The Great Newt Commute is what happens on the way to the Great Newt Party. From the first winter rains through early spring, California Newts migrate from their summer homes to their winter breeding grounds — to ponds and streams where they mate and lay eggs before trundling back up the hills and into burrows for the dry season.
It is a genuine trundle for the little newt. I snapped this photo on a trail in Tilden Park last month. Even a cluster of weeds is a formidable hurdle for the newt, so it’s an awesome feat to travel miles on this annual journey.
Newt Crossing a Trail
The Newt’s Toxic Arsenal
The California Newt is armed with a toxin that wards off predators: tetrodotoxin (TTX) — the same potent neurotoxin found in puffer fish. The adult newt, its eggs and its embryos are all protected by TTX. Tetrodotoxin packs a wallop so you don’t want to ingest it. And you don’t want to pick up a newt then have your kids play with it, as I witnessed one parent doing before I clued him in.
Be nice to newts because the effects of TTX range from respiratory distress to outright paralysis. It’s one of the ingredients in coupe poudre, or zombie juice. Only one lucky animal seems to have developed an immunity to the newt’s TTX: the garter snake . . . who won’t be joining the living dead at any point soon.
Don’t go synthesizing this based on my diagram. We don’t need any more zombies.
Newts + Cars = Not Good
Were it not for human development, the newt would be relatively free of predators on his way to meet his mate. But the car proves to be his deadliest adversary. Which is why Tilden Park now closes South Park Drive for the entirety of the newt migration season.
South Park Drive Closed for Newts
The Japanese Pool at UC Berkeley Botanical is an exceptional place to see (but not touch) newts. This is precisely the right time of year, too. The photos below (taken last week) include one shot of the newt’s eggs, within gelatinous egg masses. You’ll see loads of affectionate newts pairing up under the water lilies and at the pond’s surface.
Cool Newt Trivia:
- In the summer, newts engage in estivation — a hibernation-style summer sleep. They’ll burrow in mud or under logs to prevent desiccation (drying out)
- Male newts arrive at mating grounds first and also depart first
- Young newts stay at the breeding grounds until the end of the warm season, at which point they’ll move to terrestrial grounds until they reach maturity (in a few years)
- California Newts can reach 20 to 30 years of age . . . provided they avoid SUVs.
- Rough-skinned newts are the most toxic. California Newts are about a tenth as toxic as the rough.
Newt Surfacing
Swimming Newt
Newt and Egg Masses - Under the Surface on Lily Stems
Related Post: Newt Party at UC Berkeley Botanical
The ideal time to photograph a Wolf Moon is at moonrise, along the horizon, when the illusion of size will be greatest. At moonrise yesterday, we were socked in with drizzle, clouds and brume.
Even though I missed the classic horizon shot, I still wanted a glimpse and capture of this Wolf — a near-full moon at perigee, perigee being the moon’s closest point to the earth. These images are precisely what I saw, as the clouds masked Wolfie moon like a scrim, gaping from time to time to reveal his full splendor.
This National Geographic piece describes the phenomenon of the Wolf Moon – with this year’s appearing 30 percent brighter and 14 percent larger, owing to its closer-than-usual proximity to earth.
Click for bigger images. You’ll have to click through again to get to the largest size.
Posted Under:
Moon
Copyright and Written By ingrid on January 30, 2010
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We used to live down the road from a lightbulb store called “Lightbulbs Unlimited.” In Los Angeles. The shop had an illuminated sign. Naturally, of course. It was a lightbulb store. But for seven years, the shopkeepers never replaced the dead bulbs in their sign.
So for the entire time we lived in L.A., the name we’d see across the door at night was “Lightbulbs Unl.” Irony or paradox?
No disrespect to Spenger’s because I imagine that by now, they’ve fixed their missing neon. And even if they haven’t, I’m sure they won’t wait seven years. And — they’re not a lightbulb store.
I just couldn’t help but think of Lightbulbs Unl when we passed under the Spenger’s marquee. On a rainy Berkeley night. Blissful. We need the rain. Even if it keeps me from photographing the Wolf Moon.
That’s all today. Sentimental attachment to broken neon and a long ago life.
Years ago, Hugh and I trained with EARS — Emergency Animal Rescue Service — part of United Animal Nations (UAN). The training prepared us to deploy in the event of natural disaster. That’s my disclaimer, there’s a slight conflict of interest in linking out to an organization of which I’m a part. But it’s one of the few groups that mobilizes on behalf of non-humans when disaster strikes.
