How Baskettails Got Their Name

I cannot be everywhere at once, nor witness every amazing behavior that insects do, so I am exceptionally grateful to friends and followers who share their illustrated stories with me. Such was the case when I noticed a post to a Facebook group from Cindy Baranoski. She happened upon a female Prince Baskettail dragonfly, Epitheca princeps, preparing to oviposit.

All photos © Cindy Baranoski

Baskettails are rather generic, non-descript dragonflies in the family Corduliidae, which includes the "emeralds." Both kinds of dragonflies have brilliant green eyes as adults. Otherwise, they can be mistaken for the more abundant "skimmer" dragonflies in the family Libellulidae. Baskettails tend to fly in spring and early summer, with some exceptions like the Prince Baskettail that is at the center of our story here. At first glance, it might be dismissed as a Twelve-spotted Skimmer, but the abdomen is longer, and narrow.

Cindy describes her amazing encounter as follows:

"It was a beautiful day, so my husband and I decided to go for a hike at Blackwell Forest Preserve in Warrenville, Illinois. They have a lovely array of forests, lakes, prairies, and wetlands. I had my camera in my backpack, as usual, waiting to get going into our walk before dragging it out. We had just started out around the first body of water, on a path about twenty feet from the water, and dense with plants. As we walked I saw a dragonfly whizz past us and land on a plant.

All photos © Cindy Baranoski

My first thought was of someone I knew who had shared a photo of a beautiful red dragonfly, and I wondered if this one was like that, or even just different from all the others I'd seen this summer. My husband remained on the path while I slowly and stealthily walked over to see. The dragonfly was in a vertical position on a plant, as usual, but what stuck out immediately was the movement of its tail: A slow and steady rhythmic back and forth movement I had not seen a dragonfly do before. I've seen them do a lot, this was new. I hoped that the dragonfly was ok, or maybe this was some new movement that helps them cool off, like the obelisk position. So I slowly backed away, and frantically pulled out my camera to be sure it was all on the right settings, mentally crossed my fingers, and snuck back over.

By that time I could see a bit of something now on the tail, as it gently waved back and forth. The dragonfly didn't fly away, didn't move, as I kept moving in closer to snap pictures with my camera, which was obnoxiously loud it seemed, and messing up my stealthiness. A bit of time passed and the small spot on the tail grew; and I was pretty sure this dragonfly was laying eggs. The dragonfly became a 'she' now, and she was extruding eggs.

All photos © Cindy Baranoski

I squealed mentally and out loud, and asked my husband to come peek to be sure this was happening. He looked, and said 'yep.' She continued to push out her eggs, and got quite still, and the slow waving of her tail ceased. I kept snapping pictures, praying at least one of them might be clear enough to share with others and document what was happening. Only a matter of minutes passed by, but it seemed forever, and not a thing around me was happening save for this moment. A breeze blew and she did not move. I was nearly on top of her snapping away and she didn't move, intent on what was happening in her own world.

All photos © Cindy Baranoski

Suddenly, in a moment, she took off and was gone. I want to believe that she quickly landed on the water to deposit her eggs. We walked away and I continued to squeal out loud how over absolutely amazing that was to see, and so grateful I was given that moment by her to trust this human observer. When we got home, of course I immediately opened up the pictures to see that many had come out in focus, and I pulled a few I felt were worthy of sharing on Facebook and Instagram. Not as many were as giddy about seeing this as I was, save for Eric and a few others. No worries, it was my special gift she shared with me."

All photos © Cindy Baranoski

Female baskettails quite literally put all their eggs in the one "basket" of her subgenital plate, just prior to laying them. In flight, the tip of the egg-laden abdomen is held aloft in a distinctive posture. They practice what is called exophytic oviposition, meaning that they do not land and insert their eggs singly into aquatic vegetation, bottom sediments, or mud in locations which flood. Instead, they drag the abdomen through the water as they fly, trailing a rope of eggs behind them. They favor tangles of floating and emergent plant stems as locations for their strings of eggs, which may be several feet long. The eggs are suspended in a gelatinous fluid that expands in the water.

All photos © Cindy Baranoski

I want to thank Cindy again for agreeing to let me publish her photos and story. Please consider contacting me if you have something to share that was exciting to you: bugeric247ATgmailDOTcom.

