Paya & Seagull Bar!

"Live in the sunshine, swim the sea, drink the wild air's salubrity."

 

— Ralph Waldo Emerson

Sue and I returned to Paya Lake in Oconto County last week, but I'm finally getting around to blogging about it now. While there are opportunities for all sorts of nature excursions at the Chequamegon-Nicolet National Forest, our favorite destination when we're up there is always Seagull Bar State Natural Area—it's just absolutely stunning. This time it was gusty and waves crashed against the sandy shore throughout the day. Temperatures were in the low 70s, so it was still comfortable for hiking, exploration, and nature photography.

Designated a State Natural Area in 1962, Seagull Bar SNA is a Marinette-based sand spit and marsh featuring Green Bay's only true dune complex. Fluctuating water levels constantly reshape its mudflats and shallow lagoons, supporting rich native flora ranging from rushes to marram grass. This dynamic landscape acts as a critical migration stopover habitat for shorebirds, gulls, waterfowl, and other birds.

But I adore it for ...

Tiger Beetles!

This is the only location I know of in Wisconsin where I can reliably find Cicindela hirticollis rhodensis, the State Endangered subspecies of Hairy-necked Tiger Beetle. Despite respectable numbers here, entomologist Dr. Mathew Brust has noted that this location seems to be their last good stronghold along the Wisconsin side of Lake Michigan, as they have vanished from most other areas. According to Brust, these beetles generally do not tolerate increases in human activity; their larvae dig insanely shallow burrows—only three to six inches deep—and will readily abandon a burrow to crawl across the sand and dig a new one if the moisture gradient changes.

The above beetle shows nearly complete but weak maculations, while this this next one is more teneral with less obvious markings. 

Classic rhodensis. 

 

Slightly more elevated on its legs ...

Despite mostly to partly cloudy skies, the shifting light worked to my advantage. By timing my shots carefully, I avoided harsh sunlight detail blowout while maintaining fast enough shutter speeds at f/22 to f/25 for focal depth of field. Bright but diffused light is ideal for softening glare to capture the intricate microsculpture of their elytral surface.

Subtle clues led me to Twelve-spotted Tiger Beetles (Cicindela duodecimguttata) further up the sandbar. It appeared that their usual area had recently been submerged, forcing them to retreat to higher ground on an upper ridge. So, that makes 12 species for 2026. Will there be Cow Path or Virginia Metallic? 

Above and below, a Bronzed Tiger Beetle (Cicindela repanda). There was also a single Festive (Cicindela scutellaris) found, but the Hairy-neckeds far outnumbered the other three species. Still, four species at a single spot is very respectable. Spring Green's 10 or 11 is the best I know of, but I do have other tiger beetle haunts where I can find half a dozen or so.

I'm pretty certain this is Obedient Plant (Physostegia virginiana) but I've never seen them so short. 

I've read that plants growing directly in beach sand or sand dunes exposed to wave action, wind, and low-nutrient substrates can exhibit severe dwarfing. Thus, a species that normally reaches 3 to 4 feet in rich inland soils often flowers at under 12 inches on sandy coastal shores.

The ever-cool Shoreline Wolfspider (Arctosa littoralis)...

Just remember the next time you're at the beach ... they're everywhere!

But harmless.

As I was wrapping up my tiger beetle photography efforts, I spotted a small group of shorebirds that consisted of Least Sandpipers and Greater Yellowlegs. There was also a Baird's we had seen earlier, but there was one other shorebird that looked a little different, rendering a moment of mental database consideration. 

 

But then it hit me ...

Holy smokes! A Red Knot (Calidris canutus rufa)—juvenile. 

 

This federally threatened subspecies breeds in the central Canadian Arctic and uses the Atlantic Flyway as its primary migratory corridor. While the vast majority of rufa knots travel along the Atlantic coastline, a small percentage of migrating birds travel through the interior flyways—including the Great Lakes region and places like the Green Bay shoreline.

