Wasp Moth--Virginia Ctenuchid: Northern Naturalist #27
Virginia Ctenuchid Moth, Birding in North Dakota, Field Guides to North American Trees, plus News and Notes
Virginia Ctenuchid Moth
I stood facing into the sun when out of the corner of my eye, I saw something fluttery enter the circle of hikers. I whipped off my hat and lowered it into the flight path, and voila, I caught it! It was a Virginia Ctenuchid (Ctenucha virginica). The name (usually pronounced TEN-oo-kid, although I have heard KTEN-oo-kid and TEN-oo-chid—take your pick) comes from Greek for “having a comb”—a reference to combed antennae. Some of the literature uses “Ctenucha” instead of “Ctenuchid”.
Ctenuchids are wasp moths—moths that mimic the appearance of wasps as a defense against predators. Instead of the fluttery, powdery look of many moths, wasp moths have the shell-like, glossy aspect of a predatory wasp. Wearing this uniform, they avoid being taken by predators who know better than to try to eat a wasp.
An adult Virginia Ctenuchid is about an inch long with about a two-inch wingspan. The abdomen is metallic blue; the thorax is black-and-blue; and there are yellow-orange scales forming a collar. The head is also yellowish-orange, and the wings are gray-brown. The antennae are combed on one side.
The caterpillar is small, bristly and variously (depending on the instar or stage) colored creamy yellow to black, in lines from front-to-back of the caterpillar.
Ctenuchids are diurnal—they fly during the day—another difference from most moths, but similar to wasps. As caterpillars, they feed on a variety of host plants, and the adults drink nectar from goldenrods and other flowers. Now is the season to keep your eyes peeled for these beautiful insects.
Memories of Birding in North Dakota
If you leave Duluth, Minnesota and head West, within a couple of hours you leave behind the spruces, balsam fir, and more definitively boreal species and begin to encounter the forests of North Central Minnesota—big stands of white pine, with more incursions of hardwoods from the south. Another couple of hours, and you’re heading into aspen parklands and prairie pothole country. As you approach the Red River, which forms Minnesota’s border with North Dakota, you can find pockets of prairie.
Beyond this, to the west, lies North Dakota, a state of birding dreams. It’s been a while since I have treated myself to a trip there, so here I’ll be writing about some trips that happened long ago. In the 1990s, my friend and frequent birding companion, John Heid, and I took two trips, each with one of my sons, when they turned seven, so Jonas first, and then Lars. I’m afraid I have mixed some of the memories of those two epic trips, and I won’t necessarily try to keep them separate. I also led a Minnesota Birding Weekends trip to North Dakota with Kim Eckert in those years, and I’ll share some memories of that trip here too.
For years, the Mighty Thomas Carnival came to Duluth in June and set up on the bayfront. All of my memories of it are enrobed in fog. Some years, June here is a cold, wet month, and the Mighty Thomas seemed to have particularly bad weather luck. I haven’t noticed that they’ve been here recently. Looking online, it appears they were here as recently as ten years ago, and they are still entertaining Dakotans and Western Minnesotans this year. I write about it here, because on one of these trips, our departure from Duluth coincided with theirs. Their caravan consisted of multiple, slow-moving trucks bearing garish parts of various rides along state highways heading west. When we came upon them first, it took a while to get around them, waiting for breaks in traffic to pass. We finally made it and left them in the distance as we headed to our first birding stop. We left the highway, birded for a few hours, and then headed west again. Sure enough, the Mighty Thomas had passed us, and we had to battle our way around them again. This happened more than twice, and we were glad to leave behind the cheery colors and interesting shapes when our routes finally diverged.
On the Minnesota Birding Weekend trip, we were finding great birds all over. The trip was going well, but one participant wasn’t entirely pleased. This happens occasionally when someone signs up for a longer trip like this one, without trying a day-trip first. It comes as a surprise to them that we would be birding all day long, from dawn until into the evening. The North Dakota trip had the added twist of few facilities along our route. Our rookie from out-of-state complained to the leaders, but there wasn’t much we could do about the situation. Around noon we came to a slough near a bend in a road. We decided to park along the slough and bird while we ate lunch. One of those giant, cylindrical hay bales was near the road, so that became our facility, and everyone took turns running behind the bale, taking care of business and dashing back to the cars. That is until our unfortunate took her turn. That’s when the farmer showed up, bawled her out, and more-or-less chased her back to the cars, alas. This didn’t improve her mood. At least we found our first Rock Wren of the trip near here.
