A couple of Anna’s Hummingbirds, year round Northwest residents, settled in for the winter. That little blur in the upper left of the first photo is one of the tiny birds flying through falling snow.
It really is quite amazing that these tiny birds manage to survive winter. Not that our Northwest seasons are all that extreme, but when you consider the exceptionally small body mass of these little avians it’s a surprise that they even live through our cool summers. There is a physiological trick to this of course, or we’d have no hummers at all. The hummingbird trick is torpor. In winter or any kind of cooler weather the body temperature of the little birds drops at night. In climates like ours where the Anna’s hummingbird overwinter, the body temperature hovers to a point just above that necessary to sustain life. Each morning the birds awaken and “shiver” themselves back to a normal temperature – then its off to find enough food to get them through the next day and night. Research has shown that overwintering hummingbirds also tend to eat more insects, thus providing a cache of protein and slower burning energy.
I have wandered about several continents photographing wildlife and during that time I’ve have some fascinating animal experiences. I’ve worked with elephants and rhinoceroses in Korea, tracked wild boar in Germany, spent some quality time with baboons in Saudi Arabia, and chased hyenas in Afghanistan. I had the opportunity to swim with alligators and catch monkeys in Florida. I’ve caught all kinds of reptiles and observed whales and dolphins from Alaska to Hawaii. These were beautiful experiences and each has its own special grip on my heart. But the single most intriguing one of all is a tiny thing I stumbled upon in the blazing desert of southern Afghanistan; something I’ve yet to explain.
These odd little guys were roughly the the size of a large spitball; I found about ten of them in the Afghan desert inhabiting a small hole that you’d expect a tiny mouse to live in. They only appeared in the evening, after the intense daytime heat dissipated. Obviously insect like – note the legs grasping the side of their home – but beyond that I have no idea what to call them. The legs are covered with sand particles but the rest of the body is heavily decorated with insect body parts, mainly ants from what I can see, a molt or an exoskeleton from some other creature is obvious in the photos, too. This leads me to believe they are some kind of insect predator, but I have never seen anything like them before. Their habitat was unfortunately destroyed by a construction project over here shortly after I took these photos. Despite an extensive search I’ve not been able to find any more examples.
Since this article was written some time ago I received information from Louis Sorkin B.C.E., Entomologist and Arachnologist at the American Museum of Natural History in NY who identified them as most likely belonging to a group of insects called reduviid bugs. Reduviids contain the group of insects known as bed bugs, but not to worry. I found these guys in an open field outside of an airbase in Kandahar. I did not bring any specimens home with me. But after looking at numerous photos of the reduviids I have not seen anything that looks like these things.
Kandahar, Afghanistan sits on a wide plain at the base of the end of a mountain range that begins with the towering Hindu Kush far to the northeast of the country. These giants gradually taper down into brownish boulderish, steep rolling hills to the north of the city and finally flatten out into a plain that stretches to Iran and the southern border of Pakistan. Animal life there is a collusion of Middle Eastern desert creatures and Central Asian beasts that run from camels to hyenas. A cheetah native to Afghanistan once roamed there and still may in some unknown corner of this remote land. The reptile fauna of this high desert environment is considerable. So many in fact, a snake once fell on my head as I opened the door to my hut – but that’s a story for another day.
I’ve photographed many specimens. My favorite activity on my day off was wandering about the undeveloped areas of the giant Kandahar Air Base and filming the surprising variety of wildlife that homesteaded inside this giant abode of military hardware. At the north and northwest end of the runway an undisturbed area of several hundred acres of scrub and sand rolls out to the fenced in boundary of the base and here I spent many delightful hours creeping about stalking my little wild friends. I usually undertook these jaunts in the morning and early afternoons in order to avoid the crushing heat of midday and the annoying mortar attacks at night. But wildlife in all of its glory is not tied to the habits of one man or one war. I wanted to see what kinds of creatures were out later in the day, so late one afternoon I went back out before dark but after the sun had done its worst.
A bit chilly up here in the great Northwest so the wildlife has been laying low. But I like the ice so here’s some New Years cheer with a crystal view:
From time to time our Northwest winters can make you forget that there actually is a sun out there. Enjoy a few views from the sunny Saudi Arabian desert just so you can remember what heat, light, and sand look like:
An enormous variety of insects and surprisingly colorful invertebrates inhabit the desert; it’s not all camel spiders and scorpions. Lizards rule the day, of course (and the night for that matter). And what would a glimpse of Saudi be like without the obligatory camel and sand dune photo?
Okay, it’s not everyone’s idea of a cuddly ST Nick, but he is big and he is red and white. Several viewpoints of the Giant Pacific Octopus from the Seattle Aquarium. This fellow stretched out to about ten feet and was in fine form the day I visited. The typical color of a relaxed specimen is the reddish hue seen above. Their easy glide along the ocean floor is supplemented by occasional burst of water jet propulsion.
