A festive (tiger beetle) birthday

Last Thursday was my birthday, and as has become my custom, I took the day off and went on my ‘Annual Season Opening Birthday Bug Collecting Trip.’  One or two of you might remember how these plans were scrubbed last year by a last minute business trip, during which I discovered Pipestone National Monument in southwest Minnesota. That experience – and the post that I wrote about it – remain high among my all-time favorites. Despite that, nothing was going to derail my plans to go collecting this year, and at 5:30 in the morning I awoke to begin what would turn out to be as enjoyable and successful a day as I could hope for. I had convinced my colleagues and long-time collecting buddies Rich Thoma and Chris Brown to take the day off as well and accompany me down to the lowlands of southeastern Missouri to search for additional localities of the festive tiger beetle – Cicindela scutellaris.

Records of Cicindela scutellaris in southeast Missouri

Records of Cicindela scutellaris in southeast Missouri

As far as is currently known – C. scutellaris is represented in Missouri by three highly disjuct populations in the extreme northwestern, northeastern, and southeastern corners of the state.  The two northern populations are unambigously assignable to the northern subspecies lecontei, although their absence from areas further south in Missouri along the Missouri and Mississippi Rivers remains a mystery.  The southeastern population apparently represents an intergrade population with influences from both lecontei and the southeastern subspecies unicolor.  While this population was discovered many years ago (I first collected it in the mid-1980s), it remained known only from sand forests in Holly Ridge Conservation Area on Crowley’s Ridge.  A second population was discovered several years ago on sand exposures in the extreme western lowlands near the Ozark Escarpment when Chris Brown and I began our formal survey of tiger beetles in Missouri, and last year I succeeded in locating several populations of the beetle in the critically imperiled sand prairie relicts located along the spine of the Sikeston Sand Ridge.

cicindela_scutellaris_p1020910_2This year, we wanted to determine if intergrade populations also occurred on the Malden Sand Ridge – the southernmost expanse of sand exposures in the southeastern lowlands.  We didn’t know if they did – presettlement sand prairies were less abundant on the Malden Ridge due to its higher soil organic content.  As a result, no sand prairie relicts survived the Malden Ridge’s complete conversion to agriculture.  Undeterred, I got onto Google Maps and scoured satellite imagery of the ridge and located several spots that seemed to have potential – even though they were agricultural fields, they appeared to be of sufficient expanse and with enough sand to possibly support populations of the beetle.

So, on the morning of April 23, my ‘Annual Birthday Season Opening Bug Collecting Trip’ began by meeting up with Rich and Chris and driving the 223 miles from Wildwood to Kennett to explore several locations for a beetle based only on the suggestion of a flickering computer screen.  The first of these locations was a bust – there was a house constructed right in the middle of the site that wasn’t on the Google Map.  cicindela_scutellaris_p1020889_2Maybe the beetle occurred here and maybe it didn’t, but the last thing I wanted to do on a Thursday morning was interrupt a homeowner from their morning routine and ask them if we could collect bugs in their front yard.  Besides, there was another locality just a couple miles up the road that looked equally promising.  We found the spot and drove by slowly – it was an agricultural field that looked like it had been fallow for at least a short time, and although it did not look great (not as much sand as I had hoped) we eventually decided that since we were there we might as well take a look.  It wasn’t long before we saw an individual near the highest part of the field, and through a couple hours of exploring and digging adult burrows we had observed a limited number of adults.  Success!  The landowner happened by while we were there and graciously allowed us to continue our searches.  Through her, we learned that the field had been under soybean cultivation during the previous season.  This was good news to learn that beetles were inhabiting sand exposures on the Malden Ridge despite its complete conversion to agriculture.

Having confirmed the occurrence of C. scutellaris on the Malden Ridge, we then began driving to the next putative locality some miles north along the ridge.  Along the way, Chris spotted a rather large sand expanse in another agricultural field right next to the highway.  cicindela_scutellaris_p1020906_2Even though I hadn’t detected it in my Google Map search, it looked promising enough to explore, and so we did a quick U-turn and found a place to pull over.  This spot can only be described as the ‘festive tiger beetle motherlode’ of southeast Missouri!  Even though the field was obviously under active agricultural use, the beetles were abundant within the fairly large expanse of exposed sand within the field (photo below).  We were quickly able to collect a sufficient series to document the beetle’s range of variation and set about obtaining additional photographs.  I felt fortunate to be able to photograph this mating pair, which nicely illustrates the white labrum of the male (top) versus the dark labrum of the female (bottom) – one character that distinguishes this intergrade population from the similar-appearing six-spotted tiger beetle (C. sexguttata – commonly encountered along woodland trails throughout the eastern U.S., and with both sexes exhibiting a white labrum).  Note also how the male is holding his legs out horizontally (a behavior I’ve seen with other mating pairs) and the more heavily padded tarsi on his front legs. The latter specialization is thought to aid in grasping and holding the female (Pearson et al. 2006), although in this instance it clearly is not serving that function, but I have not yet determined for what purpose the horizontal posturing of the front legs is all about (perhaps it is related to alarm behavior).

cicindela_scutellaris_habitat_p1020899_2We completed the day by documenting the occurrence of this species on the third of only three sizeable sand prairie relicts that remain on the Sikeston Sand Ridge – a private parcel located a few miles south of the other two preserves.  These observations have increased our confidence that C. scutellaris is secure in Missouri’s southeastern lowlands, and that – thankfully – no special conservation measures will be required at this time to assure its continued existence.  We also now have enough material on hand to characterize the range of variation exhibited by individuals across this population.  We hope this will allow a greater understanding of the relative influence of lecontei populations to the north versus unicolor populations to the south in contributing to the makeup of this population.

