Species of the Month

March Species of the Month: Sphagnum Sprite (Nehalennia gracilis)

Sphagnum Sprite (Nehalennia gracilis) (male). David Smith July 25 or August 4, 2022 at Elfin Bog near Hibbing, Minnesota.

The Sphagnum Sprite (Nehalennia gracilis) is one of six  members of the genus, three of which are in temperate North America; the latter have overlapping ranges and a shared preference for boggy habitats and are a tiny one inch or so in length.  Male Sphagnum Sprites, in the family Coenagrionidae, are distinguished most readily in the field by the solid blue color of S8-S10 and by an elongated occipital bar. Females are set apart most readily from other sprite females by the black and blue pattern of S8-S10 as well as the occipital bar. Under magnification there are additional distinctive features in the male appendages and female prothorax. During the summer 2022 quest for the Elfin Skimmer, David Smith and his wife, Suzanne Winckler,  were surprised to discover the Sphagnum Sprite in Minnesota. Read on to hear more about their adventures.

Two Sprites, Please!

Nehalennia, a word of possible Celtic origin meaning “she near the sea” (de Bernardo Stempel 2004), is a goddess of multiple presumed powers worshipped over centuries in northern Europe. Nehalennia is also the name Sélys Longchamps (1850) assigned to a new genus of diminutive damsels in the family Coenagrionidae. Sphagnum Sprite is similar in size and overall appearance to the more common Sedge Sprite (N. irene). Each have flight times from May to August, and the two species share habitat preferences and are often found together within their overlapping ranges. I should note that the Southern Sprite (N. integricollis), whose range is restricted to the southeastern US, also is similar in appearance to and can co-occur with Sphagnum Sprite, but this is a species unfamiliar to me.

Range maps for Sedge Sprite (Nehalennia irene; upper) and Sphagnum Sprite (N. gracilis; lower).  Data from OdonataCentral.org.

In Albert P. Morse’s original description of Sphagnum Sprite (1895), he noted his type specimens from Massachusetts were “Taken near stagnant pools in peat-bogs in company with irene, with which species it has hitherto been confused.” The photos in Figure 2 perhaps highlight how separating these species could evade casual observation. 

Photographic comparison of Sphagnum (a and b) and Sedge Sprite (c and d). Males (a and d) and females (b and c).  All photographs taken by the author on July 25 or August 4, 2022 at Elfin Bog near Hibbing, Minnesota.

I was not prepared to see Sphagnum Sprite on our Elfin Skimmer outing near Hibbing, Minnesota, this past July 25.  We saw numerous sprites among the floating sphagnum mats at Elfin Bog, as seen here.

Suzanne Winckler taking photographs at Elfin Bog on August 4, 2022.  This bog is typical of others in the area with a floating mat of sphagnum moss species interspersed with Cotton Grass (Eriophorum angustifolium) and Purple Pitcher Plant (Sarracenia purpurea) and surrounded by Black Spruce (Picea mariana).

I was initially calling all of these Sedge Sprites but was nonetheless left a bit ill-at-ease with several of the “Sedge Sprites” we were identifying. Some just looked different.  As always, I took photos; only after carefully examining these photographs on the computer at home and comparing with sprite entries in field guides, did I realize we had seen Sphagnum Sprite, a new species for us and, as it turns out, for the state of Minnesota.  

That realization mandated a return trip on August 4 to Elfin Bog where, with forethought, we enjoyed seeing Sphagnum Sprites alongside Sedge Sprites and a few more Elfin Skimmers.  For me, this experience underscores how useful I have found photography as it gives me permanent access to the structural details to better appreciate and identify odonates.

David Smith is a retired molecular biologist who is now big into photography of birds, butterflies, and, of course, odonates.  He and Suzanne Winckler split time between their home bases in Embarrass, Minnesota and Álamos, Sonora, México while pursuing nature in many places.  He can be reached at smith.david26@gmail.com.

Species of the Month

February Species of the Month: Elfin Skimmer (Nannothemis bella)

Elfin Skimmer (Nannothemis bella) (male), photo copyright Suzanne Winckler, August 4, 2022., near Hibbing, MN.

February’s DSA Species of the Month is the Elfin Skimmer (Nannothemis bella). Nannothemis is a monotypic genus in the dragonfly family Libellulidae. The Elfin Skimmer is the smallest dragonfly in North America. It averages .75” to 1” (19.05 cm to 25.4 cm) in length. Reports of the species on Odonata Central are scattered from eastern Canada south through the eastern U.S. from New England to the Gulf states. However, N. bella is restricted almost exclusively to bogs, which are few and far between, difficult to access, and poorly protected within the species’ range. Read on to discover how Suzanne Winckler and her husband, David Smith set out to find the Elfin Skimmer in the boreal bogs of northeastern Minnesota on the western edge of its range where it is poorly known.

David and I spend ode season-–-summer-–-in northeastern Minnesota. One of our go-to resources is Kurt Mead’s Dragonflies of the North Woods. One day, when skimming through his guide, I said to David, “I want to see the Elfin Skimmer.”

Range map of the Elfin Skimmer (Nannothemis bella) courtesy Odonata Central.

Besides its distinction as the smallest dragonfly in North America, the other lure of the Elfin Skimmer is where it is most likely to be found: in floating bogs with short vegetation. I love floating bogs! No other landscape is quite so magical to behold. No other landscape is quite so hilarious to try to walk around on. Who cares if these waterlogged places are often swarming with mosquitoes and deer flies in the summer?

Floating bog near Hibbing, Minnesota on July 25, 2022 where we found the Elfin Skimmer (Nannothemis bella), photo copyright Suzanne Winckler.

David pinpointed a bog on Google Earth that appeared to require the least bushwhacking. Last summer, on July 25, we drove to state land near Hibbing, Minnesota, and found a highway pull-off to park. Within moments of walking on an old logging road through the forest, slogging a bit as the terrain got marshier, we came upon a glittering pond surrounded by sedge-covered hummocks of sphagnum. It was as if we had stepped through an invisible threshold into another realm. We squished into the bog and started scanning.

It seemed like only a few minutes. I was looking down, searching the bonsai forest of sphagnum moss, sedges, pitcher plants, Labrador tea, cottongrass, and cranberries, when, bam, an Elfin Skimmer spontaneously materialized three feet away. “David, David,” I said in a loud whisper, “Elfin Skimmer, Elfin Skimmer, female.” He squeegeed  over my way.

