Lying in the heart of the St. Francois Mountains, Johnson Mountain—like many of the other remnant peaks that form the core of this ancient volcanic system—features igneous glades on the rhyolite exposures at its summit and on its southwestern-facing slopes. While it has not been given any special wilderness designation within the Mark Twain National Forest, the U.S. Forest Service has restricted access in recent years due to increasing damage by ATVs and implemented management practices such as controlled burns to help restore these fragile glades to their presettlement extent and character. Thanks to WGNSS member Casey Galvan, who was able to gain access to these glades with the help of MDC Biologist Josh Wibbenmeyer, who ferried several members of the WGNSS Nature Photography Group up to the summit to explore its glades.

The burn a few years ago at the summit was “controlled” in name only—what had been open woodland extending down the southwest-facing slope was now oak/sumac scrub with numerous oak and pine cadavers standing starkly above the brush with tiny fragments of glade habitat on and around the larger rock exposures. It will take repeated burns and herbicide treatments to further reduce woody encroachment and allow expansion of grasses and forbs beyond their tiny toeholds.

Of course, as an entomologist—and one with special interest in beetles associated with woody plants at that, the cadavers dotting the landscape, many with the bark of their trunks loose and peeling, was an instant attention-getter. Navigating through the scrub on rocky ground was tricky, but I made it to one of the trees (Quercus stellata, post oak), peeled back a chunk of bark and saw two powderpost beetles (family Bostrichidae) belonging to the genus Lichenophanes. While there is a very common species in this genus in Missouri (Lichenophanes bicornis)—usually encountered at lights, these did not strike me as that species due to their smaller size and darker coloration, and photographing one of them at 2–2.5× revealed its true identity as the much less commonly encountered L. armiger. This species further differs from L. bicornis by its less distinctly raised elytral costae and tufts of setae raised and hair-like rather than flattened and scale-like. I have only encountered this species a few times, all at lights, so finding and photographing it in a more natural setting was a nice opportunity. While I photographed the individual, I also noticed a tiny red mite actively crawling about the surface of the beetle (seen at the base of the elytra in the photo below). This was likely not a parasitic mite, but rather a phonetic one—i.e., using the beetle only as a means of transport for its own dispersal.

With one success already in hand, I immediately looked for other cadavers with bark to peel in search of beetles or other insects of interest. The second tree I approached seemed to just such, as I noticed a very tiny flat bug (family Aradidae) on the underside of the bark. However, as I positioned the lens over the subject, something about it didn’t look quite right, and zooming in closer revealed the bug, itself, to be a cadaver—partials remnants of a once-living individual that spent its last moments hunkered down under the loose bark. As often is the case when success come quickly, no amount of bark peeling over the next hour or so revealed beetles or other insects of any kind. With each fruitless effort, my attention increasingly wandered toward the foliage of other plants, and I eventually noticed a few patches of Solidago ulmifolia (elm-leaf goldenrod) beginning to bloom. Goldenrods are famously attractive to insects of many types, and the appearance of goldenrod in the landscape is a sure sign that summer has arrived in earnest. Most of the plants were in earlier stages of flowering, and insects observed visiting them were mostly the dreadfully pedestrian European honey bee (Apis mellifera). At one point, I noticed a few plants on which the flowers had not only peaked but were in early fruit development. While early-stage frutescences rarely attract pollinators, I noticed something on them anyway, and a closer look revealed them to be Missouri’s smallest representative of the family Coreidae (leaf-footed bugs), Merocoris distinctus. I don’t encounter this species very often—usually picking up an odd individual or two while sweeping herbaceous vegetation in high-quality prairies, so seeing half a dozen individuals congregating on a few plants was an unusual occurrence for me. Merocoris distinctus and its congeners in other areas are distinctive in their small size but chunky form and with the hind tibiae not expanded and flattened (thus, defying the family’s common name). Instead, their femora are robust and armed with small spines that once can imagine must serve some anti-predatory function. Their presence of fading flowers with developing fruits is logical, however, as members of this family are widely known to feed on the developing seeds and fruits of a variety of plants. Once again, I had the chance to photograph a seldom seen insect species engaging in natural behavior, and the presence of multiple individuals meant that I could continue my attempts with the skittish and flighty adults until, ultimately, I succeeded.

After a couple of hours, we went back down the mountain a short distance to explore another glade that we’d seen on the way up. The core remnant was larger than what we’d seen up top due to the larger expanse of exposed rhyolite, and we immediately noticed one of the classic icons of igneous glades in Missouri—Trimerotropis saxitilis (lichen grasshopper). I’ve seen these beautiful grasshoppers—gorgeously cloaked in mottled green and black to match the lichen-encrusted rocks on which they sit—on numerous occasions, but I am nevertheless always tempted to photograph them whenever I see them and was preparing to do just that when Josh called out one of the only things that could surpass it in priority—tiger beetle! I knew it most likely was Cicindelidia rufiventris (red-bellied tiger beetle), and carefully approaching revealed this to be the case due to its dark dorsal surface but absence of a sutural row of spots on each elytron and slightly more gracile form that distinguish this species from its much more commonly encountered congener C. punctulata (punctured tiger beetle). This is another species that seems to prefer not only igneous glades but also the limestone/dolomite glades that dot the Ozark Highlands in the southern two-thirds of Missouri. I have photographed it on several occasions but nevertheless snapped a few shots while it gave a classic warm-day demonstration of thermoregulatory behaviors called “stilting” (standing tall on its front legs to raise its body above the thin layer of superheated air immediately above the rock) and “sun-facing” (facing directly toward the sun to minimize the amount of body area exposed to its direct rays).

