Florida Prairies

Florida is known for its sandy beaches, warm clear springs, and swamps. Recently, I was introduced to an ecosystem I didn't know existed in the Sunshine State: prairies. Florida prairies come in two varieties, wet and dry.

Florida wet prairies are located mainly in the northern part of the state, and as the name implies are flat, wet land. The soil is wet but not inundated so it is not a wetlands. The degree of wetness depends on elevation, and a difference of just a few feet can mean a totally different plant community within the prairie. Wet prairies are dominated by grasses and sedges, and carnivorous plants such as flytraps inhabit wetter areas.

Kissimmee Prairie Preserve, a wet prairie

Dry prairies are limited to central and south Florida and are dominated by shrubs, including stunted saw palmettos. They rely heavily on a fire regimen of one to two years, as opposed to two to three years for wet prairies. Burned areas are favored by the endangered Florida grasshopper sparrow. Ironically, one feature of dry prairies is poorly drained soil, which means they can become temporarily inundated.

Babcock Ranch dry prairie

As is the case with better known prairies, Florida's prairies have been reduced to a fraction of their original extent. Remnants can be found in national forests, state parks, and an Air Force base. That used to guarantee a level of protection, but in today's political climate nothing is certain. If you get a chance, go explore the real Florida!

Information on Florida prairies comes from Florida Natural Areas Inventory:  https://www.fnai.org/PDFs/NC/Wet_Prairie_Final_2010.pdf
https://www.fnai.org/PDFs/NC/Dry_Prairie_Final_2010.pdf

2024 Firefly Recap

The 2024 firefly season is over, and the results of season 7 show a continuing downward trend. I started monitoring fireflies at my parents' house during the summer of 2018, counting the number of flashes seen in 3 separate 10 second periods. I spaced my observation periods in 10 minute intervals, each with deepening darkness. Season 3, in 2020, was the highest total count with 708 flashes counted. Every season since then has seen totals lower than the previous.

Generally, firefly populations, like other insects, are decreasing. Reasons for this include habitat loss and degradation, pesticide use, and increased light pollution. Of course, local conditions will drive population trends in different areas. What caused my population to decrease is unknown, although cooler than usual spring temperatures could contribute.

From 2022 to 2023, there was a 25% decrease in number of flashes. Naturally, I was very curious as to whether or not the population would rebound in 2024, or even remain steady. Sadly, the numbers got worse. In 2024 the count was only 276, a decrease of another 26% on top of the 2023 decrease. That's a decrease of over 60% of the peak in 2020.

The charts below show firefly activity annually by daily flashes and annually by total flashes per year. You can see peak activity in late June and early July until 2023. 2023 peaked late and 2024 peak. Both years peaked at a rate lower than previous years.

Annual firefly count by day

Annual firefly count by yearly total

Once again, I'm curious to see if the population will rebound or continue to dwindle. However, for personal reasons I'm considering ending my firefly observations, at least at the current location. If I do chose to continue, it will be interesting to see what happens.

My Favorite State Parks

National parks get a lot of buzz, especially since the 100th anniversary of the National Park Service in 2016. But with 50 states to chose from, there are a lot of amazing state parks out there. Many are overlooked, as most people are only aware of their own state's parks. I've been to a few places, so here's a look at my Top 5 state parks that I've been to.

#5 Cape May Point State Park, New Jersey

Located at the southern tip of New Jersey where Delaware Bay meets the Atlantic, Cape May Point is a key birding location along the Atlantic flyway. The main feature is the lighthouse completed in 1859, there are a few miles of trails that wind through a varied landscape of beach, wetland, and forest habitats. The trails connect to an adjacent Audubon Society property, creating a complex of protected natural habitat in a popular vacation destination.

Coastal forest

Lighthouse seen through marsh grasses

#4 Ohiopyle State Park, Pennsylvania

For thousands of years, the Youghiogheny River has snaked its way through the mountains of western Pennsylvania, cutting through rough terrain as it tumbles towards Pittsburgh. Today, Ohiopyle preserves a stretch of the river known for its waterfalls and rapids, surrounded by dense forest. In the 1750s, George Washington said the Youghiogheny could never be tamed, and because of its wild beauty, I hope he is right.

