Letters to....Colorado Parks & Wildlife Re: Predator Control

Our Colorado Parks and Wildlife have recently made public a plan to hunt bear and mountain lion in select areas of the state in an effort to increase populations of deer for hunters. The period for public comment is apparently still open and I took it upon myself to draft the following letter to the commission at dnr_cpwcommission@state.co.us. I encourage others to make their voices heard as well.

Dear Commissioners:

I hope this comment in opposition to the proposed predator control strategy for bear and cougar does not come too late in the process.

While I support the hunting of game animals, and understand the occasional need to put down a "nuisance bear" or other individual predator, I am vehemently opposed to hunting non-game wildlife otherwise. It is my opinion that we do not have adequate knowledge of predator populations to ensure that hunting would not cause undo harm, not simply in decreasing populations beyond a viable threshold, but also by weakening the gene pool. This may already be happening with game animals because human hunters tend to target the healthiest, most robust specimens while natural predators go after weak, diseased, elderly, and young prey.

Secondly, for better or for worse, the cat is out of the bag, so to speak, in terms of our current understanding of the biology of predators. Research by state and federal agencies, universities, and private organizations and individuals has revealed these animals to be far more complex and admirable than previously recognized. Documentary filmmakers have turned public sentiment in favor of fostering populations of predators. Whether or not you decry anthropomorphism, you have to recognize that the public is now going to oppose hunting predators in most instances. In fact, there is widespread support for increasing predator populations to balance what is seen as a surplus of deer, elk, and other prey species.

The idea that predator control is necessary for deer and other game animals to prosper has been disproven time and again since the days of Aldo Leopold and his land ethic. I know that I am not saying anything you do not know already, I respect your individual and collective intelligence, knowledge, and experience. However, we have reached a point in history where politics no longer has a place at the table.

Hunters may have a strong lobby, but that does not mean those who pursue wildlife in a non-consumptive fashion to watch, photograph, paint, and otherwise take away experiences that do not involve killing an animal, do not have rights as well. They are simply not as organized, in many cases not as wealthy, and are certainly a lot less quantifiable. This does not mean their numbers are small, or their voices should be ignored. I am quite confident I speak for hundreds if not thousands.

The one case you could make is that aside from state park fees, and tax check-offs, wildlife "watchers" pay little towards conservation and management. I am certainly open to help crafting ways to change that so that we are helping instead of complaining and otherwise responding without participating in a material fashion.

Thank you for your attention and consideration of the points made above.

Sincerely,
Eric R. Eaton

This is a $4.5 million plan that will be executed in the Piceance Basin and along the Upper Arkansas River, involving trapping as well as shooting puma and Black Bear. There is no question there is a disconnect between rural residents (and hunters) and urban populations in how each view predators. Those who make their livelihood "in the woods" and on ranches deal with real, live predators on a regular basis, with real, live consequences. City-dwellers are mostly exposed to carnivores in television documentaries and at the zoo. Predators tend to be an abstract concept from the safety of your living room or from the safe side of a fence or moat.

We need to start a dialogue between all public and private stakeholders before situations like this arise that needlessly pit one group against another.

Behe(moths)

Most moths are not terribly large. In fact, there are many which are so small that they are collectively referred to as “micros.” Then there is the other end of the spectrum which includes some species that have the largest wing surface of any insect. At the “Moth Ball” in Athol, Worcester County, Massachusetts on June 13, we had our share of behe-moths visit the lights.

Our giant moths were all in the family Sphingidae, known as sphinx moths or hawkmoths. They get the former name from someone who thought the pose of a disturbed larval sphingid resembled the pose of the Great Sphinx in Egypt. It was probably the same person who named the constellations. I sure don’t see any resemblance. “Hawkmoth” is more legitimate, as many of the sphingids fly rapidly, even hover in front of night-blooming plants to sip nectar from tubular flowers like Datura.