Since it was my birthday, it was appropriate that I should discover this “gift” next to the rim of my net after I slapped it over a mating pair of beetles.  I haven’t found a large number of Native American artifacts during my time in the field, but this has to be most impressive of those that I have found – it is in almost perfect condition, with only the smallest of chips off of one of the lower corners.  Edit 5/5/09: After a little research, I believe this to be a spear point from the Archaic period (12,000 to 2,500 years ago).

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p.s. – my 100th post!

REFERENCE:

Pearson, D. L., C. B. Knisley and C. J. Kazilek. 2006. A Field Guide to the Tiger Beetles of the United States and Canada. Oxford University Press, New York, 227 pp.

Copyright © Ted C. MacRae 2009

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Sand Harbor Overlook, Nevada

Lake Tahoe is fabulously beautiful from almost any perspective. There are certain places around the lake, however, whose beauty is so striking, so stunning, that one begins to believe they must have been copied from a starving artist’s painting or some inspirational poster. I have already highlighted one of these places – Emerald Bay, sitting at the lake’s southeastern corner on the California side. Emerald Bay is, in fact, the most dramatic example of the beauty that characterizes Lake Tahoe’s entire western shore – a boulder-strewn landscape sprouting rich forests of white fir, pine, and incense-cedar, massively trunked and often draped with lime-green mosses and lichens.

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Nevada’s eastern shore, in contrast, has a different feel – its forests more open and dominated by Jeffrey pine due to the relatively lower amounts of rain and snow that reach the eastern shore. I do not mean to imply, however, that the eastern shore is any less beautiful than the western shore – far from it, and after a day of cross-country skiing at Spooner Lake (just below Spooner Summit, elevation 7,200′), my family and I discovered an eastern shore jewel with as much raw, overwhelming beauty as any of Lake Tahoe’s other premier scenic vantage points – Sand Harbor Overlook.

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While the views from Sand Harbor Overlook may not match the grandeur of Emerald Bay, they certainly equal (and perhaps surpass) its more famous landmark in their intimacy and varied perspectives. Whether viewed from high atop the granite point that jutts out into shallow, sandy-bottomed bay, or from lake level atop one of the half-submerged granite boulders, no other vista around the lake shows off Lake Tahoe’s famously clear waters better than Sand Harbor Overlook. Moreover, unlike most of scenic points around the lake, views of the vantage point itself are as dramatic as the views from it.

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I suspect that during the summer months, Sand Harbor Overlook is trampled daily by an unending stream of sightseers, many of whom quickly jump out of their cars and briskly search for a spot or two from which they can take photographs before jumping back into their cars and rushing off to the next scenic spot. Such “power” sightseers rarely experience the full beauty offered by Sand Harbor Overlook – their photographs cluttered by strangers in bright clothes, and their memories of what they saw limited to an instant in time. Similar to our experience at Pyramid Creek Geological Area, we had the good fortune to experience the beauty of Sand Harbor Overlook in complete solitude – able to slowly imbibe the subtlties of scale and nuances of each vantage as we explored the area with leisure and reverence. Unmolested by strangers, our contemplations were free to meander slowly, unintruded by persistent background chatter and adolescent shouting. While I came to Lake Tahoe this winter to enjoy the skiing, I walk away with renewed awe at its extraordinary, unending beauty.

Copyright © Ted C. MacRae 2009

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Pyramid Creek Geological Area

On the western slopes of the Sierra Nevada, Hwy 50 follows the American River Valley on its way up to Echo Summit before dropping precipitously into Lake Tahoe Basin. A few miles from the summit and 13 miles east of the quaint mountain town of Strawberry lies a spectacular gorge – born of glaciers and boasting one of California’s top ten waterfalls. During the warmer months, the small Forest Service parking lot that provides access to the gorge is constantly choked with cars, and throngs of people can be seen milling about. I have passed this place many times during the five years I lived in Sacramento, and though the crowds suggest that the area truly is spectacular, the idea of sharing a visit with so many strangers and their dogs was always out of the question. Yesterday, as daughter Madison and I drove down Hwy 50 to that very spot, I wondered what crowds we might encounter, hopeful that during this winter “off-season” we might luck out and enjoy at least some fragments of the kind of solitude that befits such a magnificent example of California wilderness.

