Naturalism on Speed: Challenge 2

Welcome back to the silliest feature of my blog, the Naturalism on Speed Challenge. Last year I challenged myself to identify 50 species before the CASA River Century and another fifty by the end of the year. This time I'm going for fifty more, for a grand total of 153. I expect this one to be much harder because so many of the most familiar species are eliminated. Further, since there are only so many terrestrial animals likely to show themselves I will be primarily identifying plants (outside my wheelhouse) and squinting at birds (which move as quickly as I do). I suppose insects might be a promising well to draw from, but those are, well, very small.

As with last time, I'm sure I won't have pictures of everything. After all, I have specifically stated that stopping to get a better look is off-limits, and I haven't mastered the art of photography from the back of a moving bicycle (and will never attempt to do so). Fortunately, the first few species this year are a product of some new wildflower knowledge I picked up within the last week or so, and so I happen to have a few pictures to show off. The top photo is bloodroot, which is sort of sneaky-beautiful Easy to overlook but worth the time to stop for. Photo two is a blanket of lesser celandine, while the third is the familiar mountain laurel.

Some of these may just get their own species features (I'm looking at you, bloodroot). Bloodroot and lesser celandine were the inspiration for returning to this project. They are beautiful wildflowers which bloom in early spring - a refreshing burst of color after months of grays and browns. Violets show equally early and are equally refreshing, but there are quite a few similar species and I have little hope of nailing them down as I rider by. I'm pleased to add mountain laurel this time,  because this was on the "how do I not have this yet" list along with sassafras and chickadees.

The List

I thought about reproducing the original list in this space, but it is something of a wall of text. I'll see if I can figure out a non-obnoxious way to present it later.

1. Ranunculus ficaria (lesser celandine)
2. Sanguinaria canadensis (bloodroot)
3. Kalmia latifolia (mountain laurel)
4. Hieracium pratense (yellow hawkweed)
5. Claytonia virginica (Virginia spring beauty)
6. Lamium amplexicaule (greater henbit)
7. Dryocopus pileatus (pileated woodpecker) added 3/22/12
8. Mertensia virginica (Virginia bluebells) added 4/6/12
9. Dicentra canadensis (squirrel corn) added 4/6/12
10. Haliaeetus leucocephalus (bald eagle) added 4/6/12
11. Phlox divaricata (wild blue phlox) added 4/6/12
12. Brassica juncea (Indian mustard) added 4/15/12
13. Geranium maculatum (wild geranium) added 4/15/12
14. Trillium grandiflorum (large-flowered trillium) added 4/15/12
15. Meleagris gallopavo (wild turkey) added 4/15/12
16. Corvus corax (common raven) added 4/15/12
17. Cardamine concatenata (cutleaf toothwort) added 4/15/12
18. Heracleum maximum (cow parsnip) added 4/15/12

Starting with a little over ten percent accomplished feels good... but it doesn't remove the daunting nature of the task ahead.

Grainy photo of pileated woodpecker snapped in June of 2010.

That didn't take long! One day and one more species to add to the list. This was an awesome one too: the pileated woodpecker. I came across this gorgeous bird as I slipped back into the woods from a road crossing. He was sitting on a stump at about ankle height (from a cycling POV, of course) no more than a few inches from the side of the path. I guess I wasn't making a lot of noise, because he didn't take off until my front wheel was even with him. Never been even remotely that close to such a bird - and that proximity gave me a real sense of its size. It was more than a foot tall, which may not seem like much but is impressive when seen at close range.

My most recent training ride took place outside the usual habitat zone I ride in (on Shenandoah National Park's Skyline Drive, to be precise). As such, I entered with high hopes of really putting a dent in this year's challenge. I did, but not quite to the level I had hoped. Seven new species went on the books, but a few were plants I could have easily picked up in the 'burbs. Unfortunately the black bear I saw was from the car, I only heard the coyotes (at night anyway),  and I couldn't pin down the exact identity of the owl or some of the hawks I rode past. Good get on the wild turkey, though.

New species from most recent edit: 7
Running Total: 121
Animals: 44 (11 mammals, 27 birds, 4 insects, 2 reptiles)
Plants: 72
Fungi: 5

Back in the Saddle

I don't think fierce pedaling would be enough to escape that fellow... 

With the return of Spring (which is now official, if specious) comes the return of cycling. While I have been riding to work intermittently since the end of January, this weekend marked my first ride longer than that. That ride served as a reminder of just how awesome it is to live in the DC suburbs and own a bike capable of handling varied terrain. My route took me through urban streets in Silver Spring, down Beach Drive (closed to motorists on weekends), past (and into) the National Zoo, onto the National Mall, along the C&O Canal Towpath, and back to Silver Spring on a paved bike trail. All of this was less than a 30-mile ride.

Boulder Bridge in Rock Creek Park is one of my favorite cycling landmarks.

 
So what does a new season of cycling mean? Well, I'm doing another century ride, or the same one over again if you prefer something that sounds more zen. The CASA River Century was a lot of fun and training for it was good for me, good for the environment, and good for traffic between Silver Spring and Rockville. Dustin and I will be joined by a third rider this year, and hopefully this time it serves as a prelude to the Sea Gull Century. Other life events might make this difficult, but I think I'll be able to make it happen.

The new season also means a new Naturalism on Speed challenge for me, which may bore the bajeezus out of my readers. Even if it does, it will at the very least hone my knowledge and skills, which in turn will make me better at this*. I'm aiming for fifty new species to add to last year's final total (which will make 153 the magic number). Sunday's ride netted me five or six to get started with. A quick recap of the rules:

1. I have to ID each species positively.
2. I can't stop for a better look, but I can count what I see when I'm already stopped.
3. I must know what I'm seeing when I see it - research can only help for next time.
4. Domesticated animals and people don't count, nor do plants in planters/gardens.
5. I can't count specimens I see all the time and thus have the chance to study thoroughly.
   