I took my first photos. I looked at her through my binoculars. I simply stared at her with my naked eyes. She was vespine and so tiny. I’m talking Thumbelina tiny! She was smaller in length than the first joint of my thumb. Close-up photos fail to capture such tininess.

Female Elfin Skimmer (Nannothemis bella), photo copyright Suzanne Winckler, near Hibbing, MN, July 25, 2022.

We regained our composure, sort of. We spent another couple of euphoric hours looking for odes, tallying a total of 11 species. 

Calico Pennant (Celithemis elisa) male, one of 10 other species we saw besides Elfin Skimmer, photo copyright Suzanne Winckler, near Hibbing, MN, July 25, 2022.

Lyre-tipped Spreadwing (Lestes unguiculatus), another great odonate on our first search for Elfin Skimmer in northern Minnesota, July 25, 2022, photo copyright Suzanne Winckler.

As for the Elfin Skimmer, we encountered 12 females and 1 male.

This male Elfin Skimmer (Nannothemis bella) perched next to a pitcher plant shows how truly tiny N. bella is. This individual was photographed by Suzanne Winckler on a subsequent visit to the bog near Hibbing, MN, on August 4, 2022. Photo copyright Suzanne Winckler.

As we slogged around in the floating bog, our rubber boots made sucking sounds every time we extracted a foot up out of the sphagnum to advance another unsteady step. Several times when I was poised on a mat of sphagnum photographing an odonate, I felt myself sinking and tilting at the same time. It crossed my mind that if I had been out there alone and not made some quick realignments, I would sink into the bog.

Perhaps I’d be found mummified 10,000 years hence by some archeologist. And no one would ever know I vanished in my quest to see an Elfin Skimmer.

Suzanne Winckler is a semi-retired journalist who shares an interest in the natural world with David Smith. They live in the woods in rural Minnesota, US, and in a small town in Sonora, Mexico. 

Species of the Month

2023

January Species of the Month: Familiar Bluet (Enallagma civile)

Male Familiar Bluet (Enallagma civile) damselfly,  Floyd County, Texas. Photo by Danielle Husband (26 July 2021).

Our DSA January’s Species of the Month is the Familiar Bluet (Enallagma civile) in the Pond or Narrow-winged Damselfly family Coenagrionidae. Its length is approximately 28-39 mm (about one to one-and-a-half inches). The Familiar Bluet is one of the most common and widespread damselflies found in Canada, the U.S., and Mexico. Join Texas Tech McIntyre Lab graduate student Danielle Husband on a beautiful day of odonate research in the Texas Panhandle as she learns to appreciate this well-known species.

An Ode to the Common Ode

In 2019, I started my masters at Texas Tech in the McIntyre Lab. Little did I know I was entering a whole new world! Odonates, as my advisor Dr. Nancy McIntyre says, are the gateway insects that birders obsess over. So, I hung up my  10 x 42 birding binoculars, picked up a butterfly net, and headed to west Texas.

I admit that I knew next to nothing about odonates when I began. Sure, I could  identify a few of the larger, more colorful dragonflies, but show me a blue damselfly and I was about as lost as they come. Fortunately, I had three tools at my disposal to guarantee odo-success: my advisor, Dr. Nancy McIntyre; Dennis Paulson’s Dragonflies and Damselflies of the West, and John Abbott’s Damselflies of Texas.  

Male Familiar Bluet (Enallagma civile) damselfly perched in a playa, Floyd County, Texas. Photo by Danielle Husband (26 July 2021)

For my master’s degree research, I had to correctly identify adult odonates in order to report the species richnesses of four generalized wetland types. To put it in context, there are more than one hundred reported odonate species in the Texas Panhandle. I had my work cut out for me.

Boy, did the humble Familiar Bluet (Enallagma civile) throw me for a few loops in the early days. For some reason, my untrained eye wanted to turn every Familiar Bluet into a different flashy bluet species. Most afternoons I would send my advisor brown or blue damselfly photos, to which she would reply, “E. civile”.  Again! Soon enough, however, I learned to identify these common damselflies.

Male Familiar Bluet (Enallagma civile) damselfly in hand, Floyd County, Texas. Photo by Danielle Husband (26 July 2021)

As I worked on my degree, I spent a lot of time writing and calling landowners to ask for permission to survey wetlands on their property.  I lucked out with one beautiful “playa” site (similar to a desert basin) in Floyd County, Texas. It recently had been filled with rainwater…and odes! Familiar Bluets were sunning on any perch-able surface in this stunning wetland. It remains one of my favorite damselfly memories.

A lush Texas Panhandle playa on a clear day, Floyd County, Texas.  Photo by Danielle Husband (26 July 2021).

Eventually,  I  came to appreciate the “familiarity” of the Familiar Bluet. They were consistently at every field site I visited. From urban lakes to rural wetlands, they showed up in all their blue, gray, or brown-colored glory.

Familiar Bluet damselflies in wheel perched on edge vegetation,  Floyd County, Texas.  Photo by Danielle Husband (26 July 2021).

At the start of 2023, here’s a toast to new species! But also, a reminder to always appreciate the familiar. Happy New Year!

Danielle Husband earned her masters in biology from Texas Tech in 2022. While in grad school, she served on the Worldwide Dragonfly Society’s social media team. In spring 2021, she was recipient of the DSA’s Odonate Research Support Grant. Today she is seeking employment through the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service to continue contributing to conservation. You can get in touch with her at dhusband94@gmail.com or on Instagram @danielle.husband.

Species of the Month

December Species of the Month: Black-lined Flatwing (Heteragrion calendulum)

Heteragrion calendulum (Male). Unfortunately, the high humidity destroyed our cameras and these are the best photos we could get. Photo by Juliana Sandoval-H.

Our DSA December Species of the Month is Heteragrion calendulum (Black-lined Flatwing) in the family Heteragrionidae. Its length is approximately 33 mm, and its range is from the south of Costa Rica to Colombia. Follow DSA webmaster Juliana Sandoval’s adventures as she encounters this rare species.

An Unintentional Find

Many of these blog posts look at the efforts of finding, photographing or collecting a species. My story is no exception. It’s a story of the fortunate event that led to the finding of an unusual species. It is a species that Indiana banker Edward Bruce (“E.B.”)  Williamson, a prominent entomologist and devoted naturalist, was looking for more than one hundred years ago. Williamson had a passion for dragonflies and damselflies which took him on expeditions from the Amazon jungles to Caribbean islands. He described many species and compiled one of the world’s most important Odonate collections.

