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.

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.

Firefly Recap 2020

The 2020 Firefly Watch is complete, and it's time to crunch the numbers. While many science opportunities were cancelled this year because of the coronavirus, standing in my parents' back yard at night was not affected at all. 

I started with this project in 2018 and chose to continue at the same location in order to monitor the same population. Protocol for Firefly Watch is to count the number of flashes in three periods of ten seconds each on the same night. We record the number of flashes, the color of the flashes, the flash pattern (single flash, J shaped, double flash, etc.), and weather data- temperature, wind, cloud cover, and precipitation. I chose to use the same dates every year. I ended observation when after being shut out twice in a row. This year observations ended on September 3, the earliest end date so far.

Observations got off to a slow start this year. By the time I got through the first observation of June, I only had three flashes recorded. By the end of June, things were picking up. Flashes peaked slightly earlier than previous years, and lasted slightly longer. The post-peak crash wasn't as steep this year. Despite the slow start, early finish, and missing two observations because of vacation, the 2020 total number of flashes was the highest of the three seasons I've done Firefly Watch. 2018 had 694 flashes, 674 in 2019, and 708 in 2020. The increases and decreases year to year are slight, and statistically speaking the population is stable. 

I blame the slow start on the weather. My first observation was May 21, which was less than three weeks after our last snow flurry of the season. A warm winter gave way to a cold spring, which probably delayed firefly emergence.

I will credit the coronavirus along with the weather for the higher number of flashes this year. Fireflies prefer a dark night so they can see each other better. Due to the virus, baseball games were cancelled at the park adjacent to my parents' house. No stadium lights, and the lights at the school next door were off late in the season due to school being digital to start the year. There was no rain during any of my observations this year, and that made for better flying weather. No lightning also makes a darker sky.

I am already looking forward to the start of the 2021 season. Observations will be on Fridays and Mondays next year. Three day weekend getaways might have to wait until September, but as long as firefly numbers remain steady or increase, it will be worth the wait.

Nature Minute Book Club

Winter is my least favorite time to be outside. It's cold, dark, and precipitating. In fact, I'm expecting snow the day after tomorrow. It's a great time to grab a cup of tea and a good book. Here are some more suggestions for your reading pleasure.

Dolphin Diaries by Dr. Denise L. Herzing

Herzing spent a quarter century in the Bahamas, essentially living among the spotted dolphins, if only
during the summer. During her seasons there she was able to gain unprecedented access to their
behaviors, communications, and rituals. She was seemingly accepted into their society. This book
chronicles the amazing discoveries she made in her time with these fascinating creatures and will
challenge what you think about animal intelligence.

A Sting in the Tale by Dave Ghoulson

Learn about British bumblebees. Ghoulson recounts the history of bumblebees from their appearance
in natural history when dinosaurs roamed the Earth to their problems today. All this, of course, is
interspersed with his own humorous tales from a childhood fascinated with wildlife to his more recent
time in the field tracking down some elusive bees. Oh, and there’s pie.

The Invention of Nature, Alexander Von Humboldt's New World by Andrea Wulf

This biography of Humboldt explores his development from a dutiful son to the father of ecology, even
if the word didn’t yet exist. A contemporary of Darwin’s father, it was he who planted the seeds that
germinated into the theory of evolution. He even warned of human activities influencing the climate,
making him possibly the world's first environmentalist. We discover his intellectual, philosophical, and
artistic influences as well as tag along on his adventures around the world. 

Winter World by Berndt Heinrich

Heinrich is an entomologist by trade, but his keen eye for observation makes him a great naturalist as
well. Part science, part personal narrative and drawing on his own research and observations, in this
book he takes us for a walk through Maine woods to see how critters from flies to bears survive the
brutal Down East winters.

