Common Name: American Dagger moth, Fishers Island, NY, June 2017.
Scientific Name: Acronicta Americana
Season: One generation in the Northeast. Adults in early summer, with caterpillars from July into the fall.
Food: Ash, elm, hickory, maple oak, poplar, willow.
Ecology: A forest moth, American dagger caterpillars can be found feeding on many deciduous trees. The caterpillars are covered in yellow tufts of hair that can cause irritation to the skin in some people.
Adam Mitchell Photo
These balmy September mornings I find a returning Green Heron either resting dockside or sneaking in and out of walled crevices on Tennis Racquet Island with plenty of fishing in between flights.
8/22/16
I dubbed him Admiral Bering (pun intended) and quite honestly I knew better when someone insisted “every naturalist should have a stuffed bear”. It’s just not me. But even this unpleasant thought of taxidermy didn’t stop my heart from persuading my head that I would rescue him from probably some smoke – filled bar or a boring life in some overly decorated “den” stacked with volumes of books – even if it did have a spinning globe that lit up. So the Admiral wrapped snuggly in a gray moving blanket set sail on his maiden voyage; disembarking from an antique dealer’s dusty display across choppy Fishers Island Sound aboard the ferry Munnatawket.
We have kept an eye on each other during long quiet winters. A perfectly gnarled piece of driftwood props the Black bear just high enough for his gaze to continue to encourage me to write.
I have felt though that there might be some other reason or purpose for us both – together. Then quite appropriately one morning it dawned on me: Educational Outreach and public awareness.
The idea and commitment of recording observations and trends of this marine environment and its unique ecosystems should not be done singlehandedly. We need each other – ok, and a bear! Much of my work on Fishers Island would not be possible without the support and efforts of the community. I am grateful to recognize that together we can bridge local traditional knowledge with Science; helping to preserve natural history while nurturing stewardship for all generations.
So this summer, keep a look out for bear crossings on a boat’s bow: and a poster that encourages ferry captains and commuters to continue to remark on unusual wildlife sightings and marine debris across our Fishers Island Sound.
And Admiral “I salute you!”
Common name: Angulose prominent, Fishers island NY, June 2017.
Scientific name: Peridea angulosa
Season: Two generations in the Northeast. Adults, late spring into June, and again in late summer. Caterpillars through summer and late into fall. Caterpillars overwinter as pupae and seek out sites to pupate when the leaves fall.
Food: Exclusively, species of oak.
Ecology: Caterpillars of the angulose prominent are specialist feeders, meaning they can only feed on one or two species of plants to grow and develop. When disturbed, the caterpillars coil up like snakes, although they are completely harmless.
Adam Mitchell Photo
Sultry summer’s swallows sit, swoop, and soar, crickets sing, while South sands shift and Parade Ground crow ring this hazy – even lazy day on Fishers Island.
Common name: Banded tussock moth, Fishers Island NY, June 2017
Scientific name: Halysidota tessellaris
Season: One generation in the Northeast, although caterpillars and adults are active throughout the summer and fall.
Food: You can find these guys in the summer on just about any tree or shrub in the forest.
Ecology: The species name for the moth (tessellaris) stands for “little square stone” in Latin (rough), which refers to the blocky pattern on the moth’s wing. As a caterpillar, it is covered in tufts of hair that makes it unattractive as a food item for birds (although the birds don’t mind eating the adults!). Picture of caterpillar is from Newark DE, August 2014.
Common name: Banded tussock moth, Fishers Island NY, June 2017
Scientific name: Halysidota tessellaris
Season: One generation in the Northeast, although caterpillars and adults are active throughout the summer and fall.
Food: You can find these guys in the summer on just about any tree or shrub in the forest.
Ecology: The species name for the moth (tessellaris) stands for “little square stone” in Latin (rough), which refers to the blocky pattern on the moth’s wing. As a caterpillar, it is covered in tufts of hair that makes it unattractive as a food item for birds (although the birds don’t mind eating the adults!). Picture of caterpillar is from Newark DE, August 2014.
8/08/16
I knew right away it would have to be a message of hope, this very simple story; in a way, perhaps I insisted on it…
It was during early July – a week of particularly sorrowful news: police shootings in Dallas, unspeakable violence going viral on video, racial tensions taut. I had just received an email that informed me of a double suicide within my Bering Sea tribe. That would be five now, familiar faces with strong ties to their own island, disappearing in their own despair; all gone in just a year and a half.
And the glimmers? They all started with a phone call from Fishers Island summer resident Bob Meyer.He reported a banded pigeon huddled beneath the telephone pole and osprey nest outside West Harbor.
It felt like the last thing I wanted to do on a Saturday evening, but the day had been a scorcher and thunder showers were expected to blow in, so I drove right away to meet Bob who was standing watch over this worn out feathered messenger.
Before I knew it I scooped up my now-passenger pigeon and headed home with the bird in the front seat, avoiding two unsettled ospreys circling overhead.