Shoot First, Ask Questions Later

Shoot it with a camera or your phone, though. Yesterday I once again found myself grateful for having paid attention to something I could have easily dismissed. Nothing bad can ever come from taking a moment to take a second look, and recording that observation whenever possible.

© Gary Larson via Pinterest

As a volunteer expert on social media, I cannot count the times someone has begun their post in an insect identification group with "I don't have an image, but...." I am tempted to start replying "Well, I don't have an answer, but...." I would never do that. I enjoy a good mystery too much, and believe in rewarding curiosity and a desire to learn.

There is still no substitute for a clear image of the creature you would like identified, and increasingly there is no excuse. Smart phones can now take professional-grade images that only dedicated cameras could manage a few minutes ago. You are forgiven if you had other priorities at the time, like eating, being engaged in an important conversation, or in a business meeting, for example.

The situation I am referring to is when you are out observing wild things anyway, and you still decide not to bother recording something. This is a failure I am occasionally guilty of, too, but I am working to rectify it. It gets worse the more you think you know, the more you think you recognize a specimen without close inspection.

A male Variegated Meadowhawk dragonfly

Yesterday I visited the Pueblo Reservoir Wildlife Area west and north of Lake Pueblo State Park in Colorado, thanks to my friend Tim Leppek who has been there many times and knows the area well. As is our custom, we made scant horizontal progress over several hours of walking along the mostly dry basin and channel. Dragonflies were still in abundance, mostly meadowhawks in the genus Sympetrum, as they persist late into autumn.

A male Striped Meadowhawk dragonfly

One dragonfly stood out, its wings shimmering more brightly than the others. I almost dismissed it as a teneral specimen, one that had just recently emerged as an adult, with mature adult pigments yet to manifest themselves. It flew relatively weakly as well, which is also typical of newly-minted adult odonates. I took a picture anyway, in the harsh afternoon sun, then reviewed the image on my camera screen and reacted "what the..??" I looked up from my camera and the crystal phantom was nowhere to be seen.

Fast forward to after I returned home, and began looking in my dragonfly books. There were no obvious photo matches in any of them. The closest approach was a female Bleached Skimmer, Libellula composita, the name alone being most appropriate considering how bright the thing was in the field. Looking online I finally managed to find a couple of images of that species, and that gender, that did match.

The female Bleached Skimmer

The Bleached Skimmer is well known from southeast Colorado, with records from Weld, Kiowa, Prowers, Bent, and Pueblo counties. The first specimen dates to July 11, 1991 in Lincoln County. The one from yesterday may represent the latest date for the species in Colorado, but I'll have to check with all the relevant authorities to know for sure.

Think about what you might be overlooking, and look again. Devote a few pixels to it. Share it. Maybe it is something common and well known in your area. There is no shame in redundancy if that is the case. Eventually, something you spot won't be common or well known, at least in your location, and your observation will be greeted with great appreciation by the scientific community.

Filigree Skimmers Are Back

Back in July of 2014, I documented a single male Filigree Skimmer dragonfly, Pseudoleon superbus, for the first time in Colorado. I am happy to report that there now seems to be a viable population of this species in the exact same location as previously.

Considering that there was tremendous upheaval at this site when an enormous water line was laid right through the stream (perpendicular, but buried), I am amazed that any aquatic life survived, let alone prospered. The water level has been substantially lower since the installation of the pipeline, but that doesn't seem to bother all the resident Odonata, including Flame Skimmers (Libellula saturata), another rather uncommon species here.

Female Filigree Skimmer

I visited the site on both July 5 and July 7. I arrived around ten-fifteen in the morning the first day, just in time to see a female Filigree Skimmer ovipositing (laying eggs), while at least one male flew erratically around her. Females of this species hover over the water and dip the tip of the abdomen into algal mats, laying at least one egg with each thrust. She quickly finished, paused on a rock for a few seconds, long enough for me to get four images, and then vanished. I never saw her again that day and I stayed a good while.

Meanwhile, the male stayed, flying around one of the ponds and periodically flying up and down the stream corridor, which is bound by a narrow, high-walled canyon, albeit a diminutive canyon. As the day heated up, he assumed the posture known as "obelisking," whereby an overheated dragonfly sticks its abdomen straight up in the air to minimize the body surface it exposes to the sun. It is the dragonfly equivalent of a headstand.

