrate in the day. What time of day did they land in my backyard?

Why would they choose this apparently far-from-optimal location to stop, if it wasn’t because of the weather?

What did the dragonflies know, and when did they know it?

This is not a Pandorus Sphinx (Achemon Sphinx on grape)

Earlier in the summer I sent a photo of a Pandorus Sphinx caterpillar to an expert.

The expert quickly, informed me that I had misidentified it. It was an Achemon Sphinx. I had never seen one before, so I posted that picture in my note on Sphinx moth caterpillars. I checked the ID against Bill Oehlke’s marvelous website and learned that, not only was it an Achemon Sphinx caterpillar, but it was fifth instar—the last instar.  Earlier instars have the classic sphinx caterpillar horn on the back end.

After all of my Sphinx moth posts were done, I decided to go out one more time, to stand among the primroses and watch the big moths come dropping in from over my neighbor’s cornfield.

It was a good decision.

Twilight came, and with it, the moths. They hovered from primrose to primrose, appearing suddenly, and just as suddenly, disappearing into the night.

Most were Carolinas.

Carolina Sphinx (Manduca sexta)

Some were the very similar Five-spotted Hawkmoth.

Five-spotted Hawkmoth (Manduca Manduca quinquemaculatus)

It can be tough to tell these two apart. Counting the spots (supposed to be six on M. sexta and five on M. quinquemaculatus) never seems to work. They may hybridize as well.

Separating Carolina from Five-spotted Hawkmoths. Don't try counting the spots; that way lies madness.

Some, smaller, were White-lined Sphinxes.

White-lined Sphinx (Hyles lineata)

Some were the larger Pandorus Sphinx.

Pandorus Sphinx (Eumorpha pandorus) on Cleomes--I never got a good shoot over primrose. Wait 'til next year.

One, however, was none of the above. It was large, as large as the Pandorus Sphinxes, and it always seemed to be out at the edge of my flashlight’s range, moving purposefully from blossom to blossom. Its colors seemed warmer—but I had to get close enough to tell.

Now I strongly believe in the old if at first you don’t succeed maxim, but I had tried, tried again, tried yet again, and again. Four times I stalked that moth; four times I failed. Trying a fifth time might be considered the definition of insanity, so I gave it up for the night and started to walk out to the road.

The moth flew into the blossoms right in front of me and began to feed. I had enough time to grab three shots. Only one was any good:

Critter of the Year, 2011: Achemon Sphinx (Eumorpha achemon)

an adult Achemon Sphinx—the only one I’ve ever seen.

In two months, I went from total ignorance to two decent life-cycle shots—life is good.

May God bless and keep you all through the holidays and grant you a joy-filled 2012, J.B.

First up is birds.

I hope you enjoy.

David Wright is an expert on Celastrina, and I had not bothered to even offer him the courtesy of comment before I posted on his area of expertise.

Well, that’s embarrassing.

So I sent Dr. Wright a brief note explaining what I had done and apologizing for not having made the connection sooner.

Dr. Wright graciously and swiftly responded. The information he provided was so concise and valuable that I have asked his permission to reproduce it here. He agreed.

For those who still need a scorecard, C. lucia is the Lucia Azure, C. neglecta is the Summer Azure, C. ladon is the Spring Azure, C. neglectamajor is the Appalachian Azure, C. idella is the Holly Azure, C. nigra is the Dusky Azure, and C. serotina is the Cherry Gall Azure.

From Dr. Wright:

“There should be three azures in your area. Of your 11 pictures, the first six are the spring univoltine C. lucia (except for possibly the one from Kansas Valley) and the last five are C. neglecta.

C. lucia lives on the ridgetop of Blue/Kittatiny Mtn. from the Delaware Water Gap to the Maryland border and in plateaus to the north. C. ladon is present in the lowlands, especially from the base of the southern skirt of the ridge and southward in mesic woodlands. C. neglecta flies in both habitats and virtually all habitats in the state from late May/early June to late September.

