Answers to “Winter botany quiz #2”

Finally, I present to you the answers to “Winter botany quiz #2 “. The delay in providing these answers was two-fold. Firstly, I knew this would be a hard test, so I wanted to give people plenty of time to figure out the answers. Secondly, the answers were delayed an extra day due because of some debate that arose among the experts I consulted about #3 – more on that below. I thank all those who participated, and while there was no clear-cut “winner”, several honorable mentions are deserved:

  • Doug Taron, who was the first to properly deduce the South African nature of these plants.
  • James C. Trager, a myrmecologist (yet still my friend!) who correctly identified the genus of #1.
  • Everyone, for guessing that #2 was “an orchid” – although Tom @ Ohio Nature was the only one to use the formal scientific name for the family, and Doug Taron was the only one to attempt a generic identification (and came close – Oncidium and Ansellia are both assigned to the tribe Cymbidieae in the subfamily Epidendroideae).

#1.  Ornithogalum seineri (family Hyacinthaceae)
Ornithogalum is a large genus occurring mostly in the drier habitats of southern Africa and around the Mediterranean.  The genus and its relatives were formerly included in the Liliaceae (as many of the participants guessed), but the group is now given familial status as the Hyacinthaceae.  This genus contains numerous species of horticultural note.  One is (as James noted) O. umbellatum, or  “star of Bethlehem”, which in North America has escaped cultivation as a garden ornamental and gained status as an invasive weed.  Another is O. longibracteatum (syn. caudatum), a popular houseplant with the common name “pregnant onion”.  This species, native to the Cape and Natal Provinces of South Africa, is easily recognized by its bulb that “gives birth” to tiny replicas of itself just beneath a thin, transparent ‘onion’ skin (as shown in the photo at right from Trans-Pacific Nursery).  At flowering, a long spike grows from the center of the green strap leaves, eventually giving rise to a spearhead of tiny white flowers situated at the end.

While I couldn’t find much information about O. seineri, I did find this spectacular photo of numerous blooming plants in bushveld habitat amongst grazing zebra (photo by ingrid1968 in this post at SANParks.org Forum).  My view of this species was not quite so spectacular, as I saw only the lone plant in the photographs posted earlier.

#2.  Ansellia africana (family Orchidaceae)
Ansellia is an African genus of orchid commonly called Leopard Orchid or African Ansellia.  There is some degree of morphological, geographical and ecological variation in Ansellia populations, with the result that several species, subspecies and varieties have been described.  Flower color varies from pure yellow to variably splotched with brown to almost completely black with finely indicated yellow divisions.  Recent taxonomic work has concluded that there are no discontinuities within the spectra of variations exhibited and the populations are thus attributable to the single, polytopic species, A. africana (Khayota 1999).

Ansellia africana is a large, perennial, epiphytic species that usually grows attached to the branches of tall trees but is sometimes found growing on rocks.  This genus is immediately recognizable by its large, cane-like pseudobulbs that arise from a basal rhizome and is notable for the white, needle-like, upward pointing aerial roots that form a sort of “trash basket” around the clump.  The term is surprisingly appropriate, since the root basket seems to function in catching dropping leaves, flowers and detritus which provide nutrients for the plant as they decay.  This species can grow to enormous size and often forms spectacular clumps, some of which have an estimated weight of more than one ton.

Of the three plants featured in the quiz, this was the one I expected someone would guess, since the species is popularly cultivated by orchid enthusiasts.  Unfortunately, the pressures of wild collection for commercial purposes has caused declines in its population.  The problem is exacerbated by the unsustainable methods use to harvest, transport, and cultivate wild-born plants.  Host trees are usually cut down and sections with the orchid removed, resulting in wholesale destruction of both orchids and hosts. After harvesting, plants are cut up and transported slowly in open handcarts, to be sold along roadsides where they may sit exposed to full sun for days or weeks.  Cutting the clumps damages the roots, and exposure results in dessication, making it difficult for harvested plants to recover once in cultivation.  Plants that do survive harvest and transplant suffer high mortality rates in cultivation due to improper attention to light and moisture regimes.

#3. Adenia sp., poss. glauca (family Passifloraceae)
To be completely honest, not only did I not expect anyone to guess this one, I didn’t think I was even going to be able to provide an answer. I sent the photos to my friend and colleague, George Yatskievych, director of the Flora of Missouri Project (and author of the recently published Steyermark’s Flora of Missouri, 1999 and 2006), who forwarded the photographs to several more colleagues, and at the same time I posted the photos on SANParks.org Forum (a fantastic resource, which I just recently discovered myself, for those interested in South Africa National Parks and their natural history). It took some time for these sources to weigh in with their opinion, which in the end were in agreement that it represented a species of African passion flower in the genus Adenia of the family Passifloraceae (not to be confused with Adenium, a genus of flowering plants in the family Apocynaceae – also occurring in Africa). As for which species, the choices had been narrowed down to either A. glauca or A. fruticosa. According to Imberbe, a photo of the leaves would have been diagnostic, and the flowers are also different (A. glauca has yellow flowers while those of A. fruticosa are green). Fred Dortort, in an article on the University of California at Berkely Botanical Garden website titled, “Passion and Poison“, notes that A. fruticosa has a tall, spindle-shaped caudex topped with a few thin, sparsely-leafed, arching branches, while in A. glauca the caudex is roughly globose and can become quite large. This description seems to favor A. glauca, which Imberbe also noted was known to occur in the area where I took the photographs.