Our Northwest shoreline is home to one of the most fascinating creatures on God’s earth – the Giant Pacific Octopus. Of the 300 hundred or so species of octopods that inhabit the world’s oceans the biggest of them all is our very own Octopus dofleini (sometimes also Enteroctopus dofleini). Yes, we share the big guy with other shorelines of the North Pacific from California to Asia, but like the great orcas this octopus likes the cold waters of the Northwest.
So how big are they? Despite all the fuss about the size of this octopus, reports of actual measurements vary widely. The largest ever recorded according to the National Geographic Field Guide stretched ten feet from tentacle tip to tentacle tip, but there are reliable reports of 16 feet long, 600 pounds specimens. Some sources claim thirty feet. The disparity is not unexpected. Accurately measuring an animal like this is a difficult task to say the least, and sources don’t always state how the measure was made. Tentacle to tentacle or mantle (head) to tentacle tip? Was the animal dead? Dried in the sun? An exercise like this in the wild is just about impossible. Twenty feet from tentacle tip to tentacle is probably reliable as an average, although there are surely larger specimens out there.
The tentacles and suckers are the key components of survival for any octopus and the Giant Pacific has the record holders.
Whatever the true limits of this creature’s dimensions are it is a remarkable animal by any standard. Imagine the reaction of a diver first confronted with an eight limbed monster three times his size, fins included. That would be an event to remember. And the intrigues don’t stop there. What other animal besides an octopus has three hearts, no internal or external skeleton, a sophisticated brain, complex behaviors, a birdlike beak hidden inside its body, and eyesight to rival any mammal? What other animal can instantly vanish? Or possesses the ability to pour its body like water through the tiniest cracks and crevices? There may be some comic book superhero claiming these talents, but in the real world only an octopus actually possesses such incredible attributes.
Our home grown giant, like all members of the octopus family, belongs to the phylum of animals called Mollusks: clams, oysters, snails, slugs, and squids. Narrowing this down we come to the class called Cephalopods where we find octopus and squids along with cuttlefish and the odd little nautilus, (the only cephalopod, by the way, with a fully developed external shell). Characterized by the biologically popular term of “bilateral symmetry,” cephalopods possess a number of interesting qualities. Of all the invertebrates on earth, and there is an astounding number, the octopus and squids are far and away the most intelligent. They also have unusually keen eyesight, not something normally associated with invertebrates. They are the largest invertebrates, too, and are strictly inhabitants of the ocean. The octopus has now claimed its own order – the appropriately named Octopods.
For the next couple of weeks, however, let’s call them Santapods.
What is the difference between a sea lion and a seal? And if there is a difference, why are the seals divided into three groups and not the sea lions? And why are some seals grouped into the same family with sea lions?
See the difference? Check out those external ears on the sea lion.
To begin with, all are Pinnipeds and there are three groups of these animals. Family Odobenidae, the Walrus family, makes up the third group. Since these giant pinnipeds are natives of the far north ice we won’t spend any time with them. Too bad, since they are fascinating animals, but there is a wonderful example at the Point Defiance Zoo in Tacoma, WA who puts on a charming show if you happen to be in the area at feeding time.
A baby harbor seal blends in very well with its rocky birthplace.
The word Pinnipedia comes from the Latin pinniped, meaning “feather footed.” Makes you wonder why they did not go with fin footed or flipper footed since all of these animals have front and rear feet modified into wide flippers. The eyes are relatively large and the external ear pinnas are either exceptionally small or missing altogether.
The Sea Lions and Fur Seals possess either very small ear pinna, or sometimes lack them completely. The front flippers are large and hairless, and the rear flippers are reversible; they can be positioned under the body for locomotion on land. The front flippers are larger and provide the main propulsion for swimming. Otariidae are medium to large sized pinnipeds and are found in all oceans except the North Atlantic and Indian Oceans. Males are noticeably larger than females (extreme sexual dimorphism).
The Earless Seal family, Phococidae, are small to very large seals. All lack an external ear pinna and have large, almost bulging eyes. Both flippers are fur covered; the front flippers smaller than the rear flippers, so it is the rear flippers that supply most swimming power in Furs seals. The rear flippers are not reversible, however, and makes land transportation a much more difficult proposition for these animals. The front flippers of the Phococidae are positioned closer to the front of the body than those of the Otariidae. Males are larger than females, but not nearly to the extent of the Otariidae.
