Shell Game

eastern box turgle

Eastern box turtle shells provide protection from predators, but not the hazards of life in cities and suburbs (Photo: Alan Howell © 2010 Star Path Images, used with permission)

[This post is a reprint from 2011, prompted by Dash’s discovery of a box turtle on our evening walk last night–enjoy!]

Sometimes you just need to shut out the world for a while, you know?

Maybe you can’t relate but I know the eastern box turtle (Terrapene carolina carolina) certainly can. Whether the threat is carnivores or the impending return of students to campus, there are times when nothing beats a little self-imposed solitary confinement.

Carrying a personal isolation chamber on your back means sensory deprivation can be achieved in mere seconds. No need to call ahead for an appointment at the local day spa. Don’t bother dimming the lights, closing the blinds, and turning off your cell phone. Just pull in your extremities and slam your hinged shell shut—a little privacy, if you don’t mind!

eastern box turtles

Hello… goodbye!

Is it any coincidence that box turtles are one of our longest-lived species, with well-documented cases of individuals who reached and then passed the half-century mark? Stress reductions, in the form of a room of one’s own, may well be the key to attaining a ripe old age.

We shouldn’t dismiss the importance of wise food choices either—lots of lean protein, in the form of earthworms, snails, slugs, and insects, as well as fruits and veggies such as berries, grasses, and flowers.  Turtles have another favorite food that may contribute to overall longevity—they’ve been known to consume poisonous fungi, causing anyone who dines on that particular portion of turtle meat to sicken, or worse.

Of course, someone has to kill and eat said turtle before suffering the consequences, which may not seem like much of a survival benefit unless you consider it from the standpoint of the population, rather than the individual. See, all it takes is one or two bad dinners and, ever after, box turtles become a much less appealing meal for that particular consumer. The technical term is adverse conditioning—that’s a polite way of saying animals (both human and non-human) tend to stop eating things that make us vomit.

Now, it’s unlikely that turtles have that particular life-extending strategy in mind when eating wild mushrooms, but other kinds of magical fungi have been credited with providing a variety of benefits, including an improved sense of well-being and decreased anxiety levels. Perhaps box turtles are self-medicating with the Terrapene equivalent of Xanax®.

One of six subspecies of the common box turtle (T. carolina), the eastern, like all its kin, has a highly domed carapace (the upper portion of the shell) and a hinged plastron (the lower half of the shell). What sets each subspecies apart is distribution and habitat, as well as certain physical characteristics.  T.c. carolina, found from southern Maine to southern Florida and as far west as central Texas, is known for a colorful keeled carpace that features diverse combinations of spots, bars, and radiating lines.

Color provides a clue to more than a box turtle’s species. It can also help us determine the gender of that lurching, resolute reptile we stop to help cross the street.  If the eyes (irises) are bright orange or red, you’re holding a male; females have brown or light orange eyes. What if, in response to your good deed, the turtle has gone into hiding, making eye contact a moot point? Simply turn the creature over; females have a flat plastron, males are slightly concave. (You know… birds do it, bees do it…).

The hinged plastron is what caused taxonomists to create a separate genus for North America’s box-top reptiles, and what allows the eastern and it’s relatives to retreat into a kind of biological fortress. For most of their history, this survival strategy worked quite well against predators like coyotes, raccoons, and skunks.  Sadly, it doesn’t provide the same level of protection from every threat.

Box turtles are still relatively common throughout much of their range, but not even the most tightly closed shell can shield this species from the impacts of habitat loss and interactions with Homo sapiens. These are slow moving, slow growing creatures with delayed sexual maturity and low reproduction rates, all of which puts them at risk. A female may produce hundreds of eggs during her lifetime, but less than a dozen offspring can be expected to survive to adulthood.

It’s hard to even begin to estimate how many turtles are hit attempting to cross roads every year, and there are plenty of other hazard against which withdrawing into your shell is of little use—trains, lawn mowers, tractors, and bulldozers, to name but a few. Then there’s the capture of turtles for the pet trade. In many states, this practice is completely unregulated, with devastating impacts on wild populations.

Even so, there are still times when coming out of your shell is the better choice. Especially for humans. Solitary confinement is used as a punishment because, unlike turtles we are social mammals. We need companionship, conversation, touch. Hard to get any of those needs met when you retreat to your shell. Unless, of course, you invite someone to join you there.

