Shallow Thoughts : : nature

Dinosaur Eggs, Collared Doves and Wildflowers

Happy Easter! In keeping with the season, here's a dinosaur egg I spotted on a recent hike.

Okay, or maybe it's just a vaguely egg-shaped rock. But there's been a lot going on this spring now that the weather is turning.

First, we seem to have Eurasian collared doves nesting somewhere near our house. There's a dove up on the power pole, cooing, most of the day. I know I've heard lots of reports of collared doves around the south bay in past years, particularly down around Morgan Hill, but this is the first time I'd seen more than a glimpse of them here at home in San Jose. It's fun to see new species, though I hope these European interlopers don't push out the native mourning doves entirely.

In addition, the wildflowers have been great out on the trails, especially around the south end of Windy Hill OSP and Coal Mine Ridge. A hike up there last week revealed nearly every wildflower on my wildflower page that could be in flower now -- California poppy, wild cucumber (intriguingly also called manroot), giant trillium, hound's tongue, milkmaids, the most impressive profusion of Indian warrior I've seen, blue larkspur, miner's lettuce, Sierra suncup, vetch (it's pretty despite the unfortunate name), red maid, wild radish, wood sorrel, broom, and my favorite, shooting star.
Dave had to keep waiting for me while I argued with the camera over macro focus distances. So if you like wildflowers, get out there and take a look!

Bluebirds and phantom horses at Arastradero

The weather was a bit warmer today than it has been, so I snuck off for an hour's hike at Arastradero, where I was amazed by all the western bluebirds out enjoying the sunny day. I counted three of them just on the path from the parking lot to the road crossing. Bold, too -- they let me get close enough to snap a shot with my pocket camera.

Farther up the trail, a white-shouldered kite was calling as it soared, and a large falcon flew by, too far away and too backlit for me to identify it for sure as a peregrine.

But then I spotted an even more unusual beast -- a phantom horse rearing out of the ground, ears pricked forward, eyes and mouth open and mane whipped by a wind we could not feel on this pleasant, windless day.

Dave always teases me about my arboronecrophotography inclinations (I like to take pictures of dead trees). But how could I resist trying to capture a creature like this?

Strange wildlife in San Luis Obispo

On a brief and visit to San Luis Obispo, an unexpected bonus was the unusual wildlife about town.

We walked from our hotel on Monterey St. to downtown to stretch our legs, explore the mission and river walk and then get dinner. (Mo's Smokehouse has excellent barbecue.)

On the way back, I noticed a small figure in the gutter just below the curb, scratching and nosing around in the litter there. It was the size and shape of a chipmunk, but its coloration showed it to be a California ground squirrel -- a baby, probably on one of its first forays out of the burrow.

Burrow? Well, as I pulled my camera out of a pocket, suddenly the youngster vanished. I stepped into the street to see where it had gone -- and discovered that SLO has gutter drain holes in their concrete curbs that are exactly the size and shape of a typical ground squirrel's burrow entryway.

The size of these tiny ground squirrels was especially amazing because just a few miles northwest, at Morro Rock, we'd encountered the most humungous, gihugicle California ground squirrels known to man -- animals so swollen from tourist handouts that at first I took them for prairie dogs. (I wasn't able to photograph the tiny and quick SLO squirrels, but the sluggish Morro Rock squirrels were a much easier target ... as you see.)

Back in SLO, we walked on, marvelling at the little squirrel -- and half a block later, another squirreling the same size as the other one dashed out from under a car, ran to the curb and disappeared. Yep -- another of those round gutter holes. They must have a whole colony of these cuties!

Then just a few blocks later, I noticed motion out of the corner of my eye ... and turned in time to watch a pair of scarlet macaws fly across the street, up an adjacent street and into a tree.

I read an article once from a biologist who visited South America and thrilled to the sight of these huge, bright red, long-tailed parrots flying free ... but I never expected to see the same thing on the street of a California city.

A fierce alligator lizard

A short hike today to Lake Ranch above Los Gatos gave us nice views of three killdeer, a duck family with six ducklings, a hunting egret and a host of other birds. But on the way back, we met an unusual little fellow on the trail.

It was a young alligator lizard, one of the smallest I've seen -- which is still fairly sizeable for a lizard, maybe eight or ten inches long including the long slim tail.

