Nobody likes Ravens

Well, I do. But now I can imagine how they must feel.

Today our resident Ash-throated Flycatchers were on the attack. A raven, maybe a young one, flew low through our backyard, and a flycatcher dive-bombed his back. 'Squack'! said the surprised raven, waking up our dogs who also love to hate his kind. And stormed after him.

Pursued on the ground and from the air, the poor raven took shelter in an ironwood tree. His landing was so clumsy that he tumbled for a minute from branch to branch before he found his footing. A White-winged Dove flew by minding her own business, but the flycatcher were so enraged that they even attacked her. But then the Black-capped Gnat-catchers betrayed the raven, he left his perch, the Ash-throats chased again, and the raven  flew towards quarry and the Kestrels' Saguaro.

Too close! male, and then even female Kestrel picked up the chase.  Poor raven fluttered on, swooping falcons  above and below. But they did not go as far from their nest as the Ash-throats did - or were there 2 pairs of Ash-throats involved? Anyway, the raven finally made it back to the Eucalyptus tree where his elders were sitting, watching the chase, never moving a wing. Did they let him learn a lesson?

On Memorial Day Weekend, I was in Prescott for an art festival on the courthouse lawn. Ravens always live on the courthouse - it's their rock cliff fort. Very early on Sunday, one young one, by her behavior a female, was sitting on the lowest branch of an Elm-tree, chatting and clucking. Those ravens are pretty used to people.

When I imitated her clucking, she took no offense, but started to inch closer on her branch in coy little steps, then spreading her wings a little and making little bows. Her head got big and round with all its feathers erect, the iris of her eyes widened, and her clucking became a flirty cooing. From above a big raven scolded, but he stayed on the roof, just peering over the eves. The young one shook her feathers, all sleek for a moment, and cawed back. But then she became sweet and flirty again, and we continued our conversation. Until suddenly something hit me on the back of my head. Not hard, but noticeable. Then my shoulder, with the swish of feathers. I was pretty shocked at first because I thought the big guy had come off the roof .... but no, he was still just watching. But close to me, a nasal 'daeh- daeh-daeh' came first from one tree trunk, then the other ...

Then my attacker came racing around the tree:   a Nuthatch! The small, white-breasted bird ran up and down and around the tree, flew at me, then the next tree, then came back for more. I certainly don't look like a raven, but I must have sounded like one, German accent or not. So now I know how those ravens must feel ....

Beetle Parties

Every year Fred and Carol Skillman host their famous annual 'Beetle Bash' at Cochise Stronghold when the monsoon hits (or should hit) Cochise County. The party was delicious, interesting, inspiring, educational, and lots of fun. Thank you so much, Fred and Carol!



The following day, July 11, Eric Eaton and I headed for the Chiricahua Mountains. There was some indication that it had been raining there but the ground was rather dry.
Still, at at a lush creek crossing among ash and oak trees beautiful metallic green-blue Euphoria fulgida holochloris were buzzing around, looking very much like low-flying Carpenter bees.


We set up black lights at Onion Saddle, elevation 7600 ft, in an area with tall Alligator Junipers, Silverleaf Oaks and some Ponderosa Pines. Bill Warner and Aaron Smith stopped by and made us very envious with a beautiful specimen of the rare Carabus forreri. Collectors from as far away as Europe come searching for this beetle endemic to the Chiricahuas and the Huachucas of Arizona.




The sun had set but it was still too bright for the black light to attract anything when the humming and buzzing began. Big dark Scarabs that I later identified as the Dynastinae Coscinocephalus cribrifrons were zooming in on our location. They weren't headed for the black light. They ignored it and landed on a tree near by. More and more beetles appeared as it got darker. I soon found two more trees within a fifty meter radius where more of them were congregating. There must have been close to a hundred beetles per tree, running up and down the trunk, their elytra partly open, ready to take flight again and buzz around some more. The noise of all those feet on the bark sounded first like raindrops and then like a little waterfall.





Clumps of seven or eight beetles clinging together kept falling to the ground still madly scrambling after each other. It became clear that this was similar to a lekking situation where many females and even more pursuing males were coming together to mate. I have no clue how the first arrivals pick a particular tree to be their dancing ground - to me the three chosen trees had nothing to distinguish them from their neighbors. Two of them were junipers, the third one some kind of spruce. At the height of the party the trees were probably surrounded by a thick cloud of pheromones, attracting more and more beetles.



Interestingly, there were also numerous sarcophagid flies attending the dance. Nearly every beetle had a following that approached as soon as the beetle was busy with other beetles or momentarily incapacitated. Even though the flies weren't Tachnidae who are well-known Scarab brood-parasites, I think they were specifically targeting this pheromone-loaded situation, probably to attach eggs to the female beetles that would be transferred to the beetle brood as parasites. My theory is supported by the observation that the flies were all of just one species, their incredible persistence in following the beetles around, and that there were so many of them on the mating trees but none at the black light that had also attracted scarabs (of different species) by then.

The whole mad spectacle ended about an hour after sunset. Sinking temperatures may have curtailed the high activity level at that time.


Our patience at the black light was rewarded by a few more interesting beetle species and a three beautiful huge Oculea Silk Moths.
This chapter of my blog also appeared in  "Scarabs Newsletter # 57"  

Sunbathing Gila Woodpecker

One of our Hummingbird feeders is hanging right in front of the window above my desk. Talk about distraction! Verdins, House Finches, Hooded Orioles, Red Admirals, Gilded Flickers, and an occasional Costa's, Ana's or Black-chinned Hummer are constantly coming and going. I think in our hot and arid climate, the fluid is just as appreciated as the sugar.

Gila Woodpecker and Gilded Flicker


When the traffic is high, birds will wait for their turn on the cloth line right next to the feeder.
One young Gila male uses this time to bask in the sun. The wings spread open, contour feathers fluffed up, pupils dilated...

Just like mammals, birds are regulating their body temperature very efficiently by shivering and panting. (Swifts and Hummingbirds and probably many nestlings undergo periods of torpor during which their body temperature plummets). In addition to this autonomous thermoregulation, birds also use behavioral means to control their body temperature.

But today, even at 10 am it's already 84 degrees Fahrenheit in the shade. So the guy is probably not cold. When I had a tame Jackdaw who loved to do his basking on my shoulder, I found him quite unresponsive to outside stimuli during basking, so wild birds are taking a considerable risque...

My Woodpecker sits still for not more than a couple of minutes, then flies off, but he's right back to turn his other side towards the sun.

Scientists have speculated that basking may drive out skin parasites, but I don't think anybody has the answer yet. My Jackdaw as well as this Gila Woodpecker leave me with the impression that this is pure ecstatic pleasure to them....as good a reason as any, isn't it?