I was born in Colombia, a megadiverse country, where I have been fortunate to study biology. Because of this, I have been involved in different projects that allowed me to live for long seasons in amazing jungles in the Amazon, the Choco biogeographical region (considered the most diverse area in the world), and other Andean and inter-Andean locations in Colombia.

One of these places is a small town, Santa Cecilia (Risaralda), located at the foothills of the western Cordillera Occidental in Colombia, facing the vast Chocoan jungle. Santa Cecilia has a short but harsh story. Originally, native tribes were the only ones that inhabited this land; then, a couple of hundred years ago, afro communities reached the territory escaping from slavery, more recently, in the 1980s, the first highway brought in “development”, and with it, lumber trucks.  By the year 2005, the horrors of war made this little town of less than 400 an unwelcome place. Today, thanks to a great improvement in the political situation, the population has increased to almost 9,000 inhabitants. Despite its difficult history, Santa Cecilia is a lovely multicultural place, surrounded by the crystalline rivers and a dense jungle that houses thousands of known and unknown species.

The streams around Santa Cecilia. Photo by Cornelio A. Bota Sierra.

The most pristine jungle areas require a steep, hilly hike. This story takes place in “Quebrada Ranas de Cristal” (Crystal Frogs Stream), so named for its abundance of Glass Frogs in the amphibian family Centrolenidae. To reach this place requires a muddy hike from Santa Cecilia to the first hydration station, which passes the beautiful Mumburutó stream at 500 meters (1,650 ft). We tried not to disturb the Sunbittern (Eurypyga helias) which nested over the ravine, then resumed the hike to our destination at 650 meters (2,100 ft). We visited the stream frequently, and while it was a difficult hike, it offered the reward of seeing lots of birds, mammals, snakes, and bullet ants. Of course, there were also amazing odonates, like the Giant Helicopter Damselflies (Megaloprepus caerolatus), Shadowdamsels (Palaemnema spp.), Clubtails (Gomphidae), Flatwings (Heteragrion spp.), Marta’s Flatwings (Philogenia martae), Coppery coras (Miocora aurea), many Dancers (Argia spp.), Skimmers (Orthemis spp.), Tropical Woodskimmers (Uracis imbuta), Rubyspots (Hetaerina spp.), and some Dragonlets (Erythrodiplax spp.) among others.

The “Quebrada Ranas de Cristal” is at the heart of the mountains. Photo by Cornelio A. Bota Sierra.

But odonates are exigent creatures that love to fly on sunny days. If you take into account that rainfall here is around 6,500 millimeters (254 inches) per year, sunshine is unusual. Often there is a sunny sky in the morning, then dense clouds move in before midday. Occasionally, sunshine appears through a gap in the clouds. When it did, we had to be ready. Dragons and damsels go crazy when the sun shines, even for just a few minutes. 

The morning of February 16, 2017,  was no different, dense clouds started settling over our heads. After looking for a while, Cornelio A. Bota Sierra and I decided it was time to start our long hike back. Then, the sun decided to shine one more time. In my memory, I have the vivid image of two small but very bright red damsels coming down to the stream among the vegetation. Cornelio was leading the way, and as always, he had his net ready. Before I could say something, he had already trapped both damsels. 

I did not recognize this species! I asked Cornelio what species they were, and to my surprise, Cornelio was as clueless as I was. When we took them out of the net, I could see it was the most beautiful damsel I have ever seen in my life. It had a glittery bright gold frons and a bright red abdomen. Cornelio, an expert taxonomist, was still clueless.

The clouds over the mountains that we needed to hike to get to the stream. Photo used with the permission of Cornelio A. Bota Sierra.

We went back, very excited about this mysterious damsel. But the excitement grew when we finally figured out its identity and the story behind this species. One hundred years before, on February 17, 1917, Williamson was on an expedition in the Magdalena region in Colombia, where he found the first and only male known (and type specimen) of this species. He named it Heteragrion calendulum, based on “the brilliant metallic areas on the vertex”. Between the lines of his scientific text, you can read that his excitement about finding this specimen was no less than ours. That, and the mysticism behind the 100 years gap—almost to the exact date—gave us the feeling of closeness with Williamson. 

In Williamson’s text, he describes his unsuccessful efforts to find another specimen. We were fortunate to find the female, previously unknown. Since his encounter, no one had reported seeing this species again.

Heteragrion calendulum (Female). Photo by Juliana Sandoval-H.

Luck, a little sunshine, and being at the right place at the right time allowed us to rediscover this long-lost species. In the end, we completed Williamson’s effort to find more specimens of this species in Colombia. Cornelio and I fear for its future, however. The type locality–where the species was first encountered — is long gone. We hope that the vast Chocoan jungle lasts as a refuge for this and many other species that have lost their original habitat.

Juliana Sandoval-H, the DSA webmaster, has spent most of her academic life exploring Tropical jungles, mainly in search of Odonates and birds. She is one of the four authors of the field guide “Dragonflies of the Colombian Cordillera Occidental, a look from Tatama”. You can reach her at julisando@gmail.com.

Species of the Month

November Species of the Month: Blue-fronted Dancer (Argia apicalis)

Male Blue-fronted Dancer (Argia apicalis) damselfly. Photograph taken in Mercer County, New Jersey, by Amanda Whispell.

Our DSA November’s Species of the Month is the Blue-fronted Dancer (Argia apicalis) in the Pond or Narrow-winged Damselfly family Coenagrionidae. Its length is approximately 33-40 mm (around one-and-a-half inches). The Blue-fronted Dancer has a large range that begins at the Mississippi River and spans most of the eastern part of North America, save for the far north. Join dragon chaser and ARGIA journal editor Dr. Amanda Whispell as she discovers the joy of Odonates, and a life-long career calling.

Tiny Insect - Big Passion

My story with the Blue-fronted Dancer (Argia apicalis) begins in graduate school at Rutgers University. I had not actually considered studying insects –– my undergraduate work was in marine science. In truth, I selected entomology as my doctoral program on a bit of a whim. What I wanted to study was animal behavior. When my life pulled me to New Jersey for graduate school the only person I found studying behavior at Rutgers University was Dr. Mike May, in the entomology department, but he was planning to retire and wasn’t advising new PhD students.

I was disappointed he didn’t want another student, but I decided that I would go through with applying anyway and that I would worry about the advisor down the road. I was accepted to the program and for the first year I focused on coursework. I had not taken any entomology courses in the past, save for one unit in invertebrate biology, so there was a lot for me to learn. But the idea of working with Mike was still in my brain. I just had to figure out how to convince him he wanted one last student.