   

The sights in DC are iconic and worthwhile - and with a bike you can take in a huge number of them in just a few hours.

I'll close by reminding everyone how bike-friendly the Washington, DC area is. The Capital Bikeshare program is awesome, and there is an extensive network of trail systems. I could conceivably ride (about 90 miles) from my apartment to my parents' house just outside of Martinsbug, WV. The Metro makes it easy to close little gaps in your ride by hopping a train for a stop or two (except during weekday rush hour). The buses are theoretically all equipped to handle your bicycle.








*That's my polite way of saying "deal with it."

12 Months of Nature: February

Like February (that most dismal of months) itself, the February section of  Seasonal Guide to the Natural Year was generally short and forbidding. When conceiving this project, I had expected some months to be easier than others, and even expected to fail spectacularly at achieving the aim of my journey once or twice. But after reading my options for February, I despaired of even being able to put together a trip worthy of this blog... would "12 months of nature" become "11 out of 12 months of nature" so soon?

Option 1, "Winter Hawks" sounded promising until I discovered that all of the recommended spots were prohibitively far away. Option 2, "Tracking" seemed a little too general and unexciting for my purposes. Options 3 and 4 were titled "Lake Eerie Steelhead,"  and "Exploring Winter Beaches," respectively - both of which were also out because of travel time. The final option, "Pelagic Birding Trips," sounded fascinating but requires much more organization than I had the time or inclination to put together. Frankly, I had to look up the word 'pelagic' anyway.


February Event: Tracking

My choice of a human footprint here doesn't mean
I failed entirely...

So, I chose "Tracking" from the list above. I could have instead resigned myself to traveling a greater distance than I wanted to with a good chance of not seeing the hawks or steelhead I sought. The payoff might have been far more interesting. But the conservative approach meant that it would be hard to fail. One of my favorite places, Shenandoah National Park, was a recommended destination. There was the possibility of snow, which would only make track identification easier, in theory. Besides, the point of tracking isn't necessarily to find fauna itself, but to understand and interpret signs of its presence and impact on the environment.



The Location

I have repeatedly talked about this place, and I'm sure it will come up over and over again in this blog. So I won't bore you with redundancies (except in link form). Looking back, though, it's hard to believe I only have one post solely about Shenandoah.

Why there, and Why then?

Well, the guide was right about one thing. There was definitely snow.

The answer to "why there" was sort of unclear... really, one can track anywhere outside. Animals walk, poop, eat, and so forth everywhere. I think the guide suggested Shenandoah primarily because there is a ton of open space, and because wildlife traffic is a lot higher than most places in this region of the US. I had an ulterior motive for going to the park that most of my readers are aware of. So "why then," then? Well, I think they stuck "tracking" in February primarily because it was the toughest month to fill out with reasonable activities, but also because of the likelihood of snow.


The Trip, and What I Learned

Like the previous trip, this one was wonderful. Unfortunately I didn't learn much about tracking - I relied on a few things I already know and just enjoyed getting a good hike in in February. We got to the park pretty early, and chose one of our favorite spots: Mary's Rock. (There are those ulterior motives again). The last time we had done this hike was in the hottest part of the summer, so it was a nice change of pace (and still gorgeous) to hike it with a dusting of snow. What's nice about this hike is that although steep, it's less than a two-mile trip from the parking lot to the summit. And the view is spectacular.

The trailhead - per the sign, much of this hike is on the Appalachian Trail.

We thought this was beautiful - a veritable explosion of color amid the white, gray, and brown.

I have a couple of decent photos of the view from Mary's Rock itself, but I don't feel they do it justice. If you follow the link above there are a couple that almost get the job done, but it's one of those things you just have to see to appreciate fully. Luckily for DC denizens, it's not too far away and you don't have to be a marathon runner to pull off the climb.

When we were finished with that hike, we decided to make a quick stop at one of the park's other notable spots, Big Meadows. As usual, there were quite a few deer nearby (and signs of other fauna, which I'll get to). I have to say, though, that Big Meadows is pretty drab in the dead of winter. There's still a certain beauty to the place, and I'm glad I have seen it in its more dormant state, but I wouldn't put it at the top of my list for winter outings.

Big Meadows and one of the creatures it is famed for. As a nerd about such things, it has often bothered me that "Big Meadows" is a singular proper noun for a place composed of plural meadows. But I digress (as usual).

My guess is these were left by a squirrel. But it's hard to be
certain without a clear footprint.

 You don't even have to be an astute reader to wonder where the bit about tracking is, since that was after all the point of the exercise. Well, to be frank, we didn't find a lot of identifiable tracks, even in the snow. I think the amount of snow was such that it made it harder rather than easier - just enough to cover any visible tracks but not enough to leave good tracks. Also, the ground was still frozen. Any place where deer or some other large animal had clearly been was mostly torn up into a tangled mess. The clearest tracks were those left by fellow hikers and their canines. However, as you'll see below, footprints aren't the only signs one can use as clues to animal activity.

Deer poop

 I apologize for this next photo, but one just can't talk with any reasonable credibility about tracking without briefly discussing poop. It just can't be done. The scat at right belongs to white-tailed deer, although on this trip we also saw quite a bit of carnivores' waste as well. It could have been from foxes, coyotes, bobcats, or possibly just family pets. There was a lot of high fur content, though (you can tell just by glancing) so my guess is "coyote." In the past there was an unfortunate incident involving Franklin and some bear feces, but I don't want to talk about it. So end my scatological ramblings for the day.



