Adamovic Nature Photography

Check out my newly launched photography website!
http://adamovicnaturephotography.zenfolio.com/

The Beauty of Botany

With the environmental tidal wave in full force, carrying droves of people to the wilderness, leaving some to recreate within and bask in the inherent beauty, others to preserve the dwindling segments that remain, and a handful to study its importance in relation to ecology or perhaps human benefit, it’s generally seen and handled in broad terms, which when we think of nature, more often brings to mind a flowing landscape, with the individual parts escaping us. While we are frequently told to “think of the larger picture” in dealing with most things, this cliché colloquialism has become so ingrained as to impede us from recognizing the true depth of what surrounds. We see a forest comprised of trees, picking up that some are large and some small, some evergreen and others deciduous, and that is about the extent that we delve into it. Our vision is black and white. We either fail to notice, or if we do possess a moderately observant eye, fail to truly absorb what was witnessed, quickly acknowledging its beauty and then moving on to the next sight, lumping everything together with a low curiosity, curbed by modern distractions. That so few can correctly pin a species name onto a tree or wildflower proves my point.

While it’s somewhat understandable that those from the congested cities and other major metropolitan areas are rusty when it comes plant identification, I find it perplexing that those who live in wooded areas or devote large chunks of their free time to rambling in the outdoors, be it a hike or camping expedition, fail to be acquainted with what surrounds on more than the most superficial basis. Most can discern the well known and expansive genera when it comes to trees, such as the oaks and maples—but point to a birch, beech, ash, aspen, hornbeam, sassafras, or hemlock, and the identity and all other pertinent information on the species escapes them. Ask what they are individually useful for when it comes to the ecological health of the forest, or what value man has in them in terms of lumber, medicinal, or consumptive purposes, after a short head scratch the generic “they produce oxygen and wood” is all that can be said on the matter. This aloofness is comparable with being ignorant of the names of neighbors that have resided in the same spot for years—knowing their faces and nothing else, no knowledge of occupation, interests, or life history. Essentially, it equates to an impersonal interaction that barely acknowledges their existence and could easily be mistaken for contempt or hatred. Where has the spark of curiosity and interest departed to?

We’re so immersed in artificiality that the splendor of the natural world no longer draws crowds as it once did. Nevertheless, botany is one field which is still as exciting as ever for those willing to drop the digital distractions, roll up their sleeves, and make a true uninhibited return to nature.

Knowing even the smallest or barest of details about a plant can easily increase the awe of an interaction tenfold. Knowing for example that a specimen is exceedingly rare will boost attention and respect, even if it lacks remarkable attributes when it comes to form or figure. Before this small snippet of knowledge was imparted the plant would probably be passed by without even a modicum of recognition, lacking any striking physical traits that capture the attention of the eye, but now it’s elevated to a level with a vibrant and showy rose. Beauty takes on more than one form.

Likewise, understanding the complexities of certain plants’ life cycles can make their presence appear no less than the work of a miracle. Take, for example, the finicky orchids, a primitive class of plants that rely on the presence on fungi for germination, and in many cases, continued lifetime survival. The miniscule dust-like orchid seeds, unlike those of most plants, lack the necessary nourishment to help a plant begin growing and sustain it until it’s capable of producing its own food. Orchids rely on special fungi, or in certain instances, a very specific species of fungus, to initiate and provide sustenance to the young plant. If the correct fungi is absent in the soil the plants will simply not sprout. Similarly, removing the orchid from their habitat in hopes of transplanting elsewhere will break the mutual bond between the two and the orchid will almost certainly wither and die, immediately or in the long run. Moreover, the soil conditions have to be just right. Any small variation in conditions will prevent the plants from gaining traction in the environment.

                                                            Indian Moccasin Orchid

A majority of plants, except the hardiest of them, usually species regarded as weeds, have similar, though often less strict guidelines that must be adhered to if the plant is to survive and make it to maturation. The habitats that they reside in must have the proper climate, sunlight, soil moisture content, nutrient levels and pH. Many have narrow tolerance ranges that restrict them to a specific part of a habitat that they are fine tuned to exploit and thrive in. In ecology this is known as a niche. One plant may be suited to hydric environments, perpetually damp and nutrient rich areas along lakes, streams, or other wetlands, while another may do best atop craggy mountain summits with thin soil that quickly desiccates and is subjected to extremes in temperature and other harsh weather conditions, such as forceful winds.

It’s incredibly empowering to take a walk through the woods and understand the facts and functions of each part of nature, being able to give a detailed account, as a mechanic would to someone trying to understand the workings of a car. Such knowledge raises your spirits and confidence. And when something is encountered that does evade you, it piques the mind, setting the gears in motion to unravel the mystery. Once a puzzle has been started, any missing piece forces the individual into a mad dash to locate it to ensure a tidy and pleasing picture, free of irksome gaps—so it is with botany.