Christmas is for the Birds

This year is the 120th annual Audubon Christmas Bird Count. It began December 14th and runs through January 5th. The tradition started in 1900 in at the beginning of the conservation movement. Since the beginning, citizen scientists have used the information gathered to track trends in bird populations.
I took part on December 15th and had an eventful and cold day. Once again, I put my discomfort aside for the sake of nature. The day began at 4 AM with three hours of owling. My partner Chris drove us around to a few sites where we'd listen in the dark for owl calls. In an attempt to draw them out, he played owl calls on his phone. We heard a screech owl at one location and a pair of great horned owls in a duet at another place.

Great horned owl

After a pit stop around 7 AM we picked up the third member of our trio at sunrise and began our visual observations with nearly three dozen turkey vultures overhead near a roosting site. I happen to know about this roost because I drive past it on the way to and from work, and depending on my schedule I see the vultures either leaving for the day or returning for the night. Right away my presence paid off. In past years, Chris and John start their count headed the other direction.
Over half our time was spent in the car. Much of what we saw was from the road. We did some walking though, and it was tough in some places. Recent rain meant soggy ground. It's December and Pennsylvania, which is rarely a good combination. In addition to the cold, it was windy. The wind made for great raptor conditions, but bad for everything else. It was difficult to hear bird calls over the sound of the wind. Watching for motion in the trees and bushes was confusing because everything was moving.

Turkey vulture

This year we counted 47 different species, and a total of 735 birds. In 2018 we counted 38 species and 754 birds. Canada geese were the big winners this year, coming in at 266. However, they were mainly in two flocks. The birds we spotted the most times were turkey vultures and house finches. I look forward to counting more birds in 2020!

Canada goose

Firefly Watch 2019 Results

Beginning in late May and concluding in September, I conducted observations for Massachusetts Audubon again this year. I count how many flashes I see in three separate periods of ten seconds each. I usually separate those periods by five to ten minutes, to allow for increasing level of darkness. Mass Audubon asks for data other than how many flashes. They also want time and date, weather conditions (cloud cover, precipitation, wind, and temperature), flashing patterns (single flash, double, triple, J-shaped), and color of flashes. Weather may affect firefly behavior, while color and pattern indicate separate species of fireflies.
After two years of submitting observations for my location (my parents' back yard), I don't have enough data to notice any population trends yet. To track population trends, I tried my best to conduct observations on the same dates as last year. This wasn't always possible, like the night I had to chose between fireflies and my daughter's graduation. Guess who won.

Graph of 2018 firefly flashes

Comparing 2018 to 2019, there was a slight decrease in number of flashes but not statistically significant. The first fireflies were seen the same day both years, while the last was seen about a month later in 2018 than in 2019. Peak flashing began almost two weeks earlier in 2019 than in 2018, and following crash was much sharper, without the brief rises that occurred in 2018. My guess is that with a earlier and longer peak, mating was successful and there was no need to keep looking for a date.

Graph of 2019 firefly flashes

What I was told by my mom before I began this project in 2018 was that there weren't really any fireflies around anymore. Since then, I've learned it's not true. She says there are definitely more now, but without any data to back it up I have to take her word for it. I don't remember if there are more or less than when I was a kid. It's not something I was looking at scientifically at the time. I do remember seeing fireflies in September only once before 2018 though. I don't remember what year it was, but I remember they didn't show up until late June, so we had them for the same length of time that I was used to.

Graph showing 2018 and 2019 flashes

Since the end of the season, I moved a few miles away. Despite having to drive a little farther, I will continue observations at my parents' house for consistency. It's hard to establish a trend if I don't use the same location. I may add my new location and start a data set here as well. After getting a second set of data, I am closer to being able to track populations. I am already looking forward to the return of next year's fireflies and the data they'll give me.

Pond Life

Having spent three seasons doing amphibian egg mass surveys, I can tell you that there are two kinds of people: those who look at a pond from the outside and just see a pond, and those of us who have been in a pond and have seen little world contained within.