In typical alligator lizard fashion, it was lying motionless on the trail. So in typical Dave and Akkana fashion, we whipped out our cameras and switched into macro mode.

Alligator lizards are normally very placid. It's hard to get them to move under any circumstances, as long as you don't touch them. You can shoot photos from all angles, get the camera right up where you have to shoot a panorama to get the whole tail in, move around to the other side and get a different angle, and the lizard won't move.

Imagine our surprise, then, when the little one opened its mouth and started threatening us!

Dave pulled back his camera (it's his a new toy, so I was letting him shoot the up-close macros while I stayed what I thought was a comfortable foot away) and the beast turned on me and started advancing, mouth still open. I snapped a few shots while pulling back slowly. Then he made a rush for me.

I pulled my camera, and fingers, up out of his reach -- supposedly alligator lizards can bite, though it's hard to see any evidence of teeth in the photos -- and he rushed my shoes. I lifted the foot he was headed for, and he darted under my shoe, turned on a dime and skittered toward Dave's hiking shoe. But I guess when he got there he didn't find it quite as vulnerable as he'd hoped, so he turned again and ran off toward the side of the trail, leaving us stunned -- and doubled over with laughter.

I actually tried to shoot a video of his advance, but once he rushed me I was too busy getting out of his way and missed most of the action. Evidently I'm not quite ready to shoot those National Geo documentaries.

That's a bit of dry leaf on his forehead, in case you're wondering.

Here's what Dave was doing that got the little lizard annoyed. The adult alligator lizards we see don't mind that a bit ... honest!

Finding buried treasure -- harder than it sounds

While we were having dinner, one of the local squirrels came by to look for her own dinner under the cedar in the front yard, just outside the window by our dining table.

I remember, when I was young, reading somewhere that squirrels remember where they bury each nut, so they can return and dig it up later. Whoever wrote that clearly never spent much time watching actual squirrels.

I've also read, more recently and in more reputable places, that squirrels find buried nuts by seeking out likely burial spots then using their sensitive noses to find the underground nuts.

If so, the sensitive nose thing is overrated. It's actually quite a bit more work than that description makes it sound.

If you're ever hungry and wanting to dig up a snack from underground, here's the tried and true, time tested squirrel technique:

Hop over to a place that looks likely. Bury your nose in the ground, and plow a furrow with said nose for a few inches.

No nut? Pull your nose out of the ground, hope over to another location that looks appealing (not one right next to where you just were -- do not by any means use any kind of exhaustive quartering technique), bury your nose in the ground and repeat.

Every fifth or sixth time, it's permissable to sit up and brush dirt off your nose before going back to the hunt.

After about twenty minutes of this, our visitor finally did find something. She triumphantly sat up, brushed herself off, turned the prize around in her mouth for a while, then ran over to the cedar to hang upside down for dinner.

Curiously, what she found looked like a live oak acorn -- not something that's very common here in the suburbs. (Our yard sports a red oak, but it has tiny acorns which don't interest the squirrels in the slightest.)

She took five minutes to eat her prize, then returned to the hunt for another forty minutes. If she found anything else during that time, I didn't see it, though she might have found something while she was on the other side of the tree.

Note that I didn't say this was an efficient technique ... only that it was time tested.

Dragonfly nymph

A recent short hike at Sanborn was unexpectedly productive for creepy-crawlies.

At the lower pond, we looked for California newts. There were lots of newts last week a few miles away at Montebello, so we thought we'd see some at Sanborn too. But there weren't many adult newts in the pond -- we could only find three. That pond has never recovered from its draining three years ago, which seems to have killed all the fish and crayfish and driven away most of the newts.

But we did see one very interesting sight: a large underwater bug, at least 2 inches long. It first caught our attention jetting through the water to the shallows near where we stood, where it sank to the bottom and rested for a while (posing for pictures!) It moved only slightly during the couple of minutes we watched it ... then it suddenly jetted off toward another part of the pond. I say "jetted" because it didn't move its legs or proto-wings at all; it moved like a torpedo, presumably propelled by a jet of water.

Upon returning home, at tip from a friend (thanks, Wolf!) I looked up dragonfly nymphs. Indeed, that's what this was. Much more massive than an adult dragonfly, these larvae apparently live underwater for several years, eating bugs, fish and small amphibians, until they're finally ready to metamorphose into the beautiful winged adults we're familiar with.

An interesting creature, and one I'd never seen before.