Species identification aside, the genus Adenia is notable for its bizarre adaptations for water storage. Most of the 100 or so species in this Afrotropical and Indomalaysian genus have underground tubers. Those of species adapted to drier environments have grown proportionately larger, with some turning into above ground caudices that can take several different forms and that, in some species, may reach up to eight feet in diameter and height. Even more notable than these succulent adaptations are the poisonous properties that many plants in the genus possess. Not all species have been analyzed (and I found little or conflicting information about A. glauca and A. fruticosa), but one species in the genus – A. digitata – has gained notoriety as perhaps the most poisonous plant in the world. Two different toxins are found within its tuber, one a cyanogenic glycoside, the other a particularly potent toxin called modeccin. The latter is a 57kD protein that resembles ricin and acts a powerful inhibitor of protein synthesis by binding to ribosomes (Gasperi-Campani et al. 1978). Imberbe, in her comments about the photos I posted on SANParks.org Forum, noted the following about plants in this group:

…take heed of the Afrikaans name “Bobbejaangif” (Baboon poison)… It has been used as a fish poison, as well as in suicide and murder. It causes nausea, fits and liver and kidney damage.

REFERENCES:

Gasperi-Campani, A., L. Barbieri, E. Lorenzoni, L. Montanaro, S. Sperti, E. Bonetti, & F. Stirpe. 1978. Modeccin, the toxin of Adenia digitata. Biochemistry Journal 174:491-496.

Khayota, B. N. 1999. Notes on systematics, ecology and conservation of Ansellia (Orchidaceae), pp. 423-425. In: J. Timberlake & S. Kativu (eds.), African Plants: Biodiversity, Taxonomy and Uses, Royal Botanic Gardens, Kew.

Copyright © Ted C. MacRae 2009

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Illinois Butterfly Monitoring Network

For those of you who plan to be in the Chicago area on Saturday, March 7th, perhaps you’ll be interested in attending the 2009 Illinois Butterfly Monitoring Network Annual Indoor Workshop. I’ll be giving a talk entitled, “From Hilltops to Swamps: Insects in Missouri’s Rarest Prairies,” in which I’ll focus on the natural history and some associated insects in two of Missouri’s most critically imperiled natural communities – the loess hilltop prairies in the northwestern corner of the state, and the sand prairies of the southeastern lowlands. How a beetle guy ended up being invited to talk to a butterfly group is still a little confusing to me, but apparently IBMN Director, Doug Taron (author of Gossamer Tapestry) put in a good word for me.

The Illinois Butterfly Monitoring Network (IBMN) is a citizen scientist program monitoring the health of butterfly populations throughout northeastern and central Illinois.

The IBMN was initiated in 1987 by The Nature Conservancy to explore the effects of habitat management on invertebrates. From 7 sites in the Chicagoland area in its first year, the program has expanded greatly and is now monitoring more than 100 sites throughout Illinois.  Butterflies are ideal “indicator organisms” with which to monitor the effects of prescribed burning and other management techniques, since many species are restricted to intact prairie and savanna remnants by narrow habitat requirements.  The fact that they are relatively easy to identify allows them to be monitored in a cost effective manner with the help of dedicated amateurs.  Much the same can be said for tiger beetles (which will – surprise! – be featured prominently my talk).

The workshop will be held Saturday, March 7, 2009, 9:30 AM until 3:00 PM at the Gail Borden Public Library, 270 North Grove Avenue, Elgin (directions).  Registration is required, contact Mel Manner at (847) 464-4426 or by email.

Copyright © Ted C. MacRae 2009

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We Are Here: The Pale Blue Dot

This has been around for awhile, but its message is more relevant now than ever. The Pale Blue Dot is a photograph of the planet Earth taken in 1990 by Voyager 1 from a record distance of 6.4 billion kilometers – a distance that is at once incomprehensible, yet insignificant by cosmic standards. The idea for photographing the Earth against the vastness of space came from the incomparable Carl Sagan – perhaps the most eloquently articulate science communicator of our time. Sagan met resistance for arranging the photograph but was ultimately successful, and he later (1994) wrote a book by the same name in which he provides a humbling description of our planet, our place, and our future. Sagan’s haunting yet inspiring narration in the 6-min video below provides appropriate perspective in this time of change and renewed optimism for tackling the significant global challenges that confront us. Credit goes to Andy Holroyd, Yorkshire, U.K., author of Trousers To Grow Into (a marvelous blend of “science, music and stuff”) for reminding me about this timeless video.

Vodpod videos no longer available.

more about “We Are Here: The Pale Blue Dot“, posted with vodpod

 

Superior Scribbler Award

Huckleberry at Huckleberry Days recently honored me with a Superior Scribbler Award. Huckleberry maintains an excellent blog about “Biodiversity, conservation, natural history and more, mostly in British Columbia, Canada, mostly in the Fraser River Delta, but sometimes not…” I enjoy their richly illustrated posts, often highlighting invasive plants and the impacts they’ve had on natural communities in the Delta. I am pleased to have made their list of selections and thank Huckleberry for the consideration.

Superior Scribbler award
The Scholastic Scribe, originator of The Award, provides some rules that come with this award:

  1. Each Superior Scribbler must in turn pass The Award on to 5 most-deserving Bloggy Friends.
  2. Each Superior Scribbler must link to the author and the name of the blog from whom he/she has received The Award.
  3. Each Superior Scribbler must display The Award on his/her blog and link to this post, which explains The Award.
  4. Each Blogger who wins The Superior Scribbler Award must visit this post and add his/her name to the Mr. Linky List. That way, we’ll be able to keep up-to-date on everyone who receives This Prestigious Honor!
  5. Each Superior Scribbler must post these rules on his/her blog.