C. neglectamajor is an associate of C. ladon in mesic woodlands where black cohosh thrives. It flies in May as the C. ladon flight is waning. It may come up to the southern edge of the ridge, but it seems to be found in good numbers below the turnpike towards the Maryland border.

C. serotina is an associate of C. lucia and starts to fly as lucia wanes. It does not occur with lucia on the ridgetops, rather it is co-occurs with lucia in the northern plateaus, such as Pocono Plateau and Appalachian Plateau. [T]he flight date [is] from mid-May to mid-June. It does indeed like cherry galls as a host, and it also utilizes small shrubs in bud in this interval, such as nannyberry.

C. nigra appears to be extripated from the state. We (people at DNR) have been looking at the few remaining stands of goatsbeard for nearly 20 years, but have found no sign of the butterfly or immatures on the host. Still hold out hope there is a small isolated colony getting by somewhere.

C. idella most likely does not occur in the state. It likes the sandy pine barren habitats on the coastal plain. I once searched the great holly stands in Susquehannock State Park in April, but didn’t find the butterfly. (I thought it might come up from the coast in the southern Susquehanna valley. Apparently not, however, this is a good route for southern migrants like Phoebis sennae and others.)“

So, from the comments above, the following are Lucia’s Azure: (insert photos here)

Lucia's Azure (C. lucia) nectaring on violet, 20 April, 2010, Dix Hill, Perry Co. PA.

Lucia's Azure (C. lucia), 20 April, 2010, Dix Hill, Perry Co. PA.

Lucia's Azure (C. lucia), 20 April, 2010. Same plant, same place, same time as photo above (different individual).

Lucia's Azure (C. lucia), 25 April, 2009. Bower Mtn Rd. Tuscarora State Forest, PA.

Lucia's Azure (C. lucia), 8 May, 2011, Pipeline right of way. Tuscarora State Forest, PA. Worn specimen.

This is probably Lucia’s Azure, but may not be:

Azure (Celastrina spp.). 14 April, 2011. Kansas Valley, Tuscarora State Forest, PA.

These are all Summer Azures:

Summer Azure (C. neglecta). 29 May, 2011, Little Buffalo SP. Perry Co. PA. On Dogwood.

Summer Azure (C. neglecta). 9 June, 2007. Near New Bloomfield, PA. on Dogwood

Summer Azure (C. neglecta). 18 June, 2011, Little Buffalo SP, Perry Co. PA.

Summer Azure (C. neglecta). 30 June, 2011, Tuscarora Wild Area. Tuscarora State Forest, PA

Summer Azure (C. neglecta). 22 August, 2011, Zooks Dam, Mifflin Co. PA

Anyone who remembers me saying “I suspect that many, if not all, of these photos are the Spring Azure (C. ladon)” in my Note will quickly discern that I was quite wrong.  None of them, with the possible exception of the Kansas Valley photo, are C. ladon!  I feel I should point that out, since Dr. Wright refrained—as I said, he responded graciously.

So now, at last, we know something, thanks to Dr. Wright.

They didn’t used to be.

When I first learned about butterflies, I only remember one Azure, the Spring Azure (Celastrina ladon).  Since those early days, a lot of research has been done, with the result that there are now a possible nine different Azures, which apparently can’t be told apart in the field, at least not with any degree of certitude.

Azure nectaring on violet, 20 April, 2010, Dix Hill, Perry Co.

Now, all of the photos in this Note were taken in Perry, Mifflin, or Juniata Counties, Pennsylvania.  So, we can eliminate the Echo Azure (C. echo), which is a western species. We can eliminate the Hops Azure (C. humulus); it lives along the Rockies. We can probably eliminate the Holly Azure (C. idella), which is supposed to be limited to the Atlantic Seaboard.

