On Cameras and Water Droplets

It's carpet beetle season in the blogosphere.

Maybe I 'm exaggerating; let's downgrade that to, "several people have blogged about carpet beetles recently." That's here, on Tim Eisele's blog, and here, by David Brady, and my last Friday's post; "Do Beetles get hangovers?"

I'm bringing the discussion from Comments up to the front page; several issues merit further discussion.

1. Tim, Chalain and Snail are going to try the water and sugar tactics. I must add a couple of cautions.

Some time ago, I was investigating a few other of the tiny beasties; I can't remember which, at the moment. I discovered that, for the really small ones, I could trap them inside a droplet of water; they were not able to break the surface tension. With carpet beetles, they're not quite so vulnerable, but my little guy got stuck head-down in the droplet, until I siphoned a bit off with the corner of a paper towel. So, keep your droplets small.

Also, a drop of tap water, freshly drawn, has killed a few of the "tinies". Now, I use water that has been exposed to air for at least 24 hours, or rainwater from the garden. I imagine that it was the chlorination that caused the problem, and it evaporates off overnight.

2. Tim discussed our respective cameras and lenses on his blog.

Comparing their pictures to mine gives a good chance to see how much benefit I’m getting from the improvised macro lens made from a reversed SLR lens. David Brady (Insect Picture of the Day) uses a camera similar to mine (his is a Canon Powershot A640, I’m using an A95). I think that Wanderin’ Weeta is using a Canon A720 IS (another model in the same series, but with almost twice as much optical zoom as mine has). At any rate, we are probably all using cameras with broadly similar native optics to photograph essentially the same insect. The cameras with no supplementary macro lens, running only on their native macro mode, can get pictures that are good enough for identification of critters 2-3 mm long. But, there is a significant amount of blurring that is hazing out the details that are brought out using the macro lens. I’d say that the carpet beetles are about the smallest things that can be photographed decently with a stock consumer-grade camera, and a specialized macro lens gives pretty significant improvements at this size and smaller.

Yes, Tim, I'm using the Canon A720. I've only had it a month, so am still experimenting with lenses. Blurring is a definite problem.

There is a Macro lens available for this camera; I have not yet investigated it, but will soon. I use the home-made lens I cobbled together (with a card tube, lenses pirated from an old pair of binoculars, and electrician's tape) for use with the beginner's Kodak.

Homemade lenses.

And this is odd: I stacked the lenses anyhow, not knowing which was the best arrangement. When the photos came out ok, I taped the stack together. Call that #1. Later, I added a removable lens from a hand-held magnifying glass. #2. It worked. As well as could be expected, given the rudimentary equipment.

With the Canon, that arrangement makes no difference whatsoever; the camera set on macro mode, with nothing added gives me an identical result. But when I turn the #1 stack backwards, with #2 at the previous inner end, and the camera on full optical Zoom, I get a nice enlarged view.

I have since taped on another little lens, from an old slide projector, in the middle of the stack. I think it will help. And I'm playing with different lighting arrangements.

I look at better, more expensive cameras, and drool. Some day, I will get one. But for now, I am learning a lot about the effects of lighting, lenses, and settings; I am content.

3. About the beetles themselves.

From Tim, again:

Something that Wanderin’ Weeta pointed out is that there are slight depressions on the beetle underside that the legs can socket into, making a nearly flat surface. I expect that this is so that, when the beetle is getting knocked around (as commonly happens to beetles), the legs can be pulled out of harm’s way rather than getting snapped off.

I found my lost photo of the leg sockets. (I thought I had deleted it by mistake, but it was just misfiled.)


The slots on either side, where the hind legs disappear to, are quite clear. But now, look at this:


The beetle was struggling madly to get himself flipped over onto his legs. The procedure involves rapid contortions and flapping of wings; after many failed attempts (much to the beetle's disgust, I am sure), I managed to catch him in the act. The photo is blurry, but you can see how the "slots" are really a division between the two major segments of the beetle's belly covering. Here they are separated quite widely, as he bends his body backwards. So he pulls the hind legs into this crack, much as a turtle does.

Reluctant Dog

Some days, I know how he feels.

Part of mural by Elizabeth Hollick, from Laurie's film camera.

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Do beetles get hangovers?

David Brady, over at Insect Picture of the Day has recently been looking at a carpet beetle, (here and here) and we've been wondering about the mouthparts.