Swinging by the Village Market at closing hour I ran in and grabbed an empty Harpoon I.P.A. box from the help-yourself corner. I smiled, thanking the universe for any humor: I.P.A. – Island Pigeon Association.
By nightfall, tucked cozily in the box in a terrycloth nest, Harpoon sipped lots of water, poked and pecked at a bird seed mix with an added concoction of cracked corn, dry peas, grains, wild rice, even a plain Cheerio or two.
Clearly exhausted, this winged voyager would not fly. Looking like its city-pigeon cousins, Harpoon sat for days with feathers puffed up just outside my cottage under the shade of an elm tree.
While this particular naturalist doesn’t happen to have a pigeon coop set-up, the neighborhood soon found out there was a grounded visitor and kind folks took the bird under their collective wing by keeping a careful look-out.
Marj Beck texted one evening and asked if I knew about a banded bird and sent a photo of what turned out to be Harpoon at the school playground! I could’ve sworn the pigeon was nestled just outside. By 6 a.m. the next morning I rode my bike by the school, but there was no sign of my feathered friend. By 6 p.m. Harpoon appeared back at the cottage, perched under the elm tree. The next day, pedaling east past the Parade Grounds, I waved down school custodian Tommy Doroshevich who was mowing the lawn.
“Hey Tommy, did you happen to see a banded pigeon around the playground yesterday?
“Yeah! It sat all day right outside your classroom – the third and fourth graders you always visit – right there under the window, all day.
I thought it fairly amazing: a bird walking what looked like two football fields away and later returning “home.” Then I got goosebumps – the nice kind – when I remembered the date: the day my Mom had passed a couple years before.
I turned around and headed back home to catch Harpoon and decode the bright yellow band around its leg, labeled “49 IF NLI 2016.” I jotted the numbers and letters down on scrap paper.
The “NL,” which I supposed would be for “New London,” turned into North Long Island.
The “IF” originally was the “Iffy” sensation I felt while trying to locate Harpoon’s owner, but that turned into “International Federation.” It appeared my messenger was of thoroughbred racing stock.
So I searched the internet, piecing together lost banded racing pigeons of 2016 and flight distances across Long Island Sound and Fishers Island Sound. After a few emails and phone messages, I tracked down Tom Newman, the head of the North Long Island branch of pigeon fanciers. Our conversation was pleasant, and of course I made sure to add a few remarkable elements.
“I think this bird is a bit special. It survived two cranky ospreys, walked to the school playground AND back, thankfully outwitted the dog next door chasing a tennis ball through the yard AND there is even a ‘dove interest’,” I said. (Harpoon being a fancier too.)
Then Mr. Newman added his own remarkable element: Harpoon originally had flown from Smithtown, N.Y. I did my own quick calculating: 151.3 miles away, 2 hours 54 minutes – but that’s if the bird took I-95! Someone suggested the pigeon got blown off course and found Fishers Island.
But the question remained: Would Harpoon take wing and return to Long Island?
“Well, I know the owner and he’ll have to figure out how to get the bird back,” Newman said. “Does Fishers Island – I don’t even know where it is – does the island ship live (animals)?”
“Wait a second. I’m not packing this pigeon up to be sent UPS,” I said. “I think its owner should come pick it up. I don’t think it wants a life of competing and racing around anyways.” I was trying to be funny, but really wanted the owner to take some responsibility.
Days turned into weeks. I sent clever updates with photos to Mr. Newman, narrating Harpoon’s love affair with a mourning dove, documenting my first ever Amazon order of pigeon grit, how far the bird walked as it rejuvenated. I even confided that on my birthday, Harpoon happened to fly for the first time up to my open window – the nicest present.
If it’s true that home is where the heart is, then this creature must have felt comfortably at home because we formed a sweet bond – of hope I think it was. A simple pigeon trusted it would be cared for; in return, those heavy sorrows of early July that I has been carrying began to feel lighter with each day I spent with Harpoon.
One evening, three weeks to the day of Harpoon’s arrival, I leaned my bike against the cottage gate and gave my routine call of “Harpooooon,” with a bit of cooing.
Bursting out from atop the canopy of one of the tallest elms on Fishers Island, soaring and tumbling with what appeared to be effortless joy against a purple sky, there went Harpoon!
“May wherever you land feel like home,” I thought.
I knew right away it would have to be a message of hope, this very simple story; in a way, perhaps I insisted on it…
It was during early July – a week of particularly sorrowful news: police shootings in Dallas, unspeakable violence going viral on video, racial tensions taut. I had just received an email that informed me of a double suicide within my Bering Sea tribe. That would be five now, familiar faces with strong ties to their own island, disappearing in their own despair; all gone in just a year and a half.
And the glimmers? They all started with a phone call from Fishers Island summer resident Bob Meyer.He reported a banded pigeon huddled beneath the telephone pole and osprey nest outside West Harbor.
It felt like the last thing I wanted to do on a Saturday evening, but the day had been a scorcher and thunder showers were expected to blow in, so I drove right away to meet Bob who was standing watch over this worn out feathered messenger.
