taxonomy

“Let’s talk about pronunciation of scientific names”

/ Ted C. MacRae / 4 Comments

At this past spring’s Missouri Native Plant Society Spring Field Trip, I was asked if I would be interested in writing an article for an upcoming issue of the Society’s newsletter, Petal Pusher. The planned theme for the issue was Latin and scientific nomenclature, though I was free to choose the precise subject. Being much more of an entomologist than I am a botanist, I was honored, and being a bit of a pedant, I knew exactly what I wanted to write about—the title of this post serving as an obvious clue.

Now, I don’t claim to have any special expertise in pronunciation of latinized nomenclature—in fact, I’ve never taken a single course in Latin. Nevertheless, I’ve probably studied and mulled over the subject a bit more than most, and age likely has also given me a bit of perspective on balancing adherence to “rules” (to the extent that they exist) and ease of use.

In that spirit, I offer the following article, which was just published in the newly-released July–August issue. It’s a light-hearted and (hopefully) fun read intended to provide readers with tips for making pronunciation of scientific names a little bit easier and a lot less intimidating. I’ll let you be the judge on whether I accomplished that goal.

MacRae_2022_Lets-talk-about-pronunciation-of-scientific-names.pdfDownload

p.s. The subtitle of the article is a nod to James Trager, who contributed another article in the issue dealing with the origin and use of Latin in botanical nomenclature… while explicitly side-stepping the question of pronunciation!

©️ Ted C. MacRae 2022

About Identification labels

/ Ted C. MacRae / 14 Comments
Unit tray of Lepturobosca chrysocoma (formerly Cosmosalia chrysocoma).

I belong (or used to belong) to several Facebook groups frequented by insect collectors—both professional and amateur. One question that frequently comes up—primarily for collections with species organized by unit trays—is how to deal with species identification labels. Not surprisingly, the opinions are as varied as the collectors. Some like to put a label on each specimen, while others put a label only on the lead specimen of a series. Some also print or write a separate header label that is placed in the unit tray. What about when names change? Or when reexamination of the specimen(s) reveals an erroneous ID? Should you remove outdated or erroneous identification labels? Fold them? Turn them upside down? Remove them altogether? These questions may seem trivial if one deals only with their own personal collection, but they become much more important when identifying specimens in institutional collections accessible to the public.

Here is my philosophy: an identification is a hypothesis, not data. As a result, ID labels are fundamentally different from labels indicating locality, date, ecological information, and collector, which are data—immutable and unchanging. Identifications can be “wrong” or may change over time, but regardless they merely reflect an individual’s opinion based on their level of expertise and familiarity with state of taxonomy and nomenclature at the time the identification was made. It then follows that identification labels do not need to be placed on every specimen—if a specimen without an ID label gets separated from the series, it does not result in a loss of data in the way it does for a specimen without a locality label, nor do old ID labels need to be changed as a result of nomenclatural changes or corrected identifications—a new label may be added (especially if it is an ID correction), but the old label should not be removed.

Almost as bad as removing old ID labels is folding them, which not only makes them difficult to read but results in mutilation—not just from the fold itself but also from the additional pin holes that are added when re-pinning the folded label. Old ID labels, even if incorrect or out-if-date, represent a historical record of opinion regarding the identity of the specimen, and degrading the labels obscures that history. If one simply must do something to denote a corrected ID, the old label may be turned over, but even then every effort should be made to reuse existing pinholes—just flatten with a fingernail before reusing so the label doesn’t spin. Seriously, however, this simply isn’t necessary—just add the new ID label beneath the old one, which denotes it as the more recent ID (another reason why year should be included on ID labels). Some people don’t like the way this looks, but to do otherwise is to greater priority on visual aesthetics than the integrity of the scientific data represented by the specimen.

As for dealing with nomenclatural changes—I don’t, at least not with already labeled specimens. That old ID label is not “wrong”—it accurately reflects the ID that was given to the series at the time the specimens were identified. Of course, any additional specimens that are added to the unit tray will receive an ID label the reflects the newer nomenclature. Case in point is the above photo, which contains longhorned beetles known for many years as Cosmosalia chrysocoma but recently reassigned to the genus Lepturobosca. You’ll note the older series of specimens bear ID labels with the older name, but the most recently added series contains an ID label with the newer name. There is no reason to go back and change or add ID labels for the older specimens, especially since newer specimens reflecting current nomenclature have been placed in the same unit tray with them. The mix of ID labels representing past and present nomenclature is not problematic—in fact, it adds historical perspective to the series as a whole. On the other hand, were I to receive a series of specimens labeled with an older name from another collection, I would be inclined to add my own, more current ID label (and would certainly do so if the ID—current nomenclature or not—was incorrect), since it was the result of subsequent examination by a different specialist.