Additionally, rambling the woods and stumbling upon unexpected wonders that you’ve only heard or read about, or perhaps purposely seeking out a particular plant, is not only exciting, but soothingly relaxing as well. Prior to the 20^th century recreational botany was a wide reaching hobby that all ages partook in, unlike today where it’s an arena mostly reserved for professional botanists and horticulturalists—those making a living off the study or propagation of plants. Up until the end of the Victorian era it was a well respected pastime that could be equated today, at least in terms of popularity, with the level of interest that’s shown when it comes to trendy sports. The thrill of discovery kept people enamored and constantly journeying back into the wild in search of more.

Though it’s substantially less likely to discover a new species of plant nowadays, especially in this well trodden country, there are still rare finds to be found that make botanical excursions worthwhile. There are multitudes of species which have “disappeared” from an area over the years for whatever reason—urbanization, habitat destruction, invasive species introduction, and have become seemingly extirpated (regionally eradicated). Many of these do in fact still persist despite a lack of documentation, having remained well hidden as a result of precipitously dwindling populations. It’s comparable to losing a needle in a haystack. It can be found, but it’s going to take considerable effort. Rediscovering a lost species that has escaped notice for decades, or even centuries, is extremely satisfying and demonstrates adroitness in ID skills and perseverance, and as always, a bit of good luck. The same goes for coming across a rare plant which has never been recorded before in a particular locale.

Even if you’re not on the hunt for rare varieties, the search for a plant no matter the type is an exhilarating experience that often leads to much more than ever could be expected or hoped for. Countless times when I’ve been threading the woods looking for something, without even the slightest bit of luck or encouragement, and my spirits began to plummet, I fortuitously came across some intriguing plant, animal, or other remarkable natural feature that caused me to forget everything—even if I had been searching in vain for hours— and led me to divert my entire attention to this object which now superseded all else. I was again propelled forward, fueled by the beneficence and novelty of nature.

Coming across a grove of spring ephemeral wildflowers consisting of the hundreds or thousands—perhaps of the quirky Dutchman’s breeches, or maybe the riparian trout lilies, thriving contentedly in some dark, dank recess of a forest still mostly bleached from the harshness of winter, putting forth a lively display of vibrant and showy colors exhibited seemingly for your sole enjoyment, demonstrates better than any musty fairy tale or parable how all things can be overcome. The flowers’ unbridled exuberance quietly expresses the fact that not even the coldest weather or deepest of snows can kill its determination to renew itself. It’s inspiring, elegant, beautiful.

                                                                 Trout Lilies

                                                             Dutchman's Breeches

 In a similar vein, the discovery of wild fruit, be it plump grapes, blueberries, raspberries, or the autumnal ruby cranberries after tramping through the woods for hours on end appears to be Nature handing you a plate with permission to imbibe whatever catches your fancy. With the level of hunger usually possessed after a long day of physical exertion the choices appear to be grander than any of the platters a partied banquet can offer. Where else can generosity of such an unreciprocal nature be found?

                                                                  Cranberries

While many impressive experiences are to be had even if one jumps into the outdoors for nothing more than an idle hike, it helps to be acquainted with botany to fully enjoy what’s seen and to ensure painful mistakes don’t crop up along the way. For example, what good would wild berries be to us if we didn’t know which were edible and which poisonous? Certainly we would leave every one we encountered alone and would never know the unique taste of nature’s varied candy. What about poison ivy, poison oak, and poison sumac—can you identify them to avoid an itchy and painful rash which otherwise might crop up after a day in the woods? But most importantly, after stumbling upon a stunning and eye catching beauty of a flower, will you have knowledge enough to leave it alone, or will you pick or dig up that plant—never knowing its rarity and expunging it from existence.

Fringed Gentian (Gentianopsis crinita)

While the spring holds the distinction of hosting the largest bloom of wildflowers of any season, it’s in the early fall that one of the showiest and loveliest flowers of the year makes a vibrant and elegant appearance that puts other many well known species to shame. Fringed gentian, an ethereal blue to light amethyst flower, standing 2-3 feet tall, capable of producing up to 100 2-inch long flowers, typically blossoms from mid-September to early October. Its level of admiration and praise by poets and naturalists alike is uncanny.

William Cullen Bryant penned a stirring poem solely dedicated to this species which he described as “Blue—blue—as if the sky let fall/A flower from its cerulean wall.” “It is too remarkable a flower,” Thoreau once mused, “not to be sought out and admired each year, however rare.” The Catskills naturalist, John Burroughs, shared similar thoughts, believing it to be “the most beautiful of our fall flowers,” adding further, “it lures and holds every passing human eye.”

Growing from Canada to northern Georgia and west to North Dakota, this species has a wide range over eastern North America, with population densities the highest in the northeast, and lowest in the south. Despite this encompassing distribution, fringed gentian can be notoriously difficult to find, possessing a strict and narrow set of acceptable growing conditions. Preferring moderately damp environments, plants are often found rooted around fens, swamps, and other moist locales that are relatively open and offer abundant light. Moreover, these locations must be neutral to slightly alkaline in nature, usually being underpinned with limestone, serpentine, or rock rich in magnesium. Alkaline habitats are sparse within the plant’s natural range. Over the years wetland destruction has substantially dwindled the number of these previously uncommon refuges. Many states now have gentians listed as protected species due to their increasing rarity.