Items 2-5 are now satisfied; however, the requirement to nominate five other blogs has me a bit stumped. Not that I don’t think there are five that are deserving – quite the contrary, there are many other blogs that I enjoy, though often for different reasons. Some provide a quick, humorous quip, while others offer comprehensive insight on technical subjects. Some provide timely updates on items in the news, while others offer captivating glimpses into some personal journey or mission. Some emphasize photos, others emphasize prose. What they all have in common is that they possess some unique and, to me, interesting perspective on natural history. One only needs to look at my fairly long blog roll to see which I find interesting enough to follow on a regular basis. Since many of these are already very well known and popular, an award from little ol’ me hardly seems necessary. As a result, I have decided to bend the “5 blogs” rule and, instead, highlight just one blog that, for me, really stands out for its combination of interesting subject matter, impassioned writing, and lovely photographs. That blog is Ozark Highlands of Missouri, by the talented Allison Vaughn. A native of Louisiana and college classics major, Allison found her way to my beloved Ozark Highlands after a brief stint in Missouri’s Southeast Lowlands. Her blog’s subheading, “Musings on Missouri’s most ecologically diverse and culturally fascinating landscape”, aptly alludes to the rich variety found in her deftly written posts. From descriptions of fragile natural communities and searches for rare, endemic plants, to discussions of responses (anthropic and natural) to fire regimes and essays on significant cultural events in the region’s history, Allison’s writings are at once informative and insightful, yet intimate and introspective. Almost two years old by the time I discovered it earlier this year, Ozark Highlands of Missouri is one of the few blogs that I have gone back and read in its entirety. I don’t know if Allison, endearingly modest as she is, will accept this award, but I highly recommend you visit her blog and read a few of her posts. Treat it as a delicious novel – something warm to cozy up to with a hot cup of tea as we enter the long winter months ahead.

A sand prairie autumn

Splitbeard bluestem seed headsAsk any astronomer when autumn begins, and they will likely tell you it begins at the autumnal equinox – when shortening days and lengthening nights become equal as the sun crosses over the celestial equator. According to them, fall began this year on September 22 – at 11:44:18 A.M. EDT, to be precise. I agree that autumn begins at a precise moment, but it is not at the equinox. Rather, it is that unpredictable moment when a sudden crispness in the air is felt, when the sky somehow seems bluer and shadows seem sharper, and hints of yellow – ever so subtle – start to appear in the landscape. Butterfly pea blossomIn Missouri, with its middle latitudes, this usually happens a few weeks before the equinox, as August is waning into September. It is a moment that goes unnoticed by many, especially those whose lives and livelihoods have lost all connection with the natural world. To plants and animals, however, it is a clear signal – a signal to begin making preparations for the long cold months of winter that lie ahead. Plants that have not yet flowered begin to do so in earnest, while those that have shift energy reserves into developing seeds. Animals take advantage of their final opportunities to feed before enduring the scarcities of winter, digging in to sleep through them, or abandoning altogether and migrating to warmer climes. Insects begin hastily provisioning nests for their broods or laying eggs – tiny capsules of life that survive the harsh winter before hatching in spring and beginning the cycle anew.

Sand prairie in early September.Sand prairie in early October.  Note abundance of splitbeard bluestem seed heads.Across much of Missouri, in the Ozark Highlands and in riparian ribbons dissecting the northern Plains, autumn brings an increasingly intense display of reds, purples, oranges, and yellows, as the leaves of deciduous hardwoods begin breaking down their chlorophyll to unmask underlying anthocyanins and other pigments. Small southern jointweedIn Missouri’s remnant prairies, seas of verdant green morph to muted shades of amber, tawny, and beige. This subtle transformation is even more spectacular in the critically imperiled sand prairies of the Southeast Lowlands, where stands of splitbeard bluestem (Andropogon ternaries – above) turn a rich russet color while fluffy, white seed heads (1st paragraph, 1st photo) appear along the length of each stem, evoking images of shooting fireworks. Small southern jointweed (Polygonella americana – right) finds a home at the northern extent of its distribution in these prairie remnants and in similar habitats in nearby Crowley’s Ridge, blooming in profusion once the cooler nights arrive. Butterfly pea (Clitoria mariana – 1st paragraph, 2nd photo) blooms add a gorgeous splash of soft purple in contrast to the muted colors of the plants around them.

Kent Fothergill, Ted MacRae, and Rich ThomaAfter first becoming acquainted with Missouri’s sand prairies this past summer, I knew a fall trip (or two) would be in order. The extensive deep, dry sand barrens were ideal habitat for sand-loving insects, including certain spring/fall species of tiger beetles that would not be active during the summer months. The cooler nights and crisp air of early fall make insect collecting extraordinarily pleasurable, so it took little effort to convince friends and colleagues Kent and Rich to join me on another excursion to these extraordinary remnant habitats, along with my (then 8 yr-old) daughter Madison (who would likely characterize this as “tallgrass” prairie). Madison MacRae, age 9 (almost)I was, as ever, on the lookout for tiger beetles; however, temperatures were cool, skies were overcast, and the fall season was just beginning, greatly limiting tiger beetle activity during this first fall visit. We did see one Cicindela formosa (big sand tiger beetle), which cooperated fully for a nice series of photographs. We also found single specimens of the annoyingly ubiquitous C. punctulata (punctured tiger beetle) and a curiously out-of-place C. duodecimguttata (12-spotted tiger beetle), which must have flown some distance from the nearest dark, muddy streambank that it surely prefers. Of greatest interest, we found two specimens of C. scutellaris (festive tiger beetle), which in this part of Missouri is represented by a population presenting a curious mix of influences from two different subspecies (more on this in a later post…). Despite the scarcity of tiger beetles, other insects were present in great diversity, some of which I share with you here.

Ululodes macleayanusThis bizarre creature, sitting on the stem of plains snakecotton (Froelichia floridana), is actually a neuropteran insect called an owlfly (family Ascalaphidae). Looking like a cross between a dragonfly and a butterfly due to its overly large eyes and many-veined wings but with long, clubbed antennae, this individual is demonstrating the cryptic resting posture they often assume with the abdomen projecting from the perch and resembling a twig. The divided eyes identify this individual as belonging to the genus Ululodes, and Dr. John D. Oswald (Texas A&M University) has kindly identified the species as U. macleayanus. As is true of many groups of insects, their taxonomy is far from completely understood. Larvae of these basal holometabolans are predaceous, lying on the ground with their large trap-jaws held wide open and often camouflaging themselves with sand and debris while waiting for prey. The slightest contact with the jaws springs them shut, and within a few minutes the prey is paralyzed and can be sucked dry at the larva’s leisure.