Northwest salamander egg mass

Just getting close to the pond changes your view of it. Driving by, you can easily define the shoreline. Walk up to the shoreline and you aren't so sure anymore when the ground gets softer and wetter.
The most obvious pond life is visible before you get to spongy edges. Ducks and geese are patrolling like an avian navy, while a great blue heron flies overhead. Lily pads dot the surface and the whole northern and eastern sides are cloaked in rushes and reeds. If you are still, you might hear the bullfrogs and Pacific tree frogs.

Pacific tree frog

Mallard duck

Put on your waders and step into another world. Look into the water and you'll see insects and their larvae on and below the surface: mosquitoes, craneflies, dobsonflies, and more. Tadpoles and the occasional small fish dart by. A squeak and a splash reveals a startled river otter. Attached to the plant life, you'll find frog, toad, salamander, and newt eggs. Some are below the surface, covered in algae. Some are on the surface, anchored to the stem of emergent vegetation.

Caddisfly larvae

Scoop up a water sample to look at under a microscope. In addition to the floating dirt and plant material, there are tiny shrimp-like critters a quarter inch long. Even tinier are the microscopic algae, protozoa, and bacteria.

Freshwater shrimp- either an isopod or a copepod

If it's a rainy day you won't see much below the surface, but the raindrops take on a totally different sound when they are falling all around you and only landing on more water.
I hope you enjoyed today's aquahike. Ponds are full of life, even if hidden in plain sight. It's a fragile ecosystem, so be kind to your local ponds.

Caution: beavers working

Habitat Rehab

Habitat restoration is one of the most important challenges facing conservationists today. Without adequate habitat, endangered species can’t be recovered. Many human activities require restoration as well. Fully functioning wetland systems can provide flood control and clean drinking water. How does the process of habitat restoration work?

Restored coastal marsh, where dikes were removed to
allow the sea to once again access the land

The first step, as in medicine, is “First, do no harm.” A site evaluation will determine exactly what needs to be done to restore what once was. Noting current conditions establishes a baseline for measuring success of the project. It might involve stabilizing a feature immediately, such as an eroding stream bank. After figuring out what needs to be done, the next step is figuring out how to do it.

In many cases, conservationists will use a reference site similar to what is being restored to determine plants and other features. Plants will influence what kind of animals will begin using the site, but the land and water on the site will determine what plants can live there.

Live willow stake planted to reforest
a former pastureland

A lot of times, restoration work is more than simply replacing plants and animals that lived on a site before people came in and messed it up. A site I monitored in Washington had once been a thriving salmon stream with a wide flood plain. 19^th century farmers drained the area by straitening the stream to allow water to flow in and out faster. They also cleared the trees. Fast forward to the 21^st century, and we’ve figured out that the stream needs to be slowed and shaded. Over a period of several years, the curves were put back in the stream and thousands of new trees and shrubs were planted. Fixing the stream required building temporary dams, removing fish by hand, and using heavy equipment to excavate a new stream bed at just the right depth and slope.

Ohop Creek after being restored to its twisted ways

After work has been completed, the site must be monitored for success. There should be some kind of measurable goal, and even if the restoration fails it can be a lesson for future attempts. The site I mentioned was restored for salmon habitat, and while it will take a few years for trees to begin cooling the water temperature, it has been under constant observation since work began. Several times a year, conservation groups involved in the restoration work check water levels, tree survival, how many salmon are spawning, and what kinds of animals are using the habitat. All of this is checked against initial observations from before the project began.

This prairie, currently a restoration work in progress,
was a field of weeds a few years ago

My work with habitat restoration has been monitoring (documenting wildlife and animal signs, as well as plant survival rates), site maintenance, and invasive species removal. The work is hard and sometimes conditions are brutal, but I find it to be very rewarding.

In many cases, restored habitat is second rate compared to what it once was and what nature has provided. It’s not for a lack of trying, but nature is a much better architect of natural features than what man could ever hope to be. But it’s better than nothing.