When it was time for me to start my research, I approached Mike again. This time I asked him if there had ever been any particular research question or system on which he had hoped to have a student focus, but that had not come to fruition. He said he did. I then told him that I would not only be happy to study that system but that I would be willing to do so in a fairly “hands off” sort of manner, so that he could get on with the business of beginning his retirement, if he agreed to be my advisor. And to my delight, he finally did!

Mike gave me a lot of background information on color changing odonates in general and on one species of damselfly, Argia apicalis, the Blue-fronted Dancer. It is aptly named, as it has the brightest blue front or face you will find on a damsel in the northeastern United States.

Male Blue-fronted Dancer (Argia apicalis) damselfly. Photograph taken in Mercer County, New Jersey, by Amanda Whispell.

The Blue-fronted Dancers are interesting little pond damselflies (Coenagrionidae) that prefer moving water to ponds or other still water bodies. They also have an affinity for man-made structures and paths which the males parse into little territories. Although this species is not considered territorial, I have documented multiple cases of males defending the same spot on a path for a week or more, so I think it’s safe to consider them at least “quasi-territorial” (aka… kinda territorial). The mature males and blue females (there is also a brown morph) change color more readily than other odes that only change color in response to temperature fluctuations. These plucky damsels change color when they copulate!

Mature Argia apicalis male. Photograph taken in Mercer County, New Jersey, by Amanda Whispell.

Mature Argia apicalis blue female. Photograph taken in Mercer County, New Jersey, by Amanda Whispell.

Mature Argia apicalis brown female. Photograph taken in Mercer County, New Jersey, by Amanda Whispell.

I was excited to learn about this bright blue, color-changing ode. The first time Mike took me into the field, I could barely tell the difference between an Argia and an Enallagma. He was patient and gave me plenty of tips. I planned for my first field season to be rather exploratory in nature, as I tried to find apicalis populations and sort out my methodology. We decided it would be beneficial if I spent some time looking for apicalis down in Texas and in Florida, as the southern populations are active much earlier in the season than the northern ones; meaning that I could essentially squeeze two field seasons into my first summer.

I first drove down to Texas, and spent about a month looking for apicalis. I found very few. Texas was in the midst of a drought, and many of the sites I visited had hardly any water. Although I did not find much success with apicalis there, I did find a few individuals. I also made the mistake of stepping into my first—but not my last—fire ant nest, and getting rather turned around on a hike, running out of water, and feeling fairly certain it was curtains for me. As you might have guessed from my ability to write this article, I eventually found my way back to my car.

After a fairly unsuccessful month in Texas, I was excited to begin my work in Florida. Northern Florida has the only populations of an apicalis morph that has a black stripe on the side of the thorax. Unfortunately, I was again unsuccessful at locating any apicalis populations. While Texas lacked water, Florida had too much. The parking lots for the lakes and streams I was meant to check were all under several feet of water, thanks to significant flooding.

 Flooding at research sites in Florida. Photographs by Amanda Whispell.

After coming up empty-handed in both Texas and Florida, I returned to New Jersey where the apicalis were just starting to emerge. New Jersey has several locations that are lousy with them, so I found a few different sites that had sizable populations. I selected the Van Nest Wildlife Refuge in Mercer County as my primary site, and spent that first field season hiking about a mile into the refuge every day. This field site is still the most beautiful office I’ve ever had. Over the course of that summer, I managed to catch and release more than 500 male and almost 200 female apicalis.

View of my field site at Van Nest Wildlife Reserve in Mercer County, New Jersey, by Amanda Whispell.

The 500th male that I tagged at the Reserve. Photograph by Amanda Whispell.

I spent countless hours sitting by the side of the stream at the site watching the apicalis males battle for females and small bits of territory, and trying to observe and document their mating behaviors and color changes. It was difficult to catch and release individuals and then actually observe them later—there was nothing to keep them from flying to the other side of the stream or out over the lake to never be seen again—but I enjoyed the ones that stuck around. I started to feel a bit like we had an understanding. I spent six to eight hours sitting at that site or walking around the edge of the stream every day.

 The next summer I solved the problem of the disappearing males by building an insectary at Duke Farms in Hunterdon County and stocking it with individuals I caught at the beginning of each week. Building an insectary in a pond was a challenge in and of itself—as was working inside of it—but it did lead to more significant results.

My insectary at Duke Farms in Hunterdon County, New Jersey. Photographs by Amanda Whispell.

The insectary was lined with fairly fine netting that prevented the individuals from escaping and increased the frequency with which I was able to observe their mating behavior. Unfortunately, the enclosure also kept heat from escaping, so it was terribly hot inside––at least five degrees warmer than outside—and it was in full sun. Those were some steamy days. 

I loved sitting in the insectary and watching the individuals looking for food, having wee altercations with each other, trying to secure opportunities to mate, and evading the frogs that constantly snuck in. I even loved making sure I got there early enough to capture and free all of the dragonflies that emerged inside of the insectary overnight before they were able to make meals of my precious little ones.

I removed this number of dragons from my insectary every morning during peak emergence months. If I did not get there in time, I would often find only a net full of satisfied dragons. Photograph by Amanda Whispell.

Though most people who attempted to join me for a day inside the insectary told me it was horrendously boring, I thought it was cathartic and peaceful. Hours were filled with the freedom to do nothing more than observe behavior and take photographs. I was lulled to sleep in my seat on occasion and was claimed as territory by the damselflies. Fair enough. It’s possible I have spent more one-on-one time with Blue-Fronted Dancers than I have with any single person. 

I was often claimed as territory by males if I remained still for long enough. Photographs by Amanda Whispell.

Blue-Fronted Dancers are beautiful little damsels that lead energetic lives. If you have the chance to observe them, I highly recommend it. You won’t be disappointed!

Amanda Whispell, the editor-in-chief of ARGIA, is busy writing manuscripts related to her work on color change in Argia apicalis (Blue-fronted Dancer), doing science outreach, and creating scientific art. She can be reached at editor@dragonflysocietyamericas.org or on Twitter at @AmandaWhispell. For more information about Amanda’s research visit www.amandawhispell.com.

Species of the Month

October Species of the Month: Filigree Skimmer (Pseudoleon superbus)

Filigree Skimmer (Pseudoleon superbus), Greg Lasley used by permission from Dragonflies of the Southwest (undated).