Lastly, I don’t waste time creating header labels for unit trays—the ID labels on the specimens themselves are enough to indicate the identity of the species, and the time required to update header labels when nomenclature changes is just that much less time that I have to pin, label, and identify additional specimens being added to the collection.

©️ Ted C. MacRae 2022

What does 30 years-worth of leaf beetles look like?

/ Ted C. MacRae / 2 Comments

I’ve been collecting insects for a long time. A really long time… like, almost my whole life! In the beginning, as a child and adolescent, I collected everything—a so-called “general collector.” Sadly, none of the collections I made during those formative years survived—lost to curious cats and benign neglect. I loved hunting for insects but hadn’t yet learned the importance of collection maintenance and preservation. This changed once I began taking entomology courses in college, and in fact the oldest personally-collected insects in my present collection are from my Entomology 201 “Introduction to Entomology” course taken during my junior year in 1978.

Entering graduate school in 1980 began my next phase as a collector—learning to specialize. With more than three-quarters of known life on earth being represented by insects (and perhaps, conservatively, 95% when considering all the not yet discovered species of insects), attempting to build a collection focused on all groups of insects is barely less ambitious—or feasible—than attempting to build a collection representing all life on earth!* If one wishes—as I did—to make meaningful contributions to insect taxonomy, they must specialize in a particular group—typically a family but sometimes even more restricted to certain subfamilies, tribes, or even genera. Although I was still not quite ready to narrow my focus to that degree, I was already leaning towards beetles, especially longhorned beetles (family Cerambycidae) (this despite the fact that leafhoppers were my thesis subject).

* I am reminded at this point of the quote by Oliver Wendell Holmes, who, when asked if he was an entomologist, replied “No man can be truly called an entomologist, sir; the subject is too vast for any single human intelligence to grasp.” In ‘The Poet at the Breakfast Table: II’, The Atlantic Monthly (Feb 1872), 29, 231.

My interest in longhorned beetles grew even stronger after I finished my degree and began working as a field entomologist for the Missouri Department of Agriculture. Part of my responsibilities included detecting, identifying, and providing recommendations for control of insect infestations in commercial nurseries. Woodboring beetles—primarily longhorned beetles but also jewel beetles (family Buprestidae)—were among the most difficult to control and, to me, interesting of the nursery pests that I encountered. These quickly gelled as my focus groups, and nearly 40 years later I still study them seriously, although for various reasons I eventually began focusing my primary efforts on jewel beetles while working on longhorned beetles as a secondary interest.

If, by now, you have the impression that I stopped collecting insects in other groups, you would be mistaken. While I may have been (somewhat) successful in focusing my studies on woodboring beetles (let’s forget for now my later diversions into tiger beetles—family Cicindelidae), I have been spectacularly unsuccessful in restricting my collecting activities just to those groups of insects. For years after I ‘supposedly’ specialized in woodboring beetles, I continued collecting insects in other groups—primarily but not exclusively beetles, and the farther afield I go from my home state of Missouri, the less discriminating I become when it comes to deciding what insects to place in the bottle. Of course, while I pin and label all the specimens I collect in these other groups, I cannot effectively work with them; with rare exceptions, I lack the knowledge, literature, and reference materials necessary to identify the specimens or, more importantly, synthesize and disseminate the findings to the broader scientific community. Thus, the specimens accumulate in my cabinet—waiting to be seen by somebody with the knowledge to determine their significance. Until that happens, the knowledge they represent is locked away; hidden.

In recent years, I have begun making an effort to change that. Four+ decades of being a serious insect collector has given me the opportunity to establish relationships with entomologists whose specializations run the gamut. Each of them could make far greater use of the specimens I have collected in these other groups than I ever will, and I have begun reaching out to them offering access. The photos shown here represent one such group—the leaf beetles (family Chrysomelidae). It has been more than 30 years since anybody specializing in this group has looked at the specimens I’ve collected, and in that time I’ve not only collected numerous specimens from my home state of Missouri but also from extensive collecting trips across the U.S., Mexico, South America, and even Africa—enough to fill six Schmidt-sized boxes! Surely, within this amount of material, there are specimens representing significant records or possibly even new species and just waiting for a discerning eye to spot them. Shawn Clark at Brigham Young University graciously identified the specimens in these boxes, and in return for his efforts he was allowed to retain anything of interest to his research.

