Wolf Spiders!

"Spiders are not only essential to the balance of nature but are also fascinating creatures that inspire awe and curiosity."

— David Attenborough

For lack of rain, the Wisconsin River near Sauk City is rather low once again, offering opportunities for exploration and exposing more habitat for the creatures that thrive along its banks. When the water level drops, the shoreline becomes easier to navigate, allowing for extended treks and a closer look at the fascinating world of creepy-crawlies that emerge. Although autumn is well underway, we're still not at peak fall colors. Most of the trees along the river are holding onto their green leaves with some showing hints of yellow.

During this outing, there were several Arctosa littoralis—Shoreline (or Beach) wolf spiders—scurrying across the exposed terrain. These spiders are perfectly adapted to life along the riverbanks, their cryptic coloration helping them blend into the surroundings as they hunt and move across the sandy habitat. 

They're known to burrow under sand or other beach debris, which helps them stay hidden from predators (mainly wasps) and better positioned to ambush prey. Typically nocturnal predators, they emerge at night to hunt for insects. During the day, they remain concealed under sand to avoid detection​, but when disturbed, they'll make a run for it to avoid getting crushed. 

Their hiding behavior is facilitated by their ability to blend into the sandy habitat thanks to their coloration, which acts as some of the best camouflage rendered by natural selection. Unlike spiders that rely on webs, wolf spiders like Arctosa littoralis are agile hunters, and their excellent eyesight helps them spot prey even in low-light conditions. They react quickly when they feel threatened. When sufficiently bothered, they can literally jump away, with larger individuals capable of leaping about a foot at a time, doing this repeatedly until they are out of danger. It's kind of adorable, actually.

How about some macro close-ups?

Some individuals exhibit drab patterns and colors, blending seamlessly into their sandy surroundings, while others display more vibrant hues with warmer tones. These striking variations not only showcase their beauty but also serve as a fascinating reminder of their adaptability to different micro habitats.

I would like to get a better photo of their fangs, but I don't wish to handle them. As much as I admire them, they are a little creepy—it's part of their attraction, though.

Appreciate this warmer-toned one ...

Their amazing eyes ...

Such astonishing camouflage!

The trees along the shore were bustling with a gazillion Yellow-rumped Warblers. This time of year, they don’t sing; instead, their cheerful chip notes sound like a persistent 'check' as they flit from branch to branch, searching for insects and berries. While their vibrant yellow butt-patch adds a splash of color to the scene, these warblers are so common that most birders wouldn’t give them a second glance. However, their abundance is a testament to their adaptive success, thriving in a variety of habitats and making them a familiar autumn sight. It really is a good bird.

I brought my digi-rig with me and spent some time photographing the fall-plumaged YRWAs.

Farewell for now, but they’ll return in the spring, usually in late March for those of us in southern Wisconsin. Their arrival signals the promise of May's glorious neotropical songbird migration, which, unfortunately, seems to feature fewer members with each passing decade of my birding experience. At least this species remains abundant, and they could, down the road, serve as genetic stock for evolution to potentially create new varieties of wood warblers, perhaps thousands of years from now. When observing the current Parulidae family, we see members that are strikingly similar due to recent speciation, alongside others that are quite disparate, having speciated much longer ago. This suggests that hundreds of warbler species likely went extinct long before there were humans in North America to witness them.

Lastly, there were still some tiger beetles, but only Bronzed now. Recall last year I found them up to the first week of November, which was the first time I had ever observed them so late in the season. We've had a few nights of freezing temperatures, but we're heading into a warming trend for a week or so. It'll be interesting to see if they re-emerge. 

Perhaps farewell to the tiger beetles, as well!

October highlights vanishing seasonal life, through migration, hibernation, decay, and death. Each species plays an important role in our local ecosystem, reminding us of the diversity of life that thrives around us during the warm months. As we observe their beauty, behaviors, and interactions, let’s continue to appreciate and do our best to protect these remarkable creatures and their habitats for the future—and you can't do that by rolling back hundreds of environmental programs and regulations. 

All images © 2024 Mike McDowell

Sparrows!

"It was a beautiful bright autumn day, with air like cider and a sky so blue you could drown in it."

—Diana Gabaldon

Isn't it beautiful? And who wouldn't want to explore it? Clouds and rain would move in later on, but I had the entire morning to search for migratory sparrows at Pheasant Branch Prairie, where the gentle rustle of grasses and the soft calls of birds created a tranquil backdrop. This may turn out to be my only sparrowing adventure this fall, as busy weekends loom ahead. The 58-year-old version of me doesn't have quite the same energy as the one who launched this blog back in 2005. Over the years, I’ve gradually reduced my monthly posts and likely will continue this trend. With my blog's 20th anniversary approaching, I face the decision of whether to keep publishing content here. Perhaps I’ll shift to a single comprehensive post each month, allowing me to delve deeper into the themes I love while celebrating the beauty of the natural world.