[Thanks to the following photographers for making their work available through the Creative Commons license: Doug Letterman, Bill Lynch, Shane Kemp, Brian Hefele, and  Chesapeake Bay Program.  © 2011 Next-Door Nature. Reprints welcomed with written permission from the author.]

Street Creatures – August 11, 2017

August is Ocean Life Appreciation Month at Next-Door Nature… this week, a sea turtle chillin’ in the coral reef of Shoreditch, London, UK (photo: maureen barlin, cc by-nc-nd 2.0)

Slender in the Grass

[photo: josh more, ccl]

But never met this Fellow, Attended or alone, Without a tighter Breathing, and Zero at the Bone.

 

Unlike Emily Dickinson, ophiophobia isn’t an issue for me. I like snakes and know them to be upstanding ecosystem citizens… umm, ok, upstanding probably isn’t the best descriptor for creatures without legs but you get my drift.

Of course, I offer an extra measure of obeisance for any and all animals who engage in chemical warfare but their numbers are relatively few here in North America. Of the over 125 snake species endemic to my home continent, for example, only 21 are venomous. All 18 of the vipers have a distinctive triangular head, and the 16 rattlesnakes in this group are armed with an unmistakable warning system. The 2 coral snakes species found in the U.S. wear a color pattern that’s easy to recognize from further than arm’s-length, and since Blacksburg, Virginia, isn’t anywhere near the western coast of Mexico I don’t have to watch out for yellowbelly sea snakes.

[photo: greg schechter, ccl]

So if I happen upon a small garden hose that unexpectedly untangles and slips into the lawn I’m not chilled to the marrow. On the contrary — when I spot a green grass snake (Opheodrys spp.) passing by I’m likely to lean in cordially and say, “Well, hello gorgeous!”

And what comely creatures these colubrids are, with large, round eyes and a red tongue tipped in black.  Bright, nearly neon green above, accented with sunny yellow and ivory below, their color scheme is positively tropical despite the fact that they’re only found well above the equator.  Both the smooth (O. vernalis) and rough (O. aestivus) are slight and lithe. For this genus “rough” refers raised scale keels along the back and sides but, like all snakes, the skin of both grass snake species is satiny, not slimy.

Contrary to what the name implies, grass snakes don’t limit themselves to turf and terra firma. They are great climbers, moving with grace and prudence as they stalk insects and small amphibians through brambles, bushes, and trees. The many regional names given to this species testify to this fact, including: magnolia snake, huckleberry snake, vine snake, bush snake, and green tree snake. Grass snakes are also known to mimic small breeze-blown branches to blend into the surroundings while waiting for prey, or while attempting to avoid becoming prey to birds, mammals, and other snakes, including the eastern racer (Coluber constrictor) and the eastern king snake (Lampropeltis getula).

Grass snakes are good swimmers who are often found near water, in and around moist meadows and marshes, in riparian habitat as well as open forests and woodlands, as well as cities and suburbs.

Their willingness to live in developed areas puts grass snakes at risk of being persecuted by house cats, run over by cars and mowers, and they appear to be susceptible to pesticides as well.  These docile beauties haven’t gone unnoticed by the pet trade, sadly. Although Smooths are protected in some places, few states in the U.S. regulate reptile harvest.  Hundreds, perhaps thousands, of grass snakes are collected from the wild each year, making them one of North America’s most exploited snakes. This practice is particularly tough on Roughs because they are easily stressed and don’t do well in captivity.

Seems to me Emily’s reaction to spotting a snake is more appropriate and understandable from that narrow fellow’s point of view… don’t you?

[photo: greg schechter, ccl]

© 2017 Next-Door Nature. Reprints welcomed with written permission from the author.

 

Comeback

The great egret has made a spectacular comeback from near extinction.

The great egret has made a spectacular comeback from near extinction.