A 2-track leading from the glade led to what we hoped would be a renovated glade that was even more extensive, but despite the recent burns the area was still thickly choked with oak/sumac scrub that proved a challenge even to navigate, much less provide open space for glade-restricted plants and their insect associates. It was well past noon, so we regrouped to discuss our next move and decided to go in to town for lunch and then explore nearby Taum Sauk State Park. Casey had in the past mentioned a water pan where several interesting plants could be found, while I knew of a location where Platanthera ciliaris (yellow fringed orchid—the flowers of which are actually a beautiful shade of orange) should be getting close to flowering and that we could check their progress for planned photographs in the coming weeks. Striking stands of Liatris pycnostachya (prairie blazing star) greeted us at the parking lot and portended the even more dazzling displays that would see in many places throughout the park.

Our first foray was to the water pan near the high point, and even before reaching it the bright purple of the dense stand of L. pycnostachya colonizing it could be seen glowing through the forest understory. Despite having seen this plant in many places, primarily in prairies and along roadsides, I have never witnessed such a striking mass display of the flowers in peak bloom!

Numerous butterflies flitted amongst the tall purple inflorescences gracefully swaying in the gentle beeezes, the largest and most conspicuous being Speyeria cybele (great spangled fritillary), Papilio troilus (spicebush swallowtail), and a strikingly fresh Papilio glaucus (tiger swallowtail) who danced tantalizingly close around the flowers as if inviting photographs.

Liatris pycnostachya was not the only purple(ish)-flowered plant colonizing the water pan—Rhexia virginica (winged-stemmed meadow beauty), a denizen of moist acidic habitats, colonized the wetter areas of the water pan, its bright yellow, banana-shaped anthers contrasting nicely with its vivid purple-pink petals.

We then headed out in search of the stand of orchids (which I photographed in magnificent peak bloom last year in early August). Though more common in the southeastern U.S., in Missouri it is extremely rare, and finding the site entailed considerable off-trail bushwhacking to reach the site. At this time of year, before the plants have begun to bloom, we expected finding them would be quite difficult, but to our surprise we found numerous plants with inflorescences well developed and exhibiting tight buds. Some plants even were even beginning to develop color in the buds, and we found a single plant with two open flowers—surely among the earliest first-flower dates for the species in Missouri. Seeing this, we expect peak bloom in the next two to three weeks, and we plan to return to more fully photograph them in all their glory at that time.

We were able to enjoy slightly easier hiking back in the trail for a short time, during which we saw a robber fly (family Asilidae) posing nicely (and cooperatively) on a rock where David was able to photograph it. I tried to do the same, but it suddenly flew to a nearby stem where, fortunately, it settled back down and allowed me to get close enough for a few photos. The photographs enabled me to not only identify it as a female Efferia aestuans (northern hammertail) but also the reason for its relative cooperativeness—it had captured and was feeding on a much tinier fly!

Our off trail adventures resumed quickly, however, when we decided to look for the endangered Asclepias meadii (Mead’s milkweed) in the open woodlands where it has been seen in the past. Hiking through the rough, igneous glades to get to the woodlands was itself difficult, and then searching the dense herbaceous layer of the woodlands for plants no longer in flower even more so. Ultimately, we were not successful in finding the plants, but our efforts were not unrewarded—dense stands of Phemeranthus calycinus (fame flower) with their charming hot-pink flowers daintily dotted the rhyolite exposures, and we saw several Cecropterus lyciades (hoary edge) skippers (family Hesperiidae) visiting the flowers of L. pycnostachya. This very uncommon butterfly resembles the much more commonly encountered Epargyreus clarus (silver-spotted skipper), but it is smaller and has a diffuse frosty spot reaching the edge of the hindwing. The vistas afforded from the glades at Taum Sauk are also among the best that I have seen in Missouri, especially when blazingstar is in full bloom.

By this time it was late afternoon, and we bushwhacked our way back to the trail. We had a difficult choice to make—turning right meant only about a mile of hiking back to the car; turning left meant having a chance to see the head of Mina Sauk Falls but perhaps closer to two even more difficult miles of hiking back to the car. We chose left! I can’t say it wasn’t worth it, because the chance to take the boots off and soak my legs in the cool water behind the shade of a large boulder was pure enjoyment, but two miles of rough hiking up the steep ascent felt like a Herculean effort—only the promise of water (and ice cream in town!) allowed me to keep the legs moving. Such times may be difficult in the moment but as memories become cherished. I’m already having fond memories of that final ascent!

©️ Ted C. MacRae 2026