Laurel Highlands

Ohiopyle Falls

#3 Myakka River State Park, Florida

As the Florida State Parks website says, this is the REAL Florida. Myakka River is worlds away from the resorts, theme parks, and strip malls, and Florida Man stories but only minutes away by car. Leave your thoughts of the modern world behind as you trek through palm forest, wet and dry prairie, freshwater wetlands, and even a walkway in the treetops. Every bend in the trail presents new opportunities for wildlife watching, from fire ants to roseate spoonbills to alligators. Highlights include a boat tour when the river is high enough, and a tower that rises high above the surrounding trees.

Alligators, black vultures, roseate spoonbills, and wood storks in Myakka River

Wildflowers in a dry prairie

#2 Custer State Park, South Dakota

Fall in love with the West at Custer. This park preserves mountain lakes, towering granite spires, and rolling prairie in the Black Hills. Custer State Park is most famous for its 18 mile Wildlife Loop Road, where you are almost guaranteed to see deer, elk, pronghorn, and the iconic bison. The Needles Highway winds though granite spires at elevations so much higher than the surrounding prairie, you'll feel on top of the world. To the native Sioux inhabitants, it was the top of their world.

Bison roaming the prairie

The Needles

#1 Larrabee State Park, Washington

My top state park is where the majestic forests of the Pacific Northwest meet the sea. Peaceful lakes drain through bubbling streams in a quiet forest, reaching the Salish Sea at rocky beaches. At low tide, sea urchins, anemones, and starfish briefly become part of our world while they wait for the incoming tide to return their world. If you find the right trail, you can sit cliffside and watch seagulls fly beneath your feet.

Forested headland

A small stream trickles toward the Salish Sea

This list is subjective and based on no criteria at all. If you chose to visit these or any other parks, check conditions first and carry the 10 essentials. Be aware of all hazards including wildlife and weather. Remember to leave no trace. 

Photo credits my own

I Scream, You Scream, We All Scream for Isoprene

Plants are well known for absorbing carbon dioxide from the atmosphere and replacing it with oxygen as part of the photosynthesis process. But that’s not the only thing they put into the air. Trees emit tons of a chemical known as isoprene every year, mostly during summer months. It’s surprising to learn that plants contribute to air pollution. 

An abundance of isoprene can lead to formation of greater amounts of ozone by combining with nitrogen in the form of NO and NO2. Ozone in higher levels of the atmosphere is good because it blocks harmful UV rays from the sun, but at our level it’s a major pollutant.  

The current theory is that plants produce isoprene as a method of heat resistance. Like water vapor and oxygen, it is emitted through the pores in a plant’s leaf. Not every plant produces isoprene, but the biggest producers in the US are oaks and poplars.  

Shenandoah National Park (NPS)

Isoprene is what gives the Blue Ridge Mountains their blue appearance. The chemical haze scatters blue light, which makes the mountains appear blue from a distance. It also gives the Smoky Mountains their smoky appearance. 

Great Smoky Mountains (NPS)

We learn such shocking things about nature. I had no idea before today that plants are polluting the air with volatile organic compounds, which when man-made seem to be about the worst thing under the sun. Yet here they are, also giving some of our national parks their distinguishing features and even namesakes. 

Information comes from National Center for Biotechnology Information and Department of Energy Office of Science.

Winter Seals

Since moving from the Northwest to the Northeast 5 1/2 years ago I haven't been going on as many excursions into the natural world, especially during winter. But I decided to make an exception and visit the Jersey Shore to see some seals that I heard were visiting. My first attempt was postponed a week due to bitter cold. The second attempt was still chilly, but a much nicer day. To top it all off, I met up with some friends I hadn't seen since moving from the Northeast to the Northwest over 15 years ago. 

Four seals visit New Jersey in the winter months. They are the harbor seal (most common), gray seal, harp seal, and hooded seal (least common). The seals I saw were harbor seals, and there were two or three dozen of them. After spring arrives, the seals return north to Canada and New England. Since it was getting to be the end of their time in my neck of the beach, I put my discomfort aside and ventured outdoors. 