A couple of other signs of note were some loose feathers, and some obvious groundhog trails. Photos of those are even more boring than photos of poop, though, so I'll let it go.

When tracking, what a good naturalist is really after is not just  an identity of what had passed this way, but a story of what it was doing and why. If the deer tracks are clustered in one muddy spot, what made them behave this way? Was it a predator? A mating display or fight for dominance? If there's loose fur, did the owner just get snagged on a twig or was there some sort of conflict? How recent are the tracks you're looking at? Was the animal moving quickly or slowly? One thing I noticed was that some of the deer scat was clustered into piles, while other spots were scattered. This led me to wonder why those particular deer were exhibiting divergent restroom behaviors. It's this type of question that can turn one from aware of nature's signs to an expert at interpreting them. Myself, I'm somewhere in between... I know how to ask the questions but not often how to answer them. Good guides on tracking do exist, though I can't offer much in the way of critique. If you're interested in learning how to track and "read sign" I suggest that you research these and select one... but it's really the experience that will teach you. I will leave you with my favorite deer picture from the day.

This young buck is showing his antler velvet... I've never managed a clear photo of this before, so I'll call it a win.

Seneca Creek State Park and the Return of Spring

I know that around here it's hard to think of this Spring as a "return" from anything. I can't recall a winter this mild. Did we crack three inches of snow? Nonetheless, the signs of mother nature waking up can already be seen, and it is a stark contrast to the grayness of early February. Why, this morning when I took the trash out I saw bees pollinating the bushes lining the front steps. Bees? Yes, bees.

The signs hardly begin and end with bees, but for me that has been the single most surprising among them. On Sunday I took a stroll to Joe's Record Paradise in Downtown Silver Spring, and along the way I noticed a number of small wildflowers already in bloom. For over a week now I have seen green shoots peeking out of the ground in various places, and I've noticed greater activity among the birds and small mammals. It seems odd to be typing this on February 22nd, but I can't argue with what I'm seeing.

Looking for a way to enjoy the warm weather and the rest of nature's early offerings, Laurel and I set out for Seneca Creek State Park on Saturday. It wasn't one of our more intense trips, but we got in a nice four-mile hike around the lake and took in some lovely sights. Unlike our previous new adventure (Monocacy), this park had a lot to offer, and I'm sure we'll be returning sometime in the future. Apart from the beauty of Clopper Lake, the Park had numerous beautiful picnic areas and pavilions. It also extended for unexplored (by us) miles along Seneca Creek. In fact, combined with other area parks, one could stroll through uninterrupted parkland from the Potomac River all the way to Damascus, Maryland. Several of the trails are also available to mountain bikers. It seems both kid-friendly and wild enough to make the most hardened naturalist happy.

Clopper Lake, the primary feature of our day's excursion.

I spoke above briefly of renewed bird activity. Well, in the park we did hear and glimpse a few songbirds, but it was still primarily waterfowl that were on display. In attendance were of course the run-of-the-mill Branta canadensis (Canada goose) and Anas platyrhynchos (mallard). However, we also sighted through binoculars a small flock of Bucephala albeola, or buffleheads. These are fairly easy to recognize by the large white patch at the back of the head (males only). The females have a smaller white stripe slightly lower on the head. I didn't get a precise count, but our flock consisted of at least a dozen birds, mostly female, although some may have been immature males and I was able to pick out for certain three adult males. Additionally, we heard the shriek of at least one bird of prey, though we never caught a glimpse of its owner and I am not nearly adept enough at discerning birdcalls to hazard a guess as to its identity.

The sign also confirmed our suspicions about the presence of beavers.

We also discovered a restoration project aimed at the American chestnut, Castanea dentata. Chestnut blight is a problem in the park, as it has apparently been everywhere the tree occurs.  I'm not sure how likely they are to preserve the trees within the park, but I salute their efforts and wish them well. We may not always know we're doing the right thing when we act on nature, but biodiversity is good and plant biodiversity is suffering greatly in this region. Here's some further reading on the tree and its plight.

I took this photo thinking these were the "shoots" mentioned in the sign above. Thanks to some vigorous Google image searching, however, I no longer think so. Whatever this plant is, I hope it doesn't out-compete the chestnuts.

In terms of other plant life, there were more green things than expected. The pines and American holly (Ilex opaca) weren't surprising, but the mountain laurel bushes already possessed a wealth of green leaves. Even the mosses and prickly vines lent a refreshing color to the landscape. Even a few grasses were peeking through the mat of dead leaves.

The blooming mountain laurels can be seen here as a faint green band.

For those interested, visiting the park is an easy trip from DC and the surrounding area. Simply take Exit 10 from I-270 and proceed East on Clopper Road. The park will be on the left. From Silver Spring this is about a thirty to forty minute drive.

12 Months of Nature: January

I recently discovered a book titled Seasonal Guide to the Natural Year: A Monthly Guide to Natural Events - Mid-Atlantic. Despite the unwieldy title, I was pretty excited to get into it. You see, timing can be everything for the success of a naturalist's outing, and I have never been possessed of the keenest sense for this.* I gleefully proceeded to the counter, slapped down my two bucks, and sped home. (Thank you, Friends of the Library!)

As I began paging through it that evening, I immediately started to envision a new project for From the Suburbs, Naturally. The guidebook is presented in month-by-month format, with several natural events per month. Each of the sixty entries includes recommended locations for viewing these events within the Mid-Atllantic region. I've decided to choose one entry for each month in 2012. I will explore these for myself and chronicle my attempts here. This first one was a doozy - I kind of nerded out.