Superfund Site

While I was working toward my environmental science one of my classes was Environmental Law and Policy. For one of our assignments we had to research a Superfund site and present to the class. The site I chose was less than a mile as the crow flies from where I grew up. At that time, EPA hadn’t begun work on the site. Last year after moving back to Pennsylvania, I attended an EPA meeting on the status of the cleanup. This year, as work nears completion, I was able to tour the site with EPA’s Tim Gallagher.

Contrary to what you might think, not all Superfund sites are full of leaking drums of glowing green radioactive waste. The Watson-Johnson property was a landfill from the 50s to the 70s, then forgotten about. In the late 90s, water testing revealed several contaminants in the groundwater. One of the town wells for the water supply was closed. The solution the EPA came up with was to cap the landfill and use chemical injection to neutralize the contaminants in the groundwater.

Watson Johnson landfill site. The geosynthetic is
buried under 18 inches of soil here.

Capping the landfill is a common practice at sites like this. Why not remove the waste? Odds are, everything would just be taken out of the ground and buried in another landfill somewhere else. One oozing container was discovered and removed from the site, but otherwise it was all collected together and capped. The cap uses a layer of compacted clay soil, a waterproof synthetic fabric, more soil, and vegetation. The purpose of the cap is to keep the waste contained and keep water out, preventing anything from seeping into the groundwater.  Water drains to wetlands, ponds, and level spreaders. Level spreaders are cement cisterns that capture water and allow it to overflow and slowly spread away from the site.

Drainage swale around the outside of the capped landfill.
Grass seed has already been spread inside it.

Level spreader beyond the edge of the capped landfill

The soil above and around the cap is contoured to divert surface water away from the cap. There are natural wetlands on site, as well as new artificial wetlands created to contain and disperse runoff. The cap itself layered in a way that creates pathways for gases flow towards several vents. Because they site was once open but now is closed with those release points, concentrations are higher. Methane has been noted at the vents, but not volatile organic compounds (VOCs).

Gas vent. No monitors are attached.

Monitoring and injection wells reach the groundwater. Sodium permanganate is injected to react with the chemicals in the water. The reaction breaks down the chemicals (including the sodium permanganate) into harmless elements like oxygen and hydrogen. Monitoring wells are set up to test the levels of chemicals in the water. Injections will stop once the concentration goes below 100 parts per billion. At that point, EPA will begin bioremediation. Microscopic critters that eat the contaminants will be injected to the groundwater to bring the contaminants down even further.

Work on the site is nearing completion. Despite a cold winter and rainy summer, work is only two months behind schedule. Workers are currently adding a layer of topsoil six inches deep on top of the cover soil. Once topsoil is in place, it will be seeded with native grasses. Around the cap, workers are setting up deer fence to protect new trees that will be going in. Landscaping was supposed to start last week but was delayed by heavy rain.

EPA will continue to monitor the site for a year after completion, before turning that duty over to the state. Future plans include nesting boxes for swallows and bats. The new trees will create a nice matrix with the older existing woods on the edge of the site, which should attract songbirds that prefer new growth. The site is privately owned, so it will not become a park like old landfills in other areas. However, development will be limited by cap so it will likely remain a nice green oasis as the area becomes increasingly more urbanized.

For more information visit the EPA's Watson Johnson website. Special thanks to Tim Gallagher for taking time out of his day to show me around.

Firefly Watch

I participated in an ongoing citizen science project over the summer. Firefly Watch was formerly run by Boston’s Museum of Science, but was run by Massachusetts Audubon this summer, my first with the program. The goal is to monitor firefly populations by counting the number of flashes in three periods of ten seconds. Colors and flash patterns, as well as date, time, weather conditions, and site conditions are all recorded. I signed up for this because fireflies were always a highlight of the summer when I was a kid, and later when my own kid was little. 

Having been away from my ancestral home for a decade, I had no knowledge of local population trends other than my mom telling me she never sees fireflies anymore. That was disturbing to hear. So twice a week I went to my parents’ house starting in late May to see if they had any fireflies left. The first ones showed up on Memorial Day, right about when I remember them first arriving. They were few and far between for the first two weeks or so and peaked around the 4^th of July. I decided to keep up the watch until I had two consecutive shut outs, and expected to be done the first week of September. 