Our DSA October Species of the Month is the Filigree Skimmer (Pseudoleon superbus), in the Skimmer family Libellulidae. This small dragonfly (38-45 mm or approximately one-and-a-half inches plus) is usually found in streams and nearby ponds in California, and parts of the Southwest to Costa Rica. Enjoy dragonfly chaser Kathy Biggs’ tale of tracking down this exciting species.

One Ode Chaser’s Fancy

The adventure began with my desire to find an exceptionally beautiful species. It only took me and my husband Dave a decade and a half to do so.

Pseudoleon superbus, the Filigree Skimmer, is aptly named. “Superb” is part of its scientific name for good reason! Its beautiful wings do indeed look like filigree, or as the Merriam-Webster Dictionary defines it “ornamental openwork of delicate or intricate design.”  Even its genus name Pseudoleon seems to refer to its being a wannabe Lion-like creature. Did Dave and I long to see one? Of course!

Filigree Skimmer (Pseudolean superbus), copyright David Biggs, Rio Tuito, Yelapa, Jalisco, Mexico (2017).

When I wrote Beginner’s Guide to the Dragonflies of the Southwest in 2004, I first became acquainted with this beauty. Filigree Skimmers then were only known within the United States from Arizona and New Mexico, although since then they have been added to the Texas, Utah, Colorado, Oklahoma, and California lists.

The hunt was on. We went to New Mexico for the Dragonfly Festival in the early 2000s looking for it with no luck. In 2007, we gave a walk for the Boyce-Thompson Arboretum in Arizona. On our hike, others saw a Filigree Skimmer, but not us! We hoped to find it during the Arizona 2017 Dragonfly Society of the Americas field trips. Nope! 

In 2014, we went to Yelapa, Jalisco, Mexico, for Dave’s choir trip. 

Rio Tuito, Yelapa, Jalisco, Mexico, copyright Kathy and David Biggs (2020)

We loved both the place and the nature so much that in 2016, we started spending part of each of our winters there. Guess what species is common in Yelapa? Yes! The Filigree Skimmer. In 2016, we spent a whole month there. But we couldn’t find one.

Then, in 2017, while in Yelapa, I finally saw a distant Ode on the Rio Tuito; it had black extensively on the wings! Was it a Black-winged Dragonlet or a Filigree Skimmer? I wasn’t sure. The next day, I canvassed the area and, yes, I saw it again. It was a Filigree Skimmer! As I approached the rock it was perched behind to take a photo, it flew off. Thwarted again!

Rio Tuito, Yelapa, Jalisco, Mexico (2020), copyright Kathy and David Biggs.

The next day, I set out early downriver to the exact spot where I’d last seen it. I figured that if I could get there before the Filigree appeared, it wouldn’t be frightened away. I leaned against a boulder, awaiting the Filigree’s return. Hours later, I was hot, tired and hungry. I finally gave up. As I stood to leave, I noticed something I’d been sitting on. The wings of a Filigree Skimmer! It had likely been eaten by a predator. I picked up the wings and took them with me, a souvenir of my chase.

When we returned to California, I scanned the wings.

Scanned wings, Filigree Skimmer (Pseudoleon superbus), copyright Kathy Biggs (2017)

As is so often true, once you find something, it thereafter is easy to find. During the rest of our 2017 stay in Yelapa, and every year since then, we have found abundant Filigree Skimmers along the Rio Tuito in Yelapa. We discovered that not only do they often perch on dead leaves, but when seen at a distance, they look like a dead leaf.

Filigree Skimmer (Pseudoleon superbus), copyright Kathy Biggs (2017)

As a former kindergarten teacher, I have a pet name for this species: Super Bus! My hope is that you do not experience the frustration that we did when you try to find the Super Bus of all Odes.

Our guest blogger for October is Kathy Biggs, who has been a nature lover all her life. When she built a wildlife pond in her Sebastopol, California backyard in 1996, dragonflies arrived and she found her true passion. Wanting to share her passion, she developed websites for her wildlife ponds, California Dragonflies, Southwest Dragonflies and most recently A First Guide to the Dragonflies of Jalisco. The websites matured and grew into Kathy's becoming the author of California’s first Dragonfly Guide, Common Dragonflies of California, the Southwest’s first dragonfly guide, Common Dragonflies of Southwest, a dragonfly color and learn book and her latest publication, Dragonflies of the Greater Southwest. Kathy manages the Groups CalOdes and Building Ponds for Wildlife.  Kathy is the vetter for California on Odonata Central, and iNaturalist California and Jalisco, MX. She hopes she can inspire you to get to know the dragonflies and the wetlands that support them.

Species of the Month

September Species of the Month: Riffle Snaketail (Ophiogomphus carolus)

Riffle Snaketail (Ophiogomphus carolus), Hell Hollow Wilderness Area, Thompson, Ohio (Kim Smith, 2022).

Our DSA September Species of the Month is the Riffle Snaketail (Ophiogomphus carolus), in the Clubtail Family Gomphidae. This small dragonfly (40-45 mm or approximately one-and-a-half inches plus) is usually found in the rivers of the Northeastern United States and some regions of Canada. Enjoy dragonfly chaser Kim Smith’s tale of tracking down this fascinating species.

Hell is for Snaketails

A few years ago I saw photos of a stunning green dragonfly and knew right away that I had to go see it for myself. The Riffle Snaketail is a Clubtail found only in a small portion of my home state of Ohio. It shows up for a few weeks each June in the northeastern corner of the state, not far from the Lake Erie shore.

Hell Hollow Wilderness Area, Thompson, Ohio (Kim Smith, 2018)

As its name suggests, this beautiful dragon prefers to perch on rocks where shallow water flows fast over and around the rocks, creating riffles. One of the best places to find those conditions is in a tributary of the Grand River called Paine Creek. The cold and clear waters rush over the smooth river rock bottom of this creek bed that winds through a 100-foot-deep ravine. Accessing the creek requires descending 262 rustic wooden stairs, back and forth along the steep edge of the ravine, into Hell Hollow. And, if you’re paying attention, you’ll realize that it also requires climbing back up those 262 steps, an important point to keep in mind on a hot day.

Hell Hollow Wilderness Area, Thompson, Ohio image (Kim Smith, 2018)

In 2018, I wrote the tale of my first encounter with this species on my blog, Nature is My Therapy. That story contains the embarrassing revelation that my excitement and lack of attention to detail caused me to take a hundred rapid-fire pictures of Eastern Least Clubtails (Stylogomphus albistylus), thinking I was looking at the Snaketail. I’d zoomed my camera in on a distant Clubtail and saw enormous green eyes looking back at me, and just started shooting. Nevermind the fact that the color of the face and thorax were completely wrong!