January Event: Bald Eagle Viewing

This is an ambitious start. Few North American animals are as revered or as majestic as the Bald Eagle. I'm not sure I'll be able to top it in the months to come. The photos are only so good, but this trip was a resounding success. Laurel and I were able to see dozens of birds, some at surprisingly close range and all quite active. I had no idea that there was such a population of bald eagles anywhere close to us.


The Location

The suggested viewing point for wintering bald eagles was Conowingo Dam. Located near Darlington, MD on the Susquehanna River (just after it flows from Pennsylvania into Maryland), this is about a 1.5 hour trip for DC residents. I don't recommend a weekday trip, as most of your driving will be on I-95 or US 1. For a pleasant Sunday, however, this spot was well worth the drive. The dam itself is kind of nifty, and it is a paradise for birders. It is just a short drive (or medium hike) from Susquehanna State Park, which is a small but pleasant park on the river's western bank. We spent some time there after the main attraction. It wasn't particularly exciting in January, but it has potential for a spring/summer visit.


Why there, and why then?

The eagles, along with many other bird species, have identified the dam as a reliable winter food source. It blocks not only water, but fish. Further, when water is released from any of the sluices, it deposits several of these fish in the shallows - often disoriented or dead. Bald eagle numbers climb in the winter, as other food sources grow more scarce - a couple of internet sources cite as many as forty birds counted.

Dam! (Sorry, couldn't resist.) Those rocks at the far right are the tip of an island where the birds congregate, waiting for meals.

The Trip and What I Learned

Something that was entirely new to me: not all bald eagles possess the distinctive white head. In fact, it takes about five years for this to develop, and the immature bald eagles look fairly similar to the golden eagle. I'm still uncertain if any of the birds of prey we observed were golden eagles. Some of them had white markings on the wings that were remarkably similar. A related tidbit: hawks and eagles don't display the marked sex differences in plumage known to occur in smaller birds. Sexing bald eagles can be accomplished by comparing size (see the second question at the link for more).


There was only one other car in the parking lot, yet I knew we were in the right place when we got out of the car and immediately saw an eagle take flight from a nearby tree. Turns out I was wrong... the Visitor Center where we parked was about a mile from the viewing area. When we got out of the car there, though, it was hard to deny that this was the spot. People with notebooks stood behind tripods with serious cameras. I heard a shriek to my left and lo, about forty feet up and almost straight overhead sat a pair of bald eagles. Those soon took to the sky, but were replaced by a spectacle: a dining eagle.

Welcome to Dinner!

I think I may have learned a birders' lesson: if the people with the awesome technology are there, you're in the right place. I have previously learned this lesson as it relates to cycling.

None of the other eagles came remotely close enough for me to snap even a passable picture, but this was far from the end of the activity. We stayed for perhaps two hours, and never went more than a minute or two without seeing one. This is definitely a must-see spot.


 Eagles, however, weren't the sole attraction for naturalists. This site presents a list of other species seen at Conowingo, with shorebirds the main attraction for more experienced birders. Apart from the eagles, we saw black vultures, great blue herons, Canada geese, mallards, and several species of gull. I am almost certain to return at least once when my knowledge base is broader. I'm sure picking out the various species of shorebirds would be fascinating.

There was one other item of note, and it's something of an oddity to me. I noticed several dead mice scattered around the viewing area. The first seemed perfectly normal. After two more I started to wonder. Of course we were there to see birds of prey, so I wondered if they were lost meals. That's pure speculation... it could be that the dam owners use poison, or that the (mild) winter has started to hit the mouse population. I'm partial to the "dropped dinner" theory, so I'll just pretend it's that.

For anyone who is interested, the peak season for bald eagles at Conowingo Dam extends into March, and they can reportedly be seen in smaller numbers throughout the rest of the year.


*Aside: it seems I am always bringing up naturalist skills which I am deficient in. I suppose it's a combination of youth and a desire to learn more.

Challenge Complete!

I had to rent some wheels this time - my own bike was out of
commission. A part is on order...

The Naturalism on Speed Challenge is complete! I left for vacation last weekend just two species short of my goal of 100. The five new species I was able to add while cruising Highway 12 on the Outer Banks fell short of my lofty ambitions for the trip (after all, it's a completely different environment) but were more than enough to put me over the top. The new additions are not likely to be seen in the DC suburbs (though I have seen laughing gulls this far inland). While that makes them a little off-topic for the blog they're well within the rules of the challenge. Speaking of rules, I'll recap. The basic premise is to identify species from a moving bicycle. To keep this different from simply identifying wildlife in general, I imposed the following five restrictions:

1. Listed species must be identified to species while riding, with certainty. 
2. No unnatural stops are permitted. 
3. Retroactive identification is also not permitted. 
4. Domesticated animals (and humans) do not count. 
5. Plants which grow at my apartment complex or other very familiar areas (my workplace, my parents' house, etc) are ineligible.

Species #99 - Laughing Gull (Leucophaeus atricilla)

Species # 100 - Sea Oats (Uniola paniculata)

Species # 101 - Brown Pelican (Pelecanus occidentalis)

Species # 102 - Adam's needle (Yucca filamentosa)

 Not pictured: Species # 103 - American beachgrass (Ammophila breviligulata)

This brings me to a final count of 103 species: 58 plants, 23 birds, 11 mammals, 5 fungi, 4 insects, and 2 reptiles. "Final" is a bit of a lie, because I do intend to keep adding to this list as I continue to cycle and to explore the natural world. The marriage of  these two hobbies has been too great an experience to discontinue simply because I reached an arbitrary milestone.