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Heat and Humidity have resumed their annual one-upmanship contest here in Arch City. Being outdoors mid-day can be unpleasant, so my canine companion and I have been trying to beat them to the starting blocks by heading out for our daily constitutional as early as possible.
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lafayette square row houses by paul sableman, cclWe stroll two blocks, past grand Italianate manors and restored Victorian row houses, to a handsome mid-19th century city park—the oldest in the Louisiana Purchase Territory. Paved pathways meander through 30 acres of enormous shade trees and lovingly tended flower beds, past fountains, a graceful bridge, and a gazebo, all within the protective embrace of the original cast iron perimeter fence.  There’s even a lake, complete with fish, semi-aquatic turtles, a small flotilla of Canada geese (Branta canadensis), mallards (Anas platyrhynchos), and a scattering of former Easter ducklings. And what Victorian-era water-feature would be complete without a few imperious mute swans (Cygnus color)?
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The park is a hub of activity in afternoon and early evening. The sound of vehicles, emergency sirens, construction and commerce seep in from the surrounding streets, combining with the squeals of children blowing off steam at the playground,  flag football players shouting audibles, or a crowd cheering at vintage baseball game, depending on the season. Fiercely determined joggers make their appointed rounds. Dogs check messages on trees and bushes while their humans check smartphones. Families gather ’round a grill, young lovers picnic on hand-me-down quilts, wedding rings are exchanged, friends play frisbee, and there’s even the occasional free open-air concert or movie night under the stars.
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lafayette park garden path by John, CCLMost mornings, though, it feels like a quiet private garden. The park has become a favorite since my homecoming a couple years ago. GPS may pin my location as near the center of a bustling city but the dappled stillness of this urban oasis, complimented with the music of dancing water and splashes of birdsong, sets an unhurried tone. By the end of our walk I’m ready to step off of cobblestones onto the Information Highway and into my 21st century life.
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great egret by VisitCentralFL, CCLDuring a recent dawn stroll around the lake, I spotted a slim solitary figure standing still as a statue at the water’s concrete edge; a great egret (Ardea alba Linnaeus) doesn’t exactly blend in with the surroundings. There’s simply no point in trying when you’re a 3’ tall bird with a serpentine neck, clad in your breeding season best: extravagant lacy white plumes, a saffron bill, lime-green lores, and long jet-black legs and feet.
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My heart leapt—not because the bird was beautiful (although it was), and not because I didn’t yet have one on my life list (I’ve seen many). No, it was seeing a great egret in this place that brought tears of joy to my eyes.
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bird hat - public domainWhen Lafayette Park was first dedicated, it would have been a rare sight indeed to see those elegant courtship aigrettes on anything other than a lady’s hat.  Great egrets were hunted almost to the point of extinction to satisfy fashion’s dictate that a proper, self-respecting adult female must never be seen in public without a pile of millinery fabric, lace, ribbons, flowers, feathers, and bird body parts balanced on her head. Egret plumes, in particular, were all the rage.
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Concern over the looming disappearance of this and other bird species allowed a fledgling U.S. conservation movement to take flight in the early 20th century.  By 1918, the National Audubon Society and others successfully pressured Congress into passing and funding the Migratory Bird Treaty Act. It was our first serious wildlife protection legislation, and by any measure the Act has been a spectacular success. Many species on the verge of extinction 100 years ago are now doing quite well.  And while hats and “fascinators” are currently experiencing a small uptick in popularity after a decades-long fall from favor, albeit without the wild bird feathers that graced predecessors, their numbers pale in comparison to the great egret renaissance. Although exact population numbers are hard to find, the species is now classified as “common,” numbering in the tens of thousands of breeding pairs, at minimum.
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On this morning, though, it was just a solitary great egret, a noble wire fox terrier (Queen Victoria herself kept one as a pet), and me, the least pedigreed of the group, standing at the intersection of past, present, and future.
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great egret fishing by Alan Huett, CCLI spent a long moment contemplating the significance of a stately creature’s return, and my own, to this historic midwestern park, watching as the bird gazed intently into the water, meditating on the play of light and liquid.
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Or perhaps something both deeper and more practical. Like breakfast.
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Brought back to the here and now by a nudge from my own stomach, I turned toward home. But not before saying over my shoulder, “It was great to see you again—come back anytime!”
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© 2015 Next-Door Nature—no reprints without written permission from the author (I’d love for you to share my work  but please ask). Thanks to these photographers for making their work available through a Creative Commons license (from top to bottom): Helen Haden (white on black); Paul Sableman (Lafayette Square homes); John (Lafayette Park garden path); VisitCentralFL (strike a pose); Public Domain (woman wearing bird hat); and Alan Huett (fishing).