However, the last firefly I recorded was on September 24^th, later than I’ve ever seen one. In fact, I only remember seeing them in September once before, and they came a month late that year. To top it all off, I saw another on September 28^th during the day while away from home. However, to be consistent I only counted observations at one site. To me, it isn’t helpful to track population trends if I am not tracking at the same location, at least in this case. For something larger with a wider range I would, but these little guys don’t roam very far. Since this was my first field season I have no data to compare with, but I plan on being back. Hopefully all I’ll see is positive trends!

Feel free to sign up for Firefly Watch next year!

Road Trip Adventure- Behind the Scenes

Last week I shared pictures, video, and information about the horseshoe crab. This week we take a behind the scenes look at the adventure. While the trip to Delaware wasn’t as tedious as a National Geographic photo shoot (they might spend three months to get that one shot you see in the magazine), it wasn’t the figurative walk on the beach that it literally appeared to be.

Welcome to the second smallest state!
(Delaware Business Times)

The biggest question mark I had to deal with was weather. The forecast was for thunderstorms. Fortunately my daughter and I dodged those. I wasn’t about to head to the beach during a thunderstorm. Your happiness, gentle reader, is not worth my life. It was cloudy that night, and I wasn’t sure if it was the moon itself or just the tides associated with the moon that draws the crabs to the beach. Apparently, it’s the tides and not moonlight. 

Rain was our closest companion during the weekend. I was hoping to get daylight shots at noon’s high tide the Saturday we were there. However, threatening clouds were on the horizon and with more thunderstorms in the forecast I decided to bag it. We managed to get another trip to the beach at low tide, where a few stragglers were going back out to sea. There were also a few dead crabs below the wrack line, some birds, and a shopping bag full of garbage. Saturday night rain kept me awake and at some point during the night the tent decided it was too wet to hold the water back any longer.

And they were right (Pintrest)

Camping in the rain can be a miserable experience, but our second closest companion, at least while we were in camp, was the mosquitoes. They helped me set up the tent by encouraging me to do it faster. They even managed to get inside. They got in the car. They visited me in the bathroom. They were undaunted by the rain. I learned how foolish I was to believe that they lost their taste for me over the years. East Coast mosquitoes will surely beat West Coast mosquitoes in a street fight any day.

Business was booming at the 24 hour buffet
(End Times News)

With rain, you are sure to have humidity. My hair is too short to get frizzy, but that wouldn’t bother me. The bother was driving into camp, to the beach, and back to camp without being able to see anything. Nothing I did could stop the humidity from fogging up the windshield. If it wasn’t the foggy windshield on Friday night it was the actually foggy fog. How humid was it? I had a box of graham crackers (we had raw smores because of the rain) stored in my cooler (no ice) and the cardboard still managed to get soggy, despite the outside (and inside) of the cooler staying out of the rain. I’ve never seen humidity like it.

All this complaining is to remind you that fieldwork has its discomforts. Even though all I did this time was observation, we do this in all conditions. Always keeping safety in mind, research and fieldwork go on despite nasty weather. Obviously, sometimes conditions make it impossible to get the job done. I can’t count frog eggs in the rain because the surface ripples make it impossible to see any eggs below. I won’t be pulling invasive weeds when there’s a foot of snow on the ground. Sometimes conditions interfere with natural processes we’re trying to observe. Insects won’t be around much on a windy day. A cool, cloudy day will keep reptiles away. So we wait. And that’s why your National Geographic picture is three months in the making.

Road Trip Adventure- The Crabs of Delaware

The horseshoe crab is possibly the most bizarre critter you will encounter on a sandy Atlantic beach. Resembling a helmet with legs and a tail, they are not actually crabs at all, but are more closely related to spiders. They are nearing the end of their spawning season, and I traveled to Delaware to get some time in the field and see for myself.