A similar situation exists for other groups of insects that I have accumulated a wealth of specimens over the past several decades: click beetles (family Elateridae), currently being examined by Paul Johnson at South Dakota State University; darkling beetles (family Tenebrionidae), currently being examined by Aaron Smith at Purdue University; and weevils (family Curculionidae), currently being examined by Robert Anderson at the Canadian National Collection.

It should be noted that, eventually, my entire collection will end up in a public research collection, where it will be accessible at any time to any researcher. Nevertheless, I still take satisfaction in knowing that I don’t have to die before significant specimens in my collection belonging to groups that I don’t study can come to light.

Chrysomelidae Box 1—Missouri 1.

Chrysomelidae Box #2—Missouri 2, Michigan, Connecticut, North Carolina, Georgia.

Chrysomelidae Box #3—Canada, Texas, Arizona 1.

Chrysomelidae Box #4—Arizona 2, Mexico, Argentina, Uruguay.

Chrysomelidae Box #5—Ecuador, Brazil, California.

Chrysomelidae Box #6—South Africa, South Korea, Denmark, Netherlands, West Germany.

©️ Ted C. MacRae 2021

A plea for comments on ICZN Case 3769

/ Ted C. MacRae / 2 Comments

The latest issue of the Bulletin of Zoological Nomenclature contains Case 3769 (Bílý et al. 2018), in which my coauthors and I ask the International Commission on Zoological Nomenclature to declare the privately published pamphlet “Procrustomachia” as an unavailable work for nomenclatural purposes. This pamphlet, first issued in 2016, is authored, edited, and produced (I hesitate to use the word “published”) by a single individual—Roman B. Hołyński, who has used the pamphlet as a vehicle for describing new taxa of jewel beetles (family Buprestidae, order Coleoptera). Each issue of the pamphlet is presented in the form of a PDF file under the guise of the “Occasional Papers of the Uncensored Scientists Group” and distributed electronically by Hołyński himself via e-mail and uploaded to his personal page on the social network site ResearchGate. By the time our case went to press, Hołyński had described one new genus, eight new subgenera, 17 new species, and one new subspecies of jewel beetle—three additional new subgenera and five new species have been proposed since.

We are asking the Commission to declare the pamphlet as an unavailable work because it does not satisfy the requirements for publication of scientific names in zoology according to provisions in the International Code of Zoological Nomenclature (ICZN 1999) and its amendments (ICZN 2012), thus making the names published within them unavailable for nomenclatural purposes. The pamphlets do not qualify as valid electronic publications because 1) they are not deposited in a recognized archive and 2) the new names within them are not registered at ZooBank prior to electronic distribution. Both of these conditions must be met in order to qualify as valid electronically-issued works. As a result, the validity of the works can only be based on printed copies. Here also the pamphlet does not satisfy the ICZN requirement of “numerous identical and durable copies” for works issued as printed copies. No information is given in any of the volumes regarding where printed copies may be obtained, and our online searches have revealed only three institutions where printed issues have been deposited—the Polish National Library being the only one of the three that lists a complete set of issues. This gives grounds to assume that the initial print run is far too small to be considered a valid printed work for nomenclatural purposes.

There is a larger issue at stake than just the validity of “Procrustomachia” and the availability of the names proposed within it. Privately-produced pamphlets that ignore safeguards against modification and ensuring long-term availability to the scientific community represent a threat to the stability of taxonomic nomenclature. Such safeguards and the commonly accepted rules for publishing new names in zoology are likely to be ignored by irresponsible, very often commercial collectors, ambitious individuals, or poorly qualified amateurs. The ICZN needs a tougher approach regarding publication criteria for new names, for example, to be bound to peer-reviewed professional journals (both printed and electronic, but printed preferably) with international editorial boards including highly qualified taxonomists. If such approach is not implemented soon, we could be facing an avalanche of PC-printed “home-made” new names. A more detailed background and discussion of this issue was presented by Bílý & Volkovitsh (2017).

