Duck tales

Although I am the world's second worst birdwatcher*, I can tell my Anas from my eider. I'm not sure which came first—a fondness for ducks or the ability to tell them apart—but one inevitably led to the other. Whenever ducks are around, I have my binoculars glued to one eye and the camera to the other**.

Blue-billed ducks (Oxyura australis) are among my favourites. They're pocket-sized birds with tails that look as though someone's shut them in the car door. They're closely related to the stifftails (ruddy ducks, white-headed ducks and others), all of which are characterised by the sparsely-feathered fan-shaped tail that's either laid flat on the water's surface or held vertically on display. (Or at 45 degrees. Darned birds not posing properly!)

These ducks are also known for another characteristic — a penis of prodigious proportions. Kevin McCracken produced a paper on the drakehood of the Argentinian blue-billed duck (O. vittata). He speculated not only on the reason for its length (at more than 30 cm, it's almost as long as its owner) but also for its weird shape (coiled with spines and bristles). It's probably best that you read the original articles from Auk and Nature (both PDF) because I'm struggling to hold back a torrent of puns. And the occasional unfortunate typo.
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* The world's worst birdwatcher is a friend who not only mistook a mooring buoy for a pelican but also confidently identified a little pied cormorant among a group of little black cormorants. What was wrong with that? Well, when the white-fronted bird moved, it became obvious that it was, after all, just another LBC ... and the white was a streak of cormorant shit on the rock.

** Apologies for any mental images of Marty Feldman generated by that moment of hyperbole

Fan—flower—dango

The leaf-cutter bees (Megachile) were making hay in the fan flowers today. When I first caught a glimpse of a fine-banded bum disappearing into the vegetation, I thought it was a hoverfly. But then I spotted the front end with its angled antennae and the punky orange topknot and I recognised my visitors.

They're flighty insects, settling for a second or two before zipping off to the next blossom. So industrious are they, they make honey bees look like slackers. It's almost impossible to photograph a leaf-cutter when it's feeding (although Amegilla managed to do it. Check the link above for splendid pics). The best time to take a picture is while it's snipping out pieces of foliage for the nest. Unfortunately—or perhaps not—none of the plants in my garden have suitable leaves, so the bees drop in for meals but go elsewhere for their furnishings.

While attempting—and failing—to get a decent shot of these pretty and unpredictable insects, I noticed another little lovely. A real hoverfly this time and one much more amenable to having its portrait taken than were the busy bees.

As an adult, the drone fly (Eristalis) is a handsome animal. It's less attractive in the larval stage, when it lives underwater and bears the epithet 'rat-tailed maggot'. The name is half-right. As a fly larva, it is a maggot. There's no getting around that. But the rat tail is a respiratory siphon that extends from the larva's rear end to the water's surface. Although it is aquatic, it can't extract oxygen from water, so has to rely on a snorkel on its derriere.

Rat-tailed maggots prefer water that is rich in organic matter, like ditches and ... er ... sewage farms. This makes me wonder where this adult might have started its life. Perhaps they travel some distance after emergence. Or perhaps a neighbour's water feature needs a bit of treatment.

The maggot's affinity for sewage has occasionally brought into contact with humans—and not in a good way. Its unexpected appearance in toilet bowls may result in a panic, especially when conjecturing about the way in which it got there. One path (incoming via a septic tank) is more likely than the other (outgoing via ... let's just say they might be going through the motions). Either way, a rat-tailed maggot is not something you want to see in your lav.

But I digress. Back to the adults on the fan flowers. They look and behave like bees but are completely stingless. They're distinguishable on their tiny antennae (you can't see them on hoverflies but they're small but obvious on bees) and the shape of the eyes.

They also look a bit like March flies (Tabanidae) but don't bite. You can tell them apart by the eyes (in March flies, the eyes are very close together along the midline) and—we're getting into detail now—by the false margin along the rear edge of the hoverfly wings. A false margin occurs when the veins don't run all the way to the wing edge, leaving a clear cell.

But that's not all the wildlife on the fan flower at the moment. The skippers are loving it. More of them later. And to think I was going to cut it all out. Maybe after it stops flowering ...

The tell-tale snail

While we're talking about snails and literature ... When a publishing company wanted to produce a cut-price, popular version of Thomas Wyatt's Manual of Conchology, they hired Edgar Allan Poe to write it. The Conchologist's First Book was published in 1839.

The book owed more than a small debt to other texts. In fact, it owed so much of a debt that Poe was accused of plagiarism. (Apparently the publisher had chosen him, an unknown at that time, because he wouldn't be worth suing.)

Despite the controversy, the book was a great success.

(You can read Poe's other works at the Poe Society website. Make sure you've got supplies, though, because you'll be there a long time.)


CONCHOLOGIST'S FIRST BOOK: OR,
 A SYSTEM OF
 TESTACEOUS MALACOLOGY Arranged expressly for the use of Schools, IN WHICH THE ANIMALS, ACCORDING TO CUVIER, ARE GIVENWITH THE SHELLS, A GREAT NUMBER OF NEW SPECIES ADDED, AND THE WHOLE BROUGHT UP, AS ACCURATELY AS POSSIBLE,
TOTHE PRESENT CONDITION OF THE SCIENCE. 

---

  BY
EDGAR A. POE.

---

 WITH ILLUSTRATIONS OF TWO HUNDRED AND FIFTEEN SHELLS,PRESENTING A CORRECT TYPE OF EACH GENUS.  PHILADELPHIA : PUBLISHED FOR THE AUTHOR, BY HASWELL, BARRINGTON, AND HASWELL, AND FOR SALE BY THE PRINCIPAL BOOKSELLERS IN THEUNITED STATES. 1839. 