None of our Northwestern pinnipeds can be considered small. At 100 pounds the female Northern Fur Seal is about as little as they get, yet even in this species males reach 600 pounds. Our undisputed champion in the heavyweight division is the male Elephant Seal, a true giant with weight in excess of two tons. Stellar Sea Lions tip the scales at more than 2,000 pounds and the 900 pound California Sea Lion is right behind. Pacific Harbor Seals appear small when only their head protrudes above water, but a 200 to 300 pound body is hiding beneath the waves. For more information on Harbor Seals go to this link: Harbor Seal Observations. In the article I detail some of the interesting things I’ve learned by watching this very common pinniped.
Pinnipeds are not only a fun species of Northwestern wildlife to observe, they are also the easiest ocean mammal to observe. They are regular inhabitants of marinas (some, in fact, become a real nuisance to boat owners) and are usually spotted on any ocean boating excursion. I cannot recall a single day when I’ve been out in the Sound and have not seen at least one.
The recent death of a white rhinoceros at the San Diego Zoo got me thinking about my own memorable experience with these magnificent animals.
TO TOUCH A RHINOCEROS
John M. Regan
I was stationed in Korea from 1997 to 2000. Had I stayed one more year I doubt I would have ever returned to the US. There were a number of reasons for wanting to stay in South Korea, the people, the exciting culture, geography, etc. But elephants and rhinoceroses were my reasons. Elephants mainly, something I’ve written about before. But rhinoceroses made up a powerful part of the other.
Next to the elephant pen at the Seoul Zoo a large enclosure contained four rhinoceroses – two adult females, one male calf, and one adult male. The calf was born in the zoo. (Since then, incidentally the Seoul Zoo has had two other successful rhino births, a fact not well known outside of Asia.) The animals were White Rhinos. As you may or may not know, the white rhino’s appellation has nothing to do with its color. They are gray; very similar in color to African elephants, and like the African elephant the color of the white rhinoceros is normally the color of the dirt or mud it happens to be in. These guys enjoy their mud baths! The name reportedly come from an English corruption of the Dutch word for “wide,” a reference to the wide, square shaped mouth of the animal, but no one really knows for sure.
None of this means a thing to the rhinoceros, of course. A formidably armed two and a half ton beast does not spend a great deal of time worrying about human linguistic problems. I on the other hand had spent a great deal of time pondering rhinoceroses, especially since arriving at the Seoul Zoo. Many years earlier I’d seen a television show that featured a circus with a trained, or at least reasonably tame, rhinoceros. The show featured the man standing in a center ring. Standing placidly by him was this wonderfully powerful looking animal, easily capable of demolishing anything and anyone in its immediate environment, but doing nothing save standing there like an overgrown dog. I specifically remember the man saying something to the effect that rhinos love to have their back scratched. I was fascinated. The idea had gnawed at me ever since.
After working with the zoo’s elephants for a year and gaining the trust of the staff I decided the time had come to see if I too had what it takes to train, or at least tame, a rhinoceros. It was winter by then and the rhinos spent most of their time inside cold weather quarters, an iron barred, concrete floored enclosure within view of the public but separated by a wide space. With the exception of the iron bars, however, not much at all separated the keepers from the animals. Reaching over and touching a rhinoceros was no challenge – provided, of course, that you had no concern about losing an arm or being gored. But the important point was that the animals were accessible.
I began my experiment with the calf. The calf and its mother were kept separately from the other rhinos and this provided the opportunity needed. The other rhinos would not allow me to approach anywhere near them. As soon as I got too close the big mammals would huff and snort and gallop away with such alarm that I was afraid they’d hurt themselves in the confined space, not to mention me. The calf was different. The “little” fellow was genuinely curious about me and the oversized scrub brush I carried.
I started with his muzzle, just barely touching him along that big broad mouth for which he was named. Bit by bit I spread my bristly massages to his jaw, then the neck, then the back of the neck, and finally to his back. The calf was in ecstasy. His mother’s reaction was extremely interesting. At my first approaches to her calf she inevitably became very agitated and often physically pushed her son away from me, snorted her disapproval, and several times demonstrated that she knew how to use that horn of hers – and who she’d like to use it on. But as calf and mother became more and more accustomed to my presence she began to tolerate my closeness to her offspring. Soon tolerance turned to curiosity. By spring mama was enjoying her back scratch as well.
With the warmer weather the animals were turned outside. Now mother and calf were joined by the other females and the male rhino. The outdoor enclosure design allowed access to the animals, but only from the other side of a concrete barrier. I continued my weekly scratching ritual with mother and calf. As expected the other three rhinoceroses reacted with great agitation at what must have been to them a positively bizarre spectacle. But then a remarkable thing happened. Just as the mother’s curiosity overcame her fear, so did the curiosity of the rest of the herd. Soon I was scratching and petting all four and my wife and the Korean keepers joined in the fun.