"Obelisking" male Filigree Skimmer

Upon returning home later that day, I informed one of our local dragonfly gurus of my finding, and he promised to visit the next day, July 6. He had tried to find the one in 2014, but to no avail. I honestly thought that if I did not get corroboration, that entomologists everywhere would think I was crazy. Happily, that was not the case then, and it isn't now because my friend found the male this time around. He notified another dragonfly authority who was supposed to come visit the site on July 7, but I did not see him there.

American Rubyspot damselfly

A bonus of my walk through the canyon on July 5 was spotting a male American Rubyspot damselfly, Hetaerina americana. This is not an uncommon species here around fast-flowing streams, but it was the first one I have seen in city limits. The "canyon" is at best a series of ponds these days, so this damselfly may want to find more dependable habitat.

Downstream canyon where I found the Rubyspot

I got to the site a little earlier on July 7, and only found a single male Filigree Skimmer initially. As the sun rose in the sky, illuminating more of the area, he became more active and was, to my surprise, eventually joined by another male. They literally chased each other all over the place. It was rather amusing to watch. I even managed to get a picture with both specimens in the shot.

Two males!

Then, about ten-thirty AM or so, here came the female again. She seemed to materialize out of thin air, went about laying more eggs, paused again for a photo op, and then "poof!" She was gone as quickly as she had arrived. I am told that the males will chase females long distances, but she did not appear to have any escort, at least this time. Her wings are so heavily mottled, and her body so cryptic, she could have landed somewhere close and virtually melted into the landscape.

Our Colorado friends should keep an eye out for this species even farther north, in appropriate habitats: Rocky canyons in mostly arid locations.

Bosque del Apache National Wildlife Refuge

The wildlife refuge in the news right now is Malheur National Wildlife Refuge in remote southeast Oregon. I just wrote a post about the armed occupation taking place there over on my Sense of Misplaced blog. All our national wildlife refuges belong to all U.S. citizens, though, and one of my new favorites is Bosque del Apache NWR in central New Mexico.

Sandhill Cranes from a previous visit

After the conclusion of our participation in the dragonfly blitz near Silver City, Heidi and I took a leisurely two-day drive back home, passing through the refuge on the way. We hoped we would see some migrating birds, as well as more dragonfly and damselfly species. Birds were rather scarce compared to late in fall when waterfowl and huge flocks of Sandhill Cranes make the refuge a big draw for birders. We did manage a few nice insects, though.

Say's Phoebe, a common songbird here

There is a $5.00 entrance fee for the refuge, but an annual pass is only $15.00, both obtainable from the visitor center. The headquarters is a good place to start anyway, as they have feeders for both songbirds and hummingbirds, restrooms, and one of the best nature-themed gift shops I have seen anywhere.

Twin-spotted Spiny Lizard, Sceloporus bimaculosus, guarding the restroom at headquarters

One of the most popular stops on the refuge is a boardwalk around part of the marsh that is nearly always flooded. At the end of the boardwalk a trail takes you into dune habitat with a variety of desert shrubs and wildflowers. There, I found Hayden's Grasshopper, Derotmema haydeni, a very common species of band-winged grasshopper with red or yellow hind wings that it flashes briefly during short flights after it is startled. Otherwise, this small insect is so cryptic as to be nearly invisible on the sand.

Hayden's Grasshopper

Also encountered on the dunes was a female sand wasp, possibly Bembix sayi, hard at work on her nest burrow. She disappeared so quickly into her tunnel that I only got one shot of her.

Sand wasp

Butterflies are also in abundance on the refuge, and Heidi was lucky enough to spot this pair of Reakirt's Blues, Hemiargus isola, in copula on a low-growing shrub.

Leaving the dunes and returning down the boardwalk back to the car, we finally found some dragonflies other than the abundant Variegated Meadowhawk, Sympetrum corruptum. Heidi spotted a specimen of the White-belted Ringtail, Erpetogomphus compositus, perched on a cattail blade overhanging the water. The insect's distance and angle from the boardwalk, coupled with breezy conditions, made it a real challenge to get any pictures.

White-belted Ringtail

Closer at hand we found a male Eastern Amberwing, Perithemis tenera, flitting and perching among the cattails. This was a species we saw on the dragonfly blitz, but not as clearly as here. I was surprised they were so uncommon.

male Eastern Amberwing

As territorial as any male dragonfly are males of the Viceroy butterfly, Limenitis archippus. These are the famed mimics of the Monarch, but with a little practice one can easily distinguish them. The submarginal semi-circle line across the hind wing is one obvious clue. The male Viceroy also patrols a territory and perches frequently, something the larger Monarch does not do, at least with any dependability.