Runner-up

Two male turkeys audition but fail to impress the judge (Photo: Teddy Llovet, Creative Commons license)

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I don’t know what American grade school kids are being taught these days—I left Oakville Elementary a couple of decades ago (okay, fine—several decades ago) and since I haven’t had kids of my own I don’t have access to 21st century homework assignments. But I’ll go out on a limb here and bet that most of them know the bald eagle (Haliaeetus leucocephalus) won the 1782 version of American Idol, and that it did so by edging out celebrity judge Benjamin Franklin’s favorite contestant, the wild turkey (Meleagris gallopavo).

That long-ago contest had little in common with the popular modern day version of reality TV. For one thing, neither bird has great pipes. Citizens were never asked to call or text in their votes. Also, the bald eagle has held on to national fame longer than fellow white-headed winner Taylor Hicks, while the turkey hasn’t exactly proven the voters wrong by, say, winning an Academy Award, Jennifer Hudson-style.

On the other hand, we don’t set aside a day each November (or any month, for that matter) on which the eagle takes center stage.  So in honor of Thanksgiving, I’d like to briefly sing the praises of the runner-up… and not just as the star performer at a holiday dinner.

Shortly after Congress immortalized the eagle on the Great Seal of the United States, Franklin shared his disappointment and misgivings over their choice in a letter to his daughter. Given the sparse pelt on his own pate, one might expect ol’ Ben would view the bald eagle as a kindred spirit, or at least harbor a bit of sympathy. Instead, his criticism was as harsh as any doled out by Simon Cowell, describing our new national symbol as “a Bird of bad moral character” who “does not get his Living honestly,” preferring to sup on rotting fish or, worse yet, stealing fresh seafood from more industrious raptors like the osprey (Pandion haliaetus). What’s more, Ben argued the eagle is cowardly, evidenced by how easily it can be driven away by much smaller birds defending their nests and offspring. Not exactly the role model image our fledgling country hoped to cultivate.

The turkey, according to Franklin, is “in Comparison a much more respectable bird,” a “true original Native of America” and a “Bird of Courage” who “would not hesitate to attack” any invader and defend his home turf.

This description might not square with your expectations after years of holiday stories featuring dim-witted, less than inspiring  Butterballs-to-be but the domestic turkey is but a pale and passive imitation of the real-deal.

Wild tom turkeys (as the males are called) will most definitely defend their breeding territory against potential rivals. Large and heavy, they are unexpectedly agile flyers, aggressive fighters, social, sometimes playful, intelligent, and adaptive.  To my knowledge they’ve never been accused of theft or caught dining on carrion (their omnivorous diet consists primarily of acorns and other nuts, seeds, fruit, buds and leaves, insects and the occasional small reptile or amphibian).

As far as moral character goes… well, you know rock stars. Toms strut their stuff in a flamboyant palette of iridescent red, green, purple, copper, bronze, and gold feathers worthy of Adam Lambert. No piercings or tattoos, but oozing cool with a Beat-worthy statement beard of stiff bristles starting just above the wishbone, wattles (flesh hanging from the head and/or neck), caruncles (fleshy growths on the head), snoods (long fleshy object draped across a tom’s beak), spurs and other body art. Their ladies, in keeping with general avian fashion trends, tend to be more conservatively dressed but they can strut like a runway model  when warranted, complete with long legs and outlandish makeup. Out of the spotlight, turkey hens are attentive mothers to their precocial offspring, in contrast to the menfolk, who are polygamous absentee fathers.

(Male bald eagles, it must be said, are actively involved in their children’s upbringing; given his own reputation, Ben might have been well served to heed the old saying about people who live in glass houses before he cast the first stone.)

Like the bald eagle, wild turkeys experienced a perilous decline in their numbers during in the last century, due to overhunting and habitat loss (rather than DDT exposure, as was the case for so many of our birds of prey).  Game agencies took action to protect the species and have been successful in helping the population rebound. So much so, in fact, that turkeys have not only returned to rural fields, pastures, and woodlands but have begun to tour in many major metropolitan areas as well.  In some parts of the country spotting a flock of wild turkeys foraging near a highway, hanging out downtown, or feasting at a backyard bird feeder is no longer a novelty.

That means a growing number of Americans now have a ticket to see  this national treasure up close and personal more than once a year, and at venues other than a serving platter.

For that, I am thankful.