Plants are biennial, vegetating their first year as low basal rosettes, and the next finally sprouting vertically to produce the enticing azure blossoms that emulate the sky. A successful pollination will result in each flower producing hundreds of seeds. Once seeds have matured the plant will die off. Since individual gentians are short-lived, populations therefore may widely fluctuate on a yearly basis and are fully dependant on a strong seed base. With tempting blossoms readily picked and seeds frequently flushed out of their choice habitat by seasonal freshets, a result of their low lying dwelling, populations can be vigorously abundant one year and completely absent the next. Fringed gentian’s fussiness and fleeting nature can make locating a specimen a tricky challenge.

It’s definitely worth the time and effort to find these dazzling autumnal plants. Poking their graceful blossoms above the rapidly withering grasses and falling leaves, they’re the lively gems of the autumnal season that seem to ignore the impending cold and darkness,  heroically running into battle with winter, while their compatriots have beat a hasty retreat until more favorable times appear.

If you’re lucky enough to find a flower, hold onto some of the patience that’s gotten you this far. Unlike most other plants which are apt to display their flowers gaudily, fringed gentian is slow to reveal its secrets. It’s in no rush to vulgarly or conceitedly show its beauty, and does so in only the most refined manner. Flowers close each night and not until the day warms and brightens sufficiently will they slowly unfurl again. During damp and cloudy weather the flowers will remain tightly twisted shut, sometimes for the whole day, undoubtedly a mechanism to protect the precious nectar and pollen within.

I’ve often visited these sites on cool fall mornings and found the plants seamlessly sealed like oysters or clams, yet draped in a sparkling pearly dew, and was not disappointed with I saw. Nothing about this plant is mundane. The unopened buds and shut flowers still dazzle and impress like no other. And if you have time enough to wait for the day to advance, it’s well worthwhile to stay and witness these fragile plants open to reveal their four delicately fringed petals, each endowed with the texture and softness of silk. The elegant sophistication and superiority of these flowers, along with its regal hues, makes fringed gentian the undisputed ruler of the fall wildflowers—and perhaps of the entire year’s.

Bogs

When the average person thinks about a bog—if any thought is put to them at all—images conjured in the mind often descend onto stereotypical pictures of dismal swamps, ripe with swarms of mosquitoes and unholy smells, and of course, the singular home of Hollywood “swamp monsters.” Few would list any positive attributes, mostly, because, so few have actually spent anytime near these places, other than the occasional drive-by. These important wetlands have been much maligned over the years. The fact of the matter is, most who actually take the time to visit a bog, or other similar place will come to appreciate them for their uncanny beauty, and the rich assortment of unusual life they contain. Yes, bogs, like other wetlands, are undoubtedly somewhat smelly and often contain stagnant water that isn’t the most visually appealing, but the same can be said about the various cheeses of the world, some that not only unsightly—and sometimes purposefully contain mold—but also possess a scent that makes us wish we could sandblast our nose from our face, after imbibing a rancid whiff. Despite these unpleasant airs, we still crave and copiously devour them. So, why should we be so quick to dismiss the similarly misunderstood bogs, which make up for their so-called faults in other ways, too?

Bogs, like other wetlands, are absolutely amazing places. Their importance cannot be overstated. These drowned parcels of land contribute greatly to the continued health and well-being of the environment, acting as the lungs and liver of the earth, as it were. Much of the waste that we aloofly flood our planet with, from noxious atmospheric emissions to pesticides and other industrial chemicals, ultimately find their way into these various mucky sponges where they are graciously filtered and broken down or sequestered by complex interactions between microbes and plants. We may much prefer to have a pristine lake on our property that matches the azure tint of the sky and teems with abundant arrays of fish; but dingy, shallow wetlands, are a far more valuable natural resource.

These wetlands fall into four main categories: swamps, marshes, fens, and bogs. Swamps are dominated by trees, while marshes are characterized by non-woody herbaceous vegetation, such as cattails and reeds. Fens and bogs in the Northeast are usually rarer and are exceptionally rich in organic matter, often forming dense layers of peat.  They are alkaline and acidic, respectively. Fens receive replenishment mostly from flowing groundwater sources. Their pH reflects that of the surrounding strata, which usually happens to be limestone, a highly alkaline rock. Plants inhabiting fens include mostly grasses, sedges, and reeds. Bogs, on the other hand, receive almost all their water from rainfall. With only minor additions of water—none from free-flowing sources—organic matter within the bog acidifys the surroundings, resulting in an unusually low pH that creates the perfect habitat for strange, alien looking plant species. Bogs contain sphagnum moss, heaths, and certain other shrubs. The elusive cranberries also call these spots home; a walk through them in mid-October reveals a remarkably Christmas-like display of beauty, with plump ruby ornaments attached to stalks whose leaves closely resemble evergreen needles, all tucked among soft, lime-green mats of moss that gently float atop the stagnant water. The display of color and attractive sights are not solely confined to autumn, however. At the peak of summer there are equally attractive sights arising from the blooming of carnivorous plants.