I was (am still) interested in getting a clear picture of the face, so I've been searching for a new, live beetle. Dead ones don't work; they curl their faces inwards when they retract their legs; I can't even see the eyes.

If I have an infestation, it's not much of one. I even vaccuumed and went through the dust bag looking for a beetle, with no luck. But they may be coming in from outside; at least, I found a pair finally, by the back door.

They weren't a very cooperative couple; they seemed more interested in trundling around than in having their photo taken. When I put them on ice, they immediately, before I could even grab the camera again, retracted legs and face into slots and played dead.

Yesterday, with only one left alive (they don't do well under the heat of the lamp), I tried slowing him down with a drop of water. It worked, for a couple of minutes.

Ahhhh! I was so thirsty!

But as soon as he'd drunk his fill, he went to roaming around with renewed energy.

I gave him a few sugar crystals; he liked those.

What's this?

Mmmm. Tastes good!

Chomp, chomp, chomp. Lick, lick, lick. I like this!

This one's good, too.

I could see, under the lens, his little mouthparts working away. When I shook the lid he was in (by mistake) and the crystals rolled, he went with one, clutching it tightly, and went back to his feeding as soon as they landed.

Mine! All mine!

Now, the morning after, he's very lethargic. I think he overindulged.
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It figures!

Yesterday, we manured the garden, put in a dozen new plants from the nursery, and transplanted a bunch of perennials.

This morning, we had a hail storm, the first of the year.

Now it is snowing. Figures.

Almost Wordless Wednesday

Almost, because it's already Thursday.


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A dropping of pigeons

No, not pigeon droppings; a "dropping" is one of the terms for a flock of pigeons. *

Pigeon # 1 Basic rock dove, but with no white on back.


Pigeon # 2 Blue-grey and white; no wing bands.


Pigeon # 3 Pinkish brown


Pigeon # 4** Charcoal and white, with a speckled cap and white head band. No wing bands.

All of these pigeons are regular diners around the outside tables at the New Westminster Quay food fair. Only the first one is in any way close to the "book" description of the Columba livia, the rock dove, even though they all are related. Compare them to this, from Wikipedia: the rock dove has

a dark bluish-gray head, neck, and chest with glossy yellowish, greenish, and reddish-purple iridescence along its neck and wing feathers. The iris is orange, red or golden with a paler inner ring, and the bare skin round the eye is bluish-grey. The bill is grey-black with a conspicuous off-white cere, and the feet are purplish-red.
...
The white lower back of the pure Rock Pigeon is its best identification character, the two black bars on its pale grey wings are also distinctive. The tail has a black band on the end and the outer web of the tail feathers are margined with white.

Domestic pigeons were bred from the rock doves, then bred into different varieties; carrier pigeons and racing pigeons, for example. Many of these later returned to the wild, interbreeding with the wild variety, and giving rise to our city pigeons. For some reason, maybe in part because of the lack of constraint, on one hand by human breeders, and on the other by the limitations of living "off the land", they have been able to develop a great variety of size, shape and colour.

One of the pigeons that congregate for the dawn ceremony above our parking lot gleams a deep red in the afternoon light; the rest are varied shades and patterns of grey and white. The New West pigeons wear anything from black and white formal dress to quiet grey suits to mottled camouflage gear to psychedelic iridescences.

In the city, with food and warmth available year-round, these pigeons breed continuously, like the humans they associate with. A couple of the males in this "dropping" were strutting their stuff this week, courting females very unlike themselves; more variants coming up!

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*An interesting list of animal collective nouns is here. I could have called this post "a dule of doves".

**Pigeon #4 has a wire tangled around one foot. He was limping. I hope he manages to work it off.
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About those veggies...

A year ago January, I wrote a blog post about flowers seen walking down the New West Quay. I ended up with veggies:

Here along the Quay, someone with a lack of imagination always sets in truckloads of "ornamental" kale, green, white, purple and pink, in any space they find empty. In straight rows, sometimes on the diagonal, sometimes alternating colours regularly, like a checker board. Pretty at first sight, maybe interesting at the second. Not at the hundred and seventy-eighth.

But then again, maybe if we have a bad economic stretch, we can eat them.

It seems that someone was reading my blog. Here's what we found in the flower beds at the Quay this week:

Beets and some variety of brassicas.

Swiss chard.

