FEEDING FRENZY

The little flycatcher, whose portrait graced yesterday's post, and whose daily company I enjoy, chooses to regularly perch on various nearby limbs simply because he's afforded an excellent view of the Cottage Pool. A prime spot because this large pool—ten feet from the window, and constituting my flowing front yard—is located directly below a long, rocky, and thus well-aerated riffle. As such, it's a virtual free-eats food factory…at least if you like dinning on mayflies, caddis flies, and similar aquatic insects.

Most days—especially sunny ones—from midmorning onwards, various "bugs" whose life cycle is closely associated with water, either on or in, began to appear. Sparsely, steadily, and in massive swarms. Mayflies, caddis flies, stoneflies, dobsonflies, alderflies, dragonflies, damselflies—the list is long and, apparently, tasty. 

Predators know this, eagerly watching and waiting. When the bugs are few, the feeding action is slow-paced, leisurely. One swoop, catch, gobble at a time. But some insects hatch and leave their watery homes en mass—thousands, even tens of thousands of mayflies or caddis boiling up from the depths, shucking their larval husks as they rise, popping onto the surface where they give their winged, airborne versions a bit of pre-flight drying time, floating a few moments on the river's surface before taking flight. Vulnerable. Available. In quantity!

Shazam! The feeding frenzy begins! Fish rise, slashing at floating insects. Birds wheel and swoop, catching their meals in the air—just above the water, ten feet up, at treetop level, and higher. As the insects rise and fly off, trying to disperse—or sometimes mate before returning to the water to deposit their eggs—the hungry, rapacious birds follow, nabbing at their ranks like starving teenagers at a pizza party. Swallows, flycatchers, swifts, nighthawks, waxwings, along with everything else from robins to sparrows to cardinals and jays. Any bird who likes a good bug from time to time occasionally gets into the melee. I've even watched woodpeckers make a few runs on occasion. 

The image at the top of the post is of mostly swallows feeding high above the pool perhaps a half-hour after a recent hatch began. The photo at the bottom shows the density of this same hatch, a few feet above the river's surface, backlit by the setting sun. The middle shot is of the hatching mayflies causing all the fuss.

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EASTERN AMBERWING

Perhaps it's not immedialy apparent, but the dragonfly in this photo is quite tiny—something under an inch in length. Called an Eastern Amberwing, it's the second smallest dragonfly species found in Ohio. But seeing as how the slightly smaller Elfin Skimmer is currently on our state's endangered species list, and known to be present at only three restricted bog or fen areas, it's likely a diminutive Eastern Amberwing will prove the smallest dragonfly most of us will ever encounter afield. Here in Ohio, they're most common in mid-summer, though you can sometimes find one as late as September.

The one in the photo is a male, easily differentiated from the female by the namesake amber-hued wings; wings on females are brown-spotted and clear. Like all dragonflies and damselflies, Eastern Amberwings (Perithemis tenera) are predators. In this case, they feed by catching and eating only the tiniest of insects such as mosquitoes and midges.   

Eastern Amberwings are generally found around ponds and lakes, less often near slow-moving sections of creeks and rivers. They're also considered by many to be perhaps the wariest, most easily spooked of all species, thus making for difficult photo targets. This Eastern Amberwing wasn't following the rulebook. I discovered it hunting just above the tops of the tall grass along the edge of my favorite prairie patch—a hundred yards from the nearest water. And after one or two tries, I quickly managed to get within photo range.

I've been a dragonfly/damselfly fan for years, and the miniature Eastern Amberwings have long been one of my very favorites—especially the charismatic males with their golden-amber, red-spotted wings. Small in size, maybe, but sure big on snazzy good looks.  

             

A DAZZLE OF DRAGONFLIES

Widow Skimmer, male

When you're a photographer looking for sheer eye-stopping color, dragonflies and damselflies will easily rival anything in nature. Even the most impressive panoply of birds or butterflies can't out-dazzle these large flying insects. By last count, Ohio has some 164 species of Odonata. For the past few weeks I've been fiddling around trying to capture images of a few—mostly while skulking about a pond and meadow just up the road. I thought you might enjoy seeing a handful of my favorite shots. 

