- Author: Kathy Keatley Garvey
The 21st annual Halloween party at the Bohart Museum of Entomology, UC Davis, drew scores of entomology enthusiasts dressed as caterpillars, dragonflies, butterflies and assorted other critters--chased by the bug catchers.
The event, open to Bohart Museum Society and special guests, was all that it was quacked up to be, thanks in part to forensic entomologist Robert Kimsey. Kimsey arrived dressed in his ghillie suit, and virology major Andrew Poon arrived with his pet duck, Quack. Kimsey and Quack became instant friends (ah, the warmth of a ghillie suit) and quacked up the crowd.
Lynn Kimsey, director of the Bohart Museum, wore her LED tennis shoes hand-painted by entomologists Charlotte Herbert and Nicole Tam with cuckoo wasps (family Chrysididae), the group that she studies. Her shoes lit up the night like the legendary fireflies do. (See previous Bug Squad blog)
Among the other stars:
- Charlotte Herbert, a doctoral candidate in entomology, came dressed as a venomous slug caterpillar (family Limacodidae), much to the delight of bug catchers Wade Spencer and Brennen Dyer, who arrived nets in hand.
- Tabatha Yang, public education and outreach coordinator, came dressed as a wet blanket and carried a sign that said “Nope.”
A black widow spider disguised as a pumpkin. (Photo by Kathy Keatley Garvey) - Dragonfly enthusiasts Jeanette Wrysinski and son, Aren Scardaci, and friend Eva Butler of Sacramento arrived in their matching dragonfly t-shirts. (Dragonfly expert and Bohart Museum associate Greg Kareofelas declared the insect a new species.)
- Native pollinator specialist Robbin Thorp, distinguished emeritus professor of entomology, buzzed in as a yellow-faced bumble bee, complete with a yellow head and face and a yellow abdominal stripe. (The bug catchers gave chase.)
- Graduate student Jessica Gillung padded in as a cat lady, with pinned stuffed animals on her costume. (The bug catchers declared this the wrong species.)
- Fran Keller, assistant professor at Folom Lake College who holds a doctorate in entomology from UC Davis, came dressed as a graduate student. (She carried no net and proved no competition for the bug catchers.)
- Entomologist Joel Hernandez and UC Davis Arboretum outreach coordinator Melissa Cruz paired up as a scarecrow and a pumpkin. Hernandez added a mouse to his pocket--scarecrows, you know, attract mice. Another mouse--and yes, a stuffed one, too--graced the cheese table.
- Steve Heydon, senior museum scientist, wore his sailor outfit and carried a mop. When folks inadvertently spilled chocolate from the chocolate fountain or food from the buffet table (prepared by entomologist Ivana Li), he obliged.
A butterfly disguised as a pumpkin. (Photo by Kathy Keatley Garvey) - Entomologist Danielle Wishon and her eye-popping, spider-webbed face drew "oohs" and "ahs." (The bug catchers seemed quite interested in the web.)
- Chemical ecologist Steve Seybold, his wife, Julie Tillman, and their daughter, Natalie, came dressed as a Halloween family. Natalie dressed as a black caterpillar. That's the spirit! (Oh, where'd the bug catchers go?)
You could tell it was an entomological party by the games played. For the occasion, Charlotte Herbert and her fiancé, George Alberts, crafted a piñata shaped like a tardigrade, aka water bear, and filled it with candy. Blind-folded participants took turns swatting it. Another popular game: "Pin the Pin on the Beetle." Blind-folded participants attempted to poke a pin in a paper beetle mounted on a wall.
Carved pumpkins with butterfly and spider motifs, all made by the Bohart staff, glowed.
In keeping with the presidential campaign, Donald Trump and Hilllary Clinton appeared to "party hardy" in the form of pumpkins portraying political candidates.
The bug catchers, nets in hand, seemed more interested, however, in the venomous caterpillar.
"The slug caterpillar," said Lynn Kimsey, "is very venomous."
- Author: Kathy Keatley Garvey
It's often mistaken for a honey bee. Hey, isn't every floral visitor a bee? No, not by a long shot. One's a fly and one's a bee.
That came to mind last weekend when we saw a large number of honey bees (Apis mellifera) and drone flies (Eristalis tenax) nectaring on Mexican sunflowers (Tithonia). The feeding frenzy brought back all the Internet images of mistaken identities. And the arguments.
That's a bee!
No, it's not. It's a fly.
That's no fly. That's a bee.
It's a fly. Bee-lieve me!
To the untrained eye, they look alike at first glance. They're both insects, they're about the same size, and they're both pollinators.
The drone fly, though, in its immature stage is a rat-tailed maggot that lives in drainage ditches, hangs out around manure piles and sewage, and its idea of a pool party is water that is badly polluted.