Comments on this case are invited for publication (subject to editing) in the Bulletin of Zoological Nomenclature. Send comments to the Secretariat, ICZN, Lee Kong Chian Natural History Museum, 2 Conservatory Drive, Singapore 117377, Republic of Singapore (e-mail: iczn@nus.edu.sg).

REFERENCES:

Bílý, S. & M. G. Volkovitsh. 2017. New unavailable names in Buprestidae (Coleoptera) and a short comment on the electronic publication of new names. Zootaxa 4243(2):371–372 [abstract].

Bílý, S., M. G. Volkovitsh & T. C. MacRae. 2018. Case 3769 – Proposed use of the plenary power to declare the pamphlet “Procrustomachia” as an unavailable work. Bulletin of Zoological Nomenclature 75(31 December 2018):220–224. ISSN 2057-0570 (online) [pdf].

ICZN (International Commission on Zoological Nomenclature). 1999. International Code of Zoological Nomenclature, 4th Edition. International Trust for Zoological Nomenclature, London, xxix + 306 pp. [online version].

ICZN (International Commission on Zoological Nomenclature). 2012. Amendment of Articles 8, 9, 10, 21 and 78 of the International Code of Zoological Nomenclature to expand and refine methods of publication. Bulletin of Zoological Nomenclature 69:161–169 [full text].

© Ted C. MacRae 2019

Cicindela scutellaris flavoviridis (chartreuse tiger beetle)

/ Ted C. MacRae / 5 Comments

In previous posts I have discussed some Texas subspecies of Cicindela scutellaris (festive tiger beetle) and C. formosa (big sand tiger beetle)—two widespread and geographically variable species that occur broadly across eastern North America and that segregate into several distinctive and geographically restricted subspecies (Pearson et al. 2006). With the former species, I actually found two of its Texas subspecies, the second being C. s. flavoviridis (dubbed the “chartreuse tiger beetle” by Erwin & Pearson, 2008). This subspecies occurs in a narrow band from north-central Texas south to central Texas and apparently does not intergrade with rugata (which I featured previously) to the east (Pearson et al. 2006) and minimally with subspecies lecontei to the north (Vaurie 1950).

Cicindela scutellaris flavoviridis

Cicindela scutellaris flavoviridis

This beautiful subspecies usually lacks maculations, at most possessing two tiny ivory white spots along the outer edge of the elytra, and the shining metallic upper body surface is the most stunning shade of greenish-yellow, or chartreuse, color that I have ever seen. It shares with C. s. rugata a more wrinkled pronotum and smoother head than other C. scutellaris subspecies, but the latter is distinguished by its darker blue to blue-green dorsal coloration. Vaurie (1950) regarded C. s. flavoviridis to be intermediate between rugata and scutellaris but more closely related to the latter due to their shared yellow/coppery reflections on the elytra. Cicindela s. flavoviridis can also be confused with immaculate forms of C. sexguttata (six-spotted tiger beetle), but the latter is less robust with a more tapered posterior, and both sexes of C. sexguttata have a whitish labrum—in all C. scutellaris subspecies only males have a white labrum and females have a dark/black labrum.

Cicindela scutellaris flavoviridis

Cicindela scutellaris flavoviridis

Like all of the other C. scutellaris subspecies, this one occurs in deep, dry sand habitats such as dunes, blowouts, and road cuts. I found this population along a tributary of the Red River known as Cobb Hollow” in Montegue Co., Texas in early October 2015, where they occurred in small numbers on deep sand bars alongside the small creek. I actually made two visits to this site one week apart—failing the first time in my efforts to obtain good, in situ field photographs but succeeding on the second visit.

Cicindela scutellaris flavoviridis

Cicindela scutellaris flavoviridis

I am quite satisfied with these photos, especially the first one above that gives a good lateral view of an adult striking an interesting pose on sloped sand, although I would have liked to have gotten at least one with some foliage in the photo to add a bit of perspective. Nevertheless, having now succeed in photographing the four “western” subspecies of C. scutellaris (rugata and flavoviridis in Texas, nominate scutellaris in the Great Plains, and yampae in northwestern Colorado), I am now motivated to get good photographs of the three “eastern” subspecies: lecontei proper (there are populations in northern Missouri), rugifrons along the North Atlantic coast, and unicolor in the southeastern U.S. (although I have photographed an interesting lecontei × unicolor intergrade population in southern Missouri).