I suspect that many, if not all, of these photos are the Spring Azure (C. ladon). However, there are other possibilities, depending on the season of the year, as follows:

• The first up is Lucia’s Azure (C. lucia). Bugguide says in our area it emerges first, from late March to around the middle of April. The larvae like blueberries.
• Next comes the Spring Azure (C. ladon), which begins flying in late April.  The larvae like a lot of things, including flowering dogwood and New Jersey Tea.
• From April to May, the Dusky Azure (C. nigra) flies. The larvae like Goat’s Beard (that’s a flower, Aruncus dioicus). In Pennsylvania, it appears to be limited to the southwestern corner of the state.
• Next come two species.
  • The Appalachian Azure (C. neglectamajor) which flies in “late spring.” It likes Black Cohosh (Bugbane), which is a woodland plant.
  • The second is the Cherry Gall Azure (C. serotina), which flies from early May in Virginia to early July in southern Canada. It flies for about a month; I don’t know exact dates, but I would assume it is probably mid-May to mid-June hereabouts. This is a butterfly of open spaces. As its name implies, the larvae eat Cherry Galls, at least in the southern portion of the range.
  • Last comes the Summer Azure (C. neglecta), the last to fly. Again quoting Bugguide for the mid-Atlantic region, “any azure flying after July 1 is very likely this species.” They like roses, meadowsweet, New Jersey Tea, and Gray Dogwood.

Here are photos, arranged by season from the last five years. You can see the change from a dark-bordered hindwing to a pretty-much unbordered hindwing. Outside of that, I can’t see anything. My best guesses are indicated between two question marks. On several photos, I have chosen not to even embarrass myself by trying.

 

14 April, 2011. Kansas Valley, Perry Co. ?C. lucia?

20 April, 2010, Dix Hill, Perry Co. Note how worn ?C. lucia? On blueberry

20 April, 2010. Same plant, same place as photo above (different individual).

25 April, 2009. Bower Mtn Rd. Tuscarora State Forest, Perry Co. ?C. lucia/ladon?

8 May, 2011, Pipeline right of way. Tuscarora State Forest, Perry Co. Worn specimen.

29 May, 2011, Little Buffalo SP, Perry Co. On Dogwood. This was a large, floppy Azure.

9 June, 2007. Near New Bloomfield, PA, on Dogwood (a nice picture, but useless for ID purposes).

18 June, 2011, Little Buffalo SP. ?C. ladon/serotina?

 

30 June, 2011, Tuscarora Wild Area ?C. neglecta?

22 August, 2011, Zooks Dam, Mifflin Co. ?C. neglecta?

I took these photos of Azures  in a desultory manner, when and as I found them on my journeys in the central mountains. I didn’t plan to do a series of photos, so I didn’t really take the time to capture the best shots. I just, kinda, grabbed ‘em.

That’s too bad. Had I captured a decent series over the last five years, this could actually have been a valuable Note. As it is, all I can tell you for sure is that they are Azures; beyond that, they are guesses.

I need to get better at this.

Harvester (Feniseca tarquinius)

I never found a caterpillar, nor did I get the full-sun portrait of the adult I wanted. I did, however, get to spend about a half an hour photographing one adult that returned time and again to one well-shaded alder leaf.

But keen observers of nature will often find more than they seek.

As I was clicking away, a largish blue-black wasp flew into the picture.

Enter the wasp

I got ready for some excitement…there was none to be had.

The wasp returned several times.

He came and went for a full fifteen minutes. During that time, he also buzzed the aphids and the ants.

Now this was obviously a predatory wasp, so I figured it was either hunting aphids, caterpillars, or ants. I have never heard of a wasp that hunted butterflies–but I wasn’t sure.

Note the nifty white "stockings"

The butterfly, the ants, the aphids–nothing showed any fear whatsoever. The butterfly seemed mildly annoyed by the constant buzzing and stomping around, but it never moved more than a couple of millimeters. The ants ignored the wasp completely. Did I mention that there were no caterpillars?

I suppose I am assuming a lot to say that the aphids were unfazed. I’m not too certain what a fazed aphid would look like.

The butterfly was little more than annoyed.