Before I knew it I scooped up my now-passenger pigeon and headed home with the bird in the front seat, avoiding two unsettled ospreys circling overhead.
Swinging by the Village Market at closing hour I ran in and grabbed an empty Harpoon I.P.A. box from the help-yourself corner. I smiled, thanking the universe for any humor: I.P.A. – Island Pigeon Association.
By nightfall, tucked cozily in the box in a terrycloth nest, Harpoon sipped lots of water, poked and pecked at a bird seed mix with an added concoction of cracked corn, dry peas, grains, wild rice, even a plain Cheerio or two.
Clearly exhausted, this winged voyager would not fly. Looking like its city-pigeon cousins, Harpoon sat for days with feathers puffed up just outside my cottage under the shade of an elm tree.
While this particular naturalist doesn’t happen to have a pigeon coop set-up, the neighborhood soon found out there was a grounded visitor and kind folks took the bird under their collective wing by keeping a careful look-out.
Marj Beck texted one evening and asked if I knew about a banded bird and sent a photo of what turned out to be Harpoon at the school playground! I could’ve sworn the pigeon was nestled just outside. By 6 a.m. the next morning I rode my bike by the school, but there was no sign of my feathered friend. By 6 p.m. Harpoon appeared back at the cottage, perched under the elm tree. The next day, pedaling east past the Parade Grounds, I waved down school custodian Tommy Doroshevich who was mowing the lawn.
“Hey Tommy, did you happen to see a banded pigeon around the playground yesterday?
“Yeah! It sat all day right outside your classroom – the third and fourth graders you always visit – right there under the window, all day.
I thought it fairly amazing: a bird walking what looked like two football fields away and later returning “home.” Then I got goosebumps – the nice kind – when I remembered the date: the day my Mom had passed a couple years before.
I turned around and headed back home to catch Harpoon and decode the bright yellow band around its leg, labeled “49 IF NLI 2016.” I jotted the numbers and letters down on scrap paper.
The “NL,” which I supposed would be for “New London,” turned into North Long Island.
The “IF” originally was the “Iffy” sensation I felt while trying to locate Harpoon’s owner, but that turned into “International Federation.” It appeared my messenger was of thoroughbred racing stock.
So I searched the internet, piecing together lost banded racing pigeons of 2016 and flight distances across Long Island Sound and Fishers Island Sound. After a few emails and phone messages, I tracked down Tom Newman, the head of the North Long Island branch of pigeon fanciers. Our conversation was pleasant, and of course I made sure to add a few remarkable elements.
“I think this bird is a bit special. It survived two cranky ospreys, walked to the school playground AND back, thankfully outwitted the dog next door chasing a tennis ball through the yard AND there is even a ‘dove interest’,” I said. (Harpoon being a fancier too.)
Then Mr. Newman added his own remarkable element: Harpoon originally had flown from Smithtown, N.Y. I did my own quick calculating: 151.3 miles away, 2 hours 54 minutes – but that’s if the bird took I-95! Someone suggested the pigeon got blown off course and found Fishers Island.
But the question remained: Would Harpoon take wing and return to Long Island?
“Well, I know the owner and he’ll have to figure out how to get the bird back,” Newman said. “Does Fishers Island – I don’t even know where it is – does the island ship live (animals)?”
“Wait a second. I’m not packing this pigeon up to be sent UPS,” I said. “I think its owner should come pick it up. I don’t think it wants a life of competing and racing around anyways.” I was trying to be funny, but really wanted the owner to take some responsibility.
Days turned into weeks. I sent clever updates with photos to Mr. Newman, narrating Harpoon’s love affair with a mourning dove, documenting my first ever Amazon order of pigeon grit, how far the bird walked as it rejuvenated. I even confided that on my birthday, Harpoon happened to fly for the first time up to my open window – the nicest present.
If it’s true that home is where the heart is, then this creature must have felt comfortably at home because we formed a sweet bond – of hope I think it was. A simple pigeon trusted it would be cared for; in return, those heavy sorrows of early July that I has been carrying began to feel lighter with each day I spent with Harpoon.
One evening, three weeks to the day of Harpoon’s arrival, I leaned my bike against the cottage gate and gave my routine call of “Harpooooon,” with a bit of cooing.
Bursting out from atop the canopy of one of the tallest elms on Fishers Island, soaring and tumbling with what appeared to be effortless joy against a purple sky, there went Harpoon!
“May wherever you land feel like home,” I thought.
Common name: Black-dotted ruddy, Fishers Island, NY, June 2017.
Scientific name: Ilecta intractata
Food: As caterpillars, black-dotted ruddy moths are specialist feeders, meaning they can feed on only one or two kinds of plants in order to grow and develop. Black-dotted ruddy moths feed on American holly trees, and can be a common inchworm in suburban environments where holly trees are planted.
Ecology: This species is attracted to artificial lighting, which can increase predation risk, disrupt behaviors such as feeding, flight and reproduction, and interfere with dispersal among habitat patches.