Probably my favorite species of those trips was Sprague’s Pipit. This rare grassland bird nests across North Dakota, with some records in Minnesota, Montana, and the Canadian Prairie Provinces, but this bird is a North Dakota specialty. The males display in spring and early summer by flying in a circle above their chosen nesting field, singing a kind of winnowing song. The display can last for hours, and due to their rarity, it is a true treat to find one.
Another Dakota treat is Baird’s Sparrow. So great to hear their song after listening hard for it at many stops. Like many grassland species, Baird’s Sparrow has declined due to loss of habitat. They are somewhat nomadic, probably shifting their territories in response to bison herds and fires in the past. The fragmentation caused by human settlements blunts the advantages of moving around.
About half-way across North Dakota, you reach the Missouri River. The crossing points are all dramatic, and the land changes once you are west. The prime indicator species is Lark Bunting. We saw few to the east, and many to the west. East of the river is not drastically different from grasslands and wetlands in western Minnesota; west of the river, the landscape may not be so different from places far to the west and south.
On Lars’s trip, we decided to search for Least Tern, a casual species in Minnesota (seen maybe half the years), but a regular, rare nester in the Dakotas. There had been some sightings along the Missouri, so we decided to go on the hunt. It was my hottest birding day ever—even hotter than our trip to Arizona—well over 100°. We drove from boat landing to boat landing, because there we could see the river. I noticed that day that people who are half-naked, trying desperately to cool off in the water, aren’t thrilled when someone shows up with binoculars, apparently ogling them. If they were within earshot, I would holler, “We’re looking at birds!” But I had the impression that they didn’t believe me. After a long, hot afternoon, we were stopped along the river, when flying toward us from the north came a tiny, graceful tern. We all got good looks and watched as it flew off down the river.
As great as the birding and sightseeing is as you cross the state, things get really great when you get to the western borderlands. There lies Theodore Roosevelt National Park. It is one of the least visited national parks, especially the North Unit (the park is split, and the two units are about an hour’s drive apart). Both units are spectacularly scenic, and you have a good chance of seeing bison, elk, wild horses, and mule deer. We had Sage Grouse (now Greater Sage-Grouse) on a little hike off the road. The South Unit has a loop; the North Unit is a drive in and back. We experienced Prairie Rattlesnakes on both trips. Driving the South Unit Loop at dawn is breath-taking, and I will never forget standing at the lip of a canyon at the end of the road in the North Unit, watching a Violet-green Swallow wheel and turn in the sunlight at eye level.
One of our prime destinations was Burning Coal Vein Campground. It was a sure spot for Common Poorwill, which was a lifer, I think, for all of us. We wanted to arrive just before dusk, set up our tent, and watch for and listen for poorwills while we relaxed. However, the more we drove, the less certain we were about our whereabouts and about which direction we should go. We tried turning the map around and other desperate navigational techniques, to no avail. We had a vigorous debate about whether or not to drive across a shallow river. We didn’t; and when we got home and I told my friend, Peder Svingen, a North Dakota native and great birder, about this river, he said, “Didn’t I tell you about the quicksand?” It got dark, and we still hadn’t found Burning Coal Vein, nor figured out where we were. No camping spot; no poorwills.
So we drove south, thinking we’d hit a highway eventually. We did, and we spent the rest of the night parked on the street in Bowman. Of course, we didn’t sleep well, so when we woke at first light, we drove on to our next stop, Marmarth, a ghost town right on the Montana border. It is famous for the Mystic Theater, built in the early twentieth century as a place to show moving pictures. It did so until the 1950s, when it shut down. In the 70s, it was revived as a nostalgic vaudeville theater. According to the internet, it is still used occasionally for special events. The town, however, was mainly deserted. We found Bullock’s Orioles there, and Black-headed Grosbeaks. Then we found a little park and decided to make some coffee and eat some breakfast.
I set up the stove, Jonas ran off to play on the swings and slide located in tall grass on the other side of the park, and John did a little birding. I fired up the stove, and a man came out of one of the derelict houses adjacent. He kindly said, “I just thought I should tell you that there’s rattlesnakes over there in the playground.” John ran over to collect Jonas, and as I waited I looked up, and I noticed that the branch above my picnic table looked kind of thick. As I stared, I realized that there was a bird perched along the length of the branch. It was a Common Poorwill! So we got it after all.
I have birded in North Dakota a number of other times, but these early trips remain precious memories to me. It’s always a pleasure to bird in new and different territory, of course; and I have great memories of being with my sons on those trips. But a good deal of the memories is from being there with a true rare bird (and possibly a slightly odd duck), my friend, John Heid. We had many birding adventures together during the ten years he lived in Duluth, and we had more when we visited him years later in the Sonoran Desert. These Dakota trips came about because John offered to help paint our big old house, and as part of his payment, go birding together in North Dakota. There was never a better deal for having your house painted; and John, in addition to being a great birding companion in general, was great with those boys. As a small example, this was in the days when Jelly Belly jellybeans were new. John had a supply, which he called “vitamins,” that he would allocate throughout the trip. This was also the early era of the joke flavors, like Canned Dog Food, Barf, and Booger. It made accepting a vitamin high adventure. Add in all those lifers, and we had a great time.