Honey bees gather nectar and pollen (and water and propolis) for their colonies. Nectar is their carbohydrate and pollen is their protein.
Drone flies mimic bees in color, size and nectaring behavior. They're actually hover flies, members of the family Syrphidae. Watch them hover over flowers like a helicopter.
Lately, we've been seeing an influx of drone flies in our little pollinator garden. Look closely at their large eyes and stubby antennae and you can easily distinguish them from honey bees. Then notice the "H" on their abdomen. Maybe that's "H" for hello? Or "H" for Halloween? Or, or "H" as in "Hey, I'm not a bee! I just mimic a bee so you'll think I'll sting you."
They're bluffing. Drone flies don't sting.
- Author: Kathy Keatley Garvey
It apparently originated during World War II. Remember the 1942 film, "The Flying Tigers," starring John Wayne as Capt. Jim Gordon?
John Wayne, aka Jim Gordon, asks a Rangoon hotel clerk about a missing plane: "Any word on that flight yet?"
The hotel clerk replies that Japanese aircraft attacked the plane, but "She's coming in on one wing and a prayer."
Then there's the 1944 film, "Wing and a Prayer," about "the heroic crew of an American carrier in the desperate early days of World War II in the Pacific theater" (Wikipedia).
Fast forward to today, but this time with migratory monarchs. It seems that, they, too, fly on a "a wing and a prayer."
Over the last two months, we've seen dozens of migratory monarchs-often four or five at a time--stop for flight fuel in our 600-square foot pollinator garden in Vacaville, Calif. Many arrive in poor condition, their wings gouged, shredded and tattered. Still, they manage to sip nectar from Mexican sunflowers (Tithonia), butterfly bush (Buddleia) and Lantana, and continue their hazardous journey.
Imagine how incredibly difficult it is for these tiny, fluttering insects to weather the elements, not to mention evading birds, praying mantids and other predators.
Not all will make it. But look for some to arrive in the overwintering spots along coastal California "on a wing and a prayer."
- Author: Kathy Keatley Garvey
If you're rearing monarchs or offering them a “way station” of nectar-producing flowers in your yard, there's one thing you don't want to see: A praying mantis nailing a monarch.
That's when the "pollinator friendly garden" seems more like a "predator friendly garden." It's not by chance. It's by choice. Like bank robbers who go where the money is, mantids go where the food is. Unfortunately for those of us who favor pollinators over predators, they patiently wait for bee breakfast and butterfly brunch. And they're as cunning as they are quick.
It's an insect-eat-insect world out there.
It is Oct. 23, a bright, breezy autumn day. Pacific Northwest monarchs are migrating to their overwintering sites in Santa Cruz and Pacific Grove and are fluttering down to nectar on Mexican sunflower (Tithonia), butterfly bush (Buddleia), and Lantana. Flight fuel.
But wait! There's a monarch on the butterfly bush that isn't moving. Why is she not moving? Oh, she's struggling. Oh, she's in the clutches of a praying mantis.
The mantis is perfectly camouflaged amid the green vegetation. She is gravid and an ootheca is in her future. Her bloated abdomen wiggles like the leaf she resembles, Her spiked forelegs, like thorny rose stems, circle her prey. Oh, she's piercing a wing...
This migratory monarch won't be joining her buddies in Santa Cruz.
Final score: Mantis, 1; Monarch, 0.
- Author: Kathy Keatley Garvey
Sometimes the unexpected happens.
Take the case of the female praying mantis delivered to the Bohart Museum of Entomology, University of California, Davis, for an educational display. The Bohart, home of some eight million insect specimens, also has a live "petting zoo"-- which houses tarantulas, Madagascar hissing cockroaches, and walking sticks.
And now: a female praying mantis.
UC Davis entomology student Justin "Wade" Spencer begins feeding and caring for her.
One day he wonders if she is gravid (pregnant). So when another entomology student, Minsu Kang, brings in a male praying mantis, Spencer makes sure that the female receives an extra portion of roach nymphs because of the possibility--well, a little possibility--that the female might lop off his head.
Females do that, you know, often during or after mating. Sexual cannibalism. (See 2006 YouTube video that's drawn nearly 3 million hits.)
So Spencer feeds her more yummy roach nymphs. All is well.
Finally, it's time to meet. The male praying mantis climbs inside the habitat.
The male looks interested. He takes one step toward her. She doesn't move. He takes another step. No response. “Oh good,” thinks Spencer.
Then she responds. “Food! Food! Food!" She promptly grabs him with her spiked forelegs and lops off his head. Then she devours him. All of him.
Well, almost. The owner of the male praying mantis returns. "Where's my praying mantis?” Kang asks.
Wade holds up a wing and some frass.
Sometimes the unexpected happens.