June Mushrooms

June is already drawing to a close, but most of this month has been so dry here that I haven't really seen a lot of mushrooms. Honestly, this whole year has been pretty weak for my mycological exploits - but enough whining. June is when mushroom variety really begins to assert itself. As always, let me warn you not to eat any wild mushroom (even those I say are safe to eat) unless you know what you're doing. There is too much room for error between my blog and your plate to use this as an edible mushroom guide.

With the exception of morels, most of the mushrooms seen in May can still be found in June (nature, of course, isn't as conveniently divided into months as our calendar). The coprinoid mushrooms (inkys) are a bit more scarce by this time, but I did see a batch of them just yesterday afternoon while walking the dog. The ubiquitous oyster mushroom can also still be found. If you were to walk outside on June 15th and wander long enough, you could probably encounter most mushrooms from last month's post in addition to those featured below.

A personal favorite of mine, the ash-tree bolete (Gyrodon merulioides), begins to fruit in June in this area. For Silver Spring residents, these grow gregariously and predictably in Falkland Chase Apartments (where I used to live) from mid-June through late July. You can find them to the North of East-West Highway in the courtyard which lies just behind the big sign (weather conditions permitting, of course). I find this mushroom absolutely fascinating, as it can only be found near white ash, though its relationship to the tree is indirect. It exists only in the presence of a species of aphid which in turn only eats white ash leaves. Unfortunately, its taste is, erm, not good. I'm being charitable.

It's ugly and it's gross, but it's interesting.

In the showy category is the pretty - and often huge - Chlorophyllum molybdites. I have found a number of patches of these in the greener areas around downtown Silver Spring. They are easy to identify because they resemble parasol mushrooms but have green spores. The spore print they make is, in my opinion, about as beautiful as this hobby gets. As they age, specimens of this mushroom will literally become green around the gills. They'll make you sick, though, so don't eat them.

A button sitting on the gills of a mature specimen. I believe I measured this one at an eight inch diameter.

An unusual but commonly found summer mushroom is the crown-tipped coral (I know it as Clavicorona pyxidata, but it has many synonyms). This is another easy-to-identify mushroom because unlike other similar species it grows from rotting wood.  If it looks like the photo below and grows from wood (not terrestrially), then you can be pretty sure you're looking at crown-tipped coral. Then, it can be eaten! But not too much, because it is known to have a laxative effect. I have tasted this, both on its own and in an omelette, and would rate it as "passable."

One of the first wild mushrooms I tasted, this specimen was found in Shenandoah National Park.

The tree ear, or jelly ear (Auricularia aricula), is another interesting mushroom that I usually start seeing in June. It's a jellylike but still somehow leathery mushroom which grows from trees and logs. It's fairly distinctive and can be seen just about anywhere in this area if one looks hard enough. The odd thing about this one is that mycologists have been known to chew it like gum while out on a hunt. Now, I love mushrooms, but... well, YUCK.

When I see this, I don't think "chewing gum," but to each his own I suppose.

Unfortunately, in June I have also encountered Amanita phallioides and Amanita virosa (known as the "death cap" and the "destroying angel," respectively). I could get technical about things like "species complexes, but I feel that such digression would cloud the issue that THESE WILL KILL YOU if eaten. The Amanita genus in general should be avoided and its characteristics learned by those who have any intent at all of eating wild mushrooms. These two mushrooms are the greatest contributors to the death toll of the unwary.

This scratches the surface of what a mycologist can find this month. After all, I've covered only six species plus another handful of May leftovers. I wanted to highlight the variety of mushrooms out there by showing a few vastly different ones rather than inundating my faithful readership with page after page of photos and descriptions.

Invasive Species

Let me preface this by saying: I am not a biologist, and therefore not qualified to truly debate the issue of invasive species. Nor should the thoughts which follow be taken as an indictment on the field of biology or any of its scholars. I'm certain that the central question I wish to raise has been thought of and discussed in those circles. (In fact, I know some research has been done.) What I am uncertain of, however, is if a satisfactory conclusion has been reached. My question: are invasive species always bad?

This question is pretty simple in terms of syntax, and yet my research into this has suggested that it is complex and even difficult to asses as a valid question. The first problem is that the term "invasive species" has a fluid meaning. It is sometimes defined as a "non-native species with an adverse effect on the habitat it is invading." Adherents of that definition of the term would say "yes," and the discussion would end. At the other end of the spectrum, the term is synonymous with "introduced species," broadening its horizons to include all non-native species. Under this definition, I think it would be safe to say "no" to my original question and move on... after all, the apple is an introduced species, and I don't think anyone is blaming it directly for any particular problems (if I'm wrong about this, I'm certain there is another example - perhaps the tomato).

The above, infuriatingly, gets us nowhere: we have an absolute question with a simultaneous yes and no answer (yuck!). So how do we move past the semantics here? The first definition above is the more widely used, so I will use that as "the" definition for the purposes of this discussion. To avoid the dead-end in the debate, I must rephrase the question as follows: do biologists and/or naturalists too readily classify a species as invasive? The crux of this question is whether or not we have enough data and understanding of our ecosystem to accurately evaluate harm.

I don't have an answer to that question; I do have suspicions that naturalists are generally predisposed to see any change as negative. That predisposition, I suspect, leads us to view any effect of an introduced species as a negative effect. I'm going to attempt to share my thought process as it occurred to me: through a series of examples encountered in my own life over the past year or so.