At 6,200 feet elevation, there was still plenty of snow on the ground, and unbeknown to me this USDA Recreation Site is officially closed during the winter months. The parking lot gates were locked, and there was not a car nor a person to be seen anywhere in the vicinity. That did not deter us – despite the many “No Parking” signs along each side of the highway – necessary during the summer months to prevent the throngs from creating chaos – we found a small turnoff in which we were able to tuck away the car and begin our little adventure to see Pyramid Creek Geological Area and its main attractions – Horsetail Falls and Cascade Vista. The gorge – named for the creek that originates at the base of the falls – was formed during the same late Pleistocene glaciations that formed Emerald Bay in Lake Tahoe. Vertical cliffs of granite tower above the U-shaped gorge, whose smooth granite domes remain littered with glacial scree (boulders and smaller rocks of assorted sizes). We lost the trail almost immediately due to snow, but since we knew we could not get lost (with a mountain on each side of us) we decided to bushwhack as far as we could. It was rough going, and with a hiking partner only 4′ in height the deep snow was a formidable obstacle. Still, we soldiered on, zigzagging from this granite exposure to that, testing (and often sinking) into the snow-covered plains between them, and splashing along the many meltwater streams that were gushing on this warm, early-spring day, until finally we could go no further. We were still a quarter mile from the falls (only a 1.25-miles hike from the trailhead if one uses the established trail), yet still the view was mesmerizing! As a father, I should probably be glad we did not make it all the way to the falls, as a number of people have been killed over the years when they got too close to the edge of the constantly wet rocks. On the way back, we spotted some granite exposures that we hadn’t seen earlier that suggested we might be able to get all the way up next to the Cascade Vista, and in this we were successful. We scrambled over the rocks and snow, ever careful but proud for giving the effort, before retracing our tracks back to a clear shot out of the gorge.

Words cannot express the overwhelming beauty of the landscape we explored, the joy in doing so without ever encountering another human being and the expansive feeling of solitude that that allows, and the exhausted satisfaction that results from hiking over rough, snowy terrain for more than 5 hours. Daughter Madison did great, and I almost had to rip her from the area she was having so much fun. She asked question after question as I showed her cracks in the rocks and explained the carving actions of water over the millennia, how water can create such a landscape. “Water always wins,” I told her. My botanizing trip to Emerald Bay two days before had also prepared me well for this trip, as I was able to recognize every single woody plant I encountered in the gorge (the mosses and ferns will have to wait for another day).

Of the many photographs I took during the day, I share with you here some of my favorites:

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Jeffrey pine and white fir soften the stark, towering granite walls

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Evidence of glacial carvings can be seen in the American River valley below.

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A small waterfall flanked by Jeffrey pine and Sierra juniper previews what is still to come.

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Another view south into the American River valley from a little higher up.

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Horsetail Falls is gushing from the snowmelt.

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A distant view of Horsetail Falls.

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Looking down on the Cascade Vista and the American River valley.

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A distant view of Horsetail Falls from the Cascade Vista.

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Pyramid Creek sheets in a continuous cascade over the granite bedrock.

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Deep snow was a continuous obstacle for myself, and for 4'-tall Madison.

Copyright © Ted C. MacRae 2009

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Emerald Bay State Park – Vikingsholm and Rubicon Trails

I had attempted to hike the Eagle Falls Trail two days ago, but deep snow stopped us just below the Upper Falls before reaching the lake. I had noticed, however, that the lower elevations on the west shore of Emerald Bay looked fairly free of snow, and a conversation the following morning with an extraordinarily helpful staff member at the USDA Forest Service’s Lake Tahoe Basin Management Unit headquarters in South Lake Tahoe confirmed that the entire Vikingsholm Trail in Emerald Bay State Park and much of the Rubicon Trail in Emerald Bay State Park and D. L. Bliss State Park immediately to the north should be passable. My objectives were two-fold – hiking and botanizing. I wanted to get in at least 6 miles, and up to 10 would be even better; and I also wanted to locate and identify as many of the woody plants known from the area as possible. I probed the incredibly helpful USDA representative about the subtleties of distinguishing ponderosa pine from the ubiquitous but very similar Jeffrey’s pine, where I might see magnificently mature specimens of sugar pine and the grotesquely beautiful Sierra juniper, how to recognize the moisture loving lodgepole pine, and the slim chance of seeing western white pine due to its preference for higher altitudes. I commented about how I looked forward to seeing stately red firs and wind-swept whitebark pine when I went skiing later in the week – maybe I would be fortunate enough to find western white pine amongst them. I purchased three books: Conifers of California by Ronald Lanner, Discovering Sierra Trees by Stephen Arno, Plants of the Tahoe Basin by Michael Graf and National Geographic’s Trails Illustrated Map™ for Lake Tahoe Basin (my souvenirs for the trip), thanked the wonderfully knowledgeable USDA representative for her help, and bolted up to Emerald Bay. On an extraordinarly warm and delightful mountain day in spring, I hiked down the Vikingsholm Trail to Vikingsholm Castle, stopping frequently to sample and photograph plants, then hiked the Rubicon Trail all the way to Emerald Point at the mouth of Emerald Bay. I hopped on rocks out into the point until I could not go any further and turned around to admire a view that few people have experienced by foot. I lost the trail along the way due to snow, but I did not get lost – I could not get lost with a lake on one side of me and a mountain on the other. Going beyond Emerald Point the snow got too deep – a few steps where I sunk up to my hip confirmed that further passage without snow shoes would be impossible. I bushwhacked back until I found the trail and chose alternate paths the rest of the way. By the time I returned to my car, I had hiked 7 miles in 5½ hours (yes, I’m pokey), encountered only a handful of people (all within a quarter mile of the parking lot) and taken 110 photographs. I share seven of them with you here:

East shore (lateral glacial morraine) of Emerald Bay from Vikingsholm Trail.  Heavenly Ski Resort and the southeast shore of Lake Tahoe can be seen in the distance.