I arrived in the Sandy Hook area early, so I stopped by the Twin Lights State Historic Site for a quick view. The lighthouse is on top of a hill about 200 feet above sea level, one of the highest coastal points along the Atlantic. From the heights you can see just how narrow the Sandy Hook peninsula is. A few turkey vultures down the hill were basking in the sun.

Sandy Hook seen from Twin Lights

Seals haul out when the tides are low, so I had to check a tide table to plan my trip. Low tides were around 5 AM and 5 PM. I opted for the evening low since there's still light at that hour. And because I didn't want to get up at 3 in the morning on a Saturday. The exact time of the low tide wasn't important. Seals don't wait until the tide reaches its lowest point to haul out. A few hours early was fine, and the seals were at the appointed location ahead of me and my entourage. A small crowd was gathered along a fence, looking into the bay. I said "I bet those rocks everyone is looking at are actually seals." Sure enough, one of the "rocks" moved. 

Harbor seals in Sandy Hook Bay

Harbor seals in Sandy Hook Bay through a scope (NPS photo)

It's important to keep your distance from seals (or any other marine life) not just because it's a federal law, but because seals especially are easily annoyed and will leave if disturbed. Any unnecessary movement burns valuable calories that are keeping them warm. And there's a reason they're on land, so let them stay there doing seal things. There could be any number of reasons for seals to haul out. They bask in the sun to warm up, just like reptiles and amphibians. Mother seals nurse their pups on land. They need to rest just like we do. Their time in the water is spent hunting prey and trying not to become prey. It's exhausting.

I'm glad the day went how it did. Usually wildlife can sense me coming, and I wind up seeing nothing except some tracks and scats. But the seals didn't disappoint. It was great seeing my friends again, and since one is a shark enthusiast, it was a thrill for her to see shark food in its natural environment. In spite of the chill, I would make this an annual tradition.

Seal information came from Conserve Wildlife Foundation of New Jersey. The NPS picture of seals comes from a post on Gateway National Recreation Area's Facebook page

Going Batty

International Bat Week, a global celebration of the world's most misunderstood mammal, fittingly comes to a close tomorrow on Halloween. To celebrate, let's take a trip down memory lane to that time five years ago when I helped with a bat colony count. It was late summer in 2017. I was just a few weeks away from leaving the Northwest and returning to my native Pennsylvania. I was invited to a pot luck for volunteers at Northwest Trek, a wildlife park in Eatonville, WA. I'd worked with them doing amphibian egg mass surveys for the state and nature mapping for Nisqually Land Trust. There was also a bat colony count happening that night, and I was asked if I would like to join. Of course I said yes. After white nose syndrome was detected in Washington, the state fish and wildlife service wanted to colony counts to establish a baseline population for monitoring purposes. Having worked on other conservation projects with Northwest Trek it was only natural that they would ask them to partner up again. And it was a no-brainer for me to get in on the action. After eating, we took an extended afterhours tram ride through the free roaming area to see the deer, elk, bison, moose, mountain goats, and bighorn sheep who don't know they're lving in captivity. There's nothing wrong with a little extra time hanging out with our animal friends. Afterwards, we returned to the park entrance. I was supposed to monitor the comings and goings at a bat box inside the park just inside the entrance. All I had to do was count how bats flew out and how many flew in, until I couldn't see anymore. Ins and outs, then subtract and the difference is my count. Very simple. But the bats had other plans for the night. Before we even got inside we could hear bats moving around inside the roof of the entrance. I never made it in. Instead, I stood outside the entrance counting bats. I watched as a little bat would drop down from the roof and gain altitude as it moved towards me. I only ducked once or twice. It was just instinct. I knew they wouldn't hit me. I figured with their echolocation they could tell where I was long before I saw them. I could hear theirs wings flapping and feel the breeze as they zipped past my head. At the end of the night, all the participants gathered to turn in their tally sheets. The counting station at the entrance, which wasn't on the list at the beginning, and was almost an afterthought, turned out to have the highest count of the night. I don't remember how many bats we counted collectively, or what my total was. It was a great night and I hope we collected important data. I'm forever thankful I was able to be a part of it.

