Nature, Red in Tooth and Claw
In microcosm, anyway.
Despite my entomolgy background, I'm sometimes startled by the ferocity of the struggle that goes on below the notice of humans.
It was beautiful outside yesterday, so Bhil and I went for a ramble through the White Clay Creek preserve. Bhil took his camera, wanting to get some shots of the area and whatever wildlife might show itself. After trekking downstream along the creek without spotting anything but an American toad and a kingfisher or two, we turned uphill to walk back through the field, along the hedgerows. Bhil has been trying to get good shots of butterflies recently, so when we came to a patch of huge Joe Pye weed, we stopped to get some shots of the Monarch that was feeding.
The butterfly flitted from flowerhead to flowerhead, the only lepidopteran in sight. Several bees were also feeding, and there was a big European hornet hovering around and lighting occasionally on the flowers. When the Monarch flew toward the flowerhead the hornet was sitting on, the hornet launched itself at the butterfly, and latched onto its wing with legs and mandibles.
The butterfly tried to get away, but the weight of the wasp on the leading edge of its wing pulled it to the ground. We watched the struggle for about five minutes, while the hornet held on and the butterfly kept flapping away. We were sure that the wasp was going to be the winner - the Monarch was clearly tiring - but suddenly, with one last flap, the butterfly dislodged the hornet and took off across the field. The disappointed hornet buzzed us once, then went back to circling the Joe Pye weed, looking for a new victim.
We returned to the trail, and hadn't gone twenty feet when we were startled by an enormous flapping sound and a shadow directly over our heads. Bhil pointed at the turkey vulture that was heading out over the field. I looked up, over his shoulder, and pointed to the two TVs that were sitting on a low pole, ten feet away and less than twenty feet up, so close I could make out the gleam of their little vulture eyes. Bhil happily snapped pictures as the vultures posed and stared curiously at us ("They've stopped moving, Nigel, but they don't smell dead!")
All in all, a satisfying end to a very pleasant walk.
Despite my entomolgy background, I'm sometimes startled by the ferocity of the struggle that goes on below the notice of humans.
It was beautiful outside yesterday, so Bhil and I went for a ramble through the White Clay Creek preserve. Bhil took his camera, wanting to get some shots of the area and whatever wildlife might show itself. After trekking downstream along the creek without spotting anything but an American toad and a kingfisher or two, we turned uphill to walk back through the field, along the hedgerows. Bhil has been trying to get good shots of butterflies recently, so when we came to a patch of huge Joe Pye weed, we stopped to get some shots of the Monarch that was feeding.
The butterfly flitted from flowerhead to flowerhead, the only lepidopteran in sight. Several bees were also feeding, and there was a big European hornet hovering around and lighting occasionally on the flowers. When the Monarch flew toward the flowerhead the hornet was sitting on, the hornet launched itself at the butterfly, and latched onto its wing with legs and mandibles.
The butterfly tried to get away, but the weight of the wasp on the leading edge of its wing pulled it to the ground. We watched the struggle for about five minutes, while the hornet held on and the butterfly kept flapping away. We were sure that the wasp was going to be the winner - the Monarch was clearly tiring - but suddenly, with one last flap, the butterfly dislodged the hornet and took off across the field. The disappointed hornet buzzed us once, then went back to circling the Joe Pye weed, looking for a new victim.
We returned to the trail, and hadn't gone twenty feet when we were startled by an enormous flapping sound and a shadow directly over our heads. Bhil pointed at the turkey vulture that was heading out over the field. I looked up, over his shoulder, and pointed to the two TVs that were sitting on a low pole, ten feet away and less than twenty feet up, so close I could make out the gleam of their little vulture eyes. Bhil happily snapped pictures as the vultures posed and stared curiously at us ("They've stopped moving, Nigel, but they don't smell dead!")
All in all, a satisfying end to a very pleasant walk.