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love-earthThis blog, like so many activities that foster support and appreciation of the natural world, is a labor of love. If you’ve enjoyed learning about the creatures who share our built environment, consider becoming an NDN Benefactor with a donation of any amount you’re inspired to give. If you’d like to find a little Next-Door Nature surprise in your inbox just click the Subscribe!  button in the upper right-hand corner of this page and receive notifications of new posts!

© 2012 Next-Door Nature—no reprints without written permission from the author (I’d love for you to share my work. Just ask first.). Thanks to these photographers for making their work available through a Creative Commons license: Teddy Llovet (cover); keeva999 (turkey in flight); Mic Stolz (plumage); Peter Patau (men).

Hot and cold

next-door nature, urban wildlife, fence lizard

Everyone, even fence lizards and other ectothermic creatures, are feeling the heat these days (Photo: Bandelier National Monument, Creative Commons license)

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Temperatures across the southern half of the U.S. are soaring into triple digits, so I was trying to think of creative solutions to beat the heat when it hit me—why not become cold-blooded!

next-door nature, urban wildlife, fox squirrelAlas, my brain must have overheated. Once air conditioning allowed a cooler head to prevail I realized that what seemed like a brilliant idea while baking beneath a blazing sun is absolutely, completely, utterly impossible… and not simply because mammals cannot will themselves to undergo metamorphosis.

You see, technically there’s no such thing as a cold-blooded animal (unless you’re speaking metaphorically about someone who lacks emotion or empathy).  Or a warm-blooded animal, for that matter. Both terms are shorthand for the ways in which body temperature (aka thermophysiology) is controlled in different types of organisms.

Most mammals and birds are classified as endotherms (Greek: endon = within; thermē = heat). For these critters thermoregulation is an inside job, primarily by way of metabolic processes. Under extreme environmental next-door nature, urban wildlife, sunbathersconditions some physical mechanisms come into play, but not solar energy (at least, not directly). If the mercury plummets and the body’s core temperature begins to drop, muscles shiver to create warmth; if the core temperature starts to rise the body perspires to cool via evaporation. No sweat glands? Pant like a dog… or birds. All evidence to the contrary, since humans are mammals, swimsuit-clad sunbathers dozing in rows on a beach or poolside with icy drinks standing at the ready are, in fact, capable of maintaining a relatively constant body temperature.

next-door nature, urban wildlife, gray treefrogWhen an animal’s body temperature is strongly influenced by ambient conditions it’s an ectotherm (Greek: ektós = outside). Fish, amphibians, reptiles, and invertebrates rely on external heat sources to get their juices flowing, especially during the chillier seasons or cooler times of day. That’s why these animals can be seen basking on rocks, roads, and any other warmth-radiating surface. Then, when they can’t stand the heat they get out of the kitchen, retreating into shade, water, or underground to cool off (Sound familiar? We really are more alike than different).

Take-home message: mammals and birds are endotherms; invertebrates, fish, amphibians, and reptiles are ectotherms.

Except when they aren’t.

It’s the exceptions that make the rule, right? Let’s begin with the usual ectotherm suspects. According to one source, 2% of invertebrates are endothermic. Regrettably, the informant failed to name names but, in spite of the fact that spineless animals are not my strong suit, I did managed to chased one down—snails and slugs (Oops, that’s two… and “chased” may be overstating things).  Fish, being vertebrate species, are my regular beat so I can state with certainty that billfish (e.g., sailfish, marlins), tuna (Scombridae), one family of sharks (Lamnidae, including makos and whites), and one species of mackerel (Gasterochisma melampus) are endothermic… at least to some degree. I’ve yet to find a reliable report of an endothermic amphibian, but among the reptiles sea turtles exhibit both ecto- and endothermic traits.

next-door nature, urban wildlife, echidnaMoving along to the endothermic exceptions… Hummingbirds (Trochilidae), swifts (Apodidae), and common poorwills (Phalaenoptilus nuttallii) all experience periods of lower body temperature and metabolic rate; therefore, some biologists argue they have ectothermic traits. Additionally, there are mammals—certain rodents, a couple of lemurs, and many bats—that enter hibernation or estivation in response to low temperatures or drought, respectively. Then there’s the echnidna (Tachyglossidae), a “primitive” mammal from Australia that’s an ectotherm eleven months of the year and an endotherm during the month when it lays its eggs (Yes, eggs. If you like rule-breakers Australia is your Mecca. In the interest of time and space, though, we’ll have to save monotremes for another day).