Here are the sparrow species I observed on Saturday:

Spizella passerina

Spizella pusilla

Passerella iliaca

Junco hyemalis

Zonotrichia leucophrys

Zonotrichia albicollis

Passerculus sandwichensis

Melospiza melodia

Melospiza lincolnii

Melospiza georgiana 

Pipilo erythrophthalmus

Ha! Those blasted Latin names again, right? When considering common names of these sparrow species, there's only one with an eponym—Lincoln's. It was named after Thomas Lincoln, a young friend of the American ornithologist John James Audubon. In 1833, during an expedition in Labrador, Lincoln shot the first specimen of this species (shame!), which was then unknown to science. As a tribute to his contribution, Audubon named the bird in his honor, originally Lincoln Finch Fringilla Lincolnii.

Curiously, Audubon claimed he discovered the species in his 1834 publication, but this narrative is contradicted by his wife Lucy's diary entries, which provide a different perspective. Further complicating the matter, a published transcript by Audubon’s granddaughter, Maria, aligns closely with his narrative, suggesting she may have altered the record. Additionally, the recently rediscovered unpublished diary of Thomas Lincoln supports Lucy's version. This situation raises important questions about the reliability of primary sources in Audubon scholarship, perhaps emphasizing the need for a review of his contributions to ornithology. 

 

Or should we just erase Audubon altogether?

In one case, and to much woke criticism, the National Audubon Society decided to keep its name, despite controversy surrounding its namesake, who was a slave owner and held racist views. After a year-long deliberation, the board concluded in March 2023 that the organization's work and legacy had come to transcend Audubon’s name, focusing on their broader conservation efforts. 

History will preserve the connection to the bird because the binomial scientific name M. lincolnii will not be changed. Naturally, as I've mentioned in past posts, I'll probably not adopt whatever descriptive name the American Ornithological Society comes up with (nor will I purchase any new field guides). Therefore, if you happen to be birding with me sometime in the future and I call out "Lincoln's!" or "M. Lincolnii" I'm still technically correct and you should know which species I'm talking about.

In a sense, it feels like a subtle form of racism to claim that common names honoring offensive figures are problematic, yet simultaneously assume that people won't notice the superficial nature of simply keeping the scientific names untouched. This suggests an underestimation of people's ability to recognize such token gestures for what they are. I still contend if the US birding community is not welcoming to minorities, it’s the birders that are a problem, not the names of birds. Does anyone really believe that white people changing the names of animals, parks, lakes, schools, buildings, highways, etc., will reduce inequality? Some say it's a start, but I suspect it'll have nil effect. 

Ultimately, while changing names might signal a willingness to engage with these issues, it is the actions and attitudes of individuals within the community that will determine whether true inclusivity is achieved. No matter what we call things, the history is set in stone.

Anyway, here are the magnificent birds I photographed ...

Ye dapper Lincoln's.

White-throats ...

As per usual, most of the sparrows were clustered on the northeast slope of the drumlin.

Adult and immature White-crowned Sparrows ...

A Field Sparrow above, and Fox Sparrow below ...

Dang obstructions!

With what little sunlight remained, I spent some time taking macro photographs of vegetation; some still living, some dead, and others carrying the promise of a new season. 

Ya gotta love asters.

It's already the middle of October. As we journey through life, the sensation of time speeding up can be quite striking, especially when we immerse ourselves in Nature. In our youth, the changing seasons brim with new experiences—watching the leaves burst into color in the fall or feeling the first warm breezes of spring often feels like an eternity. However, as we age, those vivid moments can blur into a continuous cycle, making the months seem to fly by. This phenomenon, rooted in psychological and biological changes, suggests that our perception of time is influenced by how many novel experiences we encounter. As we age, routine often takes precedence, diminishing the richness of our memories and giving the impression that time is passing more swiftly. I think that engaging with the natural world helps slow down this perception, allowing us to savor each moment, by cultivating mindfulness in Nature, we can reclaim a sense of time that feels both abundant and meaningful.

All images © 2024 Mike McDowell

Morbid Thoughts

"Look at the size of that thing!"