Horseshoe crab (left) and traditional  Dungeness crab (right)
side by side for comparison

Horseshoe crab undercarriage

These marine arachnids are an ancient species dating back over 300 million years. I’m sure they’ve been spawning since then, but unlike most sea creatures, they come ashore to lay and fertilize eggs. Mid-May to early June is prime time for spawning. The crabs haul ashore at high tide and they prefer full or new moons. I just happened to arrive a day after full moon, so the event was in full swing when I got there. Check the video raw here. 

Horseshoe crabs spawning at midnight

Males are smaller than females, and will climb on the backs of females to fertilize the eggs as they are released. There are more males than females, so sometimes there will be one or two “satellite males” clinging to the sides in addition to the first male to attach. Females lay a few thousand eggs per shot, and will emerge to spawn several times over the course of the season.

She’s laying that many eggs for good reason: there are tons of migratory and seasonal shorebirds on the coast looking for a quick and easy meal. Eggs and freshly hatched larva really hit the spot. Eggs hatch after two to four weeks. Larva hang out in the shallow water for a few years, while the adults return to the briny deep.

Horseshoe crab returning to sea

Walking the beach the day after watching the midnight spawning, there were a few stragglers. In some cases, all that remained were the crab tracks. The shell plows a path in the sand that ends in a horseshoe shaped depression (or a crab, if it hasn’t made it back to sea yet), which is how the crab got its name. There were also a few dead ones that were stranded after the tide went out. 

Leaving behind a crab track

Seeing a live horseshoe crab for the first time was an interesting experience. I’m not a diver so my only in-person encounters with marine life has been tidepool critters that don’t move, such as a sea anemone. Getting down to the beach and turning on a flashlight and seeing all those crabs together in a writhing, tumbling mass of helmets was incredible. If you ever get the chance to watch, I highly recommend it. Just remember to leave no trace. I picked up about 2 ½ gallons of garbage before leaving.

Nature Minute now has a Youtube channel! I will add videos as I feel like making them. In addition to the video linked above, there are others from my weekend adventure in Delaware. Next week I'll have some stories from the road.

This is a Crappy Subject

Now for the dirtier side of nature. Pretty much every living thing on this planet exists to be someone else’s meal. If you’re unlucky enough to become lunch, the next step is you become poop. No one likes to talk about it, look at it, or smell it. Even though it’s gross, it’s an essential element of the environment for a couple of reasons.

Raccoon scat

The most important function of poop, or scat as we call it in the science world, is a key role in the nutrient cycle. Every living thing needs an assortment of minerals in order to function properly. Minerals are absorbed from the soil by plants, then absorbed by herbivores that eat those plants, then absorbed by various levels of carnivores up through the food chain. Some minerals are present in the ground in rocks; others are returned to the soil through decaying organic matter (plant or animal) or through scat.

Nutrient cycle (from Exploring Nature.org)

Another important impact scat has on the environment is negative, and it goes beyond getting on your shoe. Nitrates and phosphates are common in scat, and also happen to be active ingredients in fertilizer. Excessive nitrates and phosphates in storm runoff causes high nutrient levels in lakes, streams, and even the ocean. Those high levels can cause an overgrowth of algae. Too much algae, even though it produces oxygen, can cause dead zones of little to no oxygen when the algae dies and decomposers feasting on it suck all the oxygen out of the water.

Algae bloom (Michigan Radio)

A third way scat is important is as a research tool. It allows people like myself who rarely observe animals in the wild to see what animals have been down the trail before. DNA samples can be pulled from scat, and population biologists can estimate population by counting turds. Ecologists can study an animal’s dietary habits from looking at scat.

The coyote that dropped this deuce ate a bird

Deer scat

Now that you’ve seen the usefulness of animal scats, maybe you will look at it in a whole new light on your next foray into the woods. Like anything else in nature (except maybe spiders), if you can overcome your aversion, you can learn to appreciate it.