Yesterday's great leap forward in the garden. Well, small step.

Another side of the kangaroo apple trimmed away. The plan (and I do have one, although there is much evidence to the contrary) is to leave the main trunk as a feature. It's nicely twisted and sculptural. (Sorry, I went a bit Kath and Kim there.) It will provide a good base for climbers or epiphytes, as long as I use species that are sun-hardy and not too lively. So far, finding the first hasn't been a problem. The second, as you can see, has been much trickier.

A bird bath (but not a naff one) in the middle and some butterfly-attracting plants around the margin would look good. (And plants for the blue-banded bees, which have been zipping around the kangaroo apple as if they haven't eaten in weeks.) Anyway, something easier to keep under control. I'll just have to make sure there's nowhere for the neighbour's cats to hide.

I kept an eye on the fauna while I pruned. Plenty of bugs, including this hopper, Siphanta (Flatidae). I love the way these insects rely on camouflage until you get too close and then they sidle around to the other side of a stem in exactly the way a thorn wouldn't.

But — and this is really disappointing — I didn't seen any praying mantids. Not even their oothecae. I'm not sure why they're not around because the garden has a lot of suitable food and no pesticides.

I'll go on looking.

Jackson Pollock has nothing on snails

Aydin at Snail's Tales has a fondness for snail trails. (Well, slug trails.) When I saw this piece of modern art on the path I followed his lead and photographed it for posterity. Although I didn't see the perpetrators, these mucus trails were probably laid down by the introduced garden snail (Cantareus aspersus).

Mucus is released from specialised cells in the skin of slugs and snails. Although these cells are distributed all over the body surface, they are concentrated into glands at several sites. One of these, the pedal gland (at the front end of the foot) secretes mucus to assist in locomotion.

The animal travels on the mucus, rather than directly on the substrate. (In fact, when the pedal gland is damaged, a slug or snail experiences real difficulty in getting around.) Mucus released from the gland is distributed across the underside of the foot as it moves forward. This produces the characteristic trail.

But it's not all beer and barn dances in my garden. Sometimes the slugs come a cropper. I'm not sure what happened to this one but I found it on the path this morning. The ants were having a field day.

Literary malacologists

Malacologists don't feature prominently in fiction so whenever one pops up, it's worth making a note of it. A bivalve-fancier plays a bit part in Terry Pratchett's Going postal.

'That's Devious Collarbone, sir. He's out studying Oyster Communications in a Low Intensity Magical Field for his B. Thau.'

'Good gods, can they communicate?' asked Ridcully.

'Apparently, Archchancellor, although thus far they're refusing to talk to him.'

This malacologist is somewhat more engaging than the only other one I can recall without resorting to Google—Seth LaMarque (ahem) of James Bradley's The Deep Field. LaMarque is a blind palaeontologist who works on ammonites and is the author of the impenetrable The language of shells, excerpts from which are scattered throughout Bradley's novel.

But perhaps it is in the shell that we find the most eloquent expression of this. For in its wholeness unto itself, the perfection of its curved shape and the accretive spiral of its growth, it is an expression of the simplicity of the constitutive principles that underpin life, of the unity of nature, and an expression of an order so perfect, so complete, that it offers no response beyond awe. And silence.

Which one would you rather meet at a conference?

I added a few outdoor activities to my 'to do' list for today but as it's going to be another scorcher in Melbourne, I've decided to stay indoors and loaf. I've already done the most energetic thing I'm prepared to do—fish the newspaper out from under the porch (where it invariably ends up if it doesn't get snagged by the Myoporum. For those other things, there's always tomorrow.

One of the purposes in taking a fortnight off work is to have time to draw up a plan for my future*. Having felt that I've been stuck fast for a while, I now get the sensation of movement. Unfortunately, it's backwards. And it's time to start heading forwards again. Damned** if I know how, though. But that's why I'm on leave. I've got ten days to come up with the Answer.

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* Making a plan for my past wouldn't be very useful, although it would be 100% achievable.

** That wasn't what I wrote the first time.

Haven't blogged tonight. May not do much tomorrow. My eyes aren't working very well at the moment and it's difficult to read the screen. But what I can see is my future ... thick lenses, magnifying glasses and large print books. All I need now is a bath chair and a plaid blanket.

... by that much

Have given myself a good talking to because I forgot to put this up earlier.

Marginalia has a beaut post on an encounter with the rare and striking Nēnē on Kaua'i in Flock off to birdland. And after you've finished feeling envious at the sighting, take a stroll through the other posts, which cover a huge range of topics. (Including turning a weedy backyard into a garden. Maybe I can get some ideas ...)

Little bugs

While I was gardening, I disturbed a number of these passion vine hoppers, Scolypopa australis. Although the common name suggests they are pests of Passiflora, they'll feed on a variety of plants, including many commercial species. (They've been introduced to New Zealand, where they damage kiwi fruit crops.)

Unlike most other leaf hoppers, in which the wings are held at angle, the passion vine hoppers hold theirs almost flat. Because of this, they are sometimes mistaken for moths. A close look reveals that the antennae are tiny, which is a handy (if not foolproof) clue to its buggy (rather than mothy) identity.

Backyard blitz

Or near enough.

I've spent much time being appalled by the state of my garden. Standing on the back step, gazing out at the mess and tutting to myself as if it had nothing to do with me. I decided today that it can't go on. I have to do something before the house disappears under the mass of vegetation.

One of the biggest tasks is to get rid of the kangaroo apple. I won't be able to take care of it in one hit, so I'm breaking it down into a series of smaller jobs. Today's goal—trimming the tree on one side.

