SMRA

One summer night in 1975, I ventured into a movie theater to see Jaws. And Steven Spielberg’s witty, entertaining thriller terrified me—along with millions of others that summer. At least for a while, its story of a rogue great white shark terrorizing a beach community truly did have the effect its tagline promised: “You’ll never go in the water again.” (Despite the fact that there are only about four or five fatalities from shark attacks each year worldwide.)

But besides making a fortune while scaring us senseless, Jaws had other, far darker consequences: an immediate and long-lasting boom in shark-hunting. This indiscriminate slaughter led to the deaths of a vast number of great whites and other shark species.

This has come to mind often over the past few weeks as I’ve been thinking about the Asian giant hornet, colorfully nicknamed the “Murder Hornet.”The breathless headlines trumpeting its arrival in the Pacific Northwest and western Canada could be straight out of a insect version of the film. And their effect may be just as dire.

Like great white sharks, giant hornets are impressive (the queen can be more than two inches long and individuals can fly at 25 miles per hour) and pose a legitimate threat. They aggressively defend their nests, their stinger is long and powerful, their sting is extraordinarily painful, and their venom is toxic. (The stings can be fatal in humans, though this is rare.)

But the giant hornet’s biggest threat is actually to already beleaguered honey bees, to the flowers that depend on the bees as pollinators, and to the beekeepers who tend them. As the headlines have screamed, , a single giant hornet can kill 40 honeybees a minute, and swarms can easily lay waste to entire hives.

But at the moment Asian giant hornets, exist in North America in only exceedingly small numbers and limited areas. If efforts to find and destroy them succeed, the species may never establish itself on the West Coast, and certainly not in the East .

Yet, especially as the spring proceeds, it seems likely that many of our neighbors, freaked out by the media drumbeat about “Murder Hornets,” will do what people often do when freaked out: attack, even before they really know their enemy. In this case, “attacking” will likely mean using pesticides on native wasps, whether they are a threat or not.

This makes it an ideal time to get to know three common species in our region that are not Murder Hornets.

Bald-Faced Hornet (Dolichovespula maculata)

Rising from a flower to check you out, these large (though barely half the size of Asian giant hornets), black-and-white wasps make for an impressive sight. And if disturbed they can deliver a powerfully venomous sting. (So don’t disturb them!)

By the end of a summer, a bald-faced hornet’s above-ground nest, often located in the crook of a tree branch, can be two feet high and 18 inches wide. An active nest crawling with workers ready to defend it is a sobering sight.

Yet the positive impact that hornet populations have on the ecosystem’s health is significant. The workers help pollinate flowering plants and are themselves an important food source for a variety of mammals, birds, frogs, and praying mantids. They’re even directly beneficial to humans, because along with nectar and sap they prey extensively on flies, especially the horseflies and deerflies that can plague us in summer.

Eastern Yellowjacket (Vespula maculifrons)

The bald-faced hornet’s little black-and-yellow cousin is probably our most familiar—and widely loathed—wasp. All summer long and especially in the fall, yellowjackets seem to be everywhere, especially where someone’s trying to enjoy a meal outdoors. More than one picnicker has drunk from a cup or can of soda and received a painful surprise from the small wasp that got there first.

Further, yellowjacket nests—typically built underground—can be huge, containing up to 5000 workers. Yellowjackets defending their nests are notably aggressive, and, like most wasps, tend to sting repeatedly. So it’s understandable that anyone with a nest in the front yard or under a shingle will want it removed ASAP.

Yet, as with bald-faced hornets, at a time of collapse of honey bee and other insect populations, the abundant yellowjacket serves as a vehicle for plant pollination. Since yellowjackets are also active carnivores (one of their common nicknames is “meat bees”), they naturally control the flies, grubs, and other insects that attack our farms and gardens.

Despite their predatory habits and obvious interest in the burgers we’ve brought out to grill, worker yellowjackets don’t actually eat much meat. (They prefer foods rich in carbohydrates.) Yet the hive couldn’t survive without the protein they bring back.

Here’s how: The process begins when a yellowjacket worker kills an insect. It will then cut its prey up with its sharp mandibles and carry each piece to the nest.

Unlike the adults, yellowjacket larvae need plenty of protein. Back at the nest, the worker will masticate the bug parts and feed them to the larvae.  In turn, the larva’s salivary glands will secrete a sweet liquid for the worker to eat. This elegant process, called trophallaxis, helps insure that both adult and larval wasp will receive the nourishment they need.