What I’ve presented above is a fairly simplistic description of thermophysiology.  Why stop there? Because a more thorough treatment would require a good deal of nuance and a complicated discussion of sub-categories, not to mention a stiff drink (the current temperature is 99°F and rising—make mine a frozen margarita).  But since it’s so hot I’ll go ahead and venture past a toe in the water… up to my knees, but no further.

next-door nature, urban wildlife, elephant shrewOne subset of the endotherms are tachymetabolic (Greek: tachy = quick), organisms with a consistent and extremely high metabolic rate. Shrews (Soricidae) are a perfect example—diminutive beings with massive appetites, their metabolic rate is at least five times that of similarly sized ectotherms. Being able to snack non-stop and still rock a bikini probably sounds too good to be true. It is. Finding a constant supply of calories without access to fast food and grocery stores is no picnic. Bradymetabolic (Greek: brady = slow), which could easily be mistaken for bipolar disorder, is no bed of roses either. These organisms swing wildly between a high (when active) and low (when resting) metabolism, usually based on either external temperatures or food availability. (If you think someone else has got it better, rest assured you probably don’t know the whole story.)

As biologists refine our understanding of how bodies work, language evolves and once popular terms like cold-blooded fall from favor. Popular stereotypes suggest otherwise, but scientists are not completely immune to trends. When I was an undergrad, for example, the preferred word for organisms influenced by changes in ambient temperature was poikilotherm (Greek: poikilo = varied, irregular). Although still useful for making distinctions between types of ecotherms, the term is used less frequently now and may be on it the way out.

next-door nature, urban wildlife, crocodilesC’est la vie. Styles change, in both the lab and on the beach (Thankfully. I’m old enough to remember when Speedos were all the rage in men’s swimwear). I’d be willing to bet, though, that most Earthlings won’t give up sun worship any time soon. Chillin’ in a sunbeam feels too good, whether you need it or not (at least as long as there’s a pool nearby).

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© 2012 Next-Door Nature—no reprints without written permission from the author (I’d love for you to share my work. Just ask first.). Thanks to these photographers for making their work available through a Creative Commons license: Bandelier National Monument (sunning fence lizard); Michael V. Flores (fox squirrel cooling down); Nick Papakyriazis (sunbathers); geopungo (gray treefrog); BohemianDolls (elephant shrew); and Jess Loughborough (basking crocodiles).

Roadside attraction

wildlife and roads, wildlife watching, wildlife habitat

Roads are both a blessing and a curse for wildlife (Photo: Colleen Greene, Creative Commons license)

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Ever dreamed of going on a safari? Then fasten your seat belt, start the engine, and hit the road. Any road. I’ll bet you dollars to donuts—take the time to look and you’ll spy enough wildlife to satisfy, Bwana.

Sure, some of the creatures will be easier to spot than others… for the simple reason they’re no longer moving.  But I’m not proposing a road-kill road-trip. Trust me, the city streets, shady neighborhood boulevards, highways and byways offer plenty of opportunities for wildlife watching. Naturally, the species on display depend on the size of the road, its location, the season, time of day, and the speed limit.

wildlife and roads, vultures, wildlife watchingLet’s say your motoring down a divided highway, a conduit to and through the all-American suburbs. The big stuff (aka megafauna), such as deer, elk, moose, bears, and even coyotes, can be seen at 65+ mph (although not always in time to either admire or avoid them). Certain birds of prey, red-tailed hawks in particular, can be seen at both speed and distance due to their habit of hanging out high on handy utility poles to scout for snacks. Anything more petite will be visible only if it’s on the shoulder or trying to cross the road. Scavengers looking for a free lunch can be seen out on the open road day (crows, ravens, vultures) and night (opossums, coyotes). That meal ticket can quickly turn the diner into dinner for someone else… and so on.

wildlife and roads, wildlife watching, groundhogBeyond mowed blacktop borders, in the woods and taller grasses, you’ll find rabbits, foxes, raccoons, skunks, and groundhogs. Based on my own non-scientific observation, to improve your chances of seeing these meso– (medium-sized) species as well as small but brightly colored male songbirds in situ you’ll have to ease up on the gas pedal and let the speedometer drop to 35-45 mph, tops.