Parsley and something dark purple, either more beets or a brassica.

And, of course, plenty of ornamental kale, green, white, and pink.

Looks almost good enough to eat.

Next visit, I'll be expecting potato plants and tomato frames.
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Lazy night and five links

Because I'm very sleepy tonight (Or lazy; take your pick.), I'm just posting my occasional "Not-quite Weekly Five" science links, without any write-up, and in no particular order. Instead, I have cut and pasted a quote from each article to introduce its topic.

(Blogging on "Blogging on peer-reviewed research".)

From Not Exactly Rocket Science:
Mantis shrimps have a unique way of seeing

Eagles may be famous for their vision, but the most incredible eyes of any animal belong to the mantis shrimp.

Ditto: (BoBopr-r)
From Living the Scientific Life:
Dog Walking Harms Wild Birds

Unfortunately, a scientific paper was recently published showing that the presence of dogs, even when they are on a leash in these natural areas, seriously interferes with wild birds' reproductive success and even scares many of them away.

From The Marvelous in Nature:
Tunnels from Top to Bottom

The first paragraph read, “Cambium miners cause concern when noticed but are not very damaging to the tree. The mines can extend from a twig all the way down to the roots. The mines form light-colored lines in the bark.”

From Born Again Bird Watcher:
Time Lapse Videos of Emerging Butterflies

The very idea of a complete physical and ecological transformation of a single creature borders on science fiction; if it hadn't been so well documented, anyone would be forgiven for thinking it was the product of an overly creative novelist.

From Daily Kos:
Hermit Crab Basics

Hermit crabs are found all over the world in shallow waters and are one of the more familiar coastal animals. Although they have an exoskeleton, as all crustaceans do, this protective covering only surrounds the head, legs and claws. To protect the soft rear part of the body they must find a suitable shell to crawl into.

And now, I'm off to bed. 'night, all!
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Draba verna, lichens, and a "what's this"?

The New Westminster Quay is our banana belt. Between the south-facing, sunny hillside and the river, warmed by broad board walks and reflecting condominium windows, even a few palm trees flourish.

Now, at the end of March, the pink rhododendrons and camelias are in full flower, the beds are bright with pansies, daffodils, red and white bellis pompoms, grape hyacinths, even a few veggies (more about those later).

And I found something unexpected; a drift of white flowers over a mossy meadow.


Well, not exactly; the "meadow" was barely a metre across. The flowers here are under three inches tall; the "tree" is a small shrub.


The flowers are Draba verna, a common weed of disturbed sites. A small basal rosette, a leafless stalk a couple of inches high, and then these flowers. Four petals, widely separated, divided in two almost down to the base. An interesting arrangement.


Look at the seed pods. There is one in plain view in this photo near the centre top; you can distinguish a few more if you click on it to get the full size. They are a long oval shape, slightly flattened, green.

Ok. Now, what are these?


On a single, leafless stalk, arising out of the same area, are these long, brown, sausage-shaped things, like a miniature cattail, more or less. They have the same white button at the tip that the draba seed pods do.

I thought they were part of the moss. But, looking through my books, I see no miniature moss (this stuff is half an inch deep) with tall, upright sporophytes.

What are they? Do any of you know?

And since I'm looking at the tinies, here are several lichens from today's crop.


On a metal piling, at least two, maybe three species here.


On the same piling, another mound of the pumpkin-coloured lichen. One in my book that looks a likely match is the Xantheria polycarpa, a "pincushion". I read that,

"These and other Xantheria species require large quantities of calcium or nitrogen, and they therefore often grow on or near bird droppings."

That explains how it happens to survive on a metal piling; pigeons and seagulls feed it.

And on a tree:



A grey-green leaf lichen, and tiny yellow clumps.
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Doing it the hard way

I've got some more blurry pictures of my backyard birds for you.

But this is blurring with a difference. It demonstrates the different feeding styles of each type of bird.

Here is a chickadee:


He hangs onto the perch, off to the side with his body in a vertical position, and facing the escape route, then quickly bends his head down to grab a seed, and immediately flies off.

The nuthatch, though:


Stands in normal posture on the perch, facing the feeder, then twists his head down sideways. Note the right foot holding the lip of the feeder.

And a junco:


Stands on the lip of the bucket, body horizontal, then quickly upends, like a mallard, to get a seed, which he brings up and eats in a normal position before he flips over again. One I was watching today flaps his wings wildly during this procedure; the one in the photo did not.