East shore (lateral glacial morraine) of Emerald Bay from Vikingsholm Trail. Heavenly Ski Resort and the southeast shore of Lake Tahoe can be seen in the distance.

Mt. Tallac (L) and Maggie's Peaks (R) from Vikingsholm Trail

Mt. Tallac (L) and Maggie's Peaks (R) from Vikingsholm Trail

Fannette Island from Vikingsholm Castle

Fannette Island from Vikingsholm Castle

Emerald Point from the west shore of Emerald Bay

Emerald Point from the west shore of Emerald Bay

Emerald Bay and Maggie's Peaks (L) from Emerald Point

Emerald Bay and Maggie's Peaks (L) from Emerald Point

West shore of Emerald Bay from Emerald Point

West shore of Emerald Bay from Emerald Point

Zoom view of Emerald Bay from Emerald Point

Zoom view of Emerald Bay from Emerald Point

Copyright © Ted C. MacRae 2009

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Born of glaciers

Three months of camp life on Lake Tahoe would restore an Egyptian mummy to his pristine vigor, and give him an appetite like an alligator.–Mark Twain, Roughing It (1872)

p1020578_2 When Mark Twain first laid eyes upon Lake Tahoe in 1861, he thought it “must surely be the fairest picture the whole earth affords.” More than a century and a half later, that opinion is still shared by another Missouri boy, and though I would gladly welcome three months of camp life over one week at a ski resort, I nevertheless remain confident that my vigor will be fully restored by the time I return to work next Monday. The journey that began some days ago in the foothills of my beloved, ancient Ozark Highlands has today taken me to one of the youngest of landscapes to grace Lake Tahoe – Emerald Bay. I have written previously about Lake Tahoe (one year ago almost to the day) in a post that also featured photos of Emerald Bay and its only island, the iconic Fannette Island. p1020596_2 The Tahoe Basin itself is a relatively young landscape, forming within the last 5-10 million years as the basin floor dropped between two uplifted blocks. Volcanic flows in the valley on the north side of the present lake dammed the valley to form the lake, whose level has fluctuated drastically over time during the past 2 million years as Pleistocene glaciations have repeatedly damned the Truckee River that drains the lake into the lowlands of Nevada. At maximum, the level of the lake approached 7,000 feet in elevation – nearly 800 feet higher than today. p1020577_2 It was the last of these glacial events – near the end of the Pleistocene just 10,000 years ago – that gave birth to Emerald Bay. Unlike the “ice sheets” that spread out across much of the continent, the ice age here manifested itself as individual glaciers that formed at the highest elevations and carved out individual valleys as their crushing weight ground them inexorably downward. The elongated shape characteristic of such glacial valleys is seen not only in Emerald Bay, but in the adjacent Fallen Leaf Lake and Donner Lake in the north as well. John Muir alludes to this glacial birth in a description of Emerald Bay that he wrote in his private journal in 1888:

Emerald Bay is about two miles long. Its mouth is nearly closed by a terminal moraine; the sides are formed by lateral moraines. The left lateral is very striking, well formed, three or four hundred feet high where it joins the shoulder of the mountain, timbered with pine and spruce¹ sparsely on the grayish slopes.

¹ Actually firs, of the genus Abies.

Upper Eagle Falls from Eagle Lake - part of a ''glacial staircase'' above Emerald Bay

Upper Eagle Falls from Eagle Lake - part of a

Unfortunately, the very existence of Lake Tahoe is under threat. While the mountain building processes that created the Sierra Nevada have ceased for now, the erosive forces caused by weathering continue unabated. The Sierra Nevada range is being gradually worn down, and Lake Tahoe is filling with sediment at an average rate of about 1/10th of a millimeter per year. At this rate, Lake Tahoe will become a meadow in just over 3 million years.[/humor]

Lake Tahoe facts:

  • It is 22 miles long, 12 miles wide, and holds about 40 trillion gallons of water – enough to cover the entire state of California to a depth of 14.5 inches!
  • Maximum elevation of the lake surface is about 6,229 feet above sea level.
  • The lake is drained by the Truckee River, one of a few rivers that run inland to the desert rather than towards the ocean.
  • It is the third deepest lake in North America, with an average depth of 989 feet. However, the deepest point is about 1,645 feet.  It is the largest lake in North America above 600 feet elevation.
  • Surface temperatures can reach as high as 75°F in summer, but at depths below 600 feet the water remains a constant 40°F.
  • Lake Tahoe does not freeze over, although Emerald Bay has formed complete ice cover at least three times during the 20th Century and partial cover in more years.

More Lake Tahoe facts can be found at the U.S.D.A. Forest Service, Lake Tahoe Basin Management Unit FAQ site and at Tahoe Topics and FAQ’s, by David C. Antonucci (2004).