Armed with secateurs and gardening gloves, I attacked the tree and snipped away all the smaller branches. Of which there were many. Not wanting to waste all that organic matter, I cut it into smaller pieces and used it as mulch. That kangaroo apple can probably provide enough mulch for the whole garden—as long as I keep ahead of its growth. (You know, these pictures don't give a very clear idea of how much I had to cut away. It felt like tonnes.)

I uncovered plants I'd forgotten were there. I felt a bit like Carter at Tutankhamen's tomb. There was the Erythrina humeana (left). And there the Allocasuarina zephyrea, more etiolated than the potted one but still growing well. And that poor Banksia. It had once produced beautiful flowers ...

So tomorrow I will continue the trim. If all I do on my holidays is get my garden under control, I'll be happy.

Two turtle doves ...

Following the invasion of the cereal-eating moths, I threw out all the dried food in my pantry. Most of it went on the compost heap but I got a bit lazy and tipped my home-made muesli* onto the garden a couple of metres from the back door.

It didn't take long for a pair of spotted turtle doves (Streptopelia chinensis) to find the bounty. They're not frequent visitors to the garden—they don't seem to like being enclosed by vegetation—but the smorgasbord of cereal was obviously too much to resist.

Spotted turtle doves occur naturally from western Asia to Indonesia. They were introduced into Melbourne in the 1870s. As cage and aviary escapees, they have become established in many places around the world. Like many other species of introduced birds, they have done well in urban areas.

The spangled collar makes the spotted turtle dove instantly recognisable. The only similar bird in Australia is its closest relative, the laughing or Senegal dove (S. senegalensis) of sub-Saharan Africa. This has also been introduced but is restricted to SW Western Australia.

The phylogenetic relationships of these birds is interesting. Streptopelia is a paraphyletic genus. The spotted turtle dove/laughing dove pair forms a sister group to another pair. But whereas that first pair is widespread (between them they've got most of the Old World under their wings), the second has a very limited distribution—Madagascar and the Seychelles (Madagascar turtle dove, S. picturata) and Mauritius (pink pigeon, Nesoenas mayeri). You can read the original paper (PDF) here.

(I photographed these two through rain-streaked windows, so the quality isn't great.)

Reference
Johnson, KP, de Kort, S, Dinwoodey, K, Mateman, AC, ten Cate, C, Lessells, CM and Clayton, DH. (2001). A molecular phylogeny of the dove genera Streptopelia and Columba. The Auk 118(4): 874–887.
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* Rolled oats, slivered almonds, sultanas, dried pawpaw and ... caterpillars.

Kites in a tree

I popped in to Serendip Sanctuary the other day. I was the only visitor, which was great. Unfortunately, I couldn't spend much time there so I did a quick tour of the bird hides.

Serendip has several lakes that don't dry out. The permanent water—and a supply of nest boxes—encourages water birds. At this spot, the birds were packed in beak by jowl. I saw a little black cormorant, an Australian pelican, yellow-billed spoonbills, straw-necked and white ibis, magpie geese, Pacific black ducks, chestnut teal, dusky moorhens, Eurasian coots and a masked lapwing ...

But that wasn't all. A gang of whistling kites were dining on a dead bird (probably an ibis) and were having disputes with a raven, who wanted its share. They kites were well-mannered enough to take turns. (But not terns.)

The spoonbill was completely unperturbed by the ruckus.

The piece of cod that surpasseth understanding

Swan Hill Regional Art Gallery (in NW Victoria) has an exhibition on the Murray cod, Australia's largest freshwater fish. Among the items on display is printmaker Rhyll Plant's magnificent woodcut portrait of it. Cod Piece is a life-size image printed from six rounds of Huon pine.

Rhyll is fond of visual puns—fishy or otherwise—and all sorts of word plays. This is her garish garfish. What's particularly pleasing about her works is that they're not only funny but also accurate. (Although I'm a bit suspicious about the colours on the garfish ...)



I've already blogged about her works before in Wooden art and Doing her block. Check 'em out if you're into art, printmaking and/or squid. (Note that links in those posts connect to one another.)

The Murray Cod exhibition closes on 31st January ... or February 4th (depending on which source you check.) Either way, I'd better go soon. I will report back.

Foiled again

As today is a public holiday in Australia, I thought I'd have a lengthy sleep in. My plans were thwarted by the:

• first garbage truck (recycling) at 6 a.m.
• second garbage truck (ordinary) at 8 a.m.
• police helicopter 9.30 a.m.

The garbage trucks have long gone but the helicopter continues quartering to the NW. No idea what that's all about but the area its covering is large enough to suggest a car and a crime are involved. Or several. No doubt the three local papers will be onto the story like ibis at a tip.

Well, tomorrow is Saturday so I get another chance to sleep in for an appallingly long time. This time I'll wear ear plugs.

I and the Bird #41

Birds express all that is beautiful, joyous and free in nature. They delight our eyes, charm our ears, quicken our imagination, and through association with the bushland inspire us with the profound love of country.

Neville W. Cayley, Introduction, What Bird is That?

Published in 1931 and reprinted many times, What Bird is That? is a classic of Australian ornithology.

It was the first of its kind—a comprehensive guide to all the birds in Australia. Cayley arranged his birds not in systematic order but by habitat, and he illustrated every species in gloriously busy colour plates. It was a book written by someone who loved birds and wanted to inspire the same feelings in his readers.

Species entries were often accompanied by descriptions of behaviour, presented in an conversational tone. Cayley told us that the generic name of the gang gang cockatoo (Callicephalon) was derived from the Greek for beautiful head. That when chestnut-backed quail run "... their heads are thrown up as high as their necks will permit, and as their bodies are carried very erect, a waddling motion is given to their gait, which is very amusing". That dusky wood-swallows roost "clustered together, like a swarm of bees, on the limb of a tree". And that red wattlebirds are surprisingly good tucker: "Its flesh is excellent eating, and great numbers are killed each year for the table."