REFERENCES:

Erwin, T. L. & D. L. Pearson. 2008. A Treatise on the Western Hemisphere Caraboidea (Coleoptera). Their classification, distributions, and ways of life. Volume II (Carabidae-Nebriiformes 2-Cicindelitae). Pensoft Series Faunistica 84. Pensoft Publishers, Sofia, 400 pp [Amazon description, book review].

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

Vaurie, P. 1950. Four new subspecies of the genus Cicindela (Coleoptera, Cicindelidae). American Museum Novitates 1458:1–6 [AMNH Digital Library pdf].

© Ted C. MacRae 2017

North America’s most “extreme” jewel beetle

/ Ted C. MacRae / 16 Comments

When Chuck Bellamy passed away two years ago, he left behind a remarkable legacy of study on the family Buprestidae (jewel beetles) that includes not only his insect collection—surely one of the best in the world in terms of representation of genera and species in the family—but also his extensive library of primary literature. Both of these assets, built over a period of decades, are now housed in the California State Collection of Arthropods at the CDFA Plant Pest Diagnostics Laboratory in Sacramento, California. Chuck, however, was not just a jewel beetle collector and taxonomist—he was also a skilled photographer, focusing (pun intended) largely, though not exclusively, on his beloved jewel beetles. Digital cameras were still far in the future when Chuck began photographing these beetles, and as a result the bulk of his photographic legacy exists in the form of 35mm slides. I was the fortunate recipient of his slide collection, numbering in the thousands, and have been slowly scanning his slides into digital format with the goal to eventually make them available to the larger community of buprestid workers. Some of his best photos were published in a memorial issue of The Coleopterists Bulletin (2014, volume 68, number 1), and I featured a few additional photos in this post shortly before the publication of that issue. There remain slides, however, of many additional species, a large number of which surely represent the only field photographs of live adults. As I convert his slides to digital format, I hope to share some of the more interesting here.

For the first of these featured species, I can think of no better one than Lepismadora algodones. This tiny little jewel beetle is the only representative of the genus, which was not even known until 1986 when it was discovered by Mimi & Rob Velten in the Algodones Sand Hills of southeastern California. The species and genus were described the following year (Velten & Bellamy 1987), making Lepismadora the most recently discovered new genus of jewel beetle in the U.S. The recentness of its discovery is remarkable, since southern California in general and the Algodones Sand Dunes in particular were thought to have been relatively well collected at the time of the beetle’s discovery. Also remarkable is the distant relationship of this monotypic genus to any other North American species; its closest known relative being the genus Eudiadora—known only from Argentina (Bellamy 1991).

Lepismadora algodones

Lepismadora algodones Velten, in Velten & Bellamy, 1987 (Coleoptera: Buprestidae)

Even more remarkable, however, are its highly localized distribution and extreme habitat. The entire type series (one male holotype and 159 paratypes) and all individuals collected since its description have been found only in a single old canal on the west side of the Algodones dunes. Summer temperatures in the dunes routinely reach in excess of 110°F and are even higher in the depressed canal where the beetles are found. Astoundingly, the adults are active only during the hottest hours of the day (ca. 10 a.m. to 2 p.m.), during which time they can be found on the flowers and foliage of fanleaf crinklemat, Tiquilia plicata (Boraginaceae). The reason for the beetle’s highly restricted distribution is a mystery, as the plant on which the beetles are found is rather widespread across the southwestern U.S. and northwestern Mexico. A final mystery is the still unknown larval host plant—it could be T. plicata, but it could just as likely be something completely different.

Algodones Dunes

Old canal on the west side of Algodones Sand Hills, type locality of Lepismadora algodones.