And here is a pair of pine siskins from last spring. Watch closely: the one on the right at the start of the video stands quietly, stuffing his face from the open slot. But the one on the left has found a seed stuck off to the side, jammed in a bent end of the cut. He spends the entire time twisting upside down to worry it out, even though he has a dozen easy-to-get seeds at his side.

I'm still trying to get the towhee, doing his chicken scratch routine. And the varied thrush, with his leaf-flipping trick. Wish me luck. And patience.
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That was fast!

I ordered a book. Monday evening. It was here Thursday morning. 2 working days. Even Canada Post cooperated. I'm in shock!

The story: Hugh, at Rock, Paper, Lizard, wrote a review, last Sunday, of the book, "A Nature Guide to Boundary Bay", by Anne Murray. I had seen it earlier, had intended to buy it, and forgotten; Hugh's post was a good reminder. I ordered it after supper on Monday, before I could forget again.

From the link on Hugh's post, to Nature Guides BC to place an order. Done. Confirmation from PayPal. And a couple of hours later, a note from Anne Murray, saying she would send the book immediately. She meant what she said; the book, in a hand-addressed envelope, was postmarked Tuesday, the very next day. And Canada Post took only 2 days to bring it here, a full 20 minutes drive away!

And I am very pleased with the book; good info, wide coverage, maps, photos, background, covering our regular stomping ground from north to south. But I'm not going to write a review; go read Hugh's; he covers it well.

One thing I miss, having been too long habituated to the web; the ability to highlight a word or phrase, left-click on 'Search Google for "whatever you wa..."', and have a whole page of info at your mousetip. Murray puts the first mention of any species in bold print, but rarely has a description. (This is not a failing of the book; she had to limit it to one volume, not a dozen.)

So I'll be reading through the book with my Audubon's Field Guide to North American Birds, Western Region, at my side. And the Field Guide to Insects and Spiders, Kozloff's "Seashore Life of the Northern Pacific Coast", and my latest acquisition, "Plants of Coastal British Columbia".

Anne Murray's book ties them all together quite tidily.

Another book ... Here, read Hugh's entire post:

A Biophysical Inventory and Evaluation of the Lulu Island Bog, Richmond, British Columbia

The long-anticipated Biophysical inventory of the Lulu Island Bog is now available online, here. (Large PDF file, may take a while.)

If you are interested in bog ecology, or the flora and fauna of southwestern British Columbia, you will find this a valuable resource.

Silly guy forgot to mention that he is the author of the chapter on birds.

This will be a handy extension of the Boundary Bay guide; it covers the bog area immediately to the north. (Burns Bog, just across the river, is in Anne Murray's book; it will be interesting to make a comparison as to species that cross that wide river barrier.)
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In the Courtyard of the Goddess of Joy

It had been a cold, cold walk down the White Rock pier. Although the sun was shining, there was a brisk wind off the water, more wintry than we had expected. We were glad to get back to land, and the shelter of buildings.

Caticorner from the parking lot, I saw a riot of summer colour on a wall facing a side street. It warmed me just to look at it.

The front of the building, on the main drag, housed a couple of eateries; routine windows, doors, menus. But the entire side had been transformed into the home and "Courtyard of Flavia, Goddess of Joy".


This is the house:


And yes, the flowerpots are painted on. Only the electrical box and the door are "real".

Around the side of the (painted) house, facing the courtyard (and how this skews my sense of direction!), a couple of the residents lean out of a window, looking down on the festivities below.


And here is the courtyard proper, ...


... with a merry garden party in progress.

And it seems to me that this woman down in the bottom left corner just might be the artist herself, sketchbook on her knees...


... and wine in her left hand. (Compare to a photo of the real woman.)

The artist, Elizabeth Hollick, lives here in White Rock. Her work adorns many public buildings in the White Rock area, all exhibiting the same cheerful energy. I couldn't find a website by her, but some of her murals are in this Webshots album, and the Virtual Mural Tour (Vancouver); one of her paintings is here. The gallery brochure says,

"Hollick’s paintings are vigorous, highly charged and emotive: best seen from a distance."

Like from across the street. As is proper for a mural.