Viceroy butterfly

A trail parallels the road on the side of the marsh opposite the boardwalk, and it is always worth a look-see. This time I was rewarded with observations of a Campestral Grasshopper, Spharagemon campestris. This is a fairly large band-winged grasshopper with yellow hindwings exposed in flight, and a bright orange tibia on each hind leg.

Campestral Grasshopper

Pushing onward around the southern loop road, heading back north now, I spotted an enormous female Black & Yellow Garden Spider, Argiope aurantia, from the car. These arachnids can be surprisingly cryptic in the right circumstances, but this one was in bright sunlight with blue sky behind her from my vantage point in our Saturn. I got out to get this close-up.

One dragonfly that had so far eluded us was the Roseate Skimmer, Orthemis ferruginea, mature males of which are essentially hot pink in color. We finally found a small population in a muddy, quickly shrinking wetland off the side of the road.

Male Roseate Skimmer

It is always amazing to me how an old, tattered dragonfly can still be basically unimpaired, and able to fly as swiftly as its totally intact brethren.

The wetlands were also hosting a handful of Killdeer plovers, and a single Spotted Sandpiper.

Spotted Sandpiper in winter plumage

Also present in the neighborhood was a spreadwing damselfly, Lestes sp., which I cannot identify beyond genus. Maybe one of my followers here can tell us.

Farther up the road we encountered a female Roseate Skimmer that landed in a cottonwood tree. They look hardly anything like the males, and have a distinct flare near the tip of the abdomen.

female Roseate Skimmer

I always look forward to finding patches of blooming milkweed (Asclepias spp.) in this part of the country. The flowers are a magnet for all manner of insects, especially butterflies, bees, and wasps. Heidi is understandably hoping for minimal milkweed because she knows I am going to be at each little oasis for a l-o-o-o-ng time.

Female scoliid wasp, Campsomeris sp.

I tried to be efficient, but there was so much diversity: tarantula hawks (Pepsis sp.), a nice thread-waisted wasp (Sphex ashmeadi), weevil wasps (Cerceris sp.), and scoliid wasps (Campsomeris sp. and Triscolia ardens), plus Bordered Patch butterflies (Chlosyne lacinia).

Bordered Patch butterflies

Alas, time had come to get back on the road home, and storm clouds were rolling in anyway, as we expected they would by mid-afternoon. A convention of swallows bid us farewell from their perches in the middle of yet another pond.

Bosque del Apache is highly managed, as most refuges are, to accommodate migrating waterfowl. Consequently, there may be little water except during late fall, winter, and early spring. Bear that in mind if you are looking for aquatic life, and time your visit accordingly.

New Mexico Dragonfly Blitz - Day 3

Saturday, August 29, found us wading up the Middle Fork of the Gila River, accessed at a point near the visitor center for Gila Cliff Dwellings National Monument. This is yet another scenic canyon, full of wonderful flora and fauna.

Middle Fork of the Gila River

Rubyspot damselflies were again abundant, but this time it was American Rubyspots, Hetaerina americana, that appeared to be most common. Despite how plentiful they were, I still can't seem to tell the difference between American and Canyon Rubyspot.

Male and female rubyspot damselflies

Our party quickly split up in different directions, so some folks saw dragonflies and damsels that others did not. Rather than dwell on what I missed, I delighted in what I saw, including another "lifer" species, the Pale-faced Clubskimmer, Brechmorhoga mendax. Someone netted a specimen the day before, but I was lucky enough to spot this specimen in flight and followed to where it perched. These dragonflies are in the skimmer family Libellulidae, but they look a lot more like clubtails (family Gomphidae). The fact that their eyes meet helps one to readily identify them as skimmers.

Pale-faced Clubskimmer dragonfly

I am also alert to non-odonate insects, and was pleased to find a couple of nice specimens of the Green Bird Grasshopper, Schistocerca shoshone, clinging to cattails and grasses along the edge of the river, and on islands in the middle of the river.

Green Bird Grasshopper, Schistocerca shoshone

A lovely metallic blue beetle with an orange pronotum (top segment of thorax) also caught my eye. I later determined it to be the V-marked Lady Beetle, Neoharmonia venusta ampla. This subspecies is found only from central Arizona to south Texas, and is not that commonly encountered.