I realize that sometimes it’s hard to see the forest for the bees. But fascinating phenomena like trophallaxis—and the whole complex, surprising lifecycle of the yellowjacket—only make me admire them more, and want to learn more about them.

Cicada Killer (Sphecius speciosus)

Of all the wasps that could be incorrectly identified as “Murder Hornets,” the most likely candidate is our most noticeable—yet least aggressive—local wasp: the cicada killer. At up to two inches long, cicada killers are big and stocky. They’re gaudy, too, with reddish wings and black and brown bodies patterned with white patches.

Their behavior is just as ostentatious. Even though they’re solitary wasps, not living in colonies, you’ll frequently find a group of them excavating large burrows in patches of their prime breeding habitat: light-textured, well-drained soil. Among their favorite sites in our area are front walks, at the base of stone walls, in window boxes, and other places close to where we live and work.

Cicada killers are also curious and territorial. At least the males are, often grappling with each other over turf and buzzing around everyone and everything that moves through their territory. As one hovers near you, it might even give the sense that it’s sizing you up.

Admittedly, to be stared at by a large wasp can be a sobering prospect. Here’s the thing, though: The males have no stingers. Buzzing around is all they can do to warn you off.

On the other hand, the females do have a powerful stinger…but they have no interest in you whatsoever. They’re not territorial at all. In fact, you can walk right past—or over—a female cicada as she excavates her burrow, and she won’t pay you any mind.

She’s saving her venom for one specific task: to paralyze the cicadas that will serve as a food source for her larvae. In doing so, she’s helping keep populations of cicadas—which eat sap and in abundant years can damage trees and bushes—in natural balance.

Whether we ever have the right to extirpate a species that might be a threat to us is a debate that plays out whenever humans encounter something potentially dangerous (such as coyotes, venomous snakes, or the great white sharks made notorious by Jaws). Given the outcome of this debate throughout our history, I worry that, in the era of the Murder Hornet, our fascinating and beneficial native wasps may suffer as well. As will we, too, from their loss.

Copyright © 2020 by Joseph Wallace

Many years ago, when my son was about six, he and I went for a quick spring walk around Swan Lake in Rockefeller State Park. In those 45 minutes, we witnessed a whole range of fascinating animal behavior I’d never seen before and have not glimpsed since.

We saw two gigantic male bullfrogs fighting, standing up on their hind legs and engaging in hand-to-hand combat as they emitted horrendous angry groans. We spotted a newly hatched Snapping Turtle, little bigger than my thumbnail, gazing back at us fearlessly. We watched two male Baltimore Orioles fly across the lake towards us, darting at each other the whole way. They were so intent on their rivalry that they crashed headlong into a bush at our feet, only to emerge a moment later, uninjured and glaring at each other.

And we saw snakes. So many snakes. In the shallow southern end of the lake, at least a dozen Northern Water Snakes had gathered, some intertwined, others nosing around the reeds and water plants. Down the shoreline were others, including one that had decided to make another bullfrog into a meal.

For ten minutes we watched as the snake, opening its jaws as wide as it could, tried to swallow the frog. As the frog struggled to escape, the two creatures toppled first one way and then the other. Finally, either exhausted or realizing that its mission was hopeless, the snake released its hold and the frog swam away, seemingly little worse for wear.

For those of us who love reptiles and amphibians (including snakes!), April marks the month not only when most migrating birds return, but when our cold-blooded residents emerge from their winter slumbers and repopulate our ponds, woods, and shorelines. Painted Turtles and Yellow-Eared Sliders (along with some large, invasive Red-Eared Sliders) stack up on logs and exposed rocks. Terrestrial Red-Backed Salamanders stake out their territories under rotting logs, while Red Efts wander the moist forest floor.

And snakes? Even if most of them stay hidden from view, snakes are everywhere once spring arrives and throughout the warmer months of the year. This includes SMRA’s preserves, where at least eight of New York’s 17 species have been found. You just have to know where—and how—to look.

Common Garter Snakes, those small- to medium-sized snakes whose dark bodies are contrasted by multiple lighter racing stripes, are probably the best-known species in our area. They’re certainly the one most likely to appear in suburban gardens, hiding in woodpiles and little-used sheds or sunning themselves atop rock walls.