Carnivores

Contrary to what most people believe, there are, in fact, several species of plants which have an insatiable hunger for flesh. Although, their idea of a hearty meal isn’t that of pork chops or a steak, but rather of smaller prey, namely insects. “Carnivorous plants” is an appellation much more terrifying than these organisms actually are (at least for anything other than an insect!). Nevertheless, the plants are impressive to behold.  Their ingenious mechanisms for capturing prey demonstrate the remarkable power of evolution to shape life to overcome all impediments. Carnivorous plants have evolved to trap insects to survive in an environment that’s nutrient poor, lacking primarily in nitrogen and phosphorous. The pH in bogs is so low as to inhibit the decomposition of plant and animal matter, thus keeping these important elements locked up. In most other environments they are easily recycled and plants do just fine obtaining their necessary requirements by more mundane means (i.e. absorbing them via the roots from fertile soil). Nitrogen and phosphorous are richly abundant in animals, and these select plants have done well to exploit it from the crawling and flying source of fertilizer that abounds nearby.

In this part of the country, the most common and easily visible plants that capture insects are sundews and pitcher plants. Unfortunately, the well-known and archetypal “venus fly-trap,” is absent from northern bogs, being restricted to a narrow range in the southeast. Sundews and pitcher plants capture prey by very different means.

 Sundews snare their prey by use of a sweet smelling attractant with glue-like properties that’s exuded from the tip of thin hairs on tiny round or oval shaped leaves. Any insect that happens to wander across a leaf in search of the tempting treat gets stuck on the gleaming bristles, ultimately perishing mired down in the faux nectar. After a short time the leaves slowly bend and wrap around the insect, digesting it by use of special enzymes whereby it may extract the precious nutrients.

Pitcher plants don’t snare insects, but entrap them in their cavernous “pitchers.” Like the sundews, these plants secrete a sweet nectar that’s present on the lip of the funnel. Insects are drawn by the smell and by the shape and color of the pitchers, which happen to somewhat resemble an opened flower. Pitchers vary considerably in color, some being entirely green or red, others with numerous combinations of mixing. The ruddy hues in particular draw insects; some think it’s a brightly colored flower, while flies, are inclined to believe it to be the exposed flesh of carrion. Once at the lip of the pitcher many insects either fall or purposely dive into the interior. Either way, they are unlikely to make an exit once at the bottom. The upper portions of the pitcher are waxy and slick, while further down towards the base the sides are lined with downward pointing hairs. It’s almost like a lobster pot—creatures have little difficulty in getting in, but are at a loss when it comes to escaping. Enzymes excreted by bacteria coalesce at the base creating a solution sometimes with a pH as low as 2, easily liquefying whatever happens to fall in.

Diversity

Growing alongside these oddities, though almost always at greatly diminished numbers, are the fairer and more refined orchids. Often, they stand out in a swamp like a torch does in the blackness of night. They are quite vibrant with an elegancy that overshadows all surrounding plant life, making even the flowers of the carnivores look vapid and uninspiring. Several different species of orchids that exclusively flourish in boggy habitat are scattered across the Northeast, almost all of them extremely rare.  The “Dragon’s Mouth Orchid” is among the finest, living up to its name in appearance and sprucing up the bog with purple-pink flashes of “fire” emanating from its ephemeral blossoms.  Other similar looking species include “Grass Pink” and “Rose Pogonia.” Not all bogs contain this class of plants. Countless hours may be devoted to combing through wetlands looking for rarities such as these.  Making it even more difficult is the fact that most bog orchids bloom for only a short duration during the early days of summer. Orchids are also among the pickiest plants, growing only where the environmental and biological conditions are absolutely perfect, even the slightest variation resulting in their absence. The main factor responsible for their establishment is the presence of a specific type of fungus that orchids form a mutualistic relationship with.

Now when it comes to animal life, these places are nearly as rich in diversity as the assortment of plants they contain. Innumerable species of dragonflies and damselflies, the odonates, zig zag back and forth between the open water and half-terrestrial environments of the floating mats and dense stands of sedges and reeds, alighting momentarily from time to time on any piece of vegetation that stands alone, or is higher than the rest, seeking out a vantage point similarly to what a hiker does while climbing a scenic mountain. It’s an ever-changing kaleidoscope of color and shape that’s enhanced and magnified by the reflection of the water. From time to time these insects repose on one of the sundews that line the edges of the sphagnum mats, and succumb to the sticky leaves; most, however, at least the larger dragonflies, have strength enough to overcome the force of the miniscule droplets of glue and take to the air again where they may become prey for avian marsh species.

Lining the fallen logs that lie partially submerged throughout the bogs, sometimes for decades before they disappear by decay or sink entirely, are the turtles who bask themselves in the warmth of the sun to thermoregulate and kill parasites and algae. Being cold-blooded, turtles must adjust their own core temperature by spending the appropriate amount of time in sun and shade. Like almost everything else inhabiting these wetlands, uncommon to rare varieties are located here. Bog and wood turtles, two closely related species that are the only members of their genus, are only infrequently found outside this habitat type.