Generally, a wasp is not something I would bother trying to identify from a photo–but this thing had white feet. I figured that those feet put an identification within the realm of the possible.

None of my field guides showed a wasp with white feet. So, I posted a picture with some friends, and I got an ID back from Bob Moul.

The wasp was a Pipe organ mud dauber (Trypoxylon politum), and they don’t hunt aphids, ants, caterpillars, or even butterflies.

They hunt spiders to store as food for their young in those nifty little organ pipe mud nests that show up on back porches and in gazebos. They are reputed to be fairly harmless (unless you’re a spider), but some people take exception to the mud nests stuck to the sides of their house, etc.

So the wasp was not hunting. What was it doing?

Not sure, but I have one, (sadly fuzzy) photo that I think might provide a clue. Just before leaving for the evening, the wasp landed and proceeded to a small drop of liquid–and drank it.

Yes, they hunt spiders–for their young. But the question is, what do the adults eat? Were they bothering the aphids for honey dew? Does the adult butterfly retain the chemical camouflage used by the Harvester caterpillar and, therefore attracts the wasp, hoping for a wee nip of aphid juice?

Sorry about the focus; you can just see the bit of liquid that the wasp is sucking down

I certainly don’t know the answers, but if anybody out there does, I would surely like to hear from them.

Follow up: I received a nice note to the effect that yes, various wasps, yellow jackets, etc. do feed on the honey dew. In fact, it is reported that in late summer you can find colonies by listening for the hum of all the insects taking advantage of the bounty.

Pileated Woodpecker

But this Note is not about woodpeckers.

When it comes to grail critters, I am more often drawn by some aspect of behavior than to mere appearances.  I want to see a Spitting Spider spit, some day. I want to see the mating dance of the Whooping Crane, some day.

And some day, I want to see North America’s only carnivorous butterfly caterpillar in action.

I’m very close.

The Harvester (Feniseca tarquinius) is a smallish butterfly whose larvae feed on aphids—Wooly Alder Aphids (Prociphilus tessallatus) seem to be preferred.

Wooly Alder Aphid--note the ant en garde

I know a site where there are aphids, and I have seen at least one adult at that site.

The adults don’t exactly catch the eye. They are small and yellowish, moth-like in their flight, and given to sitting very still for very long periods of time.

Harvester (flash photo)

I’ve never been close to one with its wings open, but I have spent considerable time dangling over three feet of water trying to focus and hold a camera steady to photograph one with its wings closed. The underwings are beautiful, a rich cinnamon rust with fine etchings. A note for photographers, they love to perch in the shadows, which will not give you accurate color; neither will flash—good luck: I did the best I could.

Harvester (no flash)

The very first two Harvesters I saw where absolutely besotted with the remains of a gutpile left by some considerate Nimrod in a nearby parking lot. They seemed to be sucking nutrients out of the adipocere that remained on the surface. This taste for things dead could be handy for locating colonies. Find the alders, find the aphids, throw a dead critter under the alders (get the land-owner’s permission), and check back frequently. I intend to try this next year.

Harvester feeding on adipocere

Where there are adults, there should, eventually, be caterpillars.  By all reports, they are very well camouflaged, even incorporating the aphids’ wool. Early observations led to the idea that the caterpillars spun webs to hide from the ants that usually attend the aphid colonies, but that theory has been called into question. More recent research indicates that the caterpillars are actually more likely to spin concealing webs when there are no ants. The ants are not the primary threat to the caterpillars. In fact, the ants, by protecting the aphids from other predators, also protect the caterpillars. The caterpillars fool the ants by incorporating chemicals from the aphids into their skin, which camouflages their scent.

And the Harvester sings:

Larvae of F. tarquinius produced a call that, depending on the distance from the phonograph cartridge, resembled a mournful sigh, a falling glissando of six half-steps from F to middle C, or, at proximity, when amplified, the bleating of a sheep.