I moved to California a few years after the species was described and, of course, soon set out to find it for myself. I had driven to southern California from my home in Sacramento to meet the late Gayle Nelson (another important mentor of mine), who told me where to find the beetle and what the host plant looked like but also warned me about the extreme heat I would encounter. His advice was to hike the canal until I had half a bottle of water, then turn around and hike back. Mindful of his advice, I arrived at the dunes the next day around mid-morning, filled my water bottle and hydrated myself as much as I could, and climbed down into the canal. The heat was overpowering—more so down in the canal and far beyond anything I had ever experienced to that point, and after quickly recognizing the host plants I began tapping their tiny, prostrate branches over my beating sheet and looking for the beetles. I went as far as I could down the canal, perhaps 200 yards, before I had to turn around, but I had not yet seen any beetles and was starting to lose hope. I continued to tap host plants on the way back, though by then not really expecting to see anything. About halfway back I saw something laying on the ground a short distance ahead. As I approached I saw it was a small plastic vial with a white cap, and when I picked it up I saw inside a dried out T. plicata twig and a dead adult beetle—unmistakably L. algodones! While excited to have found the species, it was at the same time a bit unsatisfying for the specimen to be one that somebody else had collected before me and then lost (for all I know, it could have been Chuck Bellamy, considering that the beetle was apparently intended to be kept alive, possibly for photography!). I slipped the vial into my pocket, started tapping branches again, and found three additional adults in the immediate vicinity of where I had found the vial (and doing much to soothe my dissatisfaction with the first specimen). Those would be the only specimens that I would find that day, though I would succeed in finding another individual on a subsequent visit two years later.

REFERENCES:

Bellamy, C. L. 1991. A revision of the genus Eudiadora Obenberger (Coleoptera: Buprestidae). Proceedings of the Entomological Society of Washington 93(2):409-419 [Biodiversity Heritage Library].

Velten, R. K. & C. L. Bellamy. 1987. A new genus and species of Coroebini Bedel from southern California with a discussion of its relationships in the tribe (Coleoptera, Buprestidae). The Coleopterists Bulletin 41(1):185–192 [pdf].

© Ted C. MacRae 2015

Insect Identifications and Etiquette

/ Ted C. MacRae / 4 Comments

I’ve been a student of insects for most of my life, and of the many aspects of entomology that interest me, field collecting and identification remain the most enjoyable. My interest in beetles first began to gel during my days at the university (despite a thesis project focused on leafhoppers), and early in my career I settled on wood-boring beetles (principally Buprestidae and Cerambycidae) as the taxa that most interested me. To say that species identification of these beetles can be difficult is an understatement, but I was fortunate to have been helped by a number of individuals—well-established coleopterists—who freely shared their time and expertise with me during my early years and pointed me in the right direction as I began to learn the craft. Some of the more influential include colleagues that have since passed (e.g., Gayle Nelson, John Chemsak, Chuck Bellamy, and Frank Hovore) and those that, thankfully, continue with us (e.g., Rick Westcott and Henry Hespenheide).

It has been a little more than 30 years now since I began studying these beetles, and due in great part to the help I received early on and the motivation that it inspired within me, I have gained a certain amount of proficiency in their identification as well. Not surprisingly, I too regularly receive requests from people looking for help with identifications. I rarely turn down such requests (in fact, I don’t think I have ever turned one down)—it not only helps my own research but also, occasionally, allows me to fill a gap or two in my collection. More importantly, however, it is my duty—I benefited greatly from those who shared their expertise with me, so it’s only fair that I continue by their example.

As common a practice as this is among collectors, it seems odd that there are few written guidelines on the etiquette of requesting and providing identifications. Note that this is something different than borrowing specimens for study, which has its own set of expectations and responsibilities. As someone who has both requested and received requests for specimen identifications for a long time now, I have my own thoughts about reasonable expectations in this regard. Perhaps you, too, will find these thoughts useful the next time you contemplate asking somebody to identify your specimens (or accepting a request to do so).