Firefly Watch 2022

The 2022 season of Firefly Watch was the most disappointing so far. There was a dramatic decrease in the number of flashes counted from 2021, which was a decrease from the previous season. Run by Mass Audubon, Firefly Watch monitors populations of fireflies nationwide, using citizen science observations. Observation protocols are simple. Count how many flashes you see in three separate ten second periods. I space mine ten minutes apart to get varying levels of darkness, starting just before sunset. We also record the flash pattern (single, double, or triple flash for instance), start and end times, wind, precipitation, and temperature. For good measure, I also record the colors of the flashes. I start at the end of May and depending on how long I keep seeing fireflies, I go until late August or early September. I use the same location every year to track the same population, and try to stick to the same dates every year. This year the dates for my second observation of the week were a day later than last year. I end the season when I go two consecutive observations with no fireflies. The latest I ended was September 26 in 2018. This year I ended on August 24, the first time I didn't make it into September. The last firefly I saw was August 7, so I actually went beyond the two night standard. 2022 saw a decrease of 94 flashes from 2021, nearly a 16% drop. That's close to 30% fewer than 2020, the highest count so far. The charts below show the population trends. Chart 1 shows each year's counts by date and how the number of flashes observed changes within the season. Chart 2 shows each year's total counts side by side.

While I could use rainy nights in 2021 as a partial explanation for the decreased count, I only had rain during one or two observations this year. This summer was abnormaly dry, but not quite a drought. Not enough rain could be a possible cause. Other factors include light pollution, although the amount of light is unchanged year to year, and pesticide use, but I have no way to measure who is using what pesiticides in the neighborhood. One final explanation is that the neighbors cleared some vegetation from their small woodlot in the back yard. I'll continue monitoring and hopefully the negative trend will reverse itself.

Firefly Watch 2021

Just because I haven't been writing this year doesn't mean I haven't been doing nothing this whole time. I completed my 4th season of Firefly Watch. This program is run by Massachusetts Audubon, but anyone anywhere can participate. 

Observation protocols are simple. Count how many flashes you see in three separate ten second periods. I space mine ten minutes apart to get varying levels of darkness, starting just before sunset. We also record the flash pattern (single, double, or triple flash for instance), start and end times, wind, precipitation, and temperature. For good measure, I also record the colors of the flashes. I start at the end of May and depending on how long I keep seeing fireflies, I go until late August or early September. I use the same location every year to track the same population, and try to stick to the same dates every year.

2020 saw an increase over the previous year and 2019 saw a slight decrease, with 2018 being the initial and baseline year. 2021 was the first year to see a significant decline in the number of flashes. Not only was it lower than last year's total, it was the lowest of all four years. In 2020 I counted 708 flashes. In 2021 I counted 593, a 16% decrease. 

I have no explanation for the drop. There were a few more rainy nights when I was doing observations in the previous years, and that may have grounded some of the fireflies. One night early in the season there was a thunderstorm with heavy rain and gusty wind and no one was flying that night. But in the previous three years I counted a grand total of 17 flashes on that date. While rain may account for some missing fireflies, it still leaves quite a void. Hopefully 2022 will see a rebound.

Year by year comparison of flash counts

Flashes by date

The Hunt for Red Knot

For the second time in three years, I journeyed to the Delaware Bay beaches of New Jersey in search of the red knot, a long-distance voyager from South America. In 2019 I spent a day scouring Cape May County and while I had a great day of birding, I was unsuccessful. I decided to try again in a year, spending a few weekdays on vacation there to have 24 hour access to the beaches while avoiding the weekend crowds. That trip was cancelled because of Covid, although I'm sure the shorebird migration was unaffected. This year I was able to make the trip, giving myself a Sunday, Monday, and part of Tuesday to find the elusive little sandpiper.

Red knot (USFWS)

Sunday, May 23rd was one of the warmest days of the year so far. I wasn't in a rush to get anywhere so I wasn't on the road at the crack of dawn, but I didn't want to waste any daylight. Leaving by 7:30 was a good compromise. I made great time getting to the beaches in the area of Villas, NJ. Two years ago my first stop was Kimbles Beach, a part of Cape May National Wildlife Refuge. I decided to stop there first again. There were laughing gulls and "peeps", a generic term for the little sandpipers that all look alike to me. They weren't present in as great a number as 2019, and it could be because this year's trip was a little later in the migration than before.