Copyright © Ted C. MacRae

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A journey through time

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East Humbolt Range, northeastern Nevada

During the past two days, my family and I made the long drive from St. Louis, Missouri to Lake Tahoe, California to enjoy a week of skiing (both alpine and cross-country), snow-shoeing, hiking (at lower elevations), and decompression.  At 1,990 miles, it’s not a drive for the pampered or easily bored (and for those with children, thank goodness for in-car DVD players). Yet, for those willing to explore the little seen wonders of a landscape that most people see only from 30,000 feet, driving cross-country can be a richly rewarding experience.  I have traveled through many parts of the U.S., but this was my first time experiencing the “northern route” between Missouri and California along I-80.  Along the way, I saw:

  • Massive flocks of snow geese roosting in wetlands along the Platte River Valley, rising up at morning’s light in swirling clouds and stringing across the sky in vast, intersecting “V”s as they begin another day on their journey northward.
  • Sandhill cranes in the Nebraska Sand Hills, dropping down from the sky like miniature parachutes as they congregated in fallow corn fields to feed amongst the stubble.
  • The vast, high, arid, lonely expanses of the Wyoming Basin, transitioning from mixed-grass prairie in the east to sagebrush steppe in the west.
  • The stunningly spectacular descent down the western escarpment of the Wasatch Range, where the eastern edge of the Great Basin laps against the western edge of the Rocky Mountains.  (Nightfall unfortunately deprived me of my chance to see the vast Great Salt Lake and the even more expansive stretches of its associated salt flats.)
  • The magnificent Great Basin landscape and its alternating basin and range theme – its broad basins of salt lakes, marshes and mud flats interrupted at regular intervals by craggy, north to south mountain ranges formed as a result of strike-slip faulting during the past 30-50 million years as the thin Basin crust continues to crack and stretch even thinner.
  • The dramatic eastern face of the Sierra Nevada Range, its snow-capped peaks rising massively as a single granite block at the western edge of the Great Basin, and the equally dramatic, tortuous climb up to Spooner Pass at 7,200′ elevation before the 1,000′ drop down into the majestic Lake Tahoe Basin.

Driving across such a vast expanse of North America, especially in the west with its endless vistas and majestic landscapes, invites contemplation about earth and time.  Starting out in the foothills of my beloved Ozark Highlands – born before life itself and weathered for a billion and a half years, driving through the upstart Rocky Mountains – mere babies at only 50-100 million years of age, and finally arriving at the truly young Lake Tahoe – whose mere few million years of age make it a mere infant in geological time, I realized that the vastness of these landscapes, and of the countless tectonic, erosional and sedimentary episodes that shaped them, is surpassed only by the vastness of the time it took to create them.  For those willing to make the investment, driving through these landscapes is more than a trip across the country – it is a journey through time.

Copyright © Ted C. MacRae 2009

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Sanctuary for the Betulaceae

Nestled on the eastern side of the St. Francois Mountains, where the craggy exposures of the Ozarks most ancient rocks begin to subside underneath the Cambrian sandstones laid down over them, lies Hawn State Park – considered by many to be the loveliest of Missouri’s state parks. I have written previously about Hawn – in fact, it was the subject of my very first post on this blog. I have long treasured Hawn for its excellent insect collecting, diversity of plants and habitats, and unbridled beauty. I have hiked the incomparable Pickle Creek and Whispering Pine Trails many times – far more than any other trail in the state, and each time I fall more deeply in love with what, to me, represents the essence of the Missouri Ozarks in their most pristine state.

Lamotte sandstone cutThe charm of Hawn results from a unique combination of geological features. The Lamotte sandstone outcrops that dominate Hawn’s landscape are the oldest sedimentary rocks in the state, formed from coarse sand deposits that were laid down over the Precambrian rhyolites and granites that form the core of the St. Francois Mountains. These sand deposits were themselves buried under limestone and dolomite layers formed at the bottom of vast seas that later covered much of the interior of the continent. Subsequent periods of uplift and erosion once again exposed these sandstones, whose unique ability to hold groundwater has resulted in the formation of spring-fed streams that have cut deep into their soft layers to create canyon-rimmed valleys with tall vertical cliffs. rhyolite shut-ins One of these streams is Pickle Creek, which is fed throughout the year by Pickle Spring and has in some places cut all the way down to the underlying igneous rock to form “shut-ins.” In contrast to the slow, sandy bottomed stretches where Pickle Creek is still cutting through sandstones, the water in these igneous shut-ins rushes through narrow openings in the highly resistant rock. The igneous and sandstone exposures found in Hawn are spectacularly beautiful and support a unique flora due to the acid soils they produce. One group of plants that have taken sanctuary in these moist, acid soils is the Betulaceae, or birch family. Missouri is home to five native species of Betulaceae¹, and while none of them are extraordinarily uncommon they are limited in their occurrence to natural communities with sufficient moisture and exhibit a clear preference for acidic soils. This confluence of conditions occurs perfectly along Pickle Creek, allowing all five native species to grow here side-by-side – a betulaceous “hot spot” that represents not only the full diversity of the family in Missouri, but also the total generic diversity of the family in North America. In fact, only one other genus (Ostryopsis, shrubs related to Corylus and restricted to China) is assigned to the family on a global basis (Furlow 2004).

¹ Dr. George Yatskievych, in his recently published Steyermark’s Flora of Missouri (2006), regarded the presence of Corylus cornuta in Missouri as unlikely despite earlier reports of such. Dr. Yatskievych also recorded a single escape of the European species Alnus glutinosa from Springfield, Missouri.