No less passionate and personable are the contributors to I and the Bird—whether reporting on a field trip or an unexpected sighting at a feeder, recounting treasured moments or exploring the subtleties of colour. We invite you to dip into the collection ...



Chapter I. Backyard bonanza

In the mornings the doves line up on the power lines, waiting for the breakfast call., writes Pam at Tortoise Trail in her post on backyard birds. The doves know who's on their side in Tucson.

I was so excited to see this guy yesterday I was shaking. Sarala at Blogaway shares her excitement over an unexpected visitor to her Chicago garden.

A few weeks ago, every time I went out the front door after dark, I heard a flutter of wings and could just catch the silhouette of a winged form as it disappeared into the trees. James of Coyote Mercury welcomes a guest to his house in Texas.

I spent a pleasant hour or so watching, and attempting to photograph, Musk Lorikeets, this morning. Alan of Birds in Tasmania enjoyed the antics of a flock of musk lorikeets in the grounds of a local school. But only after he'd been given the treatment by a dive-bombing lapwing.

I have had several pairs of bluebirds hanging around since we moved in, mainly scoping out the bluebird houses. Jayne's Journey Through Grace tells us that the bluebirds are having a great time at Chickadee Lane in Georgia.

Cackling like a wild banshee -
The master chisler
Carves our tree trunks well
Cindy of WoodSong's haiku celebrates a family of pileated woodpeckers matching wits with Phoebe the GSP off the beaten track in Michigan.



Chapter II. Winter wonders

It was an awesome day! Lynne from Hasty Brook went out with the Duluth Audubon Society and saw nine lifers including a ... Oh, you'll have to read it!

On Saturday I travelled to Tamarack Resort for a cross country ski race. Rob of Rob's Idaho Perspective went for the skiing and stayed for the birding. And was he glad he took his camera along? What do you think?

I got out today and did some of my first birding in Maryland .... Nemesis Birder Drew's day started a little slowly but livened up when he saw the croissant-shaped birds. Intrigued? Read on.

bon•ny also bon•nie (bŏn'ē)
Adj. Scots., -ni•er, -ni•est.

1. Physically attractive or appealing; pretty.
2. Excellent.

Bill of BRDPICS has a bonny day out at Bonny State Park in Colorado, where he not only saw plenty of birds but also engaged in a mini-marshmallow fight.

It started with the following email:
Hello Peregrine
I have been reading your blog with interest.
And so have we! Craig at Peregrine's Bird Blog showed a group of visitors around the best birding spots in Belfast.

With the days rapidly ticking down toward the start of the Space Coast Birding & Wildlife Festival I took a break from my preparations yesterday afternoon to do some scouting for my field workshops.
It's not all ice and snow. Kevin at NaturalVisions spent quality time with some roseate spoonbills in Florida.



Chapter III. Total Birdcall

My birding activities have been virtually non-existent for well over a month now, due to the fires .... Duncan's had a lot on his plate at Ben Cruachan in eastern Victoria but his workload is our gain as he shares his most memorable birding moments.

Some fortunate folks have been endowed throughout history with the awesome responsibility of ascribing common names to newly discovered avian species.. Mike of 10,000 Birds ponders on the nuances of colour. Are you absolutely rufous?

How to use films for birding. Trevor of Trevor's Birding in South Australia shares some of his top tips for lazy birders. Watch birds from the comfort of your armchair. Beer and popcorn optional.



Chapter IV. Enraptured by raptors (and owls)

Martha and I are avid consumers of so-called popular science, Michael of Bur Oak tells us. Their enthusiasm for knowledge took them to the Mountsberg Raptor Centre near Toronto.

I hope I won't disappoint you ... this is not about John Ashcroft. Just as well, Greg, because I’d have to refer you to I and the Bush. Greg Laden writes about his encounters with juvenile bald eagles in Minnesota. Or are they golden eagles? A lot of people mix them up.

When Jim and I found the Merlin (Falco columbarius) during our survey of our part of the Presqu'ile Christmas Bird Count he started to talk about birder's luck. Pamela of Thomasburg Walks in Ontario enjoyed more than a drop of birder's luck when she finally spotted a bird that had been eluding her for a couple of weeks.

It was 2:30 by the time I'd finished helping friends with their move. The rain was steady, and the temperature was 37 degrees. I went birding.. His fingers might have been ready to drop off, but David of Sense and Serendipity* kept going. Then he saw a pair of harriers ...



Chapter V. The edge and beyond

Numbers. Sometimes the thrill of birding is about the numbers. Charlie of Charlie's Bird Blog traces the decline and extinction of the passenger pigeon, once the most abundant bird in North America. Gone. And almost forgotten.

On our way to Florida, we left Congaree National Forest in South Carolina, a majestic old growth forest in the historic range of the Ivory-billed Woodpecker and in which a current search for the Ivory-billed Woodpeckers is taking place. Lillian and Don of Stokes Birding Blog take us on a journey to find an ivory-billed woodpecker at Choctawatchee River. Trace their steps (part 1, 2 and 3) in this photo essay.



Chapter VI. Marvellous miscellanea

Winter brings visitors from the north, and attracts short-distance migrants into the Piedmont and coastal plain, John from A DC Birding Blog enthuses about fox sparrows, which have moved south for the winter.

Two years ago at Horicon Marsh in Wisconsin I saw two life birds (among others) Marsh and Sedge wrens. Birdfreak of Birdfreak's Birding Blog sings the praises of his favourite birds.

Google Maps provides an excellent resource for recording field trips and sightings. Ben of NYC Nova Hunter shows us how he used it to document a recent trip to Great Kills Park, Staten Island.