Peeps and gulls feeding at Kimbles Beach

The tide was on its way out, and there were quite a few horseshoe crabs on the beach, and pearly green eggs in the wrack line. Some were making their way back into the bay, while others were burying themselves in the sand. Still more were dead, becoming meals for the birds and other critters. I scanned up and down the beach, but no red knots. There was a volunteer naturalist on duty, and she told me to check back later in the day when the tide is coming back in, about four in the afternoon.

Horseshoe crab eggs

It was late morning, so I had quite a bit of time to kill until then. My next stop was Higbee's Beach, where I saw my first American oystercatcher two years earlier. This time there were more people than birds on the beach so I didn't spend much time there. The highlight of this beach was a whelk egg case that had washed ashore.

Whelk egg case

The clock was still slowly ticking away until the tide returned, so I went to Fire Control Tower #23, a World War II observation tower. It was lovingly restored and opened to the the public for tours while I was living in Washington, and in 2019 I arrived just after it closed for the day. I was determined to get inside this time after years of wondering what was in there.

Skipping over the history lesson and staying on track with nature, the real reason for my visit, I had a picnic lunch at Cape May Point State Park before hitting the trails there. The trail I chose was a loop through a maritime forest and around a freshwater pond. Swans and ducks were beating the heat with a swim, songbirds serenaded me, and the air was scented with saltwater, bayberry, and eastern red cedar. Some wildflowers added a splash of color, and a muskrat lodge was the only sign of mammals. By the lighthouse, a flock of purple martins flitted around their little hotel on a pole, calling to each other and snagging insects like little flying acrobats.

Muskrat lodge

I checked in at my AirBNB just a block from the bay and took a nap until it was time for the tide to return. I went back to Kimbles Beach and waited. The horseshoe crabs were still there, and in greater numbers. The laughing gulls and peeps were still there, but no sign of red knots. A few other people came to the beach and we talked about wildlife for a while. I was scanning to the south and Liz, a birder from North Jersey, was scanning to the north. She spotted the red knots in a mixed flock. Finally, after two years I got the bird I was after. Much like the first time seeing the horseshoe crabs spawning, it was a surreal experience.

Horseshoe crabs coming ashore to spawn

A mixed flock that includes red knots

Seeing the red knot on the first day freed up the rest of my time to look at other wildlife areas. I went to Sunset Beach, hoping to catch a glimpse of Mercury and Venus after sunset, but the clouds had already come in by then. I spent some time at the gift shop and got a few items for my friends while I waited for the traffic situation there to clear out, then got some nighttime lighthouse pictures.

Monday was cloudy, drizzly, and about 30 degrees cooler. I wasn't about to let a few raindrops ruin my day. A rainy day at the beach is better than a sunny day at work. After breakfast in Cape May, I went to the Nature Conservancy's Garrett Family Preserve. It's a small property in between a residential neighborhood and Cape Island Creek. The property is a matrix of forest and field up against a salt marsh. I saw and heard quite a few songbirds, a young rabbit, a baby diamondback terrapin, a duck, a turkey vulture, wildflowers, a pile of feathers and bones, and some bee hives. In the salt marsh, there was an osprey on the nest and a bunch of holes where I saw some kind of motion. It was fiddler crabs scuttling back into the holes when they saw me coming.

Baby diamondback terrapin

My next stop was South Cape May Meadows, another Nature Conservancy property on the Atlantic. I first went there in 2019 and had a great day of bird watching. This time was more of the same, despite the drizzle. I saw my first glossy ibis and more turtles. However, it was just turtle heads poking out of the water so I couldn't tell what kind they were. There was another muskrat lodge, swans, ducks, geese, terns, and peeps. On the beach in the fenced off nesting area there were terns, oystercatchers, and some other bird that was too far for me to identify. I came across a toad, lots of feeding peeps including dowitchers, otter scat, and more piles of feathers where some bird met its demise. 