The first sphinx moth to show up was this waved sphinx, Ceratomia undulosa, a bit waterlogged in this shot after a night exposed to the elements. There are five North American species in the genus Ceratomia, and all of them look very similar to this one.

This pawpaw sphinx, Dolba hyloeus, is named after the larval food plant, though the caterpillars will also eat blueberry, holly, and sweetfern.

This northern pine sphinx, Lapara bombycoides, was downright diminutive compared to the other sphingids we saw, with a wingspan of only 4.5 to 6 cm compared to the 8-11 cm span of a waved sphinx. It looks all the more bedraggled because one of our party members rescued it from a puddle.

The only other sphinx moth I was able to get an image of was one of my favorites, a blinded sphinx, Paonias excaecatus. This large insect, no doubt a wilted leaf mimic at rest, is named for the striking blue eyespot on the hindwing, exposed if the moth feels threatened. Since it lacks a “pupil” in the center of the eyespot, it was christened with the handicapped moniker. It has a very wide distribution, too. I remember collecting this species in Oregon and Ohio, as well as seeing it here in western Massachusetts.

While serious entomologists might put out blacklights and mercury vapor lamps to draw in moths, simply turning on your own porchlight will lure many an exotic-looking lepidopteran to your doorstep. Consider making a project of recording the moths that visit your property. There are many wonderful online resources to help you identify them, including Bug Guide and the Moth Photographers Group to name just two. Above all, have fun just looking.

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Red fox neighbors

One of the great benefits to a rural existence, however, is the opportunity to view wildlife close at hand. I am thrilled to have discovered at least one pair of red foxes, Vulpes vulpes, living at the edge of the open field behind the house I’m residing in, and even have the images to prove it!

I’ve seen red foxes before, when I lived in Cincinnati, Ohio, and they frequent exactly the same habitat: forest edges that meet open, frequently “disturbed” areas. The field here is the former site of a pickle factory, long-since demolished and leaving the land vacant of most traces of its former industrial life.

This pair I’m seeing may be juvenile siblings, as they seem rather tolerant, if not careless. This one even returned to the open after sensing my presence previously, and laid down for a brief rest before trotting off again along a fenceline. Either that, or there are more than two foxes. I’ve learned that red foxes breed in winter, and maintain their family unit until the following autumn, when the offspring go their separate ways.

They seem to be crepuscular, being active around dusk when I get home from work. This makes observing them a bit easier since I am not a “morning person.” Still, the dim light makes using my camera’s “Auto” mode problematic, resulting in blurry pictures even when the animal is not moving. Were it not for the twenty power zoom, I would have nothing to show here at all. The animals were a good forty yards away or so by my estimate.

The weather has turned rainy today, and looks to remain that way for most of the week, so I won’t have an immediate chance to see them again for awhile. Even then, I’ll be lucky if my best images are any better than this typical glimpse: Exit, stage left….

Campus Pond

The literal center of the University of Massachusetts (Amherst) campus is the Campus Pond. This landmark is much more than I had expected when I saw it on the map, and it has quickly become my favorite place to spend my lunch hour.

What could have easily been landscaped with concrete on all sides and a spectacular fountain in the middle is instead a lush shoreline with periodic breaks where people can gaze across the water, feed the ever-present waterfowl, or just enjoy sunbathing. Yes, the trees and shrubs have been largely planted (and some large trees were removed at some point as evidenced by the stumps), but it provides great habitat for humans and wildlife alike.

A flock of cedar waxwings stole berries from a tree overhanging a bench where oblivious students lunched the other day, and I’ve seen an eastern kingbird and red-winged blackbirds as well. There are squirrels of course, and even chipmunks, like this discriminating fellow hanging out on the steps of the FAC (Fine Arts Center) that lies at one end of the pond.

Here is the view the chipmunk was enjoying.

Yesterday I spied this lovely tiger swallowtail butterfly sipping minerals from the mud at the shore of the pond.