Singing caterpillars: amazing, but not unique.  In fact, Harvesters are part of a larger order called the Lycaenids, several of which depend on ants to complete their life cycles. The usual approach is to lure the ants into carrying the immature Lycaenid back to their nests, where the caterpillars feed in safety on food stored by the ants. Chemicals and calling are used to facilitate this deception.

Wolf caterpillars in aphids’ clothing, even bleating like sheep; yep, I want to see that.

I have yet to find one. You have to go at exactly the right moment. They grow quickly. Most butterfly caterpillars have five stages (instars), the Harvester only has four. The entire period from hatching to pupating can take as little as eight days. I spent several hours searching the aphid colonies last summer, but I missed them.

There seems to be some debate over whether they winter as caterpillars or pupae, which I take to mean they probably will do either, depending on local conditions. So that is why I went wading in the little pond during last week’s warm spell. No, I was not expecting to find an errant larva in November, but I thought I might locate a pupa. No joy there either.

So the quest continues.

One of the most intriguing elements of a quest is serendipity. You often discover something marvelous that you did not set out to find. I’m sure this points to some great philosophical truth. I will have to think on it. Watch this space.

Wooly Alder Aphids

Herewith, a longer answer.

There are, in fact, aphids, Wooly Alder Aphids (Prociphilus tessellatus). As the name implies, these aphids feed mostly on alders, although there are some references that they move to maple trees late in the fall, perhaps to take advantage of the early and rich maple sap. That movement, I suppose, must be made by winged females, which move to the maples to produce young. Young in aphids can be produced parthenogenically[1] —which is a scientific word that means, basically, without the participation of males.[2]

The pond in question is surrounded by alders (Alnus spp.). Unhappily, I don’t know which type of alder. In fact, until I started doing the research to write this Note, I thought there was only one type of alder in this part of the world. Wrong again.  There are four, Smooth, Black (non-native), Speckled, and Mountain (rare). In order to determine which one, I will have to examine the twigs closely: I will get back to you on that.

Alders produce male and female catkins on the same limbs. The male catkins are usually rust and green. The female produces a cone-like structure that will actually bear the seeds.

Male alder catkin

Female alder cones

These alder cones are subject to a fungus, the Alder Tongue Gall (Taphrina alniI), which produces straplike fruiting bodies that will desiccate and remain on the catkin.[3]

Alder Tongue Gall

Taphrina is a large genus of fungi that includes species that are pathogenic on oak, maple, poplar, and—most famously—on peach (Peach Leaf Curl, Taphrina deformans).

But I was here to look for aphids. I had seen aphids in these alders earlier in the summer. The alders that were heavily infested showed yellowing of the leaves.

Aphids suck the sap out of plants. The sap passes through their bodies rather quickly, and the by-product is pumped out of the insects’ anus. The by-product is known as “honey dew”—there’s a euphemism for you.

The "honey dew" is that little shiny bubble center frame.

Honey dew is, apparently, both delicious and nutritious, at least if you’re an ant.

Aphids are not nimble creatures, so they have “hired” the ants as bodyguards, and they pay them with sweetened…butt leakage. Ants actually wander the twigs around the aphid colony waiting for their next meal to pop out of the back end of an aphid. In return for this treasure, the ants provide a modicum of protection against predators.  They are reported to be particularly effective in discouraging ladybugs—ferocious aphid predators.

Ant guarding aphids. I have no idea what kind of ant--if anyone does, I would love to hear from you.

However, they are not as effective against another predator, a unique predator, and a quest bug of mine. But that is for my next post. Watch this space.

————————————————————————

[2] Now where is the fun in that?

[3] I know this because Seabrooke Leckie blogged about it on her marvelous site almost exactly one year ago. She, in turn, got the information from  Willow House Chronicles, which is written by her mother.

Mustard greens should look something like this.

Wrong again. In a week that included a foot of snow, two frosts, and one hard freeze, the mustard bed was devastated.

Mustard should not look like this

The culprit.

The culprit was a little spiky-looking caterpillar. I assumed it was some kind of Pierid butterfly—a White or a Sulphur of some type. Several Pierids will eat anything in the cabbage family (Brassicaceae), which includes mustard.[1]

I took a couple of pictures, assuming that it would be easy to identify.