Ant lion, possibly in the genus Myrmeleon.Another family of neuropteran insects closely related to owlflies are antlions (family Myrmeleontidae, sometimes misspelled “Myrmeleonidae”). This individual (resting lower down on the very same F. floridana stem) may be in the genus Myrmeleon, but my wanting expertise doesn’t allow a more conclusive identification [edit 4/12/09 – John D. Oswald has identified the species as Myrmeleon immaculatus]. Strictly speaking, the term “antlion” applies to the larval form of the members of this family, all of whom create pits in sandy soils to trap ants and other small insects, thus, it’s occurrence in the sand prairie is not surprising. Larvae lie in wait beneath the sand at the bottom of the pit, flipping sand on the hapless prey to prevent it from escaping until they can impale it with their large, sickle-shaped jaws, inject digestive enzymes that ‘pre-digest’ the prey’s tissues, and suck out the liquifying contents. Finding larvae is not easy – even when pits are located and dug up, the larvae lie motionless and are often covered with a layer of sand that makes them almost impossible to detect. I’ve tried digging up pits several times and have failed as yet to find one. Larvae are also sometimes referred to as “doodlebugs” in reference to the winding, spiralling trails that the larvae leave in the sand while searching for a good trap location – these trails look like someone has doodled in the sand.

Bembix americanaThis digger wasp, Bembix americana (ID confirmed by Matthias Buck), was common on the barren sand exposures, where they dig burrows into the loose sand. Formerly included in the family Sphecidae (containing the better-known “cicada killer”), members of this group are now placed in their own family (Crabronidae). Adult females provision their nest with flies, which they catch and sting to paralyze before dragging it down into the burrow. As is common with the social hymenoptera such as bees and paper wasps, these solitary wasps engage in active parental care by providing greater number of prey as the larva grows. As many as twenty flies might be needed for a single larva. I found the burrows of these wasps at first difficult to distinguish from those created by adults of the tiger beetles I so desired, but eventually learned to distinguish them by their rounder shape and coarser, “pile” rather than “fanned” diggings (see this post for more on this subject).

Stichopogon trifasciatusRobber flies (family Asilidae) are a favorite group of mine (or, at least, as favorite as a non-coleopteran group can be). This small species, Stichopogon trifasciatus (ID confirmed by Herschel Raney), was also common on the barren sandy surface. The specific epithet refers to the three bands of alternating light and dark bands on the abdomen. Many species in this family are broadly distributed but have fairly restrictive ecological requirements, resulting in rather localized occurrences within their distribution. Stichopogon trifasciatus occurs throughout North America and south into the Neotropics wherever barren, sandy or gravely areas near water can be found. Adults are deadly predators, swooping down on spiders, flies and other small insects and “stabbing” them with their stout beak.

Chelinidea vittigerPrickly pear cactus (Opuntia humifusa) grows abundantly in the sandy soil amongst the clumps of bluestem, and on the pads were these nymphs of Chelinidea vittiger (cactus bug, family Coreidae). This wide-ranging species occurs across the U.S. and southward to northern Mexico wherever prickly pear hosts can be found. This species can either be considered a beneficial or a pest, depending upon perspective. On the one hand, it serves as a minor component in a pest complex that prevents prickly pear from aggressively overtaking rangelands in North America; however, prickly pear is used by ranchers as emergency forage, and fruits and spineless pads are also sometimes harvested for produce. In Missouri, O. humifusa is a non-aggressive component of glades, prairies, and sand and gravel washes, making C. vittiger an interesting member of the states natural diversity.

Ammophila sp., possibly A. proceraThis wasp in the genus Ammophila (perhaps A. procera as suggested by Herschel Raney) was found clinging by its jaws to a bluestem stem in the cool morning, where it presumably spent the night. One of the true sphecid (or “thread-waist”) wasps, A. procera is a widespread and common species in eastern North America. One of the largest members of the genus, its distinctive, bold silver dashes on the thorax distinguish it from most other sympatric congeners. Similar to the habits of most other aculeate wasp groups, this species captures and paralyzes sawfly or lepidopteran caterpillars to serve as food for its developing brood. Females dig burrows and lay eggs on the paralyzed hosts with which the nests have been provisioned. Adults are also found commonly on flowers, presumably to feed on nectar and/or pollen.

Dusty hog-nosed snakeRich is a bit of herpatologist, so when he brought this hog-nosed snake to our attention we all had a good time pestering it to try to get it to turn upside down and play dead. I had never seen a hog-nosed snake before but knew of its habit of rolling over and opening its mouth with its tongue hanging out when disturbed, even flopping right back over when turned rightside up or staying limp when picked up. We succeeded in getting it to emit its foul musky smell, but much to our disappointment it never did play dead, instead using its shovel-shaped snout to dig into the sand. Dusty hog-nosed snake - head closeupWe had assumed this was the common and widespread eastern hog-nosed snake (Heterodon platirhinos); however, in our attempts to turn it over I noticed its black and orange checker patterned belly. I later learned this to be characteristic of the dusky hog-nosed snake (H. nasicus gloydi), only recently discovered in the sand prairies of southeast Missouri and regarded as critically imperiled in the state due to the near complete destruction of such habitats. Disjunct from the main population further west, its continued survival in Missouri depends upon the survival of these small sand prairie remnants in the Southeast Lowlands.

“All the better to see you with, my dear!”

Click me!