The ancestors of modern birds are thought to have been small, feathered dinosaurs, the theropods. Grrlscientist from Living the Scientific Life brings us news from the palaeontologists—the feathered Microraptor may have glided on four wings like a biplane. Why not explore the world of birds from another perspective?

Cormorants have suffered bad press over the years. I make an attempt to restore the good name of the cormorant but ... well .. the opposition is too skilled.



Chapter VII. A new beginning.

The next edition of I and the Bird will be hosted by the Neurophilsopher's Blog on 8th February. Don't miss it!
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*Note that Sense and Serendipity has a new URL.

Goose on the loose

Spotted today out near Little River* in Mad Max country. This goose wasn't thundering around the place on a police motorbike but it did tell me to move along when I started to take photos from the car.

Cape Barren geese were once abundant in coastal southern Australia. Hunting reduced their numbers to a dangerously low level but they are now protected. Captive breeding programs have secured the species. There are hotspots in Tasmania, South Australia and Victoria. Serendip Sanctuary bred CBG until the mid-1980s. Since then, the birds have taken care of themselves.

They turn up all over the Little River – Lara area, usually in small flocks on the lawns of the faux homesteads on acreage subdivisions. But lawns provide lean pickings in a drought. The verge is a more promising source of grass.

When I pulled over to take photos, the goose posed for a short while. Then it stretched out its neck and gave the grunting call that has earned the species the alternative common name of pig goose. Not an attractive moniker but an appropriate one.

I left the bird to its roadside picnic. I hope it had a more modest sense of adventure that Max Rockatansky's pal.

You can shut the gate on this one, Maxie. It's the duck's guts!
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*Yep. That's right. The band named themselves after the river.

McNaught-y but nice

I caught the briefest glimpse of Comet McNaught in a deep blue sky and then a cloud bank rolled in. I feel quite deflated. Possibly only one pout away from a sulk.

But the sky NE of Melbourne is cloud free. Here's another of Randall's photos. This and the one below were both taken on a digital SLR. Today's was shot with the zoom lens set at 90 mm, yesterday's at 300 mm.

Traffic light fruit

Despite toppling over some months ago, my kangaroo apple (Solanum laciniatum) is flowering and producing fruit as if there were no tomorrow. There is, of course—but the plant is throwing caution to the wind.


Solanum laciniatum and the closely-related S. aviculare are difficult to tell apart. They have similar leaves, flowers and fruit. It's much easier if you see the two together but, even though they have overlapping ranges, they tend to be segregated by habitat. Solanum laciniatum prefers drier areas, such as open eucalpypt woodland. Solanum aviculare favours damper habitats.

One of the characters used to distinguish between the two is the colour of ripe fruit. In both species, the fruits starts off green, then becomes pale yellow. When it turns orange (and becomes squashy) it is ripe.

But the shade is important—light orange in S. laciniatum, bright orange to scarlet in S. aviculare. That's a pale orange fruit. No, really.

I and the Bird #41 is on its way

Be part of the carnival! Send your submissions to me (snailseyevview AT optusnet DOT com DOT au) or Mike at 10,000 Birds by January 23rd.

Lacy fair

On warm summer nights, just about every type of flying insect flutters, zips or spirals into artificial lights. In temperate regions, the diversity and numbers of individuals are usually modest but in the tropics lights bring in a bug and beetle bonanza.

Adult lacewings (order Neuroptera) are regular visitors to lights. These exquisite insects have two pairs of membranous wings that are usually folded back over the body like a ridge tent. Although most species are dull-coloured, a few are fetching shades of green. Neuroptera includes several families, most of which are difficult to distinguish from one another. The exceptions are the owlflies (Ascalaphidae), which have a characteristic resting pose, and the spectacular mantisflies (Mantispidae). (This species is probably one of the Chrysopidae or golden-eyed green lacewings. But I'm not swearing to it.)

Many lacewings lay stalked eggs in lines or circles or neat horseshoes. Their larvae roam the vegetation feeding on aphids and other insects. Larvae of the Myrmeleontidae—the antlions—excavate conical pits in sand to trap their ant prey. To ensure that lunch doesn't escape, the larva sits at the bottom of the pit and pitches sand grains to dislodge the ant. Once they tumble into the antlion's jaws, few insects make a getaway ...

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*I remember driving from Townsville to Bowen one night in the wet season. No idea why but there must have been a good reason. It's not the most inspiring trip by day because once you pass Mt Elliot the landscape is so flat it looks as if it's been ironed. By night it's even more boring. But lights are visible from kilometres away. And insects are good at spotting them.

I pulled in to one of the few service stations on the way. Three down lights illuminated the forecourt. Little black beetles swarmed in their glow. Thousands of them, a blizzard of insects. Drifts banked up against the steps. That servo must have attracted every bloody beetle from Giru to Guthalungra. I spent the rest of the drive trying to brush them out of my hair. Not the world's most exciting anecdote.

McNaught over Melbourne

The things you see in Melbourne. Not only Comet McNaught trailing the sort of tail that makes you wonder whether it was put together by a Hollywood special effects team but also a bunch of grey-headed flying foxes, crossing the sky on silent wings. Yeah, that makes up for the crap day.

Many thanks to Randall, who took this splendid photo tonight from NE of Melbourne. I'm not surprised that folks once regarded comets as omens and portents.

One of those odd days at work. I got through a stack of paperwork this morning (the job is almost all paperwork) but from lunchtime onwards, I started going backwards. People turned up without appointments (something that really irks me) but it was easier to deal with their problems straight away than tell them to take a number. Of course, the one person who had made an appointment didn't appear. (Something else that drives me crazy.) And then we had an interminable meeting about workloads and who's doing what. That began in a serious and productive way but soon degenerated into hysteria as we realised that we would never be able to cope with the load. (Missing out on lunch didn't help. A room full of academics with low blood sugar is not a pretty sight.)

