Hot, hazy, heavy, humid — perfect weather to see snails

A banded wood snail (Cepaea nemorialis) finds a comfy home on the flat flower head of Queen Anne’s lace (Daucus carota) in Tommy Thompson Park on Monday.  © BCP 2010

I recently discovered a charming website called naturewriting.com that asks the simple yet profound question “What is nature writing?” Then the site’s author, a gentleman by the name of Ron Harton, who seems to live in or near the desert of central California, proceeds to answer his own query. Here is a bit of what he says:

“Nature writing is not just any writing that happens to mention an animal or ‘the outdoors.’

Nature writing is born out of love, respect, and awe. It finds its subject during days of close observation of the natural world. It finds its voice in the relationship with nature developed during those days.”

I was particularly struck by Harton’s use of the words love, respect and awe. It was exactly those qualities I recognized in the writing of a woman named Janet Lembke, the author of a book entitled Because the Cat Purrs — How we relate to other species and why it matters. I came across excerpts of her book online while doing a Google search on land snails. One hit turned up a chapter of her book called “The Mollusks in the Garden — a story of earthbound trails and bungee-cord sex.” I know! You’re hooked already, right?

Lembke’s writing, while filled with the nitty gritty facts of biology, is as pure as a love poem. It is most certainly founded on love, respect — and yes, even awe — for the creatures she finds in her own backyard.  Here’s part of how she begins her chapter on snails and their gastropod cousins, slugs.

“They cannot know me (even though they do have a primitive brain), but that does not stop me from wanting to know them, and not just their names but their food preferences, their anatomy, their mating habits and their very evolution. How did they arrive in my garden?”

Lembke then proceeds to answer these questions most beautifully. After reading her chapter, I knew so much more about snails and slugs than I did after reading, memorizing and regurgitating the contents of a textbook called Invertebrate Zoology, a tome bigger than most doorstops. It was for a course I had to take (in another lifetime) at the University of Guelph that was known to one and all as InvertZoo. Glad I took it, just the same.

Lucky you. If you want to know more about the fascinating world of snails, you can do so without InvertZoo and without Wiki. Just read Lembke on the topic. (Better yet, order her book.)

You’ll learn about snail chirality, for starters. That’s a description of whether the snail’s shell is right-handed or left-handed. For the record, banded wood snails are right-handed. You can see one in the picture above. I found this beautiful guy on a walk through Tommy Thompson Park (aka the Leslie Street Spit) on the Civic Holiday. They were everywhere!

This is the perfect weather to see these fascinating creatures with the colourful invertebrate sex life. Just check your yard.

© BCP 2010



Blistering hot . . . but not too hot for a robin to hunt

The good parent — a robin (Turdus migratorius) is off to feed its chicks at Ashbridge’s Bay Tuesday. © BCP 2010

Really, I ought to get up earlier. By mid-morning, when I finally arrived at the bay, (Ashbridge’s), it was sweltering, even by the water and in the shade. A hundred degrees in the shade. Seriously.

But it was worth the effort to get to the beach, despite the oppressive heat and humidity today. Just as I began my amble along the path from the parking lot, an American robin (Turdus migratorius) flew in and landed on a nearly leafless branch near me.

Even though robins are as common as dirt at the bay, I’m not one to miss trying for a shot like that, so I swung my camera around quickly to grab it. It was only then that I realized the robin had the wherewithal for a nice early lunch.

But lunch for whom? Since the robin was perching and holding tenaciously to its prey, I got the impression it was about to fly off and take the food to some nestlings. Hmm. Seems like an odd time of year for new babies to me, but when I checked a couple of references, I quickly learned that robins may typically have two to three broods during the breeding season. Looks like this parent was indeed off to its nest with its prize worms.

I should have stayed longer with this bird — perhaps I could have seen where its nest was — but I was on another mission. More on that later.

© BCP 2010

Ducklings at Ashbridge’s Bay

A mother mallard (Anas platyrhynchos) takes her seven ducklings out for an early afternoon paddle Tuesday. The little ducklings are so terribly tiny in such a big world. © BCP 2010

Well, here’s a bit of a conundrum.

Seems the Ashbridge’s Bay mallard hens had a meeting, took a show of webbed feet, and voted to have their broods hatch at the end of July, instead of their usual hatching time, in early June.

Or not.

Could it be that our bay mallards (Anas platyrhynchos) are all having a second brood?

I did a bit of research on this topic and quickly found that it is considered rare (although documented to have happened at least several times) for mallard hens to have a second brood in one nesting season. It can happen if the first nest fails. But it seems preposterous to think that such a rare event could be responsible for the numerous new families of mallards that have suddenly appeared in our bay.

The more likely answer, it seems to me, is that for some reason — almost certainly environmental — all our female mallards were delayed in their nesting, egg laying and hence hatching times. It sounds crazy, especially considering the unusually hot May we experienced. But what else could explain this newly arrived crop of little mallard fluffballs?