— Wedge Antilles, Star Wars

As I watched Hurricane Helene approach Florida through GOES satellite imagery, I couldn’t help but admire its sheer size and power. There’s something both awe-inspiring and terrifying about witnessing the formation of such a massive storm. Yet, as I marveled at the storm’s immense energy, a darker thought crept in: somewhere within the storm’s path, people were alive at that very moment who wouldn’t survive the day, or the days to follow. It’s a sobering reminder that Nature, in all its beauty, can also be cruelly indifferent to human life.

Now, Hurricane Milton—a monstrous Category 5 storm—is taking aim at Florida. Despite evacuation orders, many are staying behind, either unable to leave or underestimating the storm’s power. It’s a tragic pattern we see repeated with each major hurricane: the warnings come, but not everyone listens. Some people lack the means to evacuate, while others refuse to believe that their lives are in danger. Unfortunately, it’s often only after the storm has passed, when the floodwaters rise and the winds die down, that the human toll becomes painfully clear.

In a few days, the headlines will likely speak of the lives lost, families torn apart, and homes destroyed. Each of these storms leaves scars—not only on the landscape but also on the communities caught in their path. As we brace for Milton’s landfall, I can’t help but reflect on the fragile line between life and death during these events. Nature’s power, while mesmerizing, is also a reminder of how vulnerable we truly are. 

Images: GOES-East & World Wind 

Early Fall Colors!

"There is no season when such pleasant and sunny spots may be lighted on, and produce so pleasant an effect on the feelings, as now in October." 

— Nathaniel Hawthorne

Holy smokes! It's October.

Sue and I took another trip up to Paya Lake last weekend, hoping to catch early fall colors. With Wisconsin’s color map showing a 50-75% peak, we were optimistic. Meanwhile, here in Dane County, it seems like the season is taking a different turn. While it's still very green, leaves are going straight to brown. Even the maples that normally turn a vivid red have already lost about half their leaves, with little color to show for it. A cause might be the abundance of rain we got during part of the summer, followed by slight drought.

As I've written before, Sue's cabin is super nice. We took the pontoon boat out and checked out some of the other cabins on the lake—some are quite extravagant and look more like mansions. There's one in particular that's about the size of a mini-mall and must be worth a few million. Most, though, are quite diminutive, which is how I like a comfy northwoods cabin to be.

Colors around Paya ...

Nearby McCaslin Brook ...

Part of the Oconto River near Paya Lake ...

Since we didn't have as much time as our previous trip, we decided to make the 30-minute drive to Governor Thompson State Park. Located near the shores of Caldron Falls Reservoir, it offers visitors a pristine natural retreat with over 2,800 acres of forests, wetlands, scenic shoreline, and hiking trails. Neither of us had ever been there before, so we decided to check it out.

A good share of the drive along Bucks Ranch Road (National Forest Road 2101) held some dramatic displays of fall colors. Given the comparative lackluster colors here, we stopped several times to walk around and take photographs.

It was an unseasonably warm day and we decided not to do too much hiking. There were some opportunities for insect photography, but no tiger beetles on the beach. Instead, I settled for some Autumn Meadowhawks that were busy doing their thing near the lake.

Perching on branches and twigs ...

Resting on leaves ...

And making more meadowhawks ...

There were quite a few birds at the park as well ...

Both White-crowned and White-throated Sparrows, Blue-headed Vireos, our two Kinglet species, my first-of-fall Dark-eyed Juncos, Chipping Sparrows, Palm and Yellow-rumps, and more. Birding wasn't really the intent of the trip, but it's challenging not to bird when you're a birder. 

After arriving back in the Paya Lake area, we had an early dinner at Waubee Lodge. 

I had walleye ...

Sue had chicken with mushrooms ...

The outdoor patio at the lodge overlooks a small lake and the entire time we were eating I could hear the chip-notes of Yellow-rumped Warblers. Again, as a birder, it was important for me to point out their presence. Perhaps a topic for another blog post, but I'm sure other birders do this, too. Even at work, if I'm walking across the parking lot with coworkers and hear a bird, I'll point it out. "Listen ... hear that little see-lick sound? That's a Henslow's Sparrow. Can you hear it?"

There's nothing quite like a fire to end the day on ...

The warmth of the flames contrasts with the crisp autumn air, while the crackling wood and rustling leaves create a peaceful connection to Nature. The smoky scent of burning wood mingles with the earthy smell of fallen leaves, grounding you in the season. The flickering firelight casts a cozy glow, perfect for quiet reflection or conversation under the stars. Whether roasting marshmallows or just enjoying the quiet, the fire invites you to relax and savor the timeless atmosphere of the Northwoods.

All images © 2024 Mike McDowell