Anyway, I'm going on leave on Friday. So all I have to do is keep things under control for the next few days ...

As one who likes to draw absurd comparisons between the start of semester and famous battles, I just want to mention that today is the 128th anniversary of the battles of Isandlwana and Rorke's Drift.

Getting rid of Klingons

I can't believe I missed this one ...

When members of Bush's foreign policy team called themselves Vulcans, they were thinking of the Roman armourer of the gods. Democrat David Wu wasn't. He gave the reference a contemporary twist in his speech to the House. I hope it was parody. (But if it weren't, once Jon Stewart and The Daily Show finished with it, Wu would have been mad to argue that he'd meant it any other way.)

Cereal offenders

You don't have to leave the house to experience nature. All you have to do is buy vast quantities of flour under the delusion that you're going to bake your own bread (despite the wonderful bakeries nearby) and then leave it in the pantry for a while. Very soon, nature comes to you. My pantry is now infested with Indian meal moths, Plodia interpunctella.

Now, most people might regard this as something to be ashamed of. I'd prefer to look at it as an opportunity to learn more about pyralid moths.

Pyralidae is one of the largest families of Lepidoptera. It includes perhaps 30,000 species of which more than 1000 occur in Australia. (Not all of them in my kitchen.) Most of them are small to medium-sized moths. In many, the head is elongated into a cone shape. They also tend to sit with the front part of their body raised as if they're paying attention.

Although they don't eat much, caterpillars of Plodia interpunctella contaminate food with faeces, shed skins and silk. After feeding on the dry contents of the pantry, they crawl some distance to pupate. On emerging, the adults do not feed but flutter around for a couple of weeks, mating and laying eggs. There's not much you can do to keep the population down except freeze dried goods for a couple of days and store them in airtight containers. Plastic bags won't work, The little buggers chew right through them.

It's good to see that I'm not the only one who's had the ... ahem ... opportunity to get to know more about these insects.

Slugs in my garden II

I was off doing stuff yesterday, so apologies for the hiatus.

It rained. Not exactly a deluge but enough to fill the big plastic saucer that the birds use as a bath*. About 15 mm overnight. With any luck there's more on the way. As far as I'm concerned, it can keep raining until Christmas. (As long as it stops long enough on weekends for the washing to dry. That's not much to ask.)

The heat and humidity have brought out interesting crawling and flying things, mostly of the six- or eight-legged kinds. But whereas insects and spiders are everywhere, slugs and snails seem reluctant to poke their tentacles above the parapet.

I found a couple of juveniles of the introduced species Limacus flavus and Limax maximus (leopard or tiger slug) but no adults. It's a shame that none of the adult leopard slugs were roaming abroad because they're spectacular animals. Full-grown individuals are about 20 cm long and marked with Texta-black spots and stripes. They're fairly benign in the garden, feeding on soft material including decaying vegetable matter, dog and cat food and dead animals. Unfortunately, seedlings tend to come under the heading 'soft material', so these slugs aren't perfect.

They're probably best known for their exhibitionist tendencies. Leopard slugs mate while dangling from a thread of mucus. David Attenborough featured footage of this on his Life in the undergrowth. Natural history blogger David Nelson has an excellent sequence of photos showing leopard slugs at it in his New South Wales garden.

Like most other terrestrial slugs and snails, they are simultaneous hermaphrodites. That is, they possess both male and female reproductive organs. (Compare this with sequential hermaphrodites, which change from one sex to the other.) When they mate, individuals act as male and female at the same time. Sperm from A fertilises the eggs of B and vice versa (reciprocal fertilisation). None of this is unusual. (At least, not for slugs and snails.) But what sets them apart from the other species you're likely to encounter in a garden is the way in which they exchange sperm.

On meeting, the slugs circle one another and then climb up a vertical surface, usually a tree trunk. Entwined, they lower themselves from the twisted cord of mucus. Once in mid-air, each everts its penis, which has an expanded, scalloped end. Continuing the coiled theme, the penes twine around one another and swap sperm.

The slugs disengage and ascend the mucus thread, consuming it as they climb. As they do so, each retracts its penis, bringing with it the other's sperm. Sperm exchange is external but fertilisation is internal.

So just be careful where you walk on a humid summer night. Don't say you haven't been warned.

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* I had to bring in the towel rack and soap dish.

Get a grip

I was simultaneously amused and appalled by this story from Mondo Skepto. (It appeared first on Coast to Coast.).

A couple of galoots panicked and suspected paranormal activity when the clock on their microwave oven stopped displaying the time and showed the word Child. Was the microwave possessed?

Well, no ... the child lock was on.

It rained! Not much—only about 5 mm here—but enough to fill the old dish that I use as a bird bath and more than enough to set the cicadas off in their buggy chorus.

This might knock the bottom out of the lawn market on e-Bay...

ONCE IN A LIFETIME OPPORTUNITY!!

OWN YOUR VERY OWN HAND-PICKED BLADE OF GREEN GRASS FROM THE FOOTPATH NEAR MY HOUSE. THIS AUCTION IS FOR ONE BLADE ONLY. PLEASE VIEW MY OTHER ITEMS FOR OTHER RARE OPPORTUNITIES.

What are the odds ...

... that this dissipates before it gets to us in Melbourne.