I was not, however, satisfied. I had to take the next step and see if I could stand side by side with a rhinoceros. No iron bars, no concrete wall. Just me and the animal side by side. One day I took the big step. I had up to this point been leaning over the narrow concrete barrier to brush the rhinos. It was a safe and practical arrangement, but idea of standing right next to one of these great beasts was overwhelming. With great care, and not a little trepidation, I stepped into the enclosure armed with nothing more than my scrub brush.
I was not trampled, stepped on, or gored. As if they knew exactly what was expected of them the rhinoceroses lined up like well behaved dogs waiting for their master to pet them. And that’s just what I did. Soon were we all in the rhino enclosure every week putting on a show for hundreds of incredulous spectators. It remains one of the finest experiences of my life.
Rhino skin feels much like canvas along their massive backs and sides. Behind and around the ears, however, the skin is surprisingly soft, almost delicate. As you might imagine that stubby, powerful physique is superbly designed for short bursts of speed and knocking things down, but woefully inept at back scratching. These animals simply adore having any part of their great bodies vigorously scratched. Many zoo keepers around the world, in fact, use this principle to get these fairly nervous animals to perform behaviors vital to their health in captivity.
Not many of them actually stand in a group of rhinos unprotected. But I did. I can’t boast of too many accomplishments in my life, but about this I will. That’s probably why I was so impressed with Saba Douglas-Hamilton. She not only stood unprotected in a heard with a herd of rhinos, she did it alone, at night, and with Black Rhinos, an animal with a worse reputation than the White. She didn’t scratch their backs, though.
I’ve not been able to touch those wonderful animals or feel the overwhelming pleasure of their presence since those days in Korea. I’m sad for that. I don’t think I shall ever have the chance again. But I thank God for one time in my life to have trained, or at least tamed, a rhinoceros.
His wife noticed it first. Not surprising; Linny was an attentive, observant person. Just a blur of motion near the back fence preceded by the crouching attention of the family cat. The animal was in that attitude of intense concentration only felines can display: body low, ears sharply erect, tail waiving and quivering.
“What’s that?” she asked. There was an odd lilt in her question.
Don looked up from the newspaper.
“What’s what?” He was slightly annoyed because he was reading the comics, and because it was early on Saturday, and because the funny page was his 9 a.m., second cup of coffee ritual. So Don didn’t like the disruption at all, but he noted the pronounced edge in Linny’s voice. She was standing by the sliding glass door of their TV room and staring intently at something in the backyard. Don exhaled a sigh of husbandly patience. He folded the paper for easy access back to the comics once this trite, bothersome mystery was concluded and placed it alongside his coffee cup. He walked to the sliding glass door and followed Linny’s gaze to the cat.
“Where?” he asked flatly. “All I see is Oreo.”
“Over there near the fence.” Linny’s finger jabbed the direction. She could be very impatient at times.
He looked again. On a direct azimuth from the nose of the cat an odd creature shuffled along in the grass. Don squinted and tried to focus. The thing was about thirty meters away, clearly limned against the base of the wooden fence at the rear of their yard, yet the silhouette did not convey any familiarity. In fact, it was weird. He slid the glass partition open to get a better look. Linny put her hand on his shoulder and peered around him. They stepped to the edge of the door, vainly attempting to identify the creature clambering through their backyard.
“My God. What on earth is that thing?” This time Linny whispered. Don wanted to provide a logical answer but nothing in his experience would provide it.
“Let me get closer and I’ll see,” was the best he could offer. He really did not want to walk out toward the strange animal. But in manly fashion he ginned courage over reluctance, bowed to the wishes of his wife, and stepped out of the house.
“Be careful.” Linny offered. She did not see Don’s rolling eyes.
He slowly crossed the yard in the direction of the mystery, certain that at any moment his eye would report a familiar living shape; that he could turn to Linny and say “Oh it’s just a —-.” No comforting revelation appeared, however, just a bizarre, fleshy shape groping along the ground close to the fence. Oreo stayed prudently at his side. Cats do not take chances. Don and his self centered companion advanced a few more steps. There were behind and within ten feet of the thing when it stopped and hissed – an ugly, guttural, noise; a rasping, flesh prickling warning. Certain sounds fill humans with quick terror: the buzz of a rattlesnake or the low, angry growl of an enraged dog. It was that kind of sound.
Man and cat stopped at the instant. Before them, vicious and strange, was a loathsome enigma.
About the size of a small pig, it looked like it weighed forty or fifty pounds. In shape and posture it was toad like, but it had four very muscular arms, that jutted out at awkward angles. These stubby arms bent at the elbow and concluded in small, clawed hands. Oily, faded yellow skin prickly with sparse black hair covered the beast. This bizarre morphology alone was sufficiently unnerving, yet it possessed a greatly more disturbing feature. Solidly attached, to a squat hint of a neck, jutted a distinctly human head.