Cicindela formosa (the big sand tiger beetle) is a not uncommon species that occurs across much of North America east of the Rocky Mountains in deep, dry, open sand habitats. It is absent in Appalachia and much of the Interior Highlands, understandable given the rarity of deep sand habitats on these elevated landforms; however, its absence across much of the southeastern coastal plain as well as south and west Texas, despite the widespread presence of apparently suitable habitat, is not easily explained. In Missouri, dry sand habitats are rather limited, occurring primarily along the Missouri and Mississippi Rivers, a few of the larger Ozark rivers, and along Crowley’s Ridge and the Blodgett Terrace in the Mississippi River Alluvial Plain. The individual in these photos was seen last weekend at Sand Prairie Conservation Area (on the Blodgett Terrace), where I also recorded it earlier this year. Despite its relative commoness, I always get a little excited whenever I find this species – it’s a big, chunky thing with bold markings and sufficient habitat specificity to keep it from being too pedestrian (unlike Cicindela repanda and C. punctulata, which usually evoke only a groan – okay, maybe western forms of the latter, with their gorgeous suffusion of green and blue excite me a little bit). Cicindela formosa populations to the west are even more brilliantly colored and localized – it’s a handsome species, indeed! Adults are powerful fliers that terminate their long escape flights with a comical tumble or two across the sand before ending up on their feet. Normally a difficult species to get close to, cool temps and overcast skies on this morning resulted in a cooperative subject and excellent lighting for this series of photos.

Missouri populations are assignable to the eastern subspecies generosa – mostly, that is. There is a population known from the Ozarks, along the beautifully pristine Current River, that exhibits tendencies towards the bright coppery-red dorsal and metallic purple ventral coloration of the nominate subspecies found further west. I’ve also located another population in the northeastern Ozarks on “sand” flats – not true sand, but expansive dumpings of pulverized limestone tailings from former lead mining operations – that shows a similar intergrading with nominotypical characters. The occurrence of these populations near typical generosa populations and disjunct from nominotypical populations several hundred kilometers to the west, coupled with the existence of a broad intergrade zone between the two forms along both sides of the Missouri River through Nebraska, Iowa, and the Dakotas, raises interesting questions about the validity of a subspecific distinction for generosa. Additional subspecies have been described from eastern Texas and adjacent areas of Arkansas and Louisiana (pigmentosignata), southeastern New Mexico (rutilovirens), and southwestern Saskatchewan (gibsoni). Each of these populations is at the edge of the nominate subspecies’ range of distribution and exhibits consistent differentiation in multiple characters – primarily color and maculation – from nominotypical populations. As a result, the case for according subspecific status to these populations is more convincing despite the occurrence of intergrades along narrow zones of contact with nominotypical populations. A truly allopatric population center occurs in northwestern Colorado and southeastern Utah – separated from nominotypical populations to the east by a distance of 230 km. The Colorado population strongly resembles and has thus been assigned to subspecies gibsoni. However, it is hard to imagine a mechanism by which the Colorado and Saskatchewan populations – with over 1,000 km separating them – derived from a common ancestry. A more likely scenario is independent adaptation to similar conditions in their respective habitats. Differences in coloration of the larval head capsule between these two populations lend support to this idea, which if true should qualify the two populations for consideration as distinct subspecies despite the similarity in their appearance. Interestingly, the Utah population resembles nominotypical forms further east, although intergrades with the adjacent Colorado population do occur along a narrow zone of contact.

The subspecies concept has been hotly debated for many decades now. E. O. Wilson and W. L. Brown (1953), in their seminal paper, The subspecies concept and its taxonomic application, questioned the validity of many subspecies on the basis that they failed to exhibit concordance across multiple characters and argued that subspecies that interbreed were not “real taxa” because the flow of genes and characters between them prevented divergence. This restrictive concept essentially limited subspecies to populations that showed significant divergence from their relatives but relied upon external mechanisms (i.e., allopatry) rather than internal (i.e., genetic) for reproductive isolation. Many of North America’s described tiger beetle subspecies would not meet these criteria, since there often exist zones of contact where intergrades (a result of gene flow within hybrid zones) do occur. Ernst Mayr took a more pragmatic approach in Animal Species and Evolution (1963), defining subspecies as “an aggregate of local populations of a species inhabiting a geographic subdivision of the range of the species, and differing taxonomically from other populations of the species” – in other words, subspecies are taxonomic units and not evolutionary units. Viewing subspecies as strictly taxonomic units is more convenient, since the presence of hybrid zones does not invalidate a subspecies as long as it retains its taxonomic distinctiveness. I acknowledge that taxonomic subspecies units are useful – named subspecies provide a convenient shorthand for discussing geographical variation within species and stimulate interest in their study and characterization. Also, as emphasized by cicindelid experts D. L. Pearson et al. (2006), the application of formalized subspecies names for distinctive, local populations makes conservation policy decisions more palatable to policians and legislators, thus enhancing the potential for protection. However, I also agree with O’Neill (1982) that the subspecies concept must be connected to an evolutionary unit to be truly meaningful, and the recent application of molecular techniques is now providing a genetic basis for assessing subspecies validity. Interestingly, some such studies have shown near complete blockage of gene flow across hybrid zones, even when hybridization is frequent, providing genetic evidence of “real taxa” that nevertheless interbreed at their boundaries (Mallet 2007). It would be interesting to apply molecular techniques to populations of generosa, nominotypical formosa, and the Missouri intergrades to understand their degree of genetic divergence, the presence of which could convince me that their status as distinct subspecies should be maintained.

The Loess Hills in Missouri

The term Mountains in Miniature is the most expressive one to describe these bluffs. They have all the irregularity in shape, and in valleys that mountains have, they have no rocks and rarely timber. – Thaddeus Culbertson, missionary, 1852


One of the things I enjoy most about the natural history of Missouri is its diversity. Lying in the middle of the North American continent, it is here where the eastern deciduous forest yields to the western grasslands. Coinciding with this transition between two great biomes is a complex intersection of landforms – the northern plains, recently scoured by glaciers; the southeastern lowlands, where the great Mississippi River embayment reaches its northern extent; the Ozark Highlands, whose craggy old rocks comprise the only major landform elevation between the Appalachian and Rocky Mountains; and the eastern realm of the vast Great Plains. This nexus of east and west, of north and south, of lowlands and highlands, has given rise to a rich diversity of natural communities – 85 in all according to Paul Nelson (2005, Terrestrial Natural Communities of Missouri). Despite the overwhelming changes wrought upon Missouri’s landscape during the past 200 years, passable examples of most of these communities still exist in many parts of the state and provide a glimpse of Missouri’s rich natural heritage.