Mile-a-minute and its distinctive triangular leaves and red
vine. The plant produces small, blue-to-purple berries.

Last summer, I put in some volunteer hours removing invasive species with the Friends of Sligo Creek. There were several such species marked for destruction, but the hardy mile-a-minute stands out in my mind. This stuff earns its name. Its vines snaked through an entire field, choking off other flora to a staggering degree. It climbed bushes and trees, out-competing not only the other ground cover but the taller flora as well. This seems like a clear-cut case of an invasive species which is truly bad for its environment. In this environment, mile-a-minute thrives so well that it threatens every other plant, endangering food sources and habitats for the area's fauna. There's no one species it is in competition with - it risks a severe drop in the biodiversity in the local area.

This is mile-a-minute doing what it does.

I've been hearing a lot about deer exclosures lately. These are tall fences put in place to exclude deer from a small area. The vegetation inside and outside the exclosure is later studied comparatively. On the surface, this would seem tangential to the subject of invasive species - the white-tailed deer is an example of a native species which has become a problem. However, per NPR reports on these studies in Silver Spring (Sligo Creek again) one of the more striking differences between the vegetation growth on either side of the fence involves the success of native vs. introduced species. Where deer are free to roam, they decimate populations of native species, while leaving the invasive species alone. Looked at in one light, this means that the native plants are under attack on two fronts. However, without the non-native plants, would the deer simply consume ALL of the area's vegetation? In this interaction, I wonder if perhaps the introduced plants are in fact acting to preserve the biodiversity of suburban wooded areas in the region. I don't know, but it seems a question worth asking.

This red mulberry grows near my apartment. As I will explain below, it may actually be a hybrid with the introduced white mulberry. One cannot really tell without a DNA study of the specimen these days.

It was some new information about mulberries that finally inspired me to write on this topic. I learned that the native red mulberry (Morus rubra) is often hybridizing with the invasive white mulberry (Morus alba). When I first read of this, it was presented as a sinister attack on the genetic purity of M. rubra. Yet the more I read the less I understood why this is a problem. Both species occupy the same niche, and the hybrids produce viable offspring. I'm sure the rationale is that if one species eliminates the other it would constitute a decrease in biodiversity. But would it? If two closely-related species interbreed to become one with a greater range of genetic variability, isn't that positive? Doesn't a larger gene pool mean a more robust population? The line between species is arbitrary in the first place - it is sometimes even loosely defined by the ability to produce viable offspring, which calls into question whether these are two species or one with a broad genetic base. At its best, the idea that M. rubra is somehow threatened in this interaction seems analogous to dog breeders' aversion to mutts, or to the concept of preserving a royal line through inbreeding.

There is a range of ambiguity in the examples above. The first seems a clear-cut case of a correctly identified invasive species. The second seems nothing but gray area to me. Clearly the overpopulated deer are damaging the ecosystem, but are the introduced species truly invasive in this case, or will they have a net positive effect given the destruction already wrought? The third seems a very likely candidate for just the type of mistake I suspect happens. I certainly could be missing a key point there, so I don't mean to imply that I have answered my question... I cite it instead as evidence that my question is valid. Is M. alba truly "invasive" under the strictest definition of the term?

It is certainly a tricky - and even uncomfortable - question. Where is the line between healthy competition and destructive contaminant? How do conservationists act without a complete answer to this question? I don't wish to sound pessimistic, or to frighten anyone into inaction. I do hope, though, that readers will think on these matters when they act to preserve the natural environment.

It's Hot (A Cautionary Post)

It's summer! Don't give me this Summer Solstice crap, here in the DC area we know better. Early June, and we're flirting with trip-digits out there. If you're new to the area and reading this, you are hereby warned: over the next three months, you will be seeing this. Often. Wait, though... why am I griping about the heat on a blog about naturalism? Well, apart from the obvious fact that most of naturalism happens outside (you know, where all that heat is) hydration is a matter of tremendous importance for anyone doing anything outside in heat like this.


You may think (and you'd be right) that hiking or strolling is a lot less strenuous on your body than playing sports, running, "working out," etc. However, one is also less likely to notice when one is becoming dehydrated during this lower-impact activity. My goal today is to convince anyone reading this to consider hydration - and to take it very seriously - when doing whatever it is you do in nature. Much of this is common sense, but it is good practice to occasionally sit and think about common sense. Why is it common, and why is it sense?

Hydration begins before you do.

What do I mean by that load of BS? You need to be hydrated before you go outside and start your activity. Did you have three cups of coffee this morning? If so, you'd better down a glass or two of water before you get going. Whatever your morning diet, you should really consider drinking a significant volume of water before you leave the comfort of your A/C.

Take more than you think you need.

No translation needed for this one. Whatever your estimate of water needs, bring more. If you're driving somewhere, leave excess in the car. If you don't think you can carry it, find a way. Make room.

Plan your refills.

If your trip is long, make sure you begin it with an idea of where and when you will encounter fresh water sources. Then, take advantage of them. Even if you're "ahead of the curve" it doesn't hurt to top off your supply. You may want to consider purification tables if you're depending on streams, springs, etc.

Sip, don't guzzle.

If you don't listen to this one, you will learn why.

Over-hydration can happen...

...but it generally doesn't. It takes something extreme. If you're worried about it, bring some electrolytes with you (in whatever form you choose). Again, this is rare but needed to be mentioned.

If you feel dehydrated, it's too late.

Take this one to heart. You should drink regularly throughout your activity. It's best to take in liquid before you even feel thirsty, though again, there's no need to guzzle. If you do get to the point of feeling dehydrated (headaches, lack of concentration, general wooziness, etc.) make sure that you rest until you feel better. Then rest a bit more. If you start moving and feel bad again, you haven't rested enough or taken in enough water.

