It's Canada Day, the four-day weekend, and the sun came out! What more could one ask?
... water's edge, that is. Where the living is precarious, the environment sometimes cold, sometimes hot, now wet, now dry, now saline, now fresh. The highest intertidal zone and the splash zone.
We've been combing the rocks around the Kwomais Point headland, but recently even the afternoon low tide has been high. (Today's tide levels at White Rock: 5:12 PM - 3.7 m, 8:49 PM - 3.4 m, 1:38 AM - 4.1 m. Only the morning tide is low: 9:53 AM - 0.4.) And we've found several things I'd never seen before.
Laurie has been looking at seaweeds. I never knew there were so many types!
Rockweed. The old, familiar rockweed.
Zooming in. See that red beastie? He was moving fast; in a couple of seconds he had scuttled out of site.This little arachnid is only about 3 mm in diameter or about the size of a period at the end of a line of newsprint. It is found on driftwood or rocks high in the intertidal where it looks like a tiny bright red dot and may be stationary or scurrying along the surface. These little mites feed by sucking the fluids out of kelp flies.The three I found were scurrying.
... I'm too tired to put one word in front of the other.
Here are some of the barnacles we saw:
And now I'm going to bed. G'night, all!
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We finally made it around the headland at Kwomais Point. It was difficult walking, especially since the tide was high and we were confined to the rocks.
But, oh, the song of the waves!
Around the bend, the sea was calmer, the rocks smaller.
And we walked back via the railroad tracks.
Some of the life on that shore, next post.
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I've been wondering about ladybugs. Gardeners have been releasing buckets of non-native species to kill aphids for a few years; by now, are the bugs in our yards old-timers or immigrants?
So this spring I've been taking photos of every one I've seen. Yesterday I sorted through my file. Over half of them were the imported Multicoloured Asian Lady Beetle, Harmonia axyridis. And the rest; well, let's see...
I found this one in New Westminster. The Asian ladybug.
The identification depends on the pattern on the pronotum, the shield between the head and the wing covers (elytra). All Multicoloured Asians have a marking in the shape of a W (or an M, if you're looking from the tail end.) Apart from that, they're ... well, multicoloured. And variously spotted. BugGuide has 288 photos of this species alone, and almost all different in some way. Wikipedia shows 13 different patterns.
Here's another, this one from Steveston:
The pronotum is more or less like the previous one, but the head has more white, and there are fewer spots on the elytra, 14 as compared to 19 (counting that centre-front spot as 1.)
And here's another, from Crescent Beach:
Black face, 18 variable spots. And the W.
But these are different:
There's no W. Seven (two at back, where they did not show up in this photo) spots on the elytra, two angular white spots on the head, and two rectangular ones on the elytra.
It's another import: the Sevenspotted Lady Beetle, Coccinella septempunctata. I found this one in Strathcona, Vancouver.
Another Sevenspotted, from across the street here in Delta.
And how about this one, from New Westminster?
No W. No black spots on the elytra, but the two rectangular white ones at the front edge, like those of the Sevenspotted LB. An elaborate black and white pattern both on the pronotum and the head.
There are similar ladybugs on BugGuide, and some discussion as to which of the three Cycloneda species they belong to. I would guess it's theWestern Blood-red Lady Beetle, Cycloneda polita, which is native to this area.
This was the only one in my file. All the rest were introduced species. And the roses are still loaded with aphids.
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Now that the weather is warming up a bit, every flower ...
I've been monitoring the sprig of rosebush from last Friday, looking for changes in the orange casing. There's not much to report so far; a slight thickening of the dusty spots is about it.
However, I've found something else of interest in those three leaves.
It's been a hectic week, so I propped the twig in an eggcup full of water, to be examined later. I was gathering my purse and keys to dash off, when I happened to glance back and see a green bug on one of the leaves. In a great rush, I took a photo:
Then I popped the twig, eggcup, critter, and all, into a lidded container, and dashed out the door, only a few minutes late.
Back home on Saturday afternoon, I examined my find more closely. By now, the bug had built himself a safe haven:
A mass of bubbles, home to a spit bug (or spittle bug). The froth is sometimes called "snake spit" or "cuckoo spit". (I've heard that snakes do spit, so do frogs, but do cuckoos?) I brushed some of the bubbles off, gently.
It was some kind of hopper, still in the nymph stage. The wings are mere yellow stubs. I like those cute antennae, too; so short they look more like whiskers.
I was gone most of the day Sunday, and didn't do more than glance at the container through the lid, see that the rust was still orange, and rush off again.
Yesterday morning (Monday), the hopper was on the inside of the lid. And he was no longer green.
In the spot where he had been resting, only the molted exoskeleton remained, with a few popped bubbles.
He's a hopper. Still wet behind the ears, and a bit sluggish. But while I was looking at him, he suddenly leapt into the air, out of the container, and onto a file folder about a foot away.
I photographed him, slapped a cup over him and maneuvered him back into the container. He's there now, with the lid firmly snapped on.