Last month I talked about the critically imperiled sand prairie community in extreme southeast Missouri. This month, we travel 500 miles to the distant northwestern corner of the state to visit another critically imperiled community – the dry loess prairie. These communities are confined to thin slivers of bluff top along the Missouri River in Atchison and Holt Counties. The bluffs on which they lie are themselves part of a unique landform called the Loess Hills. Like the sand prairies of the southeastern lowlands, this angular landscape owes its birth to the glacial advances of the Pleistocene epoch (2.5 million to 10,000 years ago), when streams of meltwater – swollen and heavily laden with finely ground sediments (i.e., glacial “flour”) – filled river valleys throughout the Midwest during Pleistocene summers. Brutal cold during winter reduced these flows to a trickle, allowing the prevailing westerly winds to pick up the sediments, left high and dry, and drop them on leeward upland surfaces across Iowa and northern Missouri. The thickest deposits occurred along the abrupt eastern border of the Missouri River valley – at least 60 feet deep, and in places up to 200 feet. Loess (pronounced “luss”) is a homogeneous, fine-grained, quartz silt – undisturbed it is highly cohesive and able to stand in near vertical bluffs. It is also extremely prone to erosion, and as a result for 10,000 years now the forces of water have reshaped the Loess Hills into the landform we see today. Loess itself is not rare – thick deposits can be found in many parts of the world and over thousands of square miles across the Midwest. It is here, however, along the western edge of Iowa and northern Missouri – and nowhere else in North America – where loess deposits are deep enough and extensive enough to obliterate any influence by the underlying bedrock and dictate the form of the landscape.

It is this form that makes the Loess Hills so unique. The depth of the soil, its cohesiveness, its natural tendency to slump on steep slopes and sheer in vertical planes, and the action of water over the past several millenia have created a landscape of narrow undulating ridges flanked by steep slopes and numerous side spurs, intricate drainages with sharply cut gullies, and long, narrow terraces called “catsteps” cutting across the steep upper hillsides. It’s a sharp, angular, corrugated landscape, stretching 200 miles north and south in a narrow band of varying width from north of Souix City, Iowa, to its southern terminus in northwestern Missouri. Its western boundary is sharply delimited by the Missouri River valley, where lateral erosion (now halted by channelization of the river) and vertical sheering have created precipitous bluff faces. The eastern boundary is harder to delimit and is dependent upon the thickness of the loess. Deposits that fall below 60 feet in depth are unable to mask and reshape the rolling terrain of the eroded glacial till lying beneath. In general, this happens at distances of only 3 to 10 miles from the western edge of the landform.

Its southern terminus in Missouri, however, is the most arbitrary boundary. Discontinuous patches of deep loess terrain do occur as far south as Kansas City, but the dry hilltop prairies, common in the north, are gradually replaced by woodland in the south and disappear completely just north of St. Joseph. It is this interdigitation of two great biomes – the great deciduous forest to the east, and the expansive grasslands stretching far to the west – that give the Loess Hills such a fascinating natural history. This is due as much to the physical character of the Loess Hills themselves as to their ecotonal position at the center of the continent. Rapid drainage of rainwater off the steep slopes combines with direct sun and prevailing southwesterly summer winds to create very dry conditions on hilltops and south and west facing slopes, especially on the steeper slopes along the landform’s western edge. Such xeric conditions favor the growth of more drought-tolerant species derived from the western grasslands. North and east facing slopes and valley floors, protected from direct sun and drying winds, are able to retain more moisture, favoring the growth of woody plant species more common in the eastern forests. Seasonal moisture also shows a north-south gradient, with southern latitudes receiving higher annual rainfall totals that also favors the growth of woody plants, while the lower rainfall totals further north result in larger, more expansive grassland habitats. The steep slopes and rapid drainage create much more xeric conditions than those found further south in the flat to rolling terrain of the unglaciated Osage Plain, resulting in a more drought-tolerant mixed-grass prairie rather than the tallgrass prairie of western and southwestern Missouri. The distribution patterns of prairie versus woodland are dynamic and ever-changing, influenced by both natural and anthropogenic processes. Climatic conditions over much of the Loess Hills are capable of supporting either community type, both of which repeatedly expand and shrink as the balance tips in favor of one versus the other. In the past, the major influence was shifting periods of greater or lesser rainfall. During drier periods, grasslands expanded and woodlands shrank, finding refuge in only the moistest streamside habitats. Wetter periods allowed woody plants to migrate out of the valleys and up the slopes, especially those facing north and east. One particular very dry “hypsithermal” began about 9,000 years ago and lasted for several thousand years. Tallgrass prairies expanded as far east as present day Ohio, and todays tallgrass praires in the eastern Great Plains were invaded by even more drought-tolerant species from the shortgrass prairies further west. Eventually the hypsithermal abated, moisture levels increased, and the grasslands retreated in the face of the advanding forest. Not all of the drought-tolerant species were driven back, however, and scattered populations of these “hypsithermal relicts” still remain on locally dry sites far to the east of their normal range of distribution. Conspicuous examples of such in Missouri’s Loess Hills are soapweed yucca (Yucca glauca var. glauca) and the leafless-appearing skeletonweed (Lygodesmia juncea) (plant above, flower right). Both of these plants are normally found further west in the mixed grass prairies of the western Great Plains but are considered endangered in Missouri due to the great rarity of the dry loess prairies on which their survival depends. (Incidentally, note the crab spider legs extending from behind the petals of the skeletonweed flower). In total, more than a dozen plant species occurring in Missouri’s dry loess prairies are listed as species of conservation concern, along with one reptile (Great Plains skink) and one mammal (Plains pocket mouse).