In the ripeness of summer white-tailed deer are apt to venture into the murky water and swim out to the mats to raze the flowers of the pitcher plants from their lengthy stalks, their movements easily being seen where their narrow legs have compressed the moss, sometimes having punched through entirely to the water. Bears, too, also make the occasional foray. With their tremendous weight and not so graceful lumbering they tend to stick the edges, enjoying huckleberries and highbush blueberries that exist in copious profusion in many areas. The berries having an ample supply of moisture regularly become twice the size of those found atop dry and rocky mountain summits. Despite bogs being nutrient poor, there’s a cornucopia of biodiversity to be found within them that surpasses typical forest environments.

 Supernatural Evening

When night creeps in on these places man usually beats a hasty retreat to the safety of more hospitable venues. For millennia, only the bravest of souls tempted fate by lingering in these so-called haunted locales, where countless superstitions told of the restless souls of the departed who roamed the melancholy bogs in penance for their earthly sins. It was also firmly believed that demons and vengeful spirits took abode here, nightly attempting to lure passersby to their doom in the quicksand-like mire by emitting beacons of light that would draw humans to their demise like unwitting moths.

As the sun begins to set and the mists slowly settle heavily over the swampy plains, the last notes of song birds subside giving way to a silence only periodically interrupted by the rustling of the sedges and creaking of dead branches. Shadows grow and multiply from what little light remains from the nearly extinguished sun. A calming influence overtakes the viewer temporarily. But, anyone who remains for any length of time at this twilight hour peering into the murky abyss will begin to become unsettled upon hearing what sounds like broken strains of human voices carried in on the gusts of wind. The imagination ripe with remembrances of ghostly tales begins to overtake reason. As primal fear and uncertainty multiply and quicken the pulse, a brief but robust colorful flash of light penetrates the darkness from the far side of the bog. Another burst soon goes off. Is this an exceptionally large firefly? Swamp gas? Or is it something more sinister?—Could it be a demonic will-o’-the-wisp looking for some hapless victim to accompany it for eternity on its nightly scourings in the chill and dampness of the acid sphagnum? There’s only one way to know for sure…

Perhaps this is one secret best left alone.

Hiking in the Hudson Highlands: Storm King and North Point

Check out my article in TrailGroove!

http://www.trailgroove.com/issue15.html?autoflip=15

Ephemeral Pools

In mid to late March, or in the case of a severe winter, early April, the first signs of spring can be witnessed stirring in shallow woodland pools filled with amphibians, reptiles, and even freshwater shrimp. These creatures appear at least a couple weeks prior to the wildflowers that we often view as the harbingers of spring.  Usually we will know the season has arrived by sound, rather than sight. After the first warm rain, amphibians roused from their hibernation in the mud and detritus of the forest floor gather together in copious quantities in temporary ponds that have appeared with the addition of melt water from winter snow and ice. The small ponds, usually not larger than a backyard swimming pool, go by many names, such as vernal, woodland, or ephemeral pools, generally with the latter being most appropriate. Within the basins a sonorous and usually deafening hymn can be heard going round the clock for several weeks. A walk in the quiet solitude of a gray-brown forest is often quickly interrupted upon approach of one of these pools, quickening the pulse, and giving proof that the landscape is in the process of being rebooted, just as our sluggish minds and bodies are after being confined these past long, cold months.

Without a doubt, the first, and most prolific life to be found, is the wood frog. This species has a wide distribution ranging from the Southeast to the Midwest, and into Canada and Alaska. On a cold day just before a warming rain, these pools are empty, aside from the innumerable leaves and branches lining the bottom, and are nothing extraordinary to behold. After the water begins to penetrate the leaf litter and sink into the ground, the frogs burst from their hiding places in unison during the night if the ambient temperature spikes to at least 40°, appearing in the thousands or millions in a rain swept area. Drivers will have to be mindful of the roads during these times as the frogs recklessly journey across the pavement in migration to their watery mating grounds, often those in which they themselves were born.  The following day a return visit to the pools morphs into a lively spectacle, complete with a cacophony of sound that resembles a mix begin the quacking of a flock of ducks and the buzzing of a bee hive—the mating call produced by the males.

Wood frogs.

 

Wood frogs are able to make a speedy exit from their winter hibernation locales. Rarely do they burrow into the earth more than a few inches. They frequently lie just below the leaf litter in a zone that offers protection from the physical elements, such as snow, harsh winter winds, and predators, but doesn’t quite ensure adequate insulation from the penetrating cold. The frigid weather that would easily kill most amphibian species doesn’t seem to bother the wood frogs—their bodies are actually capable of freezing solid during the winter and thawing out in the spring, the result of special proteins that keep cells from being damaged by ice crystals.

 

At a short distance from the pools the calls drown out all other sounds, but upon close approach they become eerily silent in an instant. When the frogs become aware of your presence they hush their calling and those around the borders jettison into the water like the firing of a gun. In some of the larger ephemeral pools it may be difficult to spot the wood frogs, with most blending into the inky waters, some females being the exception, cloaked instead in a ruddy pink. A thorough scan of the water may reveal a male statically floating atop the water, with all appendages a-spread, similarly to one pinned to a dissection board. Their eyes are tightly fixed on your position for the duration of your stay. Only those males who have a locked onto a female and are in competition for the privilege to mate seem to be too enraptured on their goal to pay any notice to a nosy human. Some splashing might attract your attention, where a bloated female being harassed by multiple males is spotted, all trying desperately to attach themselves to her body—it’s not uncommon to see 4 or 5 in pursuit of the same female. In the process of them trying to clasp themselves to her, the flailing of their legs propels the lot around the pond, as if a motorized boat. In such cases, it’s quite easy to walk up to them without the frogs scrambling away and if you so chose, pluck one from the water. In this state mating becomes more important than endeavoring to avoid predators.