Long-billed dowitcher

Beach toad

Glossy ibis

A walk around Lake Lily brought me pond lilies, a robin fledgling, and a family of swans. After a late lunch I went to the wildlife refuge's Two Mile Beach unit on the Atlantic outside of Wildwood. While I didn't see them, there are snowy plovers nesting there. By the time I got there, the rain became steadier than a drizzle and the dark clouds and high wind made for an angry looking ocean. I continued walking the trails. More ducks and peeps, my first eastern towhee, and my first yellow warbler were waiting for me.I decided to head back to the bay to see if the red knots would be back with the rising tide. But first, I had to hit the boardwalk and grab some more gifts. Bubble blowing unicorns are in, license plates with your name are out.

Kimbles Beach was getting a steady rain when I arrived, but the wind was gone. Despite the incoming tide, the waves were almost nonexistent. So were the crabs. And so were the red knots. I decided to order dinner and call it a night. I had one last stop planned for Tuesday before going home, but my GPS wanted me to drive around a trailer park so I just left. One of the last things I saw before leaving New Jersey was a great blue heron flying over the Delaware River. 

The plan for finding the red knot worked. I avoided weekend traffic for the most part, I slept in an ideal location, the weather was mostly cooperative, I learned a lot, and saw a blend of new sites and old. I saw close to 30 different bird species, 5 that I never saw before, including the one bird I went to see. My long weekend was a nice break from the office and recharged my batteries for me, in spite of the miles I put on my feet.

The 17 Year Itch

That sound you hear isn’t the Six Million Dollar Man using his bionic powers. It’s cicadas by the billions. Every year, at least a few cicadas emerge during late spring and serenade us with their mating call. Chunky and scary looking, these insects are totally harmless but to me at least, just hearing them makes it feel a little hotter and muggier. 

This year is a little louder than most. Brood X, the largest brood of periodical cicadas, is emerging after 17 years underground in the larval stage. They’ve been tapping into tree roots during that time and now that they’ve reached adulthood they’re ready to go out in a blaze of noisy glory. They'll mate soon, lay their eggs in the tree tops, and die. When the eggs hatch, the larval cicadas will drop from the tree, burrow into the ground, and start the timer on another 17 years.

Expect it to be a little louder than usual in the Northeast
(From "This Is Spinal Tap")

All those bugs means not just a lot of noise, but also a lot of food for just about everything. The reason cicadas emerge by the billions is to overwhelm their predators’ stomachs. The strategy is that lots of cicadas will get eaten, but based on sheer numbers, many will survive to continue the life cycle for another 17 years. 

Periodical cicada (NPS)

Speaking of 17 years, why such an odd number? It’s another evolutionary strategy. What other critter can you think of with a 17 year life cycle? It reduces the risk of broods emerging during a population boom for a predator species. As a double failsafe, broods have stragglers that emerge either before or after the 17 year period.  Most are within a 13 to 21 year period. It gives the brood a better chance of survival in the event that the 17th year is a boom year for predators. 

Molting cicada (Baltimore Sun)

I've never seen a cicada coming out of its shell. Like all insects, they have a hard exoskelton, and immediately after emerging they molt. From what I'm being told, people all over are finding a lot of those shells on tree trunks and other surfaces. I haven't seen any yet this year, but I haven't been able to get outside much other than a birding expedition to New Jersey which you can read about later. This week's information comes from the University of Connecticut. 

Weird and Wonderful Water

Water is the stuff of life. We can't live without it, and neither can the rest of the food chain. The search for extraterrestrial life hinges on whether or not a planet or moon contains liquid water, but that assumes that any life off Earth is the same as Earth-based life. This week we'll take a look about what makes water so special and how it keeps all of us alive.

Water, the most abundant substance on Earth.
Unless air is more abundant.

Water is unique among all chemicals (yes, it's a chemical) because it is the only one found in solid, liquid, and gas states naturally on Earth. While ice and water vapor aren't basic requirements for life, they are key components of the water cycle. Water stored as snow and ice in the mountains is slowly released during the dry summers in the American west, meaning a steady flow in rivers throughout the year. Clouds made of water vapor transport precipitation over long distances. On top of that, ice and steam make modern life more convenient- think food storage and electricity generation.