Perhaps if someone — a biologist out there, maybe? — knows the explanation for this, they could let me know. Even a theory?

Today was actually my second time seeing — and trying to photograph — these little yellow and brown babies. Yesterday’s outing resulted in a goose egg’s worth of usable images. Seems I inadvertently had my little point-and-shoot camera on an ISO setting of 800. Oops! The images were so grainy it looked like I had shot them all from the inside of a silo. Oh dear.

A female belted kingfisher (Megaceryle alcyon) sizes up the mallard ducklings paddling only metres away in the inlet. © BCP 2010

Things went a little better today, but — wouldn’t  you know it? — the day I go down to the Beach without my long lens is the day I get a clear look at the belted kingfisher (Megaceryle alcyon) I frequently play hide and seek with. As usual, I heard the kingfisher before I saw it. It has a very distinctive loud rattle that sounds almost like the chitter of an annoyed red squirrel. If  you want to hear what a kingfisher sounds like, click here.   (Thanks Cornell Lab.)

Once I located the kingfisher (a female as it turns out) perched on a branch overhanging the inlet, I realized it had its big black eyes fixed on the little ducklings that were out paddling with their mother. Looked to me like the kingfisher was sizing up the ducklings as a possible entree for a late lunch.

I asked a fellow nature enthusiast I met along the trail what she thought, and she offered the opinion that the ducklings were likely too big to be of interest to the kingfisher for a meal.

But here’s what the U.S. national parks service has to say about the kingfisher’s diet:

“Fish are the favorite food of the Belted Kingfisher! Spotting from their perches or hovering over water, these birds catch prey by plunging after it headfirst into the water. They also take aquatic organisms, reptiles, amphibians, insects, young birds, mice and occasionally berries. On the coast, they are known to feed on squid and oysters. Although prey may be large enough to fill the throat, rapiddigestion allows food to slowly move down the gullet. The young birds are fed a milky regurgitant. After fledging, the parents teach their perched young to fish by dropping dead meals into the water. Within ten days, young fledglings are catching live prey!”  (To read the rest of the NPS article, click here.)

Ack! Young birds! Who knew that the mallard mothers had to worry about the resident kingfishers, as wells as the mink that lives only a few metres away? (I haven’t seen the mink myself yet, but the same nature lover I was speaking with showed me where it lives.)

All around, it was a very exciting outing today.

In the fullness of summer, there is so much going on at the bay. I’ll have to try to get back there this week.

© BCP 2010

A lily in Labrador Lake

A fragrant water lily (Nymphaea odorata) in Labrador Lake this week. © BCP 2010

Fragrant water lilies (Nymphaea odorata) are as common as mud in a swamp, but that doesn’t make them any less beautiful.

I saw this particular water lily as I was making my way into Labrador Lake, in search of the loon I had heard was nesting there. When I saw the perfection of this lily, stabbed as it seemed to be by a sharply pointed vertical leaf, I had to stop and try to create a memorable image of it. As it turned out, I got the photo I wanted of the lily, and managed to see the loon, too. (You can see my photo of the loon sitting on its nest  here.)

My copy of the National Audubon Society Field Guide to North American Wildflowers says that the flowers of this plant are  usually open from early morning until noon. Hmm. Don’t know if I ever recognized that about these lilies  before.

The same handbook also tells me that the long stalk of this plant, which rises up from the lake or pond bottom and bears the flowers and flat round leaves on the surface of the water, is soft and spongy and can be used as a drinking straw!

The Audubon book continues: “(the stalk) has four main air channels for the movement of gases, especially oxygen, from the leaves to the large rhizomes buried in the muck, which are frequently eaten by muskrats.”

It’s always all connected, isn’t it?

© BCP 2010

A loon in Labrador Lake

A common loon (Gavia immer) sits on its nest in Labrador Lake, July 20, 2010. © BCP 2010

Having a super-long lens for my old Canon digital SLR paid off for me recently when I heard from friends who fish that there was a loon nesting on Labrador Lake — a body of water more pond than lake  — near where I was visiting in the Ottawa Valley.

Tiny Labrador Lake holds no interest for jet-skiers, waterskiers, wake-boarders, or motorboaters. But it’s just the right size for the few fishermen who find it a perfect spot to catch their limit of bass and perch. And it’s just right, apparently, for a pair of common loons (Gavia immer) that don’t like to be disturbed much when they’re nesting.

On Tuesday, when I ventured to Labrador Lake, the conditions for taking a good picture were hardly ideal. My own fault. I didn’t get up early enough to catch the gentle, low-angled early morning light that results in far superior images. My desire for additional shut-eye meant the sun was already getting high in the sky by the time I got myself near enough to this loon to take its picture. The resulting shadows were very harsh and by mid-morning it was as already as hot as Hades out on the open water.

But Mr. (or Mrs?) Loon co-operated anyway, allowing me to get a couple of shots before I pushed back hurriedly, worried that I might be disturbing this magnificent creature by my presence.

© BCP 2010

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