United Animal Nations and EARS volunteers operate like Red Cross volunteers — except they deploy on behalf of injured and stranded animals. UAN has been on the scene of fires, earthquakes, hurricanes and floods. And now, UAN is part of a coalition to help animals in Haiti: the Haiti Animal Relief Fund. If you’d like to extend a hand to the animal victims of Haiti’s earthquake, click the link above for more information.
Here are additional links for Haitian relief and donations:
Friday roundup of nature and environmental stories — and a related Flickr fave. Many thanks to David Ian Roberts for licensing this photo of an Arctic Tern under Creative Commons.
Arctic Tern - © David Ian Roberts/Flickr
Photo by David Ian Roberts – Flickr (http://www.flickr.com/photos/dirpics/ / CC BY-NC-SA 2.0)
- From National Geographic, mini transmitters now show that the Arctic Tern has the world’s longest migration, traveling 44,000 miles in a zigzag between Greenland and Antarctica.
- Not brand new, but in case you haven’t heard, our Pier 39 sea lions have trundled on northward to Oregon it seems. They’ve been reported at Sea Lion Caves, north of Florence.
- The Oakland Zoo is in trouble with neighbors for cutting down 300 acacia trees to feed animals at the zoo. The zoo promised to plant 50 oaks in exchange for the cuts.
- Marin’s coho salmon population is on the verge of collapse, egg numbers having dropped significantly. For more information check out SPAWN, Salmon Protection and Watershed Network
- Bay Nature magazine has a good piece on Great White Sharks, opening with a blurb about the Monterey Aquarium’s juvenile white.
- From Treehugger, a new species of pencil-eraser-sized gecko discovered in Ecuador. Thirty new species of reptiles and amphibians have been discovered recently through the work of the Ecuadorian Biodiversity Project.
- A copper-based compound is giving hope that a practical catalyst does exist to scrub CO2 from the air.
Imagine you’re a songbird . . . but nature has mandated you dine like a raptor. What are you to do with those gentle little feet that should be talons?
You develop a workaround. That’s what this little bird has done.
I saw him in my periphery and noted the bright white breast and the sporadic fluttering from the fence post which suggested to me, something other than my usual songbird persons. He was foraging for food in the tall grass below.
Bird Master — my wildlife hospital mentor — would have known. She could nail the ID in a flash. In fact, I have yet to stump Bird Master. She even identified a nighthawk — in a photograph where the bird’s image was about the size of a sesame seed. Bird Master is the Master for a reason.
On this trail, on this particular day, I was without Sibley Guide and without binoculars. Actually, I always am without those things because I am “with” camera gear. There’s only so much you can haul without a donkey in tow, so I forsake “birding” in the interest of the picture.
And here’s that picture. Those in the know will know who this is.
Loggerhead Shrike (Lanius ludovicianus ) at Palo Alto Baylands - ©ingridtaylar
Mr. or Ms. Loggerhead Shrike
It was a Loggerhead Shrike (Lanius ludovicianus ) doing his shrike thing at Palo Alto Baylands. Take a look at his beak. Small though it may be, it’s a mighty beak. It helps him overcome his songbird limitations in a world of raptor food.
Beak of Loggerhead Shrike - ©ingridtaylar
The Shrike Kebab
So back to the poor shrike’s dilemma at the dinner table. It’s not fair, but the Loggerhead Shrike has a system to bridge the gap between his songbird feet and the need for talons: he uses what he’s got. And what he’s got is a that super beak to kill his prey. And then, he finds something sharp (thorns, barbed wire) on which to impale his prey for the main course. It’s the Loggerhead’s kebab.
From nature’s standpoint, it’s an ingenious compromise. I admire the methodology, even if I’m too much of an empath to get my kicks from predator-prey slasher flicks. I’ll leave the raptor (or raptor-like) bird alone just at the point most wildlife photographers go in for the predator money shot.
I prefer to remember my sweet Loggerhead this way:
Loggerhead Shrike at Palo Alto Baylands - ©ingridtaylar
The Fate of the Loggerhead Shrike
The story of the Loggerhead Shrike’s survival parallels many other species who depend on certain habitats for their sustenance. Shrike numbers are decreasing, according to The National Audubon Society, because of reductions in farmlands — lands which provide foraging areas for the Loggerhead. Rampant development and loss of habitat are the biggest threats facing most of our animal species. Audubon advocates for a number of solutions, including preserving farmland, grassland and open space where birds like the Loggerhead Shrike thrive.