Winter snow waiting for the spring melt, March 2016

Typically, solids are more dense than liquids, which in turn are more dense than gases. Water flips this around, as ice is less dense than liquid water. If you freeze a container of water, you'll notice that the ice fills more of the container than the water did. This is why your frozen pipes burst in winter. The expansion of water as it freezes is a visual of the density decreasing. Because ice is less dense than water, it floats. Because ice floats, it forms on the surface of lakes and other bodies. This allows aquatic life to survive. If water froze from the bottom up, everything would either freeze in place, or eventually be exposed on the surface.

Molecular structure of liquid water and ice (Mountain Empire CC)

Water has adhesive and cohesive properties. Water molecules stick to each other (cohesion) and other substances (adhesion). Adhesion causes capillary action. This is the movement that is responsible for plants being able to absorb water in the ground through their roots, up the stem, and to the highest leaves. Cohesion also contributes to surface tension. Water molecules on the surface are more tightly packed and can resist pressure from outside forces. This allows objects to float. Water striders can stand on the surface because of surface tension.

Water strider striding water (National Wildlife Federation)

Water has a high specific heat. Specific heat is the amount of energy needed to raise the temperature of a gram of water by one degree Celsius. Because it takes a lot of energy (1 calorie per gram) to heat water, it takes a lot of heat to boil water. Ocean life appreciates not being boiled. Water also holds onto heat it absorbs and releases it slowly, moderating Earth's temperature and making the seasonal changes gradual.

Water dissolves more substances than any other. The polar structure of the water molecule. The positive hydrogen end will attract negative ions, while the negative oxygen ends attract positive ions. Water's solvency is important for plants and animals to absorb nutrients, and for animals to flush waste from their bodies. Nonpolar substances like fats do not dissolve. That's where the saying "Oil and water don't mix" comes from. Less dense fats will float on top of water, and with some skill they can be separated.

Next time you take a drink, raise a glass in appreciation of water. Without it, your drink wouldn't be here and neither would you. This week's information comes from USGS and Mountain Empire Community College.

Species of the Month

Halloween is just around the corner. Traditionally, we examine a spooky critter with a connection to Halloween for the Species of the Month. This year let’s try something different. There’s nothing scary about a ghost crab, but its name fits the season. 

Ghost crab (Science Magazine)

Scientific name: Ocypode quadrata 

Kingdom: Animalia (animals)

Class: Malacostraca (soft-shelled crustaceans)

Order: Decapoda (ten-footed crustaceans)

Range: Rhode Island to Brazil 

Habitat: Ocean or estuary beaches, from the tide line to the dunes 

Lifespan: 3 years 

Diet: Bean clams, mole crabs, sea turtle eggs and hatchlings, organic detritus 

Predators: Shore birds, gulls, raccoons 

Conservation status: No special protection

Other info: Ghost crabs are small, nocturnal crustaceans. They grow to about a two inch carapace (back shell) with long legs and eye stalks, and their claws are uneven sizes. Ghost crabs hatch from an egg in the ocean and go through six larval stages before developing into adult crabs. Unlike other crabs that can only mate when the female is molting, ghost crabs can and do mate at anytime after reaching maturity which is usually after a year old.  

Juvenile ghost crab (NPS)

Ghost crabs live in burrows in the sand. They plug the holes during the day and emerge at night for feeding and mating. Mating occurs near the male’s burrow. They travel several feet per night and may not return to the same burrow. Occasionally they will go into the water to wet their gills; they are also capable of absorbing water from the sand into their gills. 

Ghost crabs can be used as an indicator species to monitor the health of their habitat. Populations can be easily estimated by counting burrows. Knowing the status of the crab population can tell what kind of impact human activities are having on the ecosystem overall. Off road vehicles and coastal development are the biggest challenges we give them. 

A pair of ghost crabs (NPS)

Once again this week's information comes from the Animal Diversity Web at University of Michigan. Next week is a rerun. We'll have fresh content after Halloween. Stay tuned!