Riffle Snaketail (Ophiogomphus carolus) (top) and Eastern Least Clubtail (Stylogomphus albistylus) (bottom), Hell Hollow Wilderness Area, Thompson, Ohio (Kim Smith, 2018)

Only after climbing out of Hell Hollow and texting two of my friends about my dragon-hunting “triumph” did I realize my humiliating mistake. To save face, I had to go back down the next day before actually seeing and documenting my prized quarry. (Yes, that was 1,048 stairs. Ouch.)

That experience taught me an important lesson about how expectations can mislead your brain. It also gave me sore legs for a week. But I discovered that I love being in this particular “Hell”; there’s something very rejuvenating about being down in that ravine, alone, with my feet bathed in cold rushing water and the sun on my face. It has become a ritual for me. Every June I make the two-hour drive to give myself the gift of Riffle Snaketails and intense ecotherapy.

On another visit to see the Snaketails, I perched motionless on a downed tree in the middle of the creek as dozens of diminutive Eastern Least Clubtails launched hunting forays from the rocks at my feet. That day, a lone Riffle Snaketail landed just a few feet in front of me and I was able to watch it for half an hour.

Riffle Snaketail (Ophiogomphus carolus) Hell Hollow Wilderness Area, Thompson, Ohio (Kim Smith, 2022)

I feel a bond with the Riffle Snaketails. This type of Ode-watching experience is much preferred to the kind where I get to see an insect only long enough to get blurry documentation photos.

As of this writing, iNaturalist only shows 21 observations of this species in Ohio, by 11 observers from 2016 to 2022. The fact that the Riffle Snaketail has been reported by fewer than a dozen people in our state may reflect its scarcity, but it might also be due to the difficulty of accessing Hell Hollow. Luckily, in 2022 Riffle Snaketails were found at another nearby location that only has 170 steps. 

I may have to check that out next year.

Our guest blogger for September is Kim Smith, an Odonata enthusiast in Toledo, Ohio. Kim leads local field trips to share her love of dragonflies and writes about them at NatureIsMyTherapy.com. She recently served as the President of Toledo Naturalists’ Association and is on the board of the Oak Openings Region chapter of Wild Ones, a nonprofit that educates the public about the ecological importance of native plants.

Species of the Month

August Species of the Month: The Darner Family (Aeshnidae)

This month’s DSA blog focus is on a dragonfly Family: the darners (Aeshnidae). Darners fly continuously or hover intermittently, and hang vertically when perched. They are large dragonflies, ranging in North America from 52 mm to 116mm (approximately 2-5 inches) in length, with big eyes and long abdomens. Darners are widely found around the globe. Read on to discover more about this group through the eyes of Odonata expert Dr. Dennis Paulson, as he hikes the Santa Ana National Wildlife Refuge.

Darner Hunting at the Mexican Border

In my July 2021 blog post for “species of the month,” I cheated and wrote about a small group of species with migration in common. This time I’m doing it again, writing about a group of interest taxonomically, geographically, and ecologically—the darners, Aeshnidae. Because it’s the tropics, I have to emphasize diversity!

Trail in Santa Ana National Wildlife Refuge, Texas; 17 September 2008; Dennis Paulson

Santa Ana National Wildlife Refuge, on the Rio Grande in southern Texas and thus right across from Mexico, is well known to naturalists as a place to go to see tropical plants and animals otherwise rare in the United States. It is a destination for dragonfly enthusiasts, and several tropical odonate species have furnished first records for the USA here. Some of them we now know are fairly common in the Lower Rio Grande Valley.

Male Blue-eyed Darner, Coryphaeschna adnexa; Santa Ana National Wildlife Refuge, Texas; 5 June 2005; Dennis Paulson.

Having spent a lot of time walking tropical forest paths, I have learned to look for darners roosting in the vegetation near the trail.  I have not been disappointed at Santa Ana. I visited there in June and November 2005 and September 2008 and found tropical darners on each visit, including those shown in these photos. The Blue-spotted Comet Darner (Anax concolor) was the first record for the US.

Male Blue-spotted Comet Darner, Anax concolor; Santa Ana National Wildlife Refuge, Texas; 5 June 2005; Dennis Paulson.

I walk along the trail slowly, scrutinizing the vegetation on both sides. I am looking for a short vertical line in the midst of a welter of branches and twigs going every which way. That vertical line might just be the abdomen of a darner hanging up. I approach slowly, hoping to get a photo. If flushed, they sometimes fly only a short distance before hanging up, although very commonly they disappear into the forest, never to be found again. So I repeat the exercise time after time.

Male Turquoise-tipped Darner, Rhionaeschna psilus; Santa Ana National Wildlife Refuge, Texas; 17 September 2008; Dennis Paulson.

The dusk fliers (Gynacantha and Triacanthagyna) will be there all day, presumably hanging in the same spot. If I stay until dusk, I will probably see some of them flying around clearings. However, they are, not necessarily easy to identify at that time. The day fliers will be hanging up between bouts of foraging away from or over the forest, and all of the species will probably be breeding in the scattered ponds, where I have found exuviae.

Female Bar-sided Darner, Gynacantha mexicana; Santa Ana National Wildlife Refuge, Texas; 17 September 2008; Dennis Paulson.

In addition, Amazon Darners (Anax amazili) and Icarus Darners (Coryphaeschna apeora), rare species in the US, have also turned up at and near Santa Ana, and Common Green Darners (Anax junius) are often there as well.

Male Caribbean Darner, Triacanthagyna caribbea; Santa Ana National Wildlife Refuge, Texas; 19 September 2008; Dennis Paulson.

June may be an especially good month, as tropical darners are moving around the landscape at the beginning of the rains in Mexico. But I and others have found them there in September, October, November and even April. It’s worth a visit!

Male Pale-legged Darner, Triacanthagyna septima; Santa Ana National Wildlife Refuge, Texas; 17 September 2008; Dennis Paulson.

Our guest blogger for July is Dr. Dennis Paulson.  He received a Ph.D. in Zoology from the University of Miami, and taught college and adult-education courses about natural history for more than three decades. Dr. Paulson recently retired after 15 years as the Director of the Slater Museum of Natural History at the University of Puget Sound. He is the author of Dragonflies and Damselflies: A Natural History; Dragonflies and Damselflies of the East; Dragonflies and Damselflies of the West, and many other natural history books and field guides.