In April of last year, The Berkeley Daily Planet ran a piece on the decline of the Loggerhead Shrike.
It’s tough to argue for the preservation of a single insect or bird until people understand the larger ramifications on the ecological order. It’s never just about a Snowy Owl or a Salt Marsh Harvest Mouse or a California Tiger Salamander. It’s always about where this particular creature fits into the greater whole, and how its absence topples the already tenuous ecological balance.
Although so much of the Bay Area has, indeed, been developed, I still consider myself one of the more fortunate humans, to live among the open space and natural bounty that conservationists throughout our history, have fought to preserve.
If you’d like a more thorough exploration of those local pioneers and San Francisco Bay green movements, check out Richard A. Walker’s The Country in the City: The Greening of the San Francisco Bay Area. Walker is a geography professor at UC Berkeley.
I’m a perfect fit with Northern California, loving the storm-whipped ocean as I do. From the shoreline, that is. Keeping my eye on that 7th wave. Wrapped in layers. Wishing I could still operate my camera while wearing gloves. Keeping the UV filter on for the salt. Loving every second of this El-Niño-driven swell.
Some photos from Ocean Beach and Baker Beach yesterday, in the heart of the bluster. Check out the stormy beach person in the last photo — loving the elements so much, he’s opted for a bare nekkid chill on Baker Beach, under the Golden Gate.
Stormy Swells at Ocean Beach - San Francisco - ©ingridtaylar
Gulls in the Foam Line at Ocean Beach - San Francisco - ©ingridtaylar
Willet Hunting and Gathering - Ocean Beach, San Francisco - ©ingridtaylar
A Dog and His Christmas Sculpture - Ocean Beach, San Francisco - ©ingridtaylar
Riders on the Storm - Gulls at Ocean Beach - ©ingridtaylar
Baring All in the Storm - ©ingridtaylar
In the span of three days and two hikes, we’ve come upon a new, invasive species of flora: the Dunlop Tree. That’s not entirely fair to Dunlop since I can’t confirm the ball markings. But I’ll put my money on a Dunlop GrandPrix and a Penn Championship.
©ingridtaylar
©ingridtaylar
Years ago, I found a book on animal totems — after pulling an all-nighter with a Navajo friend who clued us in to the shamanistic roots of animal guides and animal medicine. In this Native American spiritual tradition, we each have nine totem animals who walk with us on this life path. They appear when they are needed to guide us at pivotal points.
I don’t know what my nine totem animals are. I’d like to know, but I never undertook the exploration in full. I do, however, feel my greatest sense of connection when I’m with animals, some more than others. And I notice when a single type of animal keeps appearing in my life, particularly if that animal never showed itself previously. If it comes at a particularly stressful period, I pay attention to the lessons or the “medicine” ostensibly offered by that particular animal.
Kestrels Everywhere
Last week, I started seeing Kestrels. I never see Kestrels. I’ve looked for them, hoped to photograph them, but in the years I’ve now roamed Bay Area trails, rarely a Kestrel . . . except as a distant, barely-distinguishable blip.
Now, in the span of seven days, I’ve seen four different Kestrels. All close up. All near urban enclaves. All sitting still, showing great tolerance for my presence.
Kestrels are falcons, and lessons of the falcon include balancing speed against outcome, as well as exercising patience in waiting for the right moments to act. If any animal can teach me patience, I’ll embrace it as a totem animal whether or not it wants to be. Kestrels appearing on the cusp between these two years and decades — I will take that as a mandate.
An American Kestrel in Oakland - ©ingridtaylar
An American Kestrel in So. Cal. - ©ingridtaylar
I’ve never anticipated a number this much. Goodbye, 2009, thanks for the lessons. 2010, am I ever happy to see you. I’ll use your symbolic momentum to realign my world.
If you happen to be stopping by the Quark during this annual switch-over, I wish you an incredible, transformative, beautiful year ahead. Happy New Year!
I had a way-early birthday celebration and got terminally distracted from dessert. You know, camera in hand. This is deliberately over-exposed with our little Panasonic TZ5. The champagne is missing but I’ll be filling that void tonight.
Posted Under:
Birds
Copyright and Written By ingrid on December 31, 2009
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