A bicycle (or even a horse if you have access to one) would probably set the right pace for a rider to notice mice and voles, lizards, turtles, frogs and toads, as well as female songbirds (who tend to have less flashy wardrobes than their ready-for-the-disco menfolk). The truly diminutive critters—insects, spiders, snails and slugs—are hard to spot at more than arm’s length so it’s best to set off on foot and plan for a leisurely pace if spineless quarry is your goal.  A general rule: the slower you go, the more you’ll see—that’s what makes the backroads more appealing for this kind of trip than a superhighway.

In poetry, novels, song, and cinema people often speak of the allure and romance of roads—the ones that calls us, the ones less traveled, the ones that go on forever, choosing between high ones and low ones. Wild animals rarely have access to books and mp3 players and RedBox kiosks, though, and I’ve never found them to be all that interested in popular culture… so what’s the attraction?

To build a road through a previously undeveloped area, the first thing that happens is clearing a swath of the existing plant community, be that trees and shrubs or grasses or cacti. Once the project is completed (or even while it’s still in progress) new plants begin to colonize the bare soil, creating a plant community that’s different from the surrounding landscape along with an edge where new and old meet.  Disturbing the soil stimulates the germination of seeds that may have sat dormant for a long time waiting for the right conditions. Soil may be brought in from somewhere else as part of the construction process along with seeds from plants that are completely novel in this setting.

wildlife and roads, wildlife watching, wildlife habitatSince the plants predict what kind of animals will be found in any ecosystem, the new habitat creates opportunities certain wildlife species will exploit… but in most cases it won’t be the species that were living happily in the pre-construction habitat. Edge species will colonize the area, often using the right-of-way as a travel corridor before and after the road is completed. Some organisms will hitchhike to their new home on and in the bodies of larger animals or even motor vehicles. Birds, bats, and flying insects will drop in from above. Wild things are always jockeying for space and there’s no such thing as a vacant lot in nature—at least, not for long.

wildlife and roads, wildlife watching, pronghornMake no mistake—roads are a significant cause of habitat loss and their presence is detrimental to many types of wildlife. For others, though, the resulting edge provides exactly what they need to thrive. This includes our most familiar next-door nature species. In fact, the reason blue jays, robins, white-tailed deer and other edge-loving species are so common in human communities is because Homo sapiens is also an edge-loving species. Our roads are simply one very conspicuous example of that fact.

The natural world is never static; it’s always in flux and each day there are new winners and losers.  Are roads good or bad for wildlife? It depends on the species. But there’s no doubt they are a boon for wildlife watchers.

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© 2012 Next-Door Nature—no reprints without written permission from the author (I’d love for you to share my work. Just ask first.). Thanks to these photographers for making their work available through a Creative Commons license: Colleen Greene (black bear); e_monk (black vulture); Matt Reinbold (groundhog); MoDOT Photos (edge habitat); Allan Harris (pronghorn).

Hitchhikers

Urban living for Sadie the Squirrel by Tom Fischer Photography, Creative Content license

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Add another accomplishment to my resume as official wildlife guru and animal-vehicle biologist for NPR’s Car Talk—the 14th most popular radio show on the U.S. airwaves and the 6th most popular if you exclude shows that feature a some kind of shock-jock (and that, I’m sure hosts Tom and Ray Magliozzi would agree, is pretty shocking).

No April fooling. In addition to answering questions for their Wildlife & Your Car FAQ page and helping a Wyoming caller understand why horses consider the hood of her car an appropriate alternative to chewing gum, I’m now a guest blogger on the site as well.

Wrangers Escort Gremlins shares some listener tips for preventing and humanely discouraging packrats and other rodents from turning your engine compartment into an apartment and an ingenious method for convincing snakes (pet pythons as well as serpent strangers) to vacate the interior of your preferred form of motorized transportation. Why wait? Click and Clack on over to the blog site before you find yourself staring into a pair of beady eyes or on the receiving end of a forked-tongue raspberry. And while you’re there, feel free to add comments on my post and offer any tips you may have for dealing with vehicle-wildlife conflicts. You never know… maybe your advice will be featured further down the road.

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© 2012 Next-Door Nature—no reprints without written permission from the author (I’d love for you to share my work; all you have to do is ask). Thanks to Tom Fischer Photography  for making his  work available through a Creative Commons license.