Guidelines for requesting identifications

  1. Always ask permission to send specimens before doing so. ‘Nuff said.
  2. When you do send specimens, read  and follow the guidelines suggested to avoid creating additional work for the identifier who must repair specimens damaged in shipment.
  3. Leave extra room in the specimen box. While tightly packed specimens minimize shipment size and can reduce cost, it also increases risk of damage during shipment due to ‘bumping’ or during removal from the box for ID. More importantly, it allows little or no room for the addition of identification labels to specimens. Additionally, many identifiers find it helpful to remove all of the specimens from a box and group them by related taxa to facilitate identification. The reassembled specimens may require more space than they did in their original arrangement.
  4. Send the entire available series of specimens. A common practice among those sending specimens for ID is to hold back specimens from a series and send only one or a few examples. Whether this is to, again, minimize the size of the shipment, confirm a provisional ID, or safeguard specimens perceived as desirable, it nevertheless prevents the identifier from having access to the range of data and variability represented in the series. This is important if the series contains 1) multiple species, 2) previously undocumented distributions or ecological data, or 3) unusual morphological variants. An exception to this is when very long series of specimens are available and sending the entire series would be unwieldy and/or unnecessary. In this case, the identifier should be informed that only a partial series of specimens was sent.
  5. Allow retentions. It doesn’t happen often, but sometimes individuals have balked at my requests to retain specimens that proved useful for my studies. This is poor etiquette, as it shows little respect for the value of the service being provided by the person making the identifications. More common is to allow retention of examples from a series, but not singletons. This also, in my opinion, is poor etiquette. I remember one of my early sendings to Gayle Nelson that contained a single specimen of Agrilus audax, a very rare North American buprestid known by only a handful of specimens. Not surprisingly, Gayle did not have this species in his collection, and while I, too, was a student of the group I didn’t hesitate to give this specimen Gayle—established and well-respected expert of the family that he was. To this day the species remains unrepresented in my collection, yet I have never second guessed that decision due to the value of what I gained in his respect and mentorship in the years since. Most identifiers are both humble and sparing in their requests for retentions.¹
  6. Allow time for identifications. Individuals with expertise in a given group are generally few in number, and those willing to provide identifications may be fewer still. As a result, they usually have a number of boxes on hand at any one time awaiting identification. Get an idea from them at the start of how long they expect it will be before they can complete the task. If the projected timeline passes and you don’t hear back from them, an inquiry is fine, but be polite and understanding.

¹ A corollary to this asking for specimens in exchange for specimens retained. An exchange involves two parties sending each other specimens that mutually benefit each other’s collections. Identifications are a service provided by one party that benefit the requester. To suggest an exchange as ‘payment’ for retained specimens ignores the value of the service being provided by the identifier

Guidelines for providing identifications

  1. Once specimens are received, protect them from damage as you would your own collection. Maintain them in a protective cabinet or check them regularly to ensure that dermestid pests do not gain a toehold.
  2. Provide the identifications in as timely a manner as possible. This is not always easy, especially for those willing to accept a large number of requests and who may find themselves inundated with boxes awaiting identification. If you cannot provide identifications relatively quickly, be honest with the requestor regarding how long you expect the identifications to take. If it does take longer, provide an update to the requestor and give them the option to have the specimens returned or confirm that they are okay with the delay.
  3. Add your identification label with your name and date (year) to at least the first specimen in the series. Even better is if you can add a small, pre-printed ID label to every specimen in the series, but this can be difficult if the number of specimens and/or diversity of species is large. If there are specimens with prior identifications that you disagree with, turn the prior ID label upside-down, replace through an existing pin hole, and add your ID label. I disagree with the practice of folding prior ID labels—not only could I be wrong, but this unnecessarily damages something with historical value, especially if new pin holes are added to the label. Always place your ID label below any existing labels (i.e., label order should reflect their sequence of placement—oldest labels nearest the specimen and newest labels furthest away).
  4. Keep retentions to a minimum. I generally ask to retain specimens only when they significantly improve the representation in my collection or provide significant new data—i.e., un- or under-represented species, undocumented distributions or ecological data, etc. The bar for singletons is even higher—usually only if they are completely absent from my collection (with ~65% of U.S. Buprestidae now represented in my collection, this is an increasingly uncommon occurrence).
  5. Following #4, provide an accounting of retained specimens. Minimally, a list of species and their number should be given, and my preference is to provide label data as well (especially if requested). I once sent a batch of beetles (in a family in which I do not specialize) to an expert for identification, and when I received them back it was obvious that a number of specimens had been retained (perhaps 1/3 of the total number). When I wrote to the identifier and asked for an accounting (remember, I was only asking for an accounting—I did not have a problem with the retentions themselves), I received a rather terse reply from the individual stating that he did not ‘have time’ to provide this. Needless to say, this level of dismissiveness was not appreciated, and I have since found another more agreeable researcher with expertise in that family to send specimens for identification.
  6. When you are ready to return the specimens, read  and follow it’s suggested guidelines to avoid causing damage to the specimens whose care you were entrusted.

Again, these guidelines are written from the perspective of a private individual sending and receiving specimens for identification. Scientists at institutions may have additional or differing guidelines on this subject, but in any case these guidelines should be communicated to and understood by individuals requesting identifications before any material is sent.

If you have additional suggestions or comments on how these guidelines can be improved I would appreciate hearing them.