Across four decades of birding, I've only observed this species three times, with the last sighting dating back to 2015. If I'm recalling correctly, my life bird was at Nine Springs in Dane County, but this encounter was by far my best view yet—and a lifer for Sue.

Alas, once I got home from the trip, an eBird check revealed other birders had spotted it the day before, but that didn't dull the thrill of finding it. With no reports since our sighting, we clearly caught a lucky break—the shorebird has likely resumed its southward journey. It's absolutely astonishing how far these birds migrate. Consider the true story of B95.

Some final views of Seagull Bar SNA ...

Before heading back to the parking lot, Sue and I took a breather sitting on a log when a couple of Monarch butterflies flew in. One landed the sand just past our feet while the other kept flying around me, so I finally extended my hand and it immediately landed on it.

I've had butterflies land on me before, but this was the first time I could feel one using its proboscis to discharge fluid onto my skin to dissolve and reabsorb nutrients. It might sound kind of gross, but this process allows them to extract essential salts and minerals from sources like rocks, carrion, and human skin. When the Monarch on the sand took flight, this one went along with it. Perhaps a coincidence, but it was a pretty cool interaction with another species. Anthropomorphize if you like.

 

And that's it for another Nature Adventure at Seagull Bar SNA! 

Though it was a short trip, we also went to Mountain Fire Lookout Tower for great views of the Chequamegon-Nicolet National Forest.

The cabin at the top is only 7'x7' so if there are other visitors it can get a little tight.

This is what it looks like in every direction, but photos don't do it justice.

One morning we went to McCaslin Brook to look for migrating songbirds, but only Red-eyed Vireos were present. However, near the cabin we did find Yellow-rumped, Black-and-white, and Magnolia Warblers. 

I saw this White Underwing (Catocala relicta) fly to a tree and quickly digiscoped a photo of it ...

We also returned to Cathedral Pines for a short hike.

But stopped only to photograph mushrooms.

With August in the books, blogging took a bit of a back seat this month—mostly thanks to my relentless (but failed) search for Sandy Stream Tiger Beetles. Even so, no time in the field is ever truly wasted. I used to contend that you don't learn from what you fail to discover, but that isn't always true. I think I got this sensibility from a book I read by British physicist Paul Davies, where he wrote:

 

"If God is to be found, it must surely be through what we discover about the world, not what we fail to discover." 

 

Davies was speaking specifically about the 'God of the gaps'—the trap of looking for meaning in what science hasn't explained yet. But the principle translates well to the field: empty hands don't mean an empty outing if you pay attention to what the absence tells you.

 

All images © 2026 Mike McDowell

Late Summer Begins

"Insects all business all the time."

― David Foster Wallace

As you saw in my previous post, I spent all day Saturday tinkering with guitars, but Sunday's brilliant weather demanded an outdoor adventure. Spring Green Preserve was the natural choice—I'm weary of exploring sandbars after so many failed attempts looking for Sandy Stream Tiger Beetles. 

Avian-wise, the birding highlight was a Blue Grosbeak still singing on territory, though I didn't have my digiscoping rig with me to get a photo. I also encountered a handful of Field Sparrows, a calling Eastern Towhee, and a few singing Indigo Buntings, but most of the grassland birds had already departed. Lark Sparrows and Grasshopper Sparrows were absent or silent, as were Eastern Meadowlarks. Dickcissels were gone, too. It's a much quieter place now.

Naturally, the plan for the day was a Bug Hunt. My target species was Virginia Metallic Tiger Beetle (Tetracha virginica), but none were found. I didn't find any last year either, but there's still time. In fact, I think most of my records for this species are September ones. Speaking of September, how'd we already get to mid-August? The time just flies. 

Spring Green's sandy trails are perfect habitat for tiger beetles.

Present were Festive, Big Sand, and Punctured. 

 

Let the portraiture begin!