The Betulaceae are deciduous trees and shrubs that occur primarily in the boreal and cool temperate zones of the Northern Hemisphere, although outposts are also known from high elevations in the Neotropics and, as mentioned above, China. Fossils of this ancient lineage of flowering plants are traceable to the late Mesozoic (upper Cretaceous), and the family appears to form a clade with hamamelidaceous plants. As would be expected from a group with boreal affinities, most species exhibit adaptations for survival in cold climates, such as small stature, shrubby growth habits, and small leaves. Several of Missouri’s species have performed well and gained acceptance as ornamental trees and shrubs, while others are important as sources of hazelnuts (genus Corylus) or ecologically for their ability to fix nitrogen (genus Alnus). My interest in these plants has nothing to do with their economic importance, but rather in their role as host plants for several rarely encountered species of woodboring beetles. Often, insects in this group may be collected on foliage of their hosts during the summer, making host identification fairly easy due to the presence of leaves. This is not always possible, however, due to limited periods of adult activity or low population densities. Rearing these insects from their hosts provides additional opportunity to document their occurrence, and winter is often the best time to collect the dead branches in which they breed, since by that time they have nearly completed their development and will be ready to emerge as soon as temperatures rise during spring. Identifying woody plants without foliage can be a challenge, but the ability to distinguish host plants by non-foliage characters such as bark, growth habit, bud shape, etc. greatly facilitates studies of wood boring beetles through rearing. In the past I have relied heavily on Cliburn and Klomps’ (1980), A Key to Missouri Trees in Winter, which utilizes mostly details of the twigs and buds to discriminate among Missouri’s 160+ species of trees. However, after a certain level of familiarity is gained, one eventually learns to recognize winter trees and even downed logs or fallen branches simply by their “look”.

Betula nigra - habit

Betula nigra - habit

Betula nigra - old bark

Betula nigra - old bark

Betula nigra - sapling

Betula nigra - sapling

Betula nigra (river birch) is the only member of this largely boreal genus found in the middle and southern latitudes of the U.S. and, thus, cannot be confused with any of Missouri’s other betulaceous species². It is the largest of the five and, along with the following species, is the most demanding in terms of keeping its “feet” wet. Trees are usually encountered right at the water’s edge, with tall, slender, often twisted or leaning trunks. Young trees and large branches on older trees exhibit gorgeous reddish brown bark peeling in thin, papery sheets, becoming thick and scaly on the main trunks of older trees. Small branches are dark, purplish brown in color with smooth bark and distinctly horizontal lenticels.  I have reared a small jewel beetle from fallen, dead branches of this tree collected at several locations in Missouri – this beetle turned out to be new to science, which I described and named Agrilus betulanigrae in reference to its (then) only known host (MacRae 2003).  I have also reared tremendous series of another jewel beetle, Anthaxia cyanella, which at the time was not known to utilize this host and was considered uncommon.  As it turns out, Betula nigra is its preferred host, and the rearing of large series from many locations resulted in improved knowledge about color forms and variability in this species (MacRae & Nelson 2003).

² The widely planted but dreadfully non-adapted Betula pendula (European white birch) and B. papyrifera (paper birch) can be recognized by their distinctly white bark. These species are limited to urban landscapes where they rarely achieve significant stature before declining and eventually succumbing to insect pests such as Agrilus anxius (bronze birch borer). River birch provides an equally attractive and much more durable choice!

Alnus serrulata - habit

Alnus serrulata - habit

Alnus serrulata - sapling

Alnus serrulata - sapling

Alnus serrulata - old cones

Alnus serrulata - old cones

Alnus serrulata (common alder, hazel alder, smooth alder, tag alder…) also demands to be next to (or even in) the water.  Unlike B. nigra, however, this species rarely reaches true tree status, instead usually forming shrubby thickets along the water’s edge.  Saplings can resemble those of B. nigra due to their smooth brownish bark, but the latter is usually more purplish, and the lenticels of A. serrulata are not distinctly horizontal as in B. nigra. The large purple-red buds also differ from the small brown buds of B. nigra, and during winter A. serrulata is adorned with numerous staminate catkins.  The persistent woody cones also cannot be mistaken for those of any other species of Betulaceae in Missouri. Associated with this plant is the longhorned beetle, Saperda obliqua, which reaches its southwesternmost distributional limit in Missouri on the basis of a single specimen collected some 25 years ago right here along Pickle Creek and given to me by lepidopterist George Balogh. Numerous attempts to find this species here since then have not (yet!) been successful.

Carpinus caroliniana - habit

Carpinus caroliniana - habit

Carpinus caroliniana (blue beech, hornbeam, musclewood) is one of my favorite betulaceous species. The beautifully fluted trunks and smooth, light gray bark are remniscent of the limbs of a sinewy, muscular person – every time I see this tree I cannot resist the temptation to grab and stroke the hard limbs (should I be admitting this?). This character begins to show even in very young trees, making its identification during winter quite easy. These trees also like to be near water, but they are not so demanding to be right at the water’s edge as are the previous two species. They usually form small trees, often in clumps with multiple trunks.  There are some notable insect associations that I’ve found with this plant.  One is a small jewel beetle, Agrilus ohioensis, which I reared from dead branches of this plant collected along Pickle Creek (Nelson & MacRae 1990), and which after more than 20 years still remain the only known Missouri specimens of this species.  Another is the longhorned beetle, Trachysida mutabilis, a single adult of which I reared from a dead (almost rotting) branch of this plant collected not too far from Pickle Creek in Iron Co.  This beetle also is the only representative of its species known from Missouri (MacRae & Rice 2007).