Hydration doesn't stop when you stop.

We've come full circle. Keep drinking water when you get home. You don't have to take this to an extreme, but just because you've ceased your activity doesn't mean your body has finished using and shedding water.


Before I leave you, I want to leave a final note to dog owners. Be careful with your pets. However awesome your dog is, he or she cannot manage heat as well as you can. I'll let Franklin's vet do the heavy lifting on this one, but be warned. Dogs have limited ability to release heat, and they're such loyal creatures that they will literally walk or run themselves to death to keep up with you.

This is perhaps a more appropriate setting for our four-footed friends in this type of weather.

Species Feature #7, Red Admiral

The photos for this entry were taken on a camping trip to the Outer Banks this past July. Nonetheless, the Red Admiral is very much relevant in the DC area. This species is relatively easy to identify from a top view. The white spots (on a black background) on the forewing tip are fairly distinctive, and you can't miss if you also see the black-fading-to-brown central coloring with orange bands around it. I don't have a good shot of the ventral view, so I'll let Wikipedia handle that for you. Note the mottled coloration and pink bar. I have to say, when I first started browsing a butterfly guide the biggest shock to me was how many species exhibit drastically different patterning on the "top" (dorsal) and "bottom" (ventral) of the wing.

Isn't she a beauty? Also, why do I inherently think of all butterflies as "she"? Am I unconsciously sexist, or is that just over-analyzing?

Vanessa atalanta Quick Facts

Common Name(s): red admiral, alderman

Taxonomic Breakdown:

• Kingdom - Animalia
• Phylum - Arthropoda
• Class - Insecta
• Order - Lepidoptera
• Superfamily - Papilionoidea
• Family - Nymphalidae
• Subfamily - Nymphalinae
• Tribe - Nymphalini
• Genus - Vanessa
• Species - atalanta
  

A superfamily, a subfamily, AND a tribe? Really? I think this is brought on by 1) a staggering number of known species in order Lepidoptera and 2) biologists' obsession with the beauty of butterflies. I'm poking fun, but honestly in this case such minutiae are certainly warranted.

Conservation Status: Not Assessed

Range: This butterfly is found all over the place. In North America, it spans Guatemala to Canada, Hawaii, and the Caribbean.

The same specimen as above takes a break on our tent. Man, was this a wonderful campsite (but I digress).

Since this is the first butterfly species chronicled here, I'll throw down with some basic butterfly information. Like all insects, butterflies have three-part bodies (head, abdomen, and thorax) with three sets of legs attached to the thorax. Also like all insects, they have a pair of antennae and compound eyes. In butterflies, the antennae are clubbed. They also have a pair of palpi, which are sensory appendages attached to the mandibles, as well as a proboscis (feeding tube, if you want to be unpretentious). Butterflies, of course, feature two pairs of showy wings as well. As biologists are wont to do, they have further divided the wings into parts, although most of these are fairly self-explanatory. Parts of the forewing and hindwing are described by terms including: cell, disc, tip, trailing edge, base, outer margin, etc. Understanding these terms is important when using a guide, because they tell you where to look for the characteristic features of a given species.


Now that I've thoroughly bored you with bug parts, my work here is done. In other news, I'll be spending the coming long weekend at a lakeside house in New York. I'm hoping to return with plenty of new material.

Species Feature #6, Tuliptree

The tuliptree, or tulip poplar, is an unmistakeable hardwood found throughout this region. Wikipedia lists it as the tallest eastern hardwood. Why do I call it "unmistakeable"? The leaf and flower are both strikingly distinctive, and can be identified from a distance. Other than its Chinese counterpart (the only other member of genus Liriodendron), nothing resembles it in terms of leaf shape. Some things I did not know:

• It is an excellent lumber tree, because it grows quickly and does not always develop limbs until it is quite tall.
• It is also a major source of honey in the US, although rarely used at the table.
• It is generally found in forests and stands of trees 50-150 years of age, and rarely in those of over 500 years.

Notice how much of the trunk is uninterrupted by branches. It almost seems, from
this photo, as if the leaves come from an entirely different plant.

Liriodendron tulipifera Quick Facts

Common Name(s): tuliptree, tulip poplar, American tulip tree, yellow poplar, tulip tree

Taxonomic Breakdown:

• Kingdom - Plantae
• Division (Phylum level) - Magnoliophyta (aka Angiospermae)
• Class - Magnoliopsida
• Order - Magnoliales
• Family -Magnoliaceae
• Genus - Liriodendron
• Species - tulipifera

Range:  Throughout the eastern United States, except for southern Florida and northern New England. Its western range roughly follows the natural boundary of the Mississippi River.

The flower of the tuliptree.

Isn't that flower beautiful? It's not even open. It's also a good instructional flower, as all of its parts are large and easy to identify. Google can do a better job than I of showcasing the flower's true beauty. Please note that some of the results are not correctly identified... however, that set of photos should be more than enough to get the idea.

This sapling in Watkins Regional Park gave me a good opportunity to capture the leaf shape.

It doesn't take much imagination to see where this tree's name comes from when looking at its leaves.

Well, I've little else to say about this particular species. I have a feeling, though, that anyone who reads this without first knowing what a tuliptree is will henceforth recognize the species forever. One of these days, I will showcase a species that's a little harder to nail down. Eventually.