The small upper pond, unlike the lower one, was full of life. Small fish up to about an inch and a half schooled in the shallows. Some larger koi lurked near the reeds. But I spotted something that clearly wasn't a fish: yes, there's still at least one larval newt left in the pond. It obligingly lounged in a sunny spot near the pond's edge so I could snap pictures capturing its feathery gills as well as four tiny feet.

We also stopped by the scum pond at Walden West. No bullfrogs, no turtles. The only life we saw there was a couple of female mallards, eagerly vacuuming up the scum. That pond, with its surface completely covered with algae, must be paradise for an algae-eating duck ... I wonder why I don't see more of them there.

And as long as the subject is crawling animals, I can't resist throwing in a snapshot of a garter snake I spotted today at Huddart. Nothing especially rare or exotic, but a pretty little thing nontheless.

Green Delicious apples

This past spring I planted an apple tree.

I expected it would be simple, even though I had a couple of goals I wanted to meet. I prefer tart green apples -- no mealy too-sweet red delicious types ... or worse, golden delicious. And I was hoping to get something that matured any time other than mid-October -- because that's when the guava trees go crazy and we're inundated with fruit. So, go to the nursery, find a green apple tree that matures at some other time, buy it and plant it. Right?

Turns out apples are complicated. Some apple varieties are triploid, which has to do with how many chromosomes need to group together to produce fruit. Diploid apple trees can produce fruit all by themselves ("self pollinating"), while triploid varieties need another apple tree nearby -- one that flowers at about the same time -- to pollinate them.

In addition, apparently you can't just take a seed out of an apple you ate and plant it. Well, you can, but it won't grow as well. Modern apple trees take branches from varieties that make good fruit, and graft them to rootstock from different, presumably hardier, varieties.

But as long as they're grafting anyway, that means it's just as easy to make a tree that has branches of several different types. Cool! And with any luck, they'll be types that can either pollinate each other, if they don't self-pollinate.

After failing to locate any pippins or other non-granny green apples, I ended up with a little tree with four branches: fuji, gala, granny smith (we'll just have to compete with the guavas) and ... golden delicious. Yes, it turns out that you can't buy a multi-variety apple tree that doesn't include golden delicious. My least favorite apple. I have no idea why they all include it. Maybe it's an exceptionally good pollinator for the varieties that actually taste good.

I planted the little tree, and amazingly, it flourished. The nice man at God's Little Acre said it would bear this year. I raised an eyebrow -- apples from a little tree that only came up to my waist? (Readers who haven't met me, just take my word that isn't very high.)

But a month or so after planting, the tree was a foot taller and covered with flowers. And a few weeks after that, there were three tiny apples growing: a fuji, a granny and a golden. How exciting!

Exciting for a few weeks -- until two of the three little grape-sized apples-to-be vanished. I still don't know if some bird mistook them for a berry, or a mischievous squirrel wanted something to bury. All I was left with was -- doesn't it just figure! - the golden delicious, steadily growing on its branch.

But wait. Apples all start out green, right? This one certainly was. What if I picked it before it turned yellow? Would that give me that early-maturing green apple I'd been hoping for? Maybe golden delicious wasn't so bad after all.

I eagerly watched over the next month or two as my single apple grew and matured. And last week, it finally started to change from a deep pippin-like hue to a more yellowish green.

So I picked it. And ate it for breakfast. It was excellent: tart and firm.

I hereby announce the invention of the "green delicious" apple variety. I definitely recommend it. I'm looking forward to next year's crop ... which I hope will be a bit larger than this year's.

Chlorine and reptiles

We went exploring around the upper Skyline-to-the-Sea trail yesterday. The mysterious chlorine smell was very evident, for the first time this year. Usually I've first noticed it in early July or even June, but although we had some very hot weather in early June this year, it wasn't enough to bring out the smell. I've made no progress in identifying it, but I continue to suspect tanoaks as the chlorine culprit.

It was a good day for reptiles, too. We surprised the biggest ring-necked snake I've ever seen -- well over two feet long and thicker than my thumb (which admittedly isn't saying much). It hastened off the trail before I could get the camera out. Then back at home, I found a small young alligator lizard splayed out in the shade on the sidewalk of our back yard. We've occasionally had alligator lizards here before, but never such a small one. Again, no picture; instead we just watched as it made its way across the yard to hide under the rosemary. I hope it stays around.