Ostrya virginiana - habit

Ostrya virginiana - habit

Ostrya virginiana - trunk

Ostrya virginiana - trunk

Ostrya virginiana (hop hornbean, American hornbeam) has a form and growth habit very similar to C. caroliniana, but its leaves that persist through the winter make it instantly recognizable from afar.  In Missouri, this habit is most often seen with the oaks (Quercus spp.).  This species can be found even further away from the water than the previous species, and its small stature combines with the orangish, persistent leaves to form a distinctive understory layer during winter.  Also, in contrast to the smooth gray bark of Carpinus, this species exhibits scaly, light reddish brown to brownish gray bark.  I have succeeded in rearing one of the two known Missouri specimens of another jewel beetle, Agrilus champlaini, from O. virginiana collected along Pickle Creek (the other specimen was reared from wood collected at Graham Cave State Park, another site where sandstone bedrocks favor an O. virginiana understory).  Unlike most other jewel beetles, A. champlaini forms galls in small living branches of its host.  I have collected the distinctive swellings during winter on many occasions but managed to rear only these two individuals (plus one ichneumonid parasitoid).  I have also noted similar swellings on Carpinus but have not yet managed to definitely associated them with this beetle.

Corylus americana (hazelnut, American hazelnut) is the smallest of Missouri’s five betulaceous species, always forming shrubs, sometimes in thickets, and never assuming the form of a tree. Its staminate catkins present during winter immediately identify plants of this species as Betulaceae, but the small, globe-shaped buds are unlike the more pointed buds of Ostrya and the elongated, reddish buds of Alnus. This species is the least demanding in terms of being near water and can be found even in upland prairies and glades. I haven’t yet associated any woodboring beetles with this plant in Missouri, but there are several jewel beetles known from the eastern U.S. that utilize Corylus (Agrilus corylicola, A. fulgens, and A. pseudocoryli) and could occur in Missouri.

pine savanna - fire managementThe upland habitats at Hawn are of interest as well. Lamotte sandstones are the dominant bedrock, creating acid soils that support a canopy dominated by Missouri’s only native species of pine, Pinus echinata (shortleaf pine), several species of oak, and a diversity of acid-loving shrubs primarily in the family Ericaceae (including the stunningly beautiful Rhododendron prinophyllum, or wild azalea). Historically, so-called “pine savanna” was prevalent in this area, a natural community in which periodic fires maintained an open structure amongst the fire-adapted pines and allowed a diverse herbaceous layer beneath the open canopy. Much of Hawn has closed up after decades of fire suppression; trail through pine savannahowever, the Department of Natural Resources has implemented a rotational burn management regime to recreate pine savanna habitat within Hawn’s Whispering Pines Wild Area. Evidence of what appeared to be very recent burns could be seen at several places as I hiked along the Whispering Pines Trail, and while many visitors might have been alarmed at the apparent “damage” they were observing, my heart sang with the prospect of seeing mature pine savanna communities taking hold throughout my beloved Hawn. As I stood atop this ridge and looked back down from where I had come, I could almost see Henry Schoolcraft and Levi Pettibone in the distance on horseback, perhaps pausing to gaze at an elk.

REFERENCES:

Cliburn, J. and G. Klomps. 1980. A Key to Missouri Trees in Winter, 2nd edition. Missouri Department of Conservation, Jefferson City, 43 pp. (subsequently revised)

Furlow, J. J.  2004. Betulaceae in Flora of North America @ efloras.org. http://www.efloras.org/florataxon.aspx?flora_id=1&taxon_id=10101.

MacRae, T. C. 2003. Agrilus (s. str.) betulanigrae MacRae (Coleoptera: Buprestidae: Agrilini), a new species from North America, with comments on subgeneric placement and a key to the otiosus species-group in North America. Zootaxa 380:1–9.

MacRae, T. C., and G. H. Nelson. 2003. Distributional and biological notes on Buprestidae (Coleoptera) in North and Central America and the West Indies, with validation of one species. The Coleopterists Bulletin 57(1):57–70.

MacRae, T. C. and M. E. Rice. 2007. Distributional and biological observations on North American Cerambycidae (Coleoptera). The Coleopterists Bulletin 61(2):227–263.

Nelson, G. H. and T. C. MacRae. 1990. Additional notes on the biology and distribution of Buprestidae (Coleoptera) in North America, III. The Coleopterists Bulletin 44(3):349–354.

Yatskievych, G. 2006. Steyermark’s Flora of Missouri, Volume 2. The Missouri Botanical Garden Press, St. Louis, 1181 pp.