Here's is a very metallic-green Festive Tiger Beetle, demonstrating their polychromatic nature. Generally, most individuals I encounter are brownish, but one occasionally finds them with brassy green highlights. Recall that Festives at Sauk Rec SNA are more ruby-colored. Some years back I found one that was blue and purple—an absolute stunner. 

Polychromatism means that an insect species can exhibit different colors instead of all looking the same. Rather than using paint-like pigments, many insects render bright colors using microscopic layers on their shells that bend and reflect light like a prism. Tiny genetic tweaks or environmental changes during development can change how these layers bounce light. Observing them from different angles also can change their iridescence.

Big Sand Tiger Beetles were out in big numbers. The particular individual has a very coppery pronotum (dorsal shield). Typically the ones I encounter are more brownish on the thorax and head, like these next ones.

Variable cloud cover provided a dynamic mix of lighting, ranging from harsh, direct sunlight to soft, diffused light. I welcome the variation; direct sun often creates high-contrast glare that washes out finer structural details and textures. With clouds continually drifting through, a little patience lets you time the exposure to catch ideal light.

Above, a Punctured Tiger Beetle—it looks like it may have been ovipositing.

Look at this ...

A Dung Beetle! There used to be more of them at Spring Green.

Here's a robber fly (Proctacanthella sp.) with prey ...

Rough Blazing Star (Liatris aspera) is a defining highlight of the late-summer prairie, anchoring sandy barrens and oak savannas with its bold, magenta-purple blooms from August into September. Unlike species with dense, crowded spikes, aspera sets distinct, button-like flower heads spaced along its rough, rigid stems, with rounded, translucent bracts that make field identification straightforward. Blooming from the top down, it serves as a critical late-season nectar stop for migrating Monarchs and native bees when earlier forbs have gone to seed.

This is the jungle-like trail leading up to the top of the bluff ...

I don't encounter Ghost Pipe (Monotropa uniflora) very often, so this was a cool find. 

At the top!

Above, Cylindrical Blazing Star (Liatris cylindracea), below Dotted Horsemint (Monarda punctata).

White Goldenrod (Solidago ptarmicoides) ...

It's about two weeks early, but I thought to check for Splendid Tiger Beetles—none were found on the rocky outcroppings, but it's still a spectacular view of Spring Green's bluffs. Plus, it's great exercise hiking up the slope's forested trail. 

It's no longer a secret that Six-lined Racerunners (Aspidoscelis sexlineatus) are at the sand prairie, and I'm not sure what the poaching situation is these days. They're a species of special concern in Wisconsin, but do not have a Federal conservation status. Many years ago, I would occasionally encounter people capturing herps to keep as pets or sell. This is highly illegal, and I've personally made them release animals they had captured. I can be pretty persuasive and I'm not afraid of confrontations when it comes to protecting wildlife.

The Nature Conservancy once discouraged people from publishing specific herp locations, but they've since done so themselves. For example, I know they assisted the author of this Artful Living article, which shows a tell. Word is that someone was recently fined and banned from the preserve for poaching herps, though enforcement remains a mystery given how rarely wardens or TNC staff are on-site. Regardless, reptile numbers appear to be declining, suggesting that illegal collecting likely persists.

They're remarkable little reptiles, and their speed is truly impressive. Spotting one stationary in the open is a rare treat—this kind of shot that would normally be much easier to capture from a distance with my digiscoping rig. Fortunately, this cooperative individual held still long enough for me to creep within just a few feet before it finally darted off into the vegetation. 

Tiger beetle season isn't over yet—September remains promising, and I’ve seen Bronzed as late as November. Still, after six months of bug hunting since March, the season is coming to an end. While I'm bummed to miss Sandy Stream this year (fingers crossed for a comeback), there are still opportunities for Twelve-spotted and Cow Path. That said, my primary focus through September will be Virginia Metallic. However, this effort will be punctuated by warbler migration at the Pheasant Branch Creek Corridor. 

 

All images © 2026 Mike McDowell