Species of the Month

July Species of the Month: “Happiness of the Mountains” damselfly (Mesamphiagrion gaudiimontanum)

Mesamphiagrion gaudiimontanum (male), El Páramo de Belmira, Central Andes, Antioquia, Colombia (copyright Cornelio A. Bota Sierra)

Our DSA Species of the Month is Mesamphiagrion gaudiimontanum, the “Happiness of the Mountains” damselfly. It is a member of the family Coenagrionidae, and is three centimeters (about 1.2 inches) long. It inhabits peat bogs in the Páramo ecosystems located above 3,000 meters (about two miles) in the Colombian Central Andes. Follow the adventures of Cornelio A. Bota Sierra as he discovers a new damselfly species high in the Colombian mountains.

The Happiness of the Mountains

It was April 2008, but I can remember it as if it was yesterday. I was recovering from knee surgery which took me out of the field—and any walk—for six months. Six months I used to work in the curation of the small Odonata collection stored at the Universidad de Antioquia in Colombia, where I was studying my bachelor’s in biology. Six months which made me realize the value of walking.

The border between the Páramo and the Oak forest on a cloudy day at the Belmira Páramo, Antioquia, Colombia (copyright Cornelio A. Bota Sierra)

I was eager to get back to hiking in the mountains, breathing the pure humid air around the streams while looking for dragonflies. I planned a five-day expedition with the other enthusiastic guys working in the entomological collection to El Páramo de Belmira, the highest mountain in the Central Andes at my state home Antioquia at 3270 meters (10,728 feet).

 Hiking in El Páramo de Belmira, the highest mountain in the northern Central Andes,  Antioquia, Colombia. (copyright Cornelio A. Bota Sierra)

We were eight keen explorers armed with entomological nets, jars, and envelopes as well as 65-pound backpacks full of food, camping gear, and clothes. It was a beautiful, fun, and difficult approach from Belmira’s town located at 2,500 meters (8,200 feet) to the camp in the Páramo. 

The day was cloudy. Not many insects were observed or collected during the exhausting eight hour walk. We eventually reached a place that looked like a Sci-Fi movie landscape from “The Frailejon’s Kingdom”. After a good bowl of soup and some rum shots, we slept like rocks.

Peat bog habitat, El Páramo de Belmira, Central Andes, Antioquia, Colombia. (copyright Cornelio A. Bota Sierra)

The basecamp was at 3,200 meters (10,500 feet), and it freed us from carrying our big backpacks. We explored this peaceful place that smelled fresh and was full of new sounds and amazing things. Grayish-blue toucans. Hummingbirds. All sorts of flowers and leaves. Fascinating frogs. And—of course—insects, especially beetles and a ton of flies.

One of the interesting inhabitants (Gastroteca sp.) of the Belmira Páramo area, Antioquia, Colombia (copyright Cornelio A. Bota Sierra)

But no dragonflies!

It rained hard from time to time, and it was cloudy and breezy.  We retreated to  the camp to drink some “carajillos”, a mix of coffee and rum, while someone read aloud to help us keep our minds off the cold. 

Every time the rain stopped, we went back to explore, protected with plastic ponchos and rubber boots. I was hoping for some sun, but the clouds seemed never-ending. After three days of searching, I had only seen a few blue-eyed darners,  Rhionaeschna, and only caught one. Suddenly, the sun shone through a hole in the clouds. I ran as fast as I could to a beautiful peat bog pond I had been observing. The clouds were moving fast, so I knew I did not have a lot of time. When I arrived at the pond, it was late. The clouds once again covered the mountain. I was so disappointed!

Mesamphiagrion gaudiimontanum (male). El Páramo de Belmira, Central Andes, Antioquia, Colombia. (copyright Cornelio A. Bota Sierra)

Suddenly a damselfly jumped and tried to fly away from the edge of the pond. Luckily, my net was quicker.  I had just seen a bluish beam. My heart was beating fast! I clumsily reached into the net. It was the most beautiful damsel I have ever seen!

Mesamphiagrion gaudiimontanum (male), El Páramo de Belmira, Antioquia, Colombia (copyright Cornelio A. Bota Sierra)

It was sky blue and shiny black, with astonishing blue pterostigma. I was a beginner in the odonatologica world, but I knew from that moment that it was very rare and probably a new species. Back home, I was guided by Natalia von Elleriender and Rosser Garrison, who helped me identify it and describe it as a new species. I’m grateful for their help! It is Mesamphiagrion gaudiimontanum, which means “the happiness of the mountains”. I traveled back several times and discovered that they have an ontogenetic color change and that females have two color morphs: adrenochrome and gynochrome. On sunny days its population is so abundant that it is the most conspicuous insect in the Páramo, looking like small bluish flowers that can fly from the tip of one plant to the tip of the neighbor. These damselflies create a joyful scene, and one I will always remember. 

Mesamphiagrion gaudiimontanum (Androchrome juvenile female), El Páramo de Belmira, the highest mountain in the Central Andes,  Antioquia, Colombia (copyright Cornelio A. BotaSierra) 

Cornelio Bota Sierra has been exploring Colombian dragonfly biodiversity since 2007. This  led him to document and collect thousands of pieces of data on natural history, ecology, and specimens for museums across the country which were the base for some publications as field guides or papers describing new species, rediscovering others and reporting several rare species and new records for Colombia and their conservation assessments according to IUCN. In the past years, thanks to the funding of the Mexican government, he did research for his Masters and PhD studies on the physiological thermal tolerance of a Colombian Tropical Andean community, which is a key factor in understanding how climate change will affect these insects. He currently holds a Post Doc position at the Natural History Museum at the University of Alabama, where he joined the GEODE team to create a complete global distribution dataset and explore ecological and geographical patterns for Odonata.

Species of the Month

June Species of the Month: Olive Clubtail (Stylurus olivaceus)

Stylurus olivaceus male. Vancouver, WA, 15 August 2008. Photo by Jim Johnson (Used with permission).

DSA’s June Species of the Month is the Olive Clubtail (Stylurus olivaceus), a medium-sized dragonfly in the family Gomphidae. It is a river species found from California and Utah north to British Columbia, and is approximately 60 mm long (just under two and a half inches or less).  Enjoy dragonfly expert Rob Cannings’ stories of this rare species.

Hanging from a Leaf in British Columbia 

I grew up along the Okanagan River in southern British Columbia. When I return to my hometown of Penticton, I walk the river dikes, watch the mergansers on the river and listen to the catbirds and orioles in the dogwoods and cottonwood trees. I’m an entomologist, though, with a special interest in dragonflies, and I love to keep track of these bold, beautiful insects along the river. The rarest of the rare here is the Olive Clubtail, Stylurus olivaceus.