Wood frogs in amplexus. 

 

Each female lays about 1,000 eggs, all congealed into one solid jelly-like mass that is usually attached to some sort of aquatic vegetation or detritus. The black dots seen within the cluster are individual eggs, which, within a month, will hatch and morph into tadpoles.  Egg masses are rarely solitary; normally all females of the pond group them together in only one or two areas, forming vast clusters, or aggregates that can be quite thick, reaching from the bottom of the pool to the surface. As the weather warms, algal blooms within the ephemeral pool usually adhere to and coat the eggs, making the floating mats resemble pond scum. This is a rudimentary cloaking device that keeps the eggs hidden from sight, and ensures the slimy, green masses remain an unsavory meal choice for any animal that can peer through the deception.

Wood frog egg masses.

If all goes well and the pools remain filled with water, within two months the diminutive fish-like tadpoles will fully transform into terrestrial adults. Once mature, they will exit their natal ponds and join their parents in the forest until the following spring, when the end of winter rains gently nudge them out of their hiding places and encourage the frogs to take part in the cyclical vernal migration.

Wood frogs may be the most visible species to utilize ephemeral pools, but they are far from the only ones that rely on them for breeding. Numerous salamander and newt species, decked out with vibrant colors and abstract mottling also journey to these places to mate. Spotted, blue-spotted, tiger, marbled, and redback salamanders with their aptly descriptive names can be found in these localized pools for a brief duration. The red-spotted newts, the plebian dwellers of these environs, are usually the only amphibian species aside from the frogs that are somewhat easily viewed. Most of their salamander cousins are rather elusive and are rarely seen, with their eggs being the only trace giving hint of their presence. Each species’ egg mass differs in shape, coloration, and number of eggs contained within. Identifying species by egg clusters alone is normally how biologists are able determine the amount of biodiversity within a given area.

Red-spotted newt.

Along with frogs and salamanders, the occasional turtle can be seen roaming about the pools before they dry up; various aquatic insects plying the surface and some traversing the depths swarm throughout; and the fairy shrimp, a crustacean similar to “sea-monkeys” (brine shrimp) know of no other home. In short, these pools though small and transient occupy a significant niche in the landscape. The size of these water bodies, however, often leads to their demise. Individuals who lack a knowledge of the importance of ephemeral pools too often view them as nothing more than mosquito breeding grounds. They fail to get close enough to them in body and mindset to witness the beauty and biologically rich array of life within, and thus, frequently set out to rid their property of these bits of so-called swampland. Unless unusually significant in some way, most pools garner no legal protection, being well under the required wetland size of 12.4 acres (5 hectacres) to qualify for protective status in New York. Ephemeral pools, as their name suggests, may be just that—ephemeral—as they are quickly vanishing from our forests, a result of continued sprawl and apathetic attitudes towards the environment.

 

Aerial Acrobatics: The Odonates

Dragonflies and damselfies, also known as odonates, are truly remarkable creatures. Apart from their often impressive physical characteristics and vibrancy, these small insects dazzle in the sky with their aerial acrobatics. They have the required finesse to hover over an object while scanning their surroundings in all directions, then alight with their tiny appendages on even the narrowest of vegetation with a gracefulness seen nowhere else in the insect kingdom, and a second later, if the site doesn’t meet their requirements, take to the sky again at lightning speed and be out of eye sight before you can even blink. If that isn’t enough, they also have the innate ability to fly backwards, as each wing is capable of moving independently. In short, odonates have evolved into something special, and unlike many of their contemporaries have been this way for quite some time. These organisms are incredibly ancient and have hardly changed over the 300 million years that have elapsed since their original emergence. This lack of alteration only further demonstrates their exceptional efficiency, as they need not be further refined by the forces of evolution—they’re already at their peak.

In southern New York State alone there are approximately 128 dragonfly and 55 damselfly species. The Hudson Valley is inundated with numerous common varieties, along with harboring several rarer species. The high diversity is bolstered by the large estuary that runs through the heart of the region. The Hudson River provides crucial habitat to some species which require the optimal conditions that are only dished out by water bodies that contain brackish tidal marshes. The hardening of shorelines and the destruction of marshes has led to vast declines in certain species and are now severely restricted in distribution.