It wasn’t.

Now, until fairly recently, identifying caterpillars was almost impossible for all but the specialist with access to an extensive library. That all changed in 2005 with the publication of David L. Wagner’s Caterpillars of Eastern North America. Wagner’s book describes over 700 species; it is a tour de force, and it has never let me down—until now.[2] The culprit was not in Wagner, but all the Pierids for our region were. This caterpillar was not a Pierid.

So I got on the internet and yelled for help, and Curtis Lehman, the Pennsylvania Regional Coordinator for Butterflies and Moths of North America, was kind enough to make the ID: Evergestis pallidata—the Purple-backed Cabbageworm.[3]

Identification in hand, I went online and found a wealth of information…in German and Finnish and Swedish and French. Apparently it is a rather common little critter in Europe (in England the adult moth is known as the Chequered Straw). I could not tell whether or not it was a native to Europe and North America or an invasive.

It is apparently not all that well known in the States.

I have never seen the adult—that I know of. It is not a particularly striking moth (this link will take you to the Moth Photographers Group page for the species).

Knowing that it was devastating vegetable crop, I figured that the extension agency would have some information. But the Penn State Agricultural Extension does not list the Purple-backed Cabbageworm as a pest.

Moving north, I learned that, in Connecticut, the Purple-backed Cabbageworm “sometimes feeds on leaves, webbing them together, or bores into the stem and roots. There are 2-3 generations per year and the late generation is most damaging. This insect is rare, however, and control is not usually necessary. “[4]

Certainly this qualifies as a late generation, and it surely was most damaging, but the insect is not rare enough for my taste—which runs toward mustard greens sautéed with onions and a little bacon—without caterpillar bits.[5]

Control is looking like a real good idea.

Continuing north, I found a site from Newfoundland that partially answered the question of origins:

“This is a decidedly northern species…found throughout most of Canada except for British Columbia, and as far south as Virginia and Kentucky in the eastern United States, and northern Arizona in the West. It is likely of European origin, but has been in North America at least since 1869. It is recorded as a pest principally in Canada’s Maritime Provinces.”[6]

So it “likely” came from Europe, which is where it was first described, in 1767, by a German parson named Johann Siegfried Hufnagel, who was living in what is now Poland. Parson Hufnagel is one of those marvelous amateur folks who, in the early days of scientific classification (Linnaeus was still alive), contributed his lasting little bit to the body of knowledge. In a two-year furor scribende, he published thirteen separate papers in the Berlinisches Magazin, one of the earliest natural history journals. To this day, he  still credited with the description of more than 80 species.

Not bad for a country preacher.

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[2] Wagner’s book describes over 700 species. However, there are more than 12000 species of moths—and hence moth caterpillars—in North America. Throw in another 700 and some butterfly caterpillars, and while you’re at it, toss in several dozen sawflies—whose larvae look a lot like caterpillars. Obviously, no field guide can show them all.

[3] Because there is not enough confusion between common names, which change from place to place and language to language, and Latin names, which change at the caprice of science, lepidopterists have adopted yet another system for categorizing moths: the Hodges Number, which is based on an out-of-date checklist published in 1983. For those interested, Evergestis pallidata is Hodges number 4897.

[4] Connecticut Agricultural Experiment Station. Cabbage (Brassica), http://www.ct.gov/caes/cwp/view.asp?a=2823&q=377594 (accessed November 10, 2011).

[5] According to my cook, greens are easy. First, wash the greens (remove the caterpillars). Sautee some onions and bacon until lightly brown, pour in some chicken broth and steam the greens until tender. If I missed anything, it’s not her fault.

[6] Florence Grovida Gardening. Vegetable Pests, http://www.grovida.com/vegetable-pests/purplebacked-cabbageworm-evergestis-pallidata-hufnagel-lepidoptera-pyralidae.html (accessed November 10, 2011).