But the Northern Water Snakes that my son and I saw in such abundance may be the most conspicuous of all local species. Both their size (they can reach more than four feet in length) and their comparative lack of caution in their watery habitat help make them hard to miss.

Dark (they can be almost black, brown, or gray) with lighter blotches or bands, water snakes are most often encountered while they’re foraging in the shallows of ponds or streams. But they’ll also congregate in numbers on exposed rocks to bask in the sun.

The largest regularly seen snake in our area is the Eastern or Black Rat Snake, which can reach a solidly built seven feet in length. (The usual suspects around here are four or five feet long…big enough!) This species can be quickly recognized by the way that its white lower jaw and chin contrast with its black body.

In more agrarian times and places, rat snakes were always welcome residents of any farm. Ferocious hunters of rats and other rodents, they are no threat to humans unless mishandled. (A trait they share with other snakes, most of which want nothing more than to be left alone.)

Currently Rat Snakes are still doing well, even in our populated suburbs. Yet they are sometimes killed just because of their size and prominence, and due to the general fear—even hatred—of snakes that afflicts far too many people.

For those of us who consider snakes an essential and fascinating part of the natural world, a glimpse of the other, less commonly noted species always counts as the highlight of a hike or nature walk. In SMRA’s sanctuaries and other undisturbed areas, you can find the colorful Eastern Milk Snake, the slender and retiring Ring-Necked Snake, and my favorite, the Eastern Hognose Snake.

I confess that I’ve yet to see a Hognose Snake in the wild. So how can it be my favorite? For its brilliant—or at least enthusiastic—thespian abilities.

If bothered, the Hognose will first try hissing and mock strikes. But if these don’t work, it will play dead, rolling over onto its back and lying there slack-jawed. In fact, it is so dedicated to its art that if you flip a playacting one onto its stomach, it will roll onto its back once again. (“Can’t you see I’m dead?”)

What about venomous snakes? None have yet been reported in any of SMRA’s sanctuaries, but two species—the Copperhead and the Timber Rattlesnake—do live in our region.  

The Timber Rattler—usually tan with darker blotches and bands, with a triangular head, stout body, and, of course, rattle—is occasionally spotted in the area’s wilder parks, such as Harriman and Bear Mountain. There, individuals or small groups can sometimes be seen sunning themselves on the rocky outcroppings or ravines where they make their dens.

The usually rusty-red Copperhead (a rattle-less rattlesnake) is a rare resident of Ward Pound Ridge Reservation, Rockefeller State Park, and other larger protected areas. With this species—as with all snakes—the most important rule of thumb is: Do not approach. They are nearly always far less eager to be seen than many of us are to glimpse one.

During these months, the mere possibility of seeing a snake also reminds us that even amid never-ending suburban development, powerful predators—black bears, hybrid coyote-wolves, bobcats, and venomous snakes—continue to hang on, prowling, stalking, and sometimes sliding silently through the underbrush.

Just as they always have, and just as they always should.

Copyright © 2020 by Joseph Wallace

In 1609, Henry Hudson sailed his ship Half Moon from what would soon become New Amsterdam upriver in search of the Northwest Passage, supposed gateway to the riches of Asia. About 30 miles north, after the dramatic palisades along the shore softened into rolling hills, he came upon a stretch where the river broadened to more than three miles from shore to shore. He was certain he’d found his holy grail, which he immediately claimed for Holland.

Sorry, Henry. In his defense, Hudson was far from the first to let hopes outpace reality during explorations of the New World. But if he’d had thought to ask the local Native Americans who’d been plying this stretch of water since time immemorial, they would have told him that he’d “discovered” the passage to nowhere but hundreds of miles of more river. 

Hudson was right about one thing, though: This, the widest point of the river’s estuary and now known as Haverstraw Bay, was—and is—something special, worthy of celebration if not of “claiming.” (Note: An estuary is a river’s tidal zone, where freshwater from upstream meets the ocean saltwater. Though estuaries are most often found near a river’s mouth, the tides flow—to a greater or lesser degree—into and out of the Hudson for more than 150 miles, all the way to the Federal Dam in Troy.)

As the Wappinger people, who occupied the east bank in this region, also could have told him, Haverstraw Bay—which stretches from Croton Point north for about six miles—is one of the most important habitats along the whole river. (It’s been designated as a “Significant Coastal Fish and Wildlife Habitat” by New York State.)