As is typical, the insect fauna of the Loess Hills has been far less studied than its plants, but many of the species that have been documented in its prairies also show affinity to the Great Plains fauna. Both soapweed and skeletonweed have insect associates that rely exclusively on these hosts for reproduction, and as a result they are also highly restricted in Missouri. Evidence of one of these – a tiny cynipid wasp (Anistrophus pisum) that forms small spherical galls on the stems of skeletonweed – can be seen in the photo above. However, my purpose for visiting the Loess Hills this summer was to look for the rare and possibly endangered tiger beetle, Cicindela celeripes (see this post). Cicindela celeripes has not yet been recorded from Missouri but is known to occur in the Loess Hills of southwestern Iowa, and while I have not succeeded in finding it (yet!) I did observe several adults of this unusual May beetle species, Phyllophaga lanceolata. This May beetle occurs throughout the Great Plains in shortgrass prairie communities. Larvae feed in the soil on roots of grasses and other plants, while adults feed above ground on flowers and foliage. The heavy-bodied adults are unusual in the genus due to their conspicuous covering of scales (most species of Phyllophaga are glabrous or with sparsely scattered and indistinct setae) and by being active during the day. They are also relatively poorer fliers and are thus usually observed moving about on foot – as seen with this individual who was found on bare soil below a vertical cut. This snakeweed grasshopper (Hesperotettix viridis, ID by Eric R. Eaton) is another species more typically seen in the western United States, although populations have been found from across the continent. Preferred host plants include a variety of asteraceous shrubs, but as suggested by the common name snakeweeds (Xanthocephalum spp.) are highly preferred and account for its greater abundance in the west. Populations in northern and eastern portions of its range, which would include northern Missouri, are considered subspecies pratensis, while the more southern and western populations are considered the nominotypical subspecies. Interestingly (and unlike many grasshoppers), this species is considered beneficial by ranchers, since the plants on which it prefers to feed are either poisonous to livestock or offer little nutritional value while competing with more desirable forage plants for soil moisture. While exploring the upper slopes, I encountered sporadic plants of two of Missouri’s more interesting species of milkweed – whorled milkweed (Asclepias verticillata) and green milkweed (Asclepias viridiflora), raising my hopes that I might encounter one of the many Great Plains species of milkweed beetles (genus Tetraopes). However, the only species I observed was the common milkweed beetle, Tetraopes tetrophthalmus, which occurs broadly across eastern North America on the equally broadly distributed common milkweed (Asclepias syriaca).

It is a familiar refrain, but Missouri’s dry loess hill prairie communities are critically endangered. Historically, these communities were probably never as well developed as those further north, and only a few small remnants remain today due to significant woody encroachment following decades of fire suppression. Much of this encroachment has occurred in the past 50 years – Heinman (Woody Plant Invasion of the Loess Hill Bluff Prairies. M. A. Thesis, University of Nebraska at Omaha, 1982) used aerial photographs to show a 66 percent encroachment of shrubs and trees into the loess hill mixed-grass prairies between 1940 and 1981. Additional threats include overgrazing, erosion, invasion by exotic plant species and homesite development. Fewer than 50 acres of native dry loess hill prairie remain in Missouri – only half of which are now in conservation ownership. The majority of these can be found at Star School Hill Praire and Brickyard Hill Conservation Areas in Atchison County and at McCormack Conservation Area just to the south in Holt County. Controlled burning and selective cutting are being used at these sites to control woody plant invasions, but even these management techniques present challenges. Spring burns have been shown to promote the growth of big bluestem (Andropogon gerardii), which could allow it to encroach drier areas where mid-grasses such as little bluestem (Schizachyrium scoparium) and sideoats grama (Bouteloua curtipendula) typically dominate (Rushin 2005). Increases in tall grasses could shade out and eliminate some of the rarer low-growing forbs such as downy painted cup (Castilleja sessiliflora), locoweed (Oxytropis lambertii) and low milkvetch (Astragalus lotiflorus). Fall or winter burns may be more beneficial to forbs because the plants are allowed to complete flowering and seed set, but the steep slopes on which these communities occur make erosion a potential concern. Clearly, all factors must be considered when designing management plans for this rare and significant slice of Missouri’s natural heritage.


In addition to the links and references provided above, I highly recommend Fragile Giants: A Natural History of the Loess Hills, by Cornelia F. Mutel (1989). All of the above photographs were taken at Star School Hill Prairie Conservation Area on July 12, 2008. Additional photographs of Loess Hill habitats in extreme southwestern Iowa appeared in my earlier post, The hunt for Cicindela celeripes. The plants shown in photographs 5-7 are purple praire clover (Dalea purpurea), white prairie clover (D. candida), and lead plant (Amorpha canescens), respectively. Lastly, I would like to apologize for the length of this post – a consequence of my inability to temper my utter fascination with the natural world and desire to understand the depths its connectedness.

The hunt for Cicindela celeripes

One of the more enigmatic tiger beetle species in North America is Cicindela celeripes LeConte (swift tiger beetle). This small (6-8 mm), flightless species has been recorded from a restricted area of the eastern and southern Great Plains – from eastern Nebraska and westernmost Iowa south through Kansas to western Oklahoma and the Texas panhandle (Hoback and Riggins 2001, Pearson et al. 2006). Unfortunately, populations of this species appear to have suffered severe declines. It apparently is holding strong in the Flint Hills region of Kansas, but many of the records from outside of that area date back more than a century. Reportedly once common on the bluff prairies along the Missouri River, it has not been seen in Nebraska since 1915 and may have been extirpated from that state (Brust et al. 2005). The reasons for this decline undoubtedly involve loss of preferred habitat – upland prairies and grasslands with clay or loess soils and sparse or patchy vegetation. Areas supporting these native habitats have been drastically reduced since European settlement of the region, and suppression of fire – so vital to prairie ecosystems – has led to extensive woody encroachment on the few prairie relicts that do remain. Unlike many other tiger beetle species that have been able to adapt to these anthropogenic changes, this species apparently cannot survive in such altered habitats.