© Ted C. MacRae 2015

A suitable ode to Warren Knaus

/ Ted C. MacRae / 3 Comments

Last June Jeff Huether and I made a trip out to a system of sand the dunes just south of Medora, Kansas. These dunes have been a popular historical collecting site since the late 1800s, when Warren Knaus first called attention to the area as “an interesting and profitable” locality for collecting insects (Knaus 1897). Knaus was a newspaper publisher in McPherson County, Kansas from 1886–1938, but his true passion was collecting beetles—an activity that took him throughout the Great Plains and Desert Southwest for nearly 50 years and earned him stature as one of Kansas’ most highly regarded coleopterists (Dean 1938). Despite his travels, Knaus remained enamored with the sand hills near his home and eventually published an annotated account of the rarer and more interesting beetles that he had encountered there over the years (Knaus 1926). One of the beetles mentioned in that paper was a “new species of Strigodermella…taken by sweeping in 1923 and 1925″. Those specimens soon became the type series for Strigodermella knausi (now Strigoderma knausi), named such by its describer (Brown 1925) in honor of its collector.

"Medora" Dunes

Sand Hills State Park, in southcentral Kansas | a.k.a. “Medora” Dunes

I suppose it is only fitting, then, that one of the first beetles that we encountered that day was this species. Actually, we couldn’t have missed them if we tried, they were so numerous! At first I assumed they were Strigoderma pygmaea, a species I had seen only once many years ago in Florida. Fortunately, we were in the company of Mary Liz Jameson, Associate Professor of Entomology at Wichita State University and an expert on scarab beetles. Mary Liz informed us of the beetle’s true identity, noting its rarity and relatively restricted distribution and that this was the type locality for the species.

Strigoderma knausi

Strigoderma knausi males were abundant on low vegetation | Sand Hills State Park, Kansas

At first the beetles were merely bycatch in our sweep nets as we looked for more ‘interesting’ beetles (i.e., jewel beetles for me, blister beetles for Jeff, and longhorned beetles for both of us). I tend to have trouble remaining so singularly focused, however, especially when the jewel and longhorned beetles aren’t out in numbers, and before long I found myself observing, and eventually photographing, these diminutive little scarabs. They were especially abundant at the south edge of the dunes, where they were hanging out on grasses and other low vegetation. A closer look revealed that almost every individual was perched in a rather characteristic pose, clinging to the vegetation with the middle and hind legs but extending them so that the beetle was nearly horizontal with the front legs held free and the segments of the antennal club spread widely apart. One can only presume that these were all males and that they were adopting this pose in an attempt to “smell” sex pheromones emitted by the unseen females. Mary Liz mentioned that the females are very rarely seen, and indeed among the nearly 100 specimens examined by Bader (1992) in his revision of the genus was but a single female.

Strigoderma knausi

Almost every individual clung to the vegetation with the front legs free and antennae spread open.

Bader (1992) notes that S. knausi has been taken by sweeping grasses and cotton and taken by light traps in Kansas and Oklahoma with a few records from northern Texas. I mentioned earlier the resemblance of this species to S. pygmaea (Fabricius, 1798), which, like S. knausi, also seems to prefer sandy habitats and can be taken at lights or by sweeping low vegetation (Bader 1992). That species, however, occurs more broadly across the southeastern U.S., being especially common in Florida and along the Atlantic coast as far north as Long Island, New York. The two species can be distinguished by, among other characters, the presence (S. knausi) or absence (S. pygmaea) of a median sulcus (furrow) on the front part of the pronotum (easily seen in the second photo above).

REFERENCES:

Bader, A. M. 1992. A review of the North and Central American Strigoderma (Coleoptera: Scarabaeidae). Transactions of the American Entomological Society 118(3):269–330 [JSTOR].

Brown, W. J. 1925. A new species of Strigodermella. Bulletin of the Brooklyn Entomological Society 20:200–201.

Dean, G. A. 1938. Warren Knaus. Journal of the Kansas Entomological Society 11(1):1–3 [JSTOR].

Knaus, W. 1897. Collecting notes on Kansas Coleoptera. Transactions of the Annual Meetings of the Kansas Academy of Science 16:197–199 [JSTOR].

Knaus, W. 1926. The Coleoptera of the Sandhill Region of Medora, Reno County, Kansas. Entomological News 37(8):262–266 [Biostor].

© Ted C. MacRae 2015