And I found his mates on BugGuide; froghoppers. Philaenus spumaria, the meadow spittlebug. They're from the superfamily Cicadoidea, the cicadas and their kin. The meadow spittlebug is one of the few greenish nymphs found in BC. Their adult colouring is variable, anything from brown to black to patterned to plain to striped. And National Geographic calls them the "World's Greatest Leaper": an adult froghopper can jump up to 70 cm. high. That's over 2 feet, for a tiny bug, around 1 cm long.
I checked him out again tonight. He's dried out, and is quite active. His two "whiskers" have turned black, and have a little knob at the bottom. Charming.
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I've been on the highway a good part of the time for the last couple of days. At a rest stop near Abbotsford, I found this tiny spider.
Except in the section of the WhiteRock beach nearest the pier, access is problematic. If the obstacle is not a high cliff face or a muddy slough, the way is blocked by thickets of thorny shrubs, the invasive blackberry or native wild roses. Friday, we followed a narrow path hacked through the roses.
On the beach side, many of the twigs wore a bright orange wrap.
Orange-peel bright, about the size of a small caterpillar, crusty and peeling back where the twigs exit. Here's another:
I cut a twig and turned it over. The bottom was dusted with orange specks and threads. The specks fell off easily; you can see some already on the log where I laid the twig to take a photo.
And do you see those little round bumps on the stem? Here they are, close up:
So is this a slime mold? It looks like it to me. But I can't find anything quite like it in my books, nor on the web. Google failed me, for once.
I have my little twig in an egg-cup full of water now. I'll be watching it for signs of growth, or colour changes as it ages.
And I'm hoping someone can help me with an ID. I'm stumped.
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Seen in an abandoned business site in Burns Bog:
Fraser and Yaya. Immortalized. (Sort of.)
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The redwinged blackbird is an easy bird to identify. At least the adult male is. Most of the time.
He's black, and he displays brilliant red patches on the wings. And he perches on the tallest cattails, singing at the top of his voice. "Konkeree! Konkeree!"
Of course, he's not always flashing those red patches. Then he's a plain black bird, smaller than a crow, usually bigger than a starling.
Reflections in Cougar Creek:
In the course of babysitting, I agitated about a dozen large bottles of semi-congealed poster paint until they re-liquified, pulled half a dozen boxes out of storage looking for said paints, repacked and replaced them, squished and massaged another dozen or more paint tubes. I may recover the use of my arms in the next few days. Posting will probably be light until it no longer hurts to type.
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Beside the slough in Elgin Heritage Park, at the end of the Nicomekl river:
Shallow, muddy, slimy water, with the invasive but beautiful yellow iris.
Mama and her five little ones. And green reflections.
These flowers will continue to thrive, if I can judge by the pollinating activity around them. They were swarming with bees.
A bee enters the flower on the marked pathway, nosing under the upper petal, and scrambling down the tunnel into the centre. He stays there barely a second before he backs out again, to fly immediately to a different flower, on a separate stalk. I watched for a while, and never saw a bee go to the next open throat on the same stalk.
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On the White Rock to Kwomais Point stretch again today, we watched more eagle/crow action. These may be the same pair I posted two days ago; it's in the same area.
They were both perched in the same dead tree. This was surprising enough, but as we walked in their direction, stopping every few steps to take another photo, they just sat there.
"See what I have to put up with? I'm a patient crow, but really! "
I found this pretty moth at my son's house, last Monday. I've been spending hours ever since, looking at BugGuide's photos, to see if I could identify it.
Did you know that BugGuide has 924 pages of moth photos, with 24 thumbnails per page? That's 22,176 moth photos to browse.
I thought it might be a geometrid moth. Limiting myself to Geometrid photos, I find 150 pages, 3,600 photos. So far, I've looked at over 2000 of them, and found none to match.
My eyes are tired.
In the trees above Kwomais Point, the eagles congregate. Last Saturday, a couple of dozen were circling the cliffs.
Appearances can be deceiving. Take the rocky shore at Kwomais Point, to the west of White Rock beach, for example. It looks more or less the same as the rest of the waterfront; the railroad tracks, a barrier strip of rocks, then sand and rock mixed. Seaweed and eelgrass, seagulls and squalling crows.
... to communicate with Blogger. There's a glitch in the works somewhere.
I'm going to bed.
A few minutes ago, this pair formed a pretty heart.
Along the bottom of the White Rock bluffs, creeklets trickle into a ditch running along the railroad track and emptying onto the beach. There is never much water in it; the weeds grow almost to the bottom. In wider spots, pondweed and brooklime flourish. This Saturday, the damselflies were providing the sparkles.
I caught this couple in an odd pose.
Lined up, head to tip of tail, the one in the rear curving under ...
... and dipping her tail in the water.
What was going on?
I knew that damselflies mate in a "wheel", although it looks more like a heart to me. The male clasps the female behind the head, using claspers on the end of his long abdomen. She then curls around and under, bringing the tip of her abdomen to his genitalia at the bottom of his middle section. (There's a clear image here, in BugGuide.)