All odonates require being situated by water—mating, ovipositing, and the larval stage of the life cycle are all dependent on it. Most can make due in fresh water, and undoubtedly anyone that has passed by a lake or swamp in the warmer months has seen countless dragonflies basking in the sun on reeds or skimming over the water and taping it gently at regular intervals like a stone being skipped across the surface. The latter sight is when an odonate is deposting its eggs; each tap is one being released into the water. When these eggs eventually hatch they enter into the naiad (named after Greek water nymphs) or larval stage of their lifecycle. They hardly resemble their adult counterparts, being green-brown or dark brown, with varying degrees of mottling, so not to stand out in their watery environs where they could easily be devoured by fish. They also have a comparatively frightening appearance, resembling something more akin to an underground grub than an organism that will eventually take to the sky.  At this stage they are entirely aquatic. They also are carnivorous, feeding on other insects and possibly even small fish at times. Some naiads will remain below the surface for up to 6 years.

After numerous molts of the exoskeleton (sometimes up to 15), each time the naiad getting progressively larger in the process, it’s time for the creature to emerge to the surface and begin its life as a dragonfly or damselfly. Upon making it to dry land the odonate’s exoskeleton is still relatively soft and the adult generally must take it easy for a week until it successfully hardens. During this time the individual will normally recuperate in the woods or in an isolated field or glade until it is ready to partake in the rigors of the mating process. Males will frequently compete with one another in duels for the opportunity to claim the right to mate with females of their claimed territories.

Best Spots to View

The Mid-Hudson Valley, and more particularly, the undeveloped Hudson Highlands, contains numerous favorable locations for odonates to thrive in. In these sheltered and protected areas rare varieties which have been pushed out elsewhere live in relative peace and thrive among the lush vegetation and salubrious aquatic environs.

Iona Island Marsh

Common Sneezeweed, Marsh Mallow, and Cardinal Flower 

In Bear Mountain State Park in the southern tier of the Highlands two particularly unique species can be found.  On the eastern flank of the park lies Iona Island. This rocky citadel holds dozens of different odonates which buzz past your head in copious quantities, similarly to a swarm on gnats on a humid summer’s day.  Among the congregation is the bright orange Needham’s skimmer. This species inhabits the brackish marshes surrounding the island, and individuals are often spotted clinging to some of the ubiquitous reeds of the invasive phragmites. These creatures are found in only a handful of counties in lower New York. Orange County is the farthest north they have been documented in the state. Intermixed with the Needham population is the deceptively similar looking golden-winged skimmer. From a distance it’s often difficult to tell the two apart.

Needham's Skimmer

 Golden-winged Skimmer

Just west of Iona Island lies the Doodletown Brook which penetrates the narrow vales between Bear and West Mountains. This moderately sized brook flows through land once occupied by a thriving town, but was completely abandoned upon creation of the park in the 1960’s, a result of eminent domain. It’s now essentially a bona fide ghost town, complete with crumbling foundations, subsiding roads, and forgotten cemeteries two hundred years old that are gradually being engulfed by the looming forest. Along the dark openings next to the Doodletown Brook, the primeval looking gray petaltails dart about in minute quantities. As the name suggests, this species is rather mundane in appearance, not exhibiting some of its kin’s vibrant color schemes. However, gray petailtails are unique among all other dragonflies in the eastern half of the country in that their larvae are not completely aquatic. Instead, they tend to reside in moist mud beds, living amid low lying vegetation that’s only fed by minor trickles of water from an adjacent stream or spring.  Only 11 locations within New York are known to harbor this distinctive species.

Doodletown Brook

                                                        
Farther north, in Orange County, just outside the bounds of the Highlands, the russet-tipped clubtail lives along beaches that line the Hudson near the Moodna Creek area.  Uncommon, but not exceptionally rare, these creatures prefer to spend their time along mudflats usually containing freshwater. They’re frequently documented inhabiting inland lakes and streams, but seem to be situated along tidal rivers more commonly. Their large, vivid green-blue eyes and puffed russet colored abdomens makes this an impressive species to identify. The moderately bulkier black-tipped darners also line the shores here, decked out in varying tones of aquamarine.

Moodna Creek

Russet-tipped Clubtail

Black-tipped Darner

Also lying west of the Hudson, Sterling Forest State Park has a dramatic odonate display. A prime spot for a view is around Sterling Lake. The 3 mile long loop path that circumnavigates the sizeable water body passes through forest along the way that’s some of the wildest in the region. Dense stands of hemlocks border the lake and flow into the depths of the surrounding mountains as if applied by a painter drawing his brush quickly across a matte canvas with broad and hurried strokes. Growing among, and atop, some of the larger glacial erratics that litter the ground in vast boulder fields are gnarled bushes of mountain laurel that provide the forest with a thick and impenetrable understory, moderately mixed with low bush blueberries. Both the eastern and western sides of the lake are flanked by steep, rocky slopes that abruptly rise from the water’s edge; to the north a shallow and weedy inlet contains the traces of lively beaver activity. The more mundane southern outlet has a noisy whitewater stream that always keeps the stones bordering it damp and cool, with its continual mists and relentless sputtering that only abates with the harshest of droughts.

Sterling Lake

In the swampy northern portion of the lake many fluvial shrubs grow along the sandy shoreline. It’s in this location the largest gathering of odonates present themselves. On a sweet pepperbush one may see a slaty or widow skimmer resting itself, basking next to the white flower spikes that appear in the early days of summer, each swaying in the air like a twitching squirrel’s tail. Or, looking into a weed covered cove see the insects zoom just above the waterline, taking the occasional break on a slimy, hole-ridden lily pad.