In the late 1920s, more than three decades before the river was straightened, dredged, and dammed to control flooding, my father used to paddle his home-made kayak on the river. When I was a kid he’d tell me of his adventures there. “Birches hung over the gravelly riffles and willows lined the sandbars along the slower flowing, meandering reaches,” he’d say. “We’d explore all day in the woods along the shore, in the cattail marshes and wet meadows that lined the old oxbows.” I’d listen raptly to his boyhood stories of a landscape now almost completely gone. The river empties out of 80-mile-long Okanagan Lake and winds south to join the Columbia River in Washington State. It used to flow through riparian woods in sage and antelope-brush grasslands. Now, much of the land along the river is rich farmland or urban development.  

Stylurus olivaceus male and female mating. Vancouver, WA, 19 September 2006. Photo by Jim Johnson (Used with permission).

Olive Clubtails are seldom found anywhere along the Canadian part of the Okanagan River. The channel bottom is lined with rocks and boulders; the sand and silt the larvae need for burrowing is scarce and patchy.  

For evidence of larvae, I look for an exuvia, the cast skin of the last larval stage, which remains clinging to shoreline debris after the adult has emerged and flown away. I’ve never found exuviae on this river. And the trees and shrubs that the adult dragonflies love to perch on beside the water are mostly gone, replaced by grasses and weeds.

Figure 3. Stylurus olivaceus larva, buried in sand, preying on cranefly larva. Illustration by Rob Cannings (Used with permission).

 In all my Okanagan River dike-walking I’ve found only three adults. The first one was camouflaged like a gray-green and black twig, perched flat on the dusty trail at Osoyoos Lake, almost at the US border. On another walk much later, I saw one flying over the river. After a while it flew towards a lone tree on the dike. “Aha!”, I thought, “It landed there!” Stylurus dragonflies are called “Hanging Clubtails” because they usually perch on the leaves of trees or shrubs, bending the twig until they are hanging almost vertically.  Sneaking up, I searched the lower branches for minutes before I saw the dragonfly hanging from a leaf, just as it was supposed to do! My third sighting was of a male flying up the river, fast and straight as an arrow, not stopping for anyone.

Okanagan River, Okanagan Falls, BC, 24 September 2009. Photo by Richard Cannings (Used with permission).

There are only three small, separate populations of the Olive Clubtail in BC (and all of Canada). Most that I’ve studied live at the most northerly place the species is known – the Thompson River near Kamloops, about 80 air miles northwest of Penticton. For about 35 miles east of the city, this big river flows through sagebrush, farms and riverside suburbs, the water warmed to 21 or 22ºC (about 70-71℉) in summer from its stay in the huge Shuswap Lake to the east. At Kamloops, it’s joined by the North Thompson River, with its colder waters draining mountain snowfields. Here the water is about 18ºC (64℉) at dragonfly emergence time and I suspect the water is too cold for Olive Clubtails at this time of year. I’ve never seen this species in the North Thompson, even though other conditions such as sediment and stream flow seem perfect. Downstream from Kamloops the Thompson River flows faster and the riverbed is filled with boulders which, as we saw in the Okanagan River, is a habitat disliked by these dragonflies.

It’s ironic that one of the best places anywhere to find the Olive Clubtail---such a lover of warm climates----is as far north as they can live. But here much of the habitat is still good – a sandy, silty riverbed; stable banks clothed with emergent water plants such as rushes and horsetails; riverside willows and introduced Russian Olive trees hanging over the water.

Certainly, there are stretches where cattle have trampled the shore, where irrigation water has eroded the banks, and where rocky fill has been dumped to support the railway line and subdivisions full of houses. But there is still enough good shoreline to support a decent population of dragonflies. In some places I picked up an exuvia for every yard of sandy riverbank I walked. They lie among the detritus of high water in the patches of horsetails and rushes and are coated in a thin layer of silt, a reminder of the larva’s burrowing life.

South Thompson River, near Kamloops, BC, 25 August 2008. Photo by Rob Cannings (Used with permission).

Luckily, the habitat does not need to be pristine. The clubtail can tolerate some disturbance and habitat damage. I found exuviae in the imprints of cow hooves and observed some adults emerging at a busy boat launch. But I imagine carp and other introduced, bottom-feeding fish can damage the population by disturbing the bottom mud or eating the larvae. Motorboats speeding by stir up the bottom silt and erode the sandy banks with their wakes.

Along the river here in mid-August the adult dragonflies emerge, pale and vulnerable, easy pickings for blackbirds and kingbirds.

Stylurus olivaceus exuvia. South Thompson River, near Kamloops, BC, 25 August 2008.  Photo by Rob Cannings (Used with permission).

I suppose the clubtails fly back in the grasslands to hunt and mature for several days, later returning to the river to mate and lay eggs. In late August and September, now and again, I’ve watched a male patrolling over the current, chasing down a female, the pair then disappearing into the trees while they mate. Later, the female flies fast out over the river, dipping her abdomen into the water and washing off the eggs.

Because these populations are small and fragmented and the few stretches of rivers where it lives are vulnerable, the Olive Clubtail is considered an endangered species in Canada. Its future is of less concern in the western United States where it is more widespread. In some places, such as the Lower Columbia River, it is common.  Downriver of Portland it even lives in waters affected by the tides where it seems to tolerate some salinity.

Stylurus olivaceus teneral female. South Thompson River, near Kamloops, BC, 15 August 2008. Photo by Darren Copley (Used with permission).

The Olive Clubtail is characteristic of the big rivers of the dry West. Although in many places it’s been hit hard by the upheavals humans have brought to its home, and is now rare, it remains common in some localities. It’s a symbol of perseverance in a rapidly changing landscape. 

This essay is abridged from a chapter written by Rob in Wading for Bugs: Exploring Streams with the Experts. Published by Oregon State University Press (2011). It is presented here with permission from OSU Press.

Rob Cannings is Curator Emeritus of Entomology at the Royal BC Museum, where he was curator from 1980 to 2013. He grew up beside an Okanagan Valley grassland in a family known across Canada for its contributions to natural history and conservation. Rob’s research interests focus on insect systematics and faunistics, especially in the Odonata and Asilidae, but he publishes widely on many insect groups.  He is the author or co-author of six books, including Introducing the Dragonflies of British Columbia and the Yukon (2002)