What’s the Best Tree Field Guide for North America?
As with birds, butterflies, and other taxa, it’s too much to ask for a book to be a field guide to all the tree species in North America. As a result, every such book falls short in some respect. If all the information one could ever want were included, the book would be well beyond the size of a field guide.
If you began from the other end of the problem and chose to make a book with limited species in it, you’d make a book that was easy to carry but entirely unsatisfactory. This has been tried many times. When I worked as a naturalist in state parks, I spent a lot of time talking to people who were struggling to identify something using a book with limited species (possibly purchased in the park gift store). A short, simple book might give you something to start with, but it will quickly fail you.
There are quite a few “comprehensive” tree field guides for the continent. All of them are really too big to carry in your pocket, and all are too heavy for your backpack, unless your entire purpose for hiking is looking at trees. All of them are, however, interesting to read, and if you get a few of them, you’ll get a nice panorama of the trees of North America.
I am aware of the Smithsonian guide, the National Audubon Society guide, the Golden Guide, the National Wildlife Foundation Guide, the Sibley Guide, Grolier’s Field Guide, and Preston’s Guide, among others. From this group, I have heard that many professionals (arborists and botanists) like Grolier’s. It’s out-of-print and I have never seen one; I will guess that it uses keys to aid identification. I grew up with the Golden Guide, and I still enjoy looking through it, but that’s partly nostalgia. I also own a Sibley Guide to Trees. The format of this book will be familiar to birders who own one of the versions of the Sibley Guide to Birds, and the illustrations are pleasing. These are all good books, which required immense effort and expense to produce.
To my mind, there are two which rise to the top, The National Wildlife Federation Guide to Trees of North America, by Kirschner, Mathews, Nelson, and Spellenberg (Sterling Publishing, 2008); and The Trees of Eastern North America and The Trees of Western North America (in the Princeton Field Guide series, 2014) by Nelson, Earle, and Spellenberg, with illustrations by David More, and edited by Amy K. Hughes.
Two of the authors, Gil Nelson and Richard Spellenberg, worked on both books. The NWF Guide comes close to being a field guide—it’s one volume and weighs just under two pounds. It uses photographs for illustrations, and the information is densely packed into the book, with small type, small margins, and tight layout. In all this, it is quite successful. Even with all the space-scrimping, it’s pleasant to read. The cover is waterproof. It treats 700 species.
The Princeton Guides cheated and published two volumes, but that decision allowed them to produce more comprehensive books, and more beautiful ones at that. The Eastern volume treats 825 species, and the Western, 630 species. These guides use illustrations, rather than photographs. The illustrations, done by David More, are excellent.
Photographs, of course, give one a “true” view of a tree in particular light conditions. Illustrations allow the accentuation of characteristics that might be particularly useful for identification. I generally prefer illustrations in field guides, but it’s nice to have both. So my recommendation is to get them all! First I would buy the Princeton Eastern Guide. It’s the most comprehensive and full-featured guide. You’ll enjoy pulling it off the shelf just to look at, as well as using it as an identification reference. Then get the NWF guide, for its different aspect and maybe even to haul around in your backpack. Then get the Western Princeton (unless, of course, you live in the West, in which case, reverse the order of your Princeton purchases.)
Even though trees are mainly stationary creatures, people plant them in unusual places, and occasionally, seeds travel by wind or water to new frontiers (to say nothing of the movements of Ents and Huorns), so I like having both Eastern and Western Guides. As is the case for multiple groups of plants or animals, we live in the golden age of nature books. Whether you are a wide-scope naturalist who is interested in all groups, or someone who is looking to begin learning more deeply about one group, these are great books to own.
News and Notes
Independence Day - We spent the morning of July 4th in the Sax-Zim Bog. It was a lovely morning, prelude to a rather hot day for our area. We had the bog to ourselves; we didn’t see a single other human being! Three new birds for my St. Louis County big year: LeConte’s Sparrow, Dickcissel, and Sharp-tailed Grouse. The roadsides are lined with flowers this time of year: many stretches with Birdsfoot Trefoil along both sides of the road, same for Spreading Dogbane, the tail-end of the lupines, and the first blooming Fireweed plants that I have seen this summer. My quest to find Twinflower was completed when Pam found a couple tiny plants at the McDavitt Recreation Center, which has a canopy of big pines.