And the warmth of the painting had thawed out my chilled bones; I went on up the street and around the corner into the lane. And found that Hollick's enthusiasm had taken her around that same corner. A painted woman walked her dog down the lane. And you can't have a dog without an offended cat, can you?


Here he is.
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Two and two, black and white

We were on our way to the White Rock pier, in the mood for something a little tamer and drier than our usual scramble over rocks or through mud. We drove in from the south end of town, along the edge of the Semiahmoo reserve, driving slowly to watch for the new growth in the bushes, yellow-green leaves and a sprinkling of small white flowers this early in the year. At the outskirts of the town, across from some of the first houses, two eagles sat in a tree; I pulled off and parked.


Under the tree, looking up, the sky was too bright for my camera. But along the beach, the town goes straight up the hill; long staircases lead to the stacked houses above, or even to the next block, where the hill is too steep for cars. A staircase began behind the car; we headed upward, to get as level with the eagles as possible.

At the first landing, a large crabapple tree, in full spring bloom, blocked the view of the eagles.

Forget the eagles! Look at us!

Above the crabapples, the path turned at right angles, parallel to the road. We got our eagle photos.


And at our backs, almost overpowering us with its fragrance, was a mass of evergreen clematis.

So perfumed, they seem tropical.

A good start to the afternoon, followed by a cold, cold walk down the pier, a few gull photos taken with frozen fingertips, and, back at the street ...

But I'll leave that for tomorrow's post, ok?
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Pinning down a junco

Juncos never stop moving. Ever. And they move fast, and in unpredictable directions. Nor will they tolerate flash cameras and open doors, no matter how you've worked at habituating them.

I've taken hundreds of junco photos. Most are fuzzy; many are photos of a place where a junco was an instant ago. More are photos of the flash of white tail feathers signalling, "I'm outta here!"

Hooray for digital cameras! I dump several dozen photos and head out to take more, with not a qualm; they don't cost me anything but time. And time I am willing to spend, because I am determined to get a decent junco photo.

I'm learning a few tricks; I stand immobile by the closed door or window, mostly hidden by the frame, camera held in place, aimed at the feeder or baited area; I will not move it, except to press the shutter button, for the entire session. All the lights at my back are turned off; so is the flash. The optical zoom at is its maximum. I turn off the shutter sound; with it on, even behind that closed door, the juncos hear it and leave town.

Then I wait. And take one photo after another, anytime the target is within range. I don't stop until he's gone. And afterwards, I delete almost all of those photos cheerfully; I'll try again tomorrow.

So, I've finally got a few more or less worth saving. Here they are: The Junco Slowpoke collection.

"Is that a camera I see? Hmmmm..."


"Scoping out the territory. Door closed? Check. Nobody in sight? Check. It may be safe, then."


"Looks ok. Although I have my doubts about that round thing in the window."


"Right in the food bucket, I'm probably safe enough. But I'll keep bobbing up to check, anyhow."

Three "bobs", and he was gone, flitting off to the safety of the evergreens.

Juncos are ground birds; they have a reason to be cautious. They're prime prey for cats and other predators, easily got at and pounced on. So they stick, mainly, to the shelter of the shrubbery, and never stay in one place long enough for a cat to creep up on them. My feeder, at human eye level, and sheltered only by a nearby wall and a bit of the roof overhang, needs a long, slow, wary approach, from the shrubbery to the maple tree to the epimedium basket, and then the last quick jump into the bucket, where they seem to feel safe enough to stay for a few seconds.

I have tried luring them nearer the door, sprinkling food on the ground, but unless there is actually deep snow on the rest of the patio, they avoid the area, doing a quick run-through, snatch-and-grab, rarely pausing long enough for my camera finger to squeeze all the way down. I did manage to get one, though; I had the button pressed half-way already, focusing on the ground, before the junco arrived.

"I saw that! And I'm leaving. Now."

(Related post: In an inch of water; such pleasure! Junco in the bird bath. Blurry, of course.)
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Working late tonight

I'm all worn out. Back tomorrow.

Convertible.

Nothing more beautiful ...

... than a seagull on the wing.

Here's a bunch, taken at Semiahmoo Beach recently.

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Seen outside the Tim Horton's

In the street. Parked in a no-parking zone.

Not In Service.

Sorry 'bout that.

Numbers removed, to keep the driver out of trouble. Because no-one can be expected to withstand the draw of a good Tim Horton's coffee and a bag of TimBits. No-one.