But this was no "wheel" or "heart". Were they confused? Oh, Google!
They're Western Red Damsels, Amphiagrion abbreviatum*, and they're laying eggs. The male retains his hold on the female's upper thorax while they search for a good home for the next generation. Then she dips the ovopositor at the tip of her abdomen into the water and deposits the eggs.
Why he holds her during this process is uncertain. He may just be making sure that no other male gets a chance at her until his contribution is dealt with. My Field Guide mentions that in some damselflies, the male actually lifts her from the water when she is finished laying. A rescue operation, as it were.
*These are the only BC damselflies where both the female and male are red.
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It was still raining on the Delta slopes yesterday morning, but off to the west we could see blue sky. We grabbed our cameras and went to the White Rock/Ocean Park bluffs, and down the long stairs and trail to the beach.
At the viewing platform partway down, we stopped to take a photo of the water below.
These were among the trees beside the ramp:
A new Steller's Jay fledgling, still rumpled from the nest, and waiting to be fed.
And perched a mere couple of metres away, a hummingbird, a chick, I think.
Among the bright greens of new leaves in the sunlight, his iridescent back almost, but not quite, served as camouflage. Like the Steller's jay, he sat quietly, occasionally grooming himself, not attempting to fly away.
While we watched, another hummingbird arrived. This one did not perch, but buzzed around the chick until he abandoned his branch. The pair flew away behind the honeysuckle vines.
And that's just for starters; more later. Much more.
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Just so I won't forget: this is what sunshine looks like. And it was barely a week ago!
(It seems as though it's been raining for much longer than that.)
Rosebush with reflecting window as background.
Bright eyes!
This is a follow-up to my post, Wednesday morning, Down came the rain and ....
I wrote about a mysterious (to me) long worm that I found dancing in the rain. (The worm was dancing, not me. Just clarifying.)
I labelled it a roundworm, or nematode. Hugh, in the comments, suggested that it might be a horsehair worm. So I've been Googling again.
He's right. And I was wrong. It has all the characteristics of a horsehair worm. It is not a Nematode, but a Nematomorph. Which means "shaped like a nematode", so I wasn't that far out.
Wikipedia has a description of the phylum and a basic description of their life cycle. And at the NH Department of Environmental Services, I found a useful fact sheet, including:
Adult worms may be found in flowing or standing water including rivers, streams, vernal pools, ponds, and even pets’ water bowls. They are long (can grow up to two feet), thin (1/16th of an inch), and round, with inter- and intra- species color variation ranging from tan to black. Besides having a long and slender appearance, Gordian worms are unlike earth worms, in that they are not segmented. The body diameter is the same throughout most of the body’s length, with a slight taper at both extremities. The Gordian worm does not have a distinct head. Adults do not feed as their stomachs are degenerate (do not function) and their mouths are useless. They can be found either singularly or in masses, often wrapped around rocks, branches and each other.
It looked like rain, but the sky was blue to the east. We dressed for rain and went to Steveston to look at fishboats.
It all started with the robins. Or with the rain. Anyhow, with the robins in the rain.
It rained steadily all day, and we stayed home, busying ourselves with "catch-up" chores. But I kept an eye on the windows, watching for birds and soggy squirrels. In the afternoon, a pair of robins showed up, hunting for worms in the wet grass.
Don't you have any dry sunflower seeds?
Sunday morning, I posted this photo:
And commented:
I'll have to do a bit of Googling to identify the facial structures: is that four eyes, or two? And if two, which two? (The forward ones, I think.)So I've done my homework, and here's what I've found out:
Bumblebees are among the most frustrating insects to photograph; they are so big, comparatively speaking, so numerous, so vibrantly coloured, that I am obliged to try to "get" them. But I aim, press the shutter button half-way, wait the split second it takes the camera to decide what I want, and ... try again. The main character has exited, stage left.
Try and follow one around, through all its dizzying changes of direction, until it lands on a flower, and it invariably (or so it seems) lands on the one flower that you can't reach without falling into the rosebush or stepping on the gardener's prize petunias.
Get a good chance at one on a daisy right under your nose, and it is vibrating so rapidly, so ecstatically, that all your camera records is a yellow blur.
So I was amazed to find this one on an allium yesterday; it stayed in the same position, on the same flower, for so long that I thought it was dead until I saw the antennae moving.
I wanted a face shot, since he was being so co-operative, but this was a bit harder; the tiny allium petals were always in between, and the camera liked them better.
Got it, though. Just before the bumblebee decided to leave; this was becoming altogether too, too public.
I'll have to do a bit of Googling to identify the facial structures: is that four eyes, or two? And if two, which two? (The forward ones, I think.)
This one presented no anatomical conundrums. And no buzzing wings; he was nicely subdued by his choice of flower. A second later, and he was backing out, legs and wings flailing. He spun and left, to land next on the topmost rose on the bush, well over my head.
Of course.
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