Pam wondered aloud why the trefoil was in some spots and not others. I’m not sure why, but it’s an interesting question; and it reminded me that I read somewhere, “Once you get interested in nature, you never have to be bored again!” It’s the truth.
After our explorations, we stopped at the Wilbert Cafe in Cotton for breakfast. That’s where everybody was! It was as full as I have ever seen it. Our waitress, who was dressed in red, white, and blue, gave us flag pins, and I gathered that quite a few of the diners were locals who were there celebrating the holiday.
Writing about the Ctenuchid moth above and using my hat to catch it made me think about the experience of wearing a uniform (the cap in the story was a baseball cap from my Wisconsin DNR uniform). That experience was at Pattison State Park in far Northwestern Wisconsin (gorgeous park with waterfalls)—my first official naturalist job.
I had the same experience there that I have had in other parks. Without a uniform, I was invisible; with the uniform, everybody noticed me. I remember once, at Gooseberry Falls, entering the building in civilian clothes and having to battle my way down the hall through the crowd to get to my office. I changed into my uniform, re-entered the hall, and the sea parted before me as I walked.
Late in that summer at Pattison, the park manager assigned us (two interns and me) to staff a table at the Tri-County Fair in Superior, Wisconsin. We had a space in the DNR yard, which included a small building and a small, fenced area. People entered the yard and the building at one end. Inside, they met a large Smokey Bear “statue”—I think the mouth moved. Inside the bear was a long-suffering DNR guy who would greet the kids by name (if the parents tipped him off). Very exciting. Then they would exit the building, and in the rest of the yard, there were cages with animals: raccoons, foxes, geese, etc. At least there had been cages for the thirty years prior to my year. When I arrived at the fairgrounds, I noted that there were no animals in the cages, and the grass had been allowed to grow without mowing.
When I left the park to head to the fairgrounds, Kerry (our manager) said, “I want you to wear a uniform, but I don’t want the girls to.” (The interns were young college students.) “There’s enough wackos around, and I don’t want anyone targeting them.” That was thoughtful, except that I spent the drive toying with the thought that it was somehow okay for me to risk my life wearing a uniform, because, after all, I was making a dollar more an hour than the interns!
Thankfully, no one killed me; but I believe some considered it. They would come out of the building, fresh with the glow of a personal encounter with Smokey Bear and the gauzy memories of their own childhood adventures among the caged animals, and what did they find? Empty cages, overgrown grass, and one guy in a DNR uniform! For the next two hours, I was called names, excoriated, and even poked in the chest a few times. I found a payphone and reported that I didn’t think we were having much success spreading the news of Pattison State Park. So I retreated to the park; the girls never had to risk their lives; and now I only return to the Tri-County Fairgrounds in winter, when no one is there, to look for Snowy Owls.
I have had a lot of recent experience with an entirely different kind of uniform situation. A couple of years ago, I was ordained an Orthodox Christian deacon; so now I wear ornate vestments when I serve in our worship; and sometimes I wear a cassock or a clergy collar in public. (When I first started this I would hilariously mix the word cassock with Cossack—wearing a Cossack would be quite a different experience.)
Wearing the uniform changes how you fit into the human web around you. For one thing, you are recognized as filling a role that is bigger than you are. People sense that you are doing a job, and by-and-large, they don’t want to impede you. Along with this, people treat you like your role, rather than as the tender individual you may be. The geniuses who were poking me in the chest at the Tri-County Fair weren’t dissing me for who I was, they were assuming that my uniform gave me a role that was larger than it really was. The worshippers at my church don’t necessarily treat me a particular way because of my personality; they know that I am filling a role that is larger than that, in spite of my personal foibles. Clothing has a symbolic function that is at least as important as its utilitarian function.
Also, if you’re wearing a hat, you may be able to catch a Virginia Ctenuchid moth!
One year! Friday, July 11th will be the anniversary of the Northern Naturalist. That went fast. It has been a good learning experience. I’m a better writer and naturalist than when I began, and I expect to be even better by the second anniversary. Thank you to Pamela Benson, who has proof-read every issue, and to Sparky Stensaas, who allowed me to use so many of his fine photos.
Thank you everyone who has read even a few of my prolix newsletters. Thank you especially to paid subscribers. It’s a real boost and a tremendous help. If you’re not a paid subscriber, please consider it, if you’re able.
Thanks for reading all of this, dear Northern Naturalist friends. May your July be filled with interesting experiences in nature, and may you never be bored again!
Thank you, Dave. But: I feel that "rookie" is me!! Your friend, Allison, who noted 124 new species on a MBW to North Dakota . . .
Thank you David. I always enjoy your insights and information. Also the book reviews.