Ducky luck

I needed to get out of the office this afternoon, so I strolled down to the pond at the other end of campus. Our pond is considered a bit of an eyesore by the people charged with looking after the grounds. I suspect they object to the emergent vegetation, especially the thick beds of cumbungi (Typha), which line the banks. Never mind that the grebes and moorhens regularly raise chicks among the rushes. Or that the shallow water is filled with frogs. All that green stuff is a bloody mess, so every now and then they pump out the water and bulldoze the reeds.

There's always a pair of Australasian grebes on the pond. They usually plunge beneath the surface as soon as a visitor arrives —especially one with a camera. Today they must have had some SCUBA gear secreted on the pond floor because they didn't come back up again. The dusky moorhens (Gallinula tenebrosa) were also a little timid. Not quite so pathologically shy as the grebes but almost as tricky to photograph. As soon as they saw me, they abandoned their lunch of crisp grass and scampered through the cumbungi into the water.

I wasn't surprised by the white ibis (Threskiornis molucca)that had popped in to see whether there was anything to feed on in the exposed mud of the shallow end. The little pied cormorant (Phalacrocorax melanoleucus) was unexpected. Not because they're rare—cormorants are two a penny around Melbourne—but because our pond isn't packed with juicy fish. Still, when there's not much around, I suppose they'll take what they can get. There's probably enough Gambusia to make it worthwhile. This one fled to the nearest she oak when I brought out the camera. It stayed there until I went.

But the cormorant was trumped by the next bird. As I circled the pond, a duck erupted from the trees and landed in the middle. I thought it would be a black duck (Anas superciliosa). After all, they're everywhere. But it was a lone pink-eared duck (Malacorhynchus membranaceus). And that was a bit of a find. Like the cormorants, they're not scarce but a small pond is not where I'd normally go looking for them.

The grebes would have made the walk worthwhile but the cormorant and the pink-eared duck put a smile on my face for the rest of the paperwork-coated afternoon.

The nth degree

It's been a while since I've received spam offering to sell me a degree so I can improve my career but here's an opportunity I might take up. I rather fancy being awarded a Bachelor of Adequacy.

Science training

We're always looking for projects that will give the third years a feel for research. Thanks to the folk at the Twin Cities Creation Science Association in Minnesota we don't have to scratch around for them any more. Here are some of their 114 suggestions for a science project suitable for submission to the 2007 Home School Science Fair. If school kids can do them, they should be a doddle for undergraduates. Right? (Pharyngula has the link.)

4. Statistical occurrence of giants, and midgets and dwarfs and giantism. Use Princess Flo, Goliath, and brothers.

26. Is energy ever destroyed or created?

28. What makes an animal wild?

46. Where are teeth stored?

50. Why is blood blue in our veins but turns red when we are cut? If we are cut in a vacuum would the blood stay blue?

66. What color is our brain?

72. What is God made of?

89. Is posture related to digestion? Greeks lay down to eat, we sit up.

101.If there were aliens, why would they visit humans?

104.Why do cats hate dogs and dogs hate cats?

106.Can plants affect your growth?

114. What shape is outer space?

Tropical Melbourne

What a day! I know I go on about the weather but today was (and continues to be) dreadful. 42C (108F) and humid. It'll be like this until Sunday, apparently.

Bush fires in the east damaged power lines, which led to rolling outages across the state. Not that I knew about this until I headed home. Sure, the intranet went down at work but that happens so frequently that it's hardly news. It was only when I got off the freeway onto one of the arterials that I realised there was a problem. At one stage, 1200 sets of traffic lights were off around the city. Most of them seemed to be lining my route home.

There was an advantage to this. Because I was on the main road tagging along with all the big trucks, which had right of way over everyone, I got home in record time. Now I'm sitting in front of the computer with a pedestal fan whipping up a blizzard of loose paper. I may stay here all night.

We've already had one blackout. I hope we don't get another one. I recall those Wet Season nights in the tropics when I'd fall asleep to the helicopter roar and cooling breeze of the ceiling fan ... and wake up to silence because the power had gone out.

The wave of a crest

Not so long ago, it was quite exciting* to see crested pigeons (Ocyphaps lophotes) in the Melbourne CBD. Now the place is full of 'em. They are typically birds of open country, feeding in grasslands but preferring to stay close to water. Perhaps the drought has forced them into the city.

They are usually tame when in small flocks but this one (which I photographed in the spot previously occupied by the masked lapwing) was alone and cautious. They are little charmers. When walking quickly, they look like wind-up toys.

Here's some footage of crested pigeons moving as quickly as their little legs will let them. Lower resolution footage (690KB) or higher resolution (3.5MB).

Trevor, from Trevor's Birding, has blogged on crested pigeons in South Australia, where they're becoming very bold indeed.
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* I need to get out more.

Cycads R Us

Australia is home to just over forty species of cycad. All are endemic. In fact, three of the four Australian genera to which these species belong (Bowenia, Lepidozamia and Macrozamia) are found nowhere else. (Cycas also occurs in SE Asia, eastern Africa and Madagascar.)

There are only two living species of Lepidozamia. Both of them are restricted to Australia. Lepidozamia hopei is a forest dweller from the Wet Tropics of Queensland. Growing to a height of 20m, it is probably the tallest cycad in the world. Its not so lanky relative L. peroffskyana is found in rainforest and wet sclerophyll from south-eastern Queensland to north-eastern New South Wales.

Of the two, L. peroffskyana is the more commonly cultivated. I photographed this specimen at the Royal Botanic Gardens in Melbourne.

This species is pollinated only by Tranes weevils*, which spend most of their lives in the male cones (reproductive structures). When the beetles visit the female cones, they carry pollen with them.


Read more

Hall, JA, Walter, GH, Bergstrom, DM and Machin, P (2004). Pollination ecology of the Australian cycad Lepidozamia peroffskyana (Zamiaceae). Australian Journal of Botany 52 (3): 333–343.