Slaty Skimmer

 Juvenile Widow Skimmer

Now casting your eyes onto the bright yellow sand dozens of lancet clubtails relax themselves on the beaches, resting as intently as a fatigued and over-worked vactioner. Their orb-like eyes are of an especially rare blue, and look as if chunks of turquoise. With their bodies matching the color of the substrate, these turquoise gems are the only part that stand out among the golden sands. In several of the stony pockets near the banks, individuals defend their gravelly kingdoms from invaders, taking to the sky to duel and once chasing away their would-be usurper, quickly descend again to the beach in a fluid, almost spiral motion as though they’ve been gently blown by the wind. Their ability to return to the exact same spot, however, just demonstrates their graceful and apparently effortless skills. They’re the figure skaters of the air.

Lancet Clubtail

Autumn Meadowhawk

Stewart State Forest in northern Orange County contains another diverse assortment of odonates. About half of the 6,700 acre preserve contains wetlands or moist areas perfect for the establishment of abundant populations. This property was originally purchased to be included as part of the nearby Stewart International Airport. In 1982, the area was converted into parkland when plans to make the airport host supersonic travel fell through and the large buffer zone necessary for noise abatement was no longer needed.

Swamp in Stewart

Most of the property was residential in the past, evinced by the many crumbling roads and foundations still extant throughout. There are around 18 miles of road, although now only passable on foot. The land still serves utilitarian uses, however. A police shooting range exists in the western portion and is used quite frequently. New York State also allows local farmers to cultivate some 400 acres with wheat and corn.

Along some of the shallow ponds and swamps there are broad meadows consisting of tall grasses and numerous weedy and invasive flowers, comprising such plants as golden rod, purple loosestrife, asters, and the ever-ubiquitous dandelion. In most cases, these meadows were purposely created, and continue to be mowed on a regular basis in order to provide an additional type of habitat for the park. Apart from the odonates which prowl through these areas, the land is rich in butterflies, wasps, and even the occasional moth seen during the light of day, such as the odd, but impressive looking hummingbird moth. While walking through the high grass one may even come across a bird’s nest constructed from the same material in which it rests.

Hummingbird Moth Visiting Purple Loosestrife

Unlike their larger cousins, the damselflies exhibit a much daintier and reserved demeanor, as their name aptly suggests. Frequently they are seen placidly bouncing from spot to spot and not moving farther than necessary. Rarely do they show the same level of agitation as the jittery dragonflies that grow restless at the least bit of disturbance. A resting damselfly is likely to move if approached, but probably not more than a few feet at a time, just enough to feel comfortable that harm has been avoided. They don’t like to make a fuss and draw attention to themselves—they’re much more covert and drama-free.

Familiar Bluet

Ebony Jewelwing 

A unique class of damselflies known as spreadwings, inhabit the wet environs of Stewart. While a vast majority of damselfies fold their wings together neatly behind their backs, as a shopper would their hands while examining the contents of some glass case in a ritzy store, these bold creatures have their wings fully extended while at rest, in intimation of the dragonflies. The metallic green-gray swamp spreadwing could well pose as the models of the odonate world. With their tooth-pick thin abdomens and their seemingly weightless bodies they would be a perfect fit for the job. While supporting themselves on some scrap of vegetation with their diminutive appendages, all as slender as an eyelash, it looks wholly effortless, as though they’re buoyed by water, gravity never having latched on to these creatures. Their wings are beautifully wrought, with delicate geometrical lattices stretched throughout to the max, giving a firm support, reminiscent of a tennis racket weave. Each structure looks as though threaded from spider thread, but of a grade and fineness superseding anything an arachnid could produce. The exquisite needle-work is something only Nature herself could tenderly sew.

Swamp Spreadwing

In the tall grass and shub-filled fields the Halloween pennants unshyly come into view and show off their beautifully stained calico wings. The shine and glassy reflections from each brings to mind the ethereal windows of a European cathedral, especially when the light filters through. Each pane is softened and warmed by the light; the cold stiffness melts away and life is breathed into the slumbering scene. Like biblical depictions that embolden religious piety when illuminated seemingly by the grace of God, so too, does each spotted wing restore our faith in the land, showing that the wilderness holds an airy paintbrush and is far more refined than the dim brute we too often imagine. The pennant’s entire body is a work of art, meticulously sculpted and painted. The symmetry of form and outline alone amazes.

Halloween Pennant

***

Most who are acquainted with watching the sky for wildlife are accustomed to the sights and sounds coming solely from the avian variety, paying little notice to the diverse world of the odonates. While lacking the delightful calls that birds superbly deliver, dragonflies and damselflies impress in other ways. Often, their vivid color scheme, usually as rich and fresh as those reflected from a transient summer rainbow, emblazon the sky like parade ribbons twirled in the air in rhythmic fashion. Their subtle and indistinct motions leave interpretation of this mesmerizing show open to the viewer, where one may at anytime simply wander over to a lake or stream to see a tranquilizing encore.