Copyright © Ted C. MacRae 2009

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The “buzzard signal fly”

Waterberg RangeDuring our time at Geelhoutbos farm in South Africa’s Northern (now Limpopo) Province, we spent most of our time in the foothills below a magnificent north-facing escarpment of the Waterberg Mountain Range. We were here to collect Buprestidae (including the magnificent Evides, featured previously in this post), and it was in the low bushveld woodland where the greatest diversity of buprestids would be found. Many of the buprestids we encountered were associated with the acacias that abundantly dotted the landscape – especially the iconic “umbrella thorn” (Acacia tortilis) and “sweet thorn” (Acacia karoo), providing sustenance for everything from bitsy beetles (including our beloved buprestids) to giant giraffes. Still, I kept eyeing the mountains, yearning to clamber up on top of the billion year old massif for no other reason than because it was there. Chuck had the good sense to stay down below amongst the acacias and buprestids while I spent an afternoon winding my way up the escarpment in the company of our hostess, Susan Strauss. I didn’t collect many buprestids during that trek, and if success is measured solely by numbers of buprestids collected then Chuck won. But if success also includes the chance to see spectacularly endless vistas from an otherworldly landscape on a once in a lifetime trip, then I didn’t do too badly.

Bromophila caffra

While I didn’t see many buprestids during that afternoon, I did see a few other insects interesting enough to attract my attention and maybe an attempt at a photo. This stunning fly was one of those insects. Even though it exceeded a full inch in length, it still wasn’t the largest fly I had ever seen. However, with its black body, metallic blue wings and large, round, wax-red head it was certainly among the most impressive. A quick scan through my recently acquired Field Guide to Insects of South Africa (Picker et al. 2002) has at last identified this fly as Bromophila caffra. It is a member of the family Platystomatidae, commonly known as signal flies and part of the great superfamily Tephritoidea of fruit fly fame (i.e., true fruit flies – not “the” fruit fly which belongs to the family Drosophilidae and which are more properly called vinegar flies).

Signal flies are interesting on several fronts, firstly because of their catholic tastes – Sivinski (1999) records rotting tree trunks, bulbs, roots and fruit, dried flowers and dead grass stems, dung and fungus as breeding sites, and notes – gruesomely – that mass graves dug in World War II sometimes produced huge numbers of the species Platystoma lugubre. It is some of the Australasian species, however, that have truly made a name for this family. In the tropical rainforests of Guinea and Queensland, males of many species exhibit modifications of their heads that are used in agonistic interactions with sexual rivals. These vary from broadening of the face into a surface used to push against the face of another male, to extremely well-developed stalk eyes used to gauge rival male’s size and strength in face to face combat.

But what about Bromophila caffra? Aside from being one of the most recognizable of flies in Africa, it’s sluggish disposition and apparent noxiousness were obvious even to early naturalists. Marshall (1902) noted the similarity of its coloration (black body, blue wings, red or yellow head) to that of two Pompilus spp. and one sphecid wasp with which it occurred sympatrically. Regarding its habits, he also noted:

The Bromophila fly is very plentiful; it is the most sluggish fly known to me, and settles about on trees and bushes in a very conspicuous manner. It ejects a yellow liquid from the mouth when handled, and was refused when offered to my baboons and Cercopithecus monkey.

Andrew Whittington, commenting on a photo of this species posted on DipteraInfo.com, provides further clues that seem to confirm the noxious qualities of this species, explaining not only its striking color and brazen habits but also the ease with which I obtained the above photograph:

Our knowledge of larval habits is very rudimentary. There appears to be an association with the roots of Terminalia trees (Combretaceae), from which the larvae sequester various toxic compounds (probably cyclic triterpenes) possibly for defense. This may render the adults toxic too, as a defense against predation – not a thoroughly tested hypothesis.
Adults are slow moving and ponderous … and photogenic!

I find it surprising that a large, strikingly distinctive, abundant insect such as Bromophila caffra should lack a common name, but it appears this is the case. None was given in Field Guide to Insects of South Africa, nor amongst the several South African wildlife and dipteran websites which I encountered featuring photos of this insect. In thinking about what common name Bromophila caffra could have, I can’t help but draw comparisons between this insect and the turkey vulture (Cathartes aura), or “buzzard,” of North America (despite their belonging to entirely separate phyla). Both species are among the larger members of their respective orders and make their living eating repulsive foodstuffs. Hulking black with naked, red, plastic-like heads, most predators regard them as too vile and noxious to bother with, leaving them free to pass their lives in unmolested disdain. With this in mind, I hereby propose “buzzard signal fly” as the official common name for this insect 😉

Additional photographs of Bromophila caffra can be seen at Joan Young’s fine blog, South African Photographs, and at Biodiversty Explorer, the web of life in Southern Africa. This is the fifth in a series of posts covering a natural history excursion to South Africa in November/December 1999. Click on “South Africa” under “Tags” to see links and summaries for other posts in this series.

REFERENCES:

Marshall, G. A. K. 1902. Five year’s observations and experiments (1896-1901) on the bionomics of South African insects, chiefly directed to the investigation of mimicry and warning colours. Transactions of the Entomological Society of London, 1902:287-584.

Picker, M., C. Griffiths and A. Weaving. 2002. Field Guide to Insects of South Africa. Struik Publishers, Cape Town, 444 pp.

Sivinski, J. 1999. Breeding habits and sex in families closely related to Tephritidae: Opportunities for comparative studies of the evolution of fruit fly behavior, pp. 23-39. In: M. Aluja and A. L. Norrbom [eds.], Fruit Flies (Tephritidae): Phylogeny and Evolution of Behavior, CRC Press, Boca Raton, 984 pp.