The bay plays a crucial role in the river ecosystem, and it all starts with its depth, tidal nature, and proximity to the Atlantic Ocean. It’s rarely more than ten feet deep on its eastern side, and the tides carrying a regular influx of salt water into this shallow, often sunlit expanse help create a fertile brackish environment.

Such conditions, explains Tom Lake, Estuary Naturalist in the DEC [Department of Environmental Conservation] Hudson River Estuary Program, create an ideal nursery for young fish. “Unlike the clear water of the Atlantic,” he says, “Haverstraw Bay is generally turbid, off-color with suspended sediments, making it more difficult for predators to find smaller fish. Inch-long river herring in the open ocean would have a very short expected survival time.”

These conditions also help create a riotous growth of aquatic plants, which provide additional hiding places for young fish. It may be hard to imagine as you walk along the path at Croton Landing or look north from Croton Point Park, but it’s a jungle down there.

And, like all jungles, it plays host to a breathtaking variety and abundance of creatures—in this case, ranging from minuscule plankton to massive Atlantic sturgeon, which can weigh 800 pounds as adults. “Perhaps the key role of Haverstraw Bay,” says Lake, “is that it is a nursery area both for young-of-year fish [fish in the first year of their lives] from further upriver—such as striped bass and river herring—and young-of-year fish from the ocean, including bluefish and Atlantic menhaden.”

The symbol of the Hudson River estuary—the Atlantic sturgeon—provides a vivid example of the interlocking roles of Haverstraw Bay, the river, and the ocean beyond.

Sturgeon spawn in the river north of the bay, mainly from Hyde Park to Catskill. The young fish stay in the river for up to eight years, relying—like so many other species—on the bay for seasonal food and shelter. Then they head out to sea, where they spend most of their long lives (up to 60 years) in the ocean, only occasionally wandering in and out of other rivers from Canada to Georgia.

When males born in the Hudson River are about twelve years of age—and females close to twenty—they return to the Hudson to spawn. This drive to spawn where they themselves were born, shared with salmon and other diadromous fish, shows the ultimate importance of continuing to protect Haverstraw Bay, not only now but for future generations of fish and humans alike.

But the sturgeon and other famous Hudson River denizens—like striped bass, Atlantic shad, and alewives, currently migrating in vast numbers upriver to breed—are far from the only oceangoing fish that depend on Haverstraw Bay. In fact, some visitors over the past quarter century must have deeply startled their first human observers.

“In dry summers, the bay can reach near fifty percent salinity,” Tom Lake points out. “This intrusion of salty water can lure tropical species such as crevalle jack, lookdown, and even bonefish into the bay.” They’re joined by more northerly saltwater fish, including summer flounder, northern sennet (a kind of barracuda), and northern kingfish.

And it’s not just fish that rely on Haverstraw Bay and the entire Hudson River estuary. Far from it. A wide variety of marine mammals have also been recorded there in summer, when, as Lake puts it, “Haverstraw is like an all-night deli.”

In the past quarter century, four seal species (harbor, gray, hooded, and harp), three dolphins (bottlenose and Risso’s dolphin and harbor [common] porpoise), and most famously, even a minke (in 2007) and a humpback whale (in 2016) have paid visits. Perhaps most famously, a wandering Florida manatee made the river its home for a time in 2006.

During my regular walks at Croton Landing, I’ve most often thought of the waters of Haverstraw Bay—slate gray or silvery, calm or roiling—as merely part of the scene’s palette of color and movement. But now I find myself always on the lookout for a passing manatee, leaping sturgeon, or a glimpse of any of the other surprising riches the bay has to offer.

Copyright © 2020 by Joseph Wallace

Saw Mill River Audubon connects you with free, intriguing and engaging evening programs every month between September and June.  We offer our programs at different locations across our membership area. Here is our line up of programs for Fall 2018.

More

This past year saw strong participation in our events, with over 100 well-attended field trips and dozens of classroom and community programs. The 2016 annual fund drive was our strongest ever. More

[Bald Eagle image: Bonnie Talluto]

Visit our Google calendar at www.sawmillriveraudubon.org/calendar for event details and updates. Be sure to subscribe to our free, private email list to get additional details and early notice of new trips and events. Visit www.sawmillriveraudubon.org/list to subscribe.