V-marked Lady Beetle

There were animals other than insects, too. One of the cutest was an Arizona Toad that was hopping across a sand bar when we saw it.

Arizona Toad

Many of the dragonflies we saw were species we had seen the day before, but I managed better images of some of the clubtails, like the Dashed Ringtail, Erpetogomphus heterodon. The solid green thorax, with relatively few brown stripes, helps to identify this lovely species.

Dashed Ringtail dragonfly

The White-belted Ringtail, Erpetogomphus compositus, by contrast, has a heavily-striped thorax. It might be better called the Zebra Ringtail. The white "belt" refers to the central stripe on the side of the thorax, which is white, not yellow-green like the adjacent patches.

White-belted Ringtail dragonfly

A perfect male specimen of the Great Spreadwing damselfly, Archilestes grandis, perched on a reed right in front of some of us. This damselfly is so large that it could easily be mistaken for a dragonfly at first glance. This is a common species over much of the U.S., but was a "first" for at least a few members of our group.

Male Great Spreadwing damselfly

A bit more surprising was a male Powdered Dancer damselfly, Argia moesta, sharing mid-stream rocks with rubyspots and ringtails. Mature male specimens are covered in pale blue pruinosity, a kind of waxy bloom that easily rubs off. This was the only individual we saw the whole trip.

Male Powdered Dancer damselfly

Once again, threatening weather descended, and we had to exit the canyon a little sooner than we would have liked. On the way out, Heidi spotted a very cryptic flower scarab beetle, Euphoria sonorae, inside a flower.

Flower scarab beetle, Euphoria sonorae

After lunch, Heidi and I decided to see if the trail to the cliff dwellings was open. It is subject to closure in the face of impending electrical storms, but it was open, we paid the $5.00 entrance fee, and away we went. Crossing a bridge over a tributary of the Gila River, we found several caterpillars of a tiger moth in the genus Halysidota parading over the railings. Tents of the Fall Webworm, Hyphantria cunea, adorned many trees.

Caterpillar of Halysidota sp.

The trail is steep, with numerous switchbacks, but there are some nice views of the cliff dwellings.

There are benches to take a breather if you need it, but this one was already occupied by a ground squirrel when we got to it.

The cave dwellings are well worth the trip. The scale is quite surprising. Volunteers at the site help interpret the history and culture, and point the way to the exit, down a ladder!

Heidi at the cliff dwellings

The most obvious occupants of the site these days are the Crevice Spiny Lizards. The reptiles in turn provide a home to bright red mites that speckle various parts of the lizard, especially beneath its "collar."

Crevice Spiny Lizard

Wildflowers provide color at this time of year, too, and this catchfly, Silene laciniata, was one of the more intense blooms we saw as we descended from the cliff dwellings.

Cardinal Catchfly flower

We decided to spend the remaining daylight by exploring more of City of Rocks State Park before an evening group picnic and astronomy presentation. A Black-tailed Jackrabbit put in an appearance at dusk, and then we were treated to a "super moon" rising above the, um, mountains in the distance.

Black-tailed Jackrabbit

After dark, other creatures venture out. The park visitor center and restrooms are modestly lit, enough to draw insects, and spiders and other predators like this Red-spotted Toad.

Red-spotted Toad

An Apache Recluse spider, Loxosceles apachea, and a large blister beetle in pinstripes, Epicauta costata, were among the other highlights of the evening.

Apache Recluse spider

Blister beetle, Epicauta costata

Our drive out of the park would have been spectacular were it not for a terribly unfortunate outcome to our encounter with a gorgeous Prairie Rattlesnake. It was stretched across our lane, soaking in the warmth of the asphalt. I got out to take pictures, and eventually move the snake to safety. Before I could do that, another vehicle approached from behind us. I had my insect net, and tried to wave the approaching car around us. Instead, the driver and his passengers assumed we might be in trouble, and they came to a stop in front of our car, after driving right over the poor serpent.

Miraculously, there was no external damage to the reptile, but it had to have sustained catastrophic internal injuries. I got the snake into my net and moved it off the road, hopefully to live out whatever remaining hours it had in peace.

It turned out the party in the other car were college students with intense interest in herpetology and entomology. We exchanged pleasant greetings (after my initial outburst because I thought they had intentionally hit the snake), and then parted ways.

It was a sad ending to an otherwise wonderful day, but more was yet to come.