Century Ride

Well, I don't want to spend much time bragging about accomplishments on this blog - that is quite a departure from the point. However, since yesterday's bike ride was a) a monumental event in my life and b) relevant to several things I've talked about here, a post about it is almost necessary. The event was the CASA River Century, a bike race of 103.5 miles to benefit the Court-Appointed Special Advocate program of West Virginia's Eastern Panhandle. My coworker, neighbor and friend Dustin talked me into it, a job made easier for him since the route ran right through my hometown and past many childhood memories. Though it took the equivalent of a work day, we finished and did so with dignity.

Thanks to our cheering section, who spent the day in Shepherdstown waiting for us to pass and then finish. This photo was taken after 55.4 miles.

Dustin has kept a blog about the whole process (and sandwiches!) I recommend it, but only if you like sandwiches. (If you don't, I recommend some soul-searching. Seriously, how can you dislike something as broad as "the sandwich"?) It certainly captures the idea of just how much of our lives became devoted to this race over the last two-plus months.

From the perspective of this blog, yesterday's race represented the end of part one of my personal challenge, Naturalism on Speed. With my mind so focused on the race itself (the term "race" is used loosely. No one kept time, and riders were not monitored except for safety) I was only able to add four species to the list. These were: common sorrel, striped skunk (carcass), eastern chipmunk, and common sulfur (butterfly). Over 100 miles, I am sure I missed quite a number of species I could have easily nabbed - but, having already cleared my goal by a wide margin it wasn't much of a priority. I did see one additional creature which I was very tempted to count, but I am not confident enough in my fleeting glimpse. A brilliant blue bird flew across my path - too small to be a blue jay but too dark to be an eastern bluebird. My assumption was that this bird was an indigo bunting, but after consulting some guides I realized that there are somewhere between three and six species I could have been seeing. I still think my gut instinct was right, but counting this would violate my own rules.

Sorrel (Rumex acetosa) happens to be the only member of the above list that I have a photo of. Thanks to Laurel for reminding me what this is.

Having never attempted a feat of endurance like this race, it became as much a learning experience as it was a test of my physical limits. What I discovered is that as you near your tolerance levels, it is your mind that can take the strongest hit. I don't know if this is backed up by medical science, but it seemed as if my body could only maintain so many things at that point. Almost every bit of energy it could assign to my brain was used to keep me breathing and to keep sending the necessary instructions to my legs. I found myself doing things like looking at the ground and nearly riding right off the road toward the end. Thinking straight was a real exertion of will. What surprised me most, however, was how little time the exhaustion lasted. After some food and a shower, I felt no worse than I did after our longest training rides, which were between 70 and 80 miles. I guess what that means is that we trained more or less properly.

I don't want to go on and on about this thing, so I'll wrap it up. Suffice it to say that this was a great personal achievement for me, one I'm happy to be able to include in my bragging rights folder. That it was something I could do outside while observing nature is quite a bonus.

Monocacy River Natural Resource Management Area

You won't often see me write negatively about a place set aside to preserve nature. This place, though, didn't seem to offer a whole lot. Don't misunderstand; I'm glad it exists - every pocket of wildlife and natural resource management is valuable. However, purely as a place to go spend an afternoon I wouldn't recommend it - especially not with the plethora of other options available to residents and visitors of this area. The Monocacy River Natural Resource Management Area caught my eye on a bike ride this Saturday, and, looking for something to do early Sunday afternoon, Laurel and I packed up Franklin and set off to check it out.


There is more to the place than we witnessed; perhaps a second visit beginning from the other access point is in order. However, from where we started there wasn't much. In the parking lot off of Maryland 28 were a couple of historical signs and some posted rules (no alcohol, closed at dark, etc). What there wasn't was any sort of information about the trail systems or what facilities it might possess. No maps or handy wildlife guides, either. The immediate area consisted of one rocky trial that appeared to lead to the river bank 100 feet or so away, and one muddy trail disappearing into the woods. Now, to a mycologist like myself that muddy trail looked promising, but it turned out not to offer much even in that department. As Laurel put it, "the two main features of this place seem to be mud and poison ivy." Other than the mushrooms shown below, the only specimens I saw were uninteresting or rotten.

I think these mushrooms belong to the genus Marasmius, but are possibly Mycena. I'm basing this upon the gracile stem that turns almost woody where it connects with the substrate, which in this case was a stick under leaf litter.

Now, I do have to admit that there was some variety in the wildlife we spotted, including a broad range of wildflowers and other ground-covering plants (mayapple, sorrel, ground ivy, etc). In my efforts to photograph some butterflies (which mostly failed) I stumbled across an eastern box turtle. In addition to the butterflies, other insect life was teeming - which was interesting, ticks notwithstanding. Yet the trails themselves were poorly maintained and unmarked. At times we were wading through wet, sticky, deep mud with no provision for going around. We did enjoy a few very pleasant moments where the trail crossed a streambed, but the water was high enough (and the surroundings disappointing enough) that we opted to turn around rather than get wet. I really have little else to say about the day, so I will get on with the pictures.

Daisy fleabane (Erigeron strigosis) was growing quite thickly at the beginning of the trail.

The painted lady (Vanessa cardui) is what the Audubon guide calls "perhaps the most widely distributed butterfly in the world."

What's up with this turtle's beak?  I don't know, but that white glob doesn't look normal.

I thought maybe I could name this millipede using online resources...but the other 9,999 species had something to say about that.

I did learn something from this hike, at least. I had identified this plant as lyre-leaved sage in my Naturalism on Speed challenge (I saw it every day, and I went with sage instead of ivy because it was upright). The leaf shape, and the sheer volume of it, corrected me. This flower is, in fact, ground ivy (Glechoma hederacea). This is why I was glad that I got well over the goal of 550 species.