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* PDF file of PowerPoint presentation

I looked at my 'to do' list today. When I recovered, I did the sensible thing and applied for two weeks leave. I was thinking about three but that would take me very close to the start of semester, leaving no time to fix all the last minute glitches before the students return. And there always are last minute glitches. Especially with first semester. Might as well make it easy on myself and sort those out before the next round of difficulties begin*.

I'm sure I'm not the only one who goes catatonic when faced with big lists. Of course, all I have to do is break them down and work out priorities. Sounds easy, doesn't it? And it is—as long as I don't want any time to do my own stuff.

Well, bugger that!

____

* For the first time in (I have no idea how many) years, I won't be giving the welcoming lecture to new students. Although I do rather enjoy meeting them all, it's a relief in a way. Something always goes wrong. But it's never the same problem, so you can't prepare. However, my experiences pale next to that of a friend at another institution for whom everything went disastrously wrong at the same time. And then she forgot she was wearing a radio mike. So the first words of the first lecture to the first years were "Oh, fuck!" That set the tone for the rest of semester.

Back to the 80s

Apologies for not posting this weekend. I'd like to say I've been incredibly busy doing all sorts of exciting and interesting things but I've really been failing to achieve anything at all. I don't think I've even managed to do anything dull and boring. Well, there's the laundry, of course. And I hand-watered the plants. (Sunday is one of the two watering days under Stage Three restrictions.) I think that was it.

Am suffering from the mildest case of writer's block, but it will fade away soon. In the meantime, I've been reliving the 80s. One of these songs is louder than the other.

Here's Colin Hay wandering around the Melbourne suburb of St Kilda in a state of frustration. (Overkill by Men at Work, 1983.)



And here's Jimmy Barnes going through his standing-in-front-of-things phase. (Driving Wheels, 1987.)

Cormo-rant

Cormorants have suffered bad press over the years. It seems as though every* English poet has tried to blacken the name of these splendid birds by equating them with greed and rapacity and generally anti-social behaviour.

When Edmund Spenser sent his hero, Sir Guyon, on a perilous sea voyage in The Faerie Queen (1590), he dotted the cliffs with voracious birds.

For thy, this hight The Rock of vile Reproach,
A daungerous and detestable place,
To which nor fish nor fowl did once approach,
But yelling Meawes with Seagulles hoars and bace,
And Cormoyrants, with birds of ravenous race,
Which still sit waiting on that wastfull clift.

(Hmmm...How much better would The Birds have been if du Maurier and later Hitchcock had subjected their characters to ordeal by cormorant?** There's a remake I'd like to see.)

William Shakespeare missed no opportunities to besmirch them***. His reference in Love's Labours Lost to time passing rapidly as if devoured by a cormorant was relatively benign compared to his use of the bird in Richard II.

With eager feeding food doth choke the feeder:
Light vanity, insatiate cormorant
Consuming means, soon preys upon itself.

And after that line, John of Gaunt praises England.

This royal throne of kings, this scepter'd isle,
This earth of majesty, this seat of Mars,
This other Eden, demi-paradise

... and so on. You know the quote. Funny that he should mention Eden because that's exactly where things get worse.

In Paradise Lost (1667), John Milton depicted Satan as a bird. What sort of bird? A chaffinch, perhaps? A weebill?

Thence up he flew, and on the Tree of Life,
The middle Tree and highest there that grew,
Sat like a Cormorant; yet not true Life
Thereby regaind, but sat devising Death
To them who liv'd

What bird could recover from that slander?

But it's not all greed and demonic machinations. There's another side to the bird. Christopher Isherwood went some way to rehabilitating its good name.

Sort of.

The common cormorant or shag
Lays eggs inside a paper bag,
The reason you will see no doubt
It is to keep the lightning out.
But what these unobservant birds
Have never noticed is that herds
Of wandering bears may come with buns
And steal the bags to hold the crumbs.

_____

* For very small values of every.

** Although it's a long time since I've read the story, so du Maurier may well have crammed it with wall-to-wall cormorants.

*** Cormorants, that is. Not du Maurier and Hitchcock.

Opening lines

I am going to knock over 500 words tonight even if I have to stay up until 3 a.m. My problem is that I'm trying to polish the opening scene and that way lies madness.

Tantalizing first paragraphs are tricky enough. But a killer first line is as elusive as Lasseter's Reef. Here are a handful from some of my favourite crime authors. (I call it research but you might know it by its other name—procrastination.)

Lieutenant Joe Leaphorn, retired, had been explaining how the complicated happening below the Salt Woman Shrine illustrated his Navajo belief in universal connections.

Tony Hillerman, Skeleton Man

Hosteen Joseph Joe remembered it like this.

Tony Hillerman, The Ghostway

On a grey, whipped Wednesday in early winter, men in long coats came out and shot Renoir where he stood, noble, unbalanced, a foreleg hanging.

Peter Temple, Dead Point

In the late autumn, down windy streets raining yellow oak and elm leaves, I went to George Armit's funeral.

Peter Temple, Black Tide

'Then why are you here?'

Ian Rankin, Resurrection Men

It all happened because John Rebus was in his favourite massage parlour reading the Bible.

Ian Rankin, The Black Book*

My law office was located on the old courthouse square of Missoula, Montana, not far from the two or three blocks of low-end bars and hotels that front the railyards, where occasionally Johnny American Horse ended up on a Sunday morning, sleeping in a doorway, shivering in the cold.

James Lee Burke, In the Moon of Red Ponies

Years ago, in state documents, Vachel Carmouche was always referred to as the electrician, never as the executioner.

James Lee Burke, Purple Cane Road

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*I've skipped the prologue.