Public Events & Programs

Saturday, February 11,
9:00 am – 4:00 pm
Hudson River EagleFest!
SMRA is proud to be part of the 8th annual Hudson River EagleFest centered at Croton Point Park on Saturday, February 11 from 9:00 am to 4:00 pm (The snow date is Sunday, February 12.)
For the past decade, Teatown Lake Reservation has been the prime mover behind this event which celebrates the return of our national bird, the Bald Eagle, to the Hudson Valley. SMRA does our part at EagleFest by leading bird walks inside Croton Point, offering our “Raptors for Rookies” program at Croton Point, providing birders with spotting scopes at the Croton boat ramp and George’s Island to help spot eagles and other birds, and underwriting the cost of warming tents at both locations. SMRA Board Member Larry Trachtenberg, donated the cost of the warming tent at George’s Island. (Thank you, Larry!)

The festival will also feature live birds of prey shows, two screenings of the film Eagle Huntress at Pace University and music by Tom Chapin and other artists. There are even guided bus tours to visit all the key eagle viewing spots. Please note that some special events do require advance reservations before the event.

There is an EagleFest admission charge to enter Croton Point Park for the main event tent and other activities there. To find out more and make advance special event reservations, visit: www.teatown.org/eaglefest-schedule

Thursday, February 16, 7:00 pm
Exploring the Gaspé Peninsula
with Charlie Roberto
Teatown Lake Reservation
Charlie Roberto will introduce us to the beautiful Gaspé Peninsula in Québec and its abundance of birds and other wildlife, including images from Saw Mill River Audubon’s trip in 2016. Co-sponsored with Teatown Lake Reservation.

Thursday, March 16, 7:00 pm
Field Guide to Birds of New York
With author Corey Finger
Chappaqua Library
Author Corey Finger will overview his work on the American Birding Association’s Field Guide to Birds of New York, published in July 2016 and offering tips on finding and IDing birds in the Empire State. Book sales & signing follows. Come early for best parking. Co-sponsored by Chappaqua Library.

February Birding Road Trips
Space in cars and numbers of cars in caravan will be limited for a better experience for all. Call/email ASAP to register and for meeting place and time, and include your cell number to office@sawmillriveraudubon.org or 914-666-6503. Minimum of three people per car.

Sunday, February 5, 8:00 am
Birding at Barnegat & Other NJ Sites
We will be traveling to Barnegat Lighthouse on the New Jersey coast to enjoy the view of wintering Harlequin Ducks, possible Purple Sandpipers and other winter coastal visitors. Based on the most recent sightings reports, we then plan to visit one or more other nearby north New Jersey locations for winter birds.

Sunday, February 26, All Day
Winter Birding in Dutchess County
We plan to make a circuit of varied habitats in Dutchess County for winter birds including the possibility of winter raptors like Rough-legged Hawk, Golden Eagle or even a Snowy Owl! Along the way, we’ll keep an eye out for other winter grassland species like Horned Larks and Snow Buntings. John Askildsen of Dutchess County’s Waterman Bird Club will be our leader.

Flight of the Woodcock, 6:00 – 7:30 pm both dates
Saturday, March 11: Muscoot Farm
Sunday, March 12: Croton Point Park
Gather with us at dusk for the seasonal courtship display of American Woodcock. Meeting place & details upon registration. Registration required by calling or emailing our office. Space limited. For adults and youth 10 & up.

Every Monday, 8:30 am
Guided Bird Walks
at Area Hotspots
Meet in main parking area for all walks.
1st Mon: Muscoot Farm
2nd Mon: Rockefeller State Park
3rd Mon: Teatown Lake Reservation
4th Mon: Croton Point County Park
5th Mon: Location varies.( No 5th Monday walk in January.)

Every Second Saturday, 9:00 am
Guided Hike at Brinton Brook
Rain, snow or shine. Meet at main parking lot off Route 9A. No registration needed. Best for adults and youth age 6 and up.

Every Saturday & Sunday,
9:00 am – 11:00 am
Project FeederWatch
at Croton Point Nature Center
Join SMRA volunteers at the Croton Point Nature Center every weekend morning from now until early April as we identify and count birds visiting the bird feeding station there. We watch from inside the Nature Center. Beginners encouraged. Great opportunity for bird photography as well.

Welcome to our new blog for Saw Mill River Audubon! Here’s what we plan to include here… More