Chris Brown and I have been interested in this species ever since we began surveying the tiger beetles of Missouri. It has not yet been recorded from the state, but we have long suspected that it might occur in extreme northwest Missouri. It is here where the Loess Hill prairies along the Missouri River reach their southern terminus. (Incidentally, the Loess Hills are themselves a globally significant geological landform, possessing natural features rarely found elsewhere on earth. They will be the subject of a future post). We have searched several of what we consider to be the most promising potential sites for this species in Missouri, though without success. Nevertheless, we remain optimistic that the species might eventually be found in Missouri and has simply been overlooked due to the limited temporal occurrence, small size, rapid running capabilities, and tendency of adults to dart rapidly to the bases of grass clumps where they hide (Pearson et al. 2006). Furthermore, even though the species has not been seen recently in adjacent areas of Nebraska where it has been recorded in the past, it has been seen recently in a few Loess Hill prairie remnants just to the north in Iowa.

A few weeks ago, I was fortunate to receive specific locality information for one of the recently located Iowa populations. Armed with site descriptions, Google maps, photographs, and whatever book learnin’ I had gained about this species, my colleague and I made the long drive to southwestern Iowa in hopes of locating the population for ourselves, seeing adults in their native habitat, and using the learnings we would gain about their habitat preferences and field behavior to augment our efforts to eventually locate the species in northwestern Missouri. At mid-July, we were nearing the end of the adult activity period, but adults had been observed at the site the weekend prior, so we felt reasonably confident that adults might still be found. Additionally, fresh off of our recent success at locating the related Cicindela cursitans in Missouri (another small, flightless, fast-running species), we were hopeful that we now possessed the proper “search image” to recognize C. celeripes in the field should we have the good fortune to encounter it.

Walking into the area, I was impressed at the extensiveness of the prairie habitat – much larger than any of Missouri’s Loess Hill prairies. The presence of large, charred red-cedar cadavers on the lower slopes revealed active management for prairie restoration. We later learned from the area manager that the restoration area had been acquired from a neighboring landowner who had used the land for grazing and sold it when it became unproductive. I can only imagine the second thoughts that landowner must have had when subsequent burn regimes and woody growth removal prompted a return to the beautifully lush sea of prairie vegetation that now covered the hills. As we approached the area where we decided the beetles must have been seen, we started searching slowly and deliberately – looking carefully for any movement between the clumps of grass. It didn’t appear to be prime habitat for C. celeripes – the vegetation was just so thick, with only small openings among the plants. We continued to scour the area closely but saw nothing, and my optimism began to wane. Wrong spot? – I don’t think so. Bad search image? – hard to imagine, considering its similarity to C. cursitans. Too late? – could be.

After it became obvious we were searching the same gaps in the vegetation repeatedly, I started walking towards a small cut further down the hillside that I had noticed earlier (just visible in the previous photo). I had thought, “That’s tiger beetle land down there!” My optimism increased when I reached the cut, seeing the remains of an old, overgrown 2-track leading through the cut and on down the hillside. Vegetation was much sparser within and below the cut – it looked perfect. Chris had become distracted taking photographs of something, so I began searching. I’d been in the cut a few minutes when I thought I saw something flash across a bare patch out of the corner of my eye – was that it? It had to be. I carefully inspected around the base of every clump of vegetation at my feet but found nothing. It must have been wishful thinking – just another spider. I continued on down the cut, and within a few more minutes I saw the flash again – this time there was no doubt as to what it was, and I had a lock on it. I started slapping the ground frantically as the little guy darted erratically under, around, and over my hands. In the few seconds while this was happening, I was simultaneously exuberant at having succeeded in finding it, utterly astounded by its speed and evasiveness, and desperately afraid that it was getting away – swift tiger beetle, indeed! Persistence paid off, however, and eventually I had it firmly in my grasp.

We would see a total of seven individuals that day. Most of them were within or immediately below the cut, while another individual was seen much further down the 2-track. Mindful of the population declines this species has experienced, we decided to capture just three individuals (even though by this point in the season mating and oviposition would have been largely complete) in hopes that at least one would survive the trip back to the lab for photographs. Our primary goal – to see the species in its native habitat – had been accomplished. We now turned our attention to attempting in situ field photographs. This would prove to be too difficult a task – each beetle we located immediately ran for cover, and flushing it out only caused it to dart to another clump of vegetation. This scenario repeated with each beetle until eventually it simply vanished. We would have to settle for photographs of our captured specimens in a confined arena – a few of which are shown here. The beetles were photographed on a chunk of native loess taken from the site, and no chilling or other “calming” techniques were used. Spomer et al. (2008, Field Guide to the Tiger Beetles of Nebraska and South Dakota) state that C. celeripes is a delicate species that does not do well in captivity. It has never been reared, and the larva is unknown. Nevertheless, I placed the chunk of native loess in a plastic tupperware container and transplanted into one corner a small clump of bluegrass from my yard. The soil around the grass clump is kept moist, and every few days I have placed various small insects in the container. Of the three individuals that we brought back, two died within two days. The third individual (these photographs), however, has now survived for four weeks! Moreover, it is a female, and during the past two weeks six larval burrows have appeared in the soil (and another egg was seen on the soil surface just yesterday). Indeed, an egg can be seen in the upper right of the first photo. It remains to be seen whether I will be successful at rearing them to adulthood; however, I’m hopeful this can be accomplished using methods described for C. cursitans (Brust et al. 2005).

Do I still think C. celeripes occurs in Missouri? I don’t know – on one hand, the mixed grass Loess Hill prairie habitats in which the beetle lives in Iowa do extend south into Missouri, and the beetle could be inhabiting them but be easily overlooked for the reasons I’ve already mentioned. However, Missouri’s Loess Hill prairie relicts are small, both in number and in size, and highly disjunct. Such features increase the likelihood of localized extinctions and hamper recolonization through dispersal, especially in flightless species that must traverse unsuitable habitat. With its adult activity period winding down, renewed efforts to locate this species in Missouri will have to wait until next season. Hopefully, the knowledge we gained this season will help this become a reality. For now, the hunt continues…

(closing photo by C. Brown)