Eastern Pondhawk, female

I'm no expert when it comes to identifying these lovely creatures. Quite honestly, I'm not even a semi-competent amateur. Nor do I (yet!) have a good field guide to help me fumble along. The best i.d. resource I possess is Dragonflies of Ohio, a PDF publication from the Ohio's Division of Wildlife. That said, I'm pretty confident for the identifications given…though if I'm wrong, please don't hesitate to say so. The identity of two of the dragonflies pictured remains a vexing mystery—despite my best efforts to figure them out. If perchance you know what they are, I'd really appreciate the help.

Calico Pennant, male

Eastern Pondhawk, male

Halloween Pennant, female

Unknown (found in deep shade away from water)

Widow Skimmer, male

Eastern Amberwing, male

Eastern Pondhawk, female

Unknown (perched on stick floating in pond)

Halloween Pennant, male

LOOKING GOOD

I spent an hour or so yesterday morning making butterfly pictures at a prairie site just up the road from the cottage. Later, because I had a midday appointment to keep at the optometrist's, I adjourned to a small pond closer to his office, where I stalked dragonflies, damselflies, and several small butterflies along the cattail-fringed edge until time to head for the eye doc's.

The morning was pleasantly cool. Puffy white clouds sailed across an azure sky. The only minor drawback, from a photographic standpoint, was the rather stiff breeze, which blew almost constantly—bending and swaying the prairie's big bluestem and purple coneflowers, and the little pond's cattail and willows, turning the colorful insects I was trying to photograph into erratically moving targets.

That is definitely not a complaint. After enduring several sweltering weeks of 90˚F-plus weather, a bit of a photographic challenge is a small price to pay for such welcome comfort. I'll take 75˚F and a refreshing breeze over 97˚F and smothering calm every time!

My optometrist visit went well. I began wearing glasses as a child, and switched to contact lenses in my early teens. (Back then, hard contacts were made from plexiglass—the same material used for windowpanes in doors.) Of all the optometrists I've had over the years, the fellow I see now is far and away the most thorough in his examinations…and I also believe, the most competent. Yesterday's examination took nearly three hours—partly because of the doc's meticulous and exhaustive care, but also because of a family history of glaucoma, the fact that my eye health indicates that I may be heading in that direction, plus an incident which occurred a few days ago (again, I was out taking photos) that might be an early warning sign of a torn retina. What I appreciate the most about this guy is that he's not only conscientious and comprehensive, but straight-talking and firm in his opinions. As a hard-headed Irishman, who, believe me, is no easy patient, I find such behavior refreshing. 

By the time I got out of there—relieved if somewhat frayed from the assiduous nature of the exam, my eyes dilated to those resembling a great horned owl, vision a temporary mess—I needed at least a brief ramble outdoors to even my kilter. A small natural area on the way home offered the perfect panacea. 

A few minutes later I parked in the graveled lot and ambled along a narrow path across an old meadow white with Queen Anne's Lace. Patches of purple Ironweed hosted Tiger Swallowtail butterflies. A handful of goldfinches flitted atop the thistle heads. The breeze was still blowing and the whole field seemed to be alive, dancing a slow waltz beneath a sparking afternoon sky. And I thought—not for the first time—how I was so very grateful to be able to see this—thankful for the eyes and vision to take in the wonder of such a place, such a day. What would I do without sight? How would I read or write, make photos, prepare meals, look deep into the eyes of Myladylove and know she loves me back? Surely the gift of sight is among God's greatest blessings to mankind. 

Call this a public service announcement, Riverdaze style. If you're due for an eye exam, make the appointment and keep it. Find yourself a good optometrist. Take care of your eyes, your vision, your sight. What a wonderful, lovely world we have—a world where beauty surrounds us, if only we take the time to look…and have the ability to see. 

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