Today I met this little cottontail rabbit as I made my way back to my lab.

I look forward to seeing the seasons change on the Campus Pond, and document the diversity of life that huddles around its shores and plays in the water. I will share my discoveries via this blog, of course!

The Dust Bunny National Wildlife Refuge

I am not a messy housekeeper. Instead, I am promoting biodiversity. Hey, where will all those molds and mildews go when disinfectants have scoured everywhere else? Why not spare the dust mites the vacuum, at least for awhile? We are helpless to exclude nature completely from our lives anyway, so acceptance may be in our best mental and philosophical interest.

Obsessive-compulsive personalities need no help in exaggerating the threat of “germs” and other health hazards, real or imagined, but the rest of us need substantial coaxing. The commercial media are only too happy to oblige, bombarding us with advertisements for all manner of caustic chemicals, air filters, and disposable cleaning gadgets. Since by themselves microbes are relatively innocuous, they must be digitally morphed into something more menacing, anthropomorphosized into growling, English-speaking monsters that make overt threats to life and limb. It would be comical were it not so crass.

Perhaps I am blessed with a good immune system, but I have decided that the threat from bacteria in the bath and kitchen is grossly overrated. As an entomologist, I have known for a long time that cockroaches are, at least at normal population levels, little more than a cosmetic nuisance, a reminder that you are leaving too many crumbs about, and not doing the dishes frequently enough. I approach fast food restaurants with far more trepidation than I do my own crusty basin and range. At my present apartment in Tucson, Arizona, a Mediterranean house gecko once happily devoured the German cockroaches. How cool is that, having a food chain on the premises that does not involve you and the refrigerator?

Mind you, I am not one to live in total filth. When the opportunity to entertain others presents itself, I do make an effort to cull the herds of dust bunnies that normally roam freely. As stewards of real estate indoors and out, we do have an obligation to “wildlife management.”

It is not a stretch to consider a dust bunny a living creature. They seem to reproduce quickly, lending a serious argument to the theory of “spontaneous generation.” They even come with their own parasites, as it were: dust mites. There are at least two types. One feeds primarily on the tiny flakes of dead skin cells that we humans (and our pets, also) shed constantly. The other dust mite preys on the former dust mite.

My bathroom tends to breed its own flora and fauna. Molds and mildews are rather problematic, even in an ostensibly dry climate like Tucson’s. Still more astounding, I have found that tiny creatures called springtails regularly appear in my shower. These are certifiably moisture-loving organisms. I would not have thought that even daily showers would create such a hospitable habitat for something so dependent on water. Oddly, I rarely see moth flies, those ubiquitous little flying furballs usually seen perched on the side of the bathroom sink, or a wall. Their larvae develop in the residue of the drain trap, and probably do a better job of preventing clogs than any dose of Draino. Now and then I see root gnats, little black flies that inevitably commit suicide by diving into the soapdish.

The kitchen must be domestic ecosystem central. After all, it is where the food is prepared. I am constantly astonished by the ability of mold to overtake refrigerated bread, invade the last dregs of the sour cream and salsa, and almost instantaneously rot a tomato. I love bananas, but must share them with the pomace flies (“fruit flies” to most folks, but a different creature entirely) that hover around the bunch. Knowing that these flies have contributed greatly to our fundamental understanding of genetics makes it easier to tolerate their appearance at breakfast.

As my rent goes up annually, and my wages stagnate, it occurs to me that it may be time to seek public assistance. Considering the menagerie of organisms I sustain and manage, it seems that compensation is due. Perhaps it is time to apply for federal recognition of my apartment as a wildlife refuge. Depending on your definition of “dependent,” I could probably take a tax write-off already.

I am convinced that if more people felt honored to host a diversity of living things in their own homes, sheds, yards, gardens and garages, then there would be a collectively different attitude towards biodiversity in general, one that embraced all manner of creatures. A true reverence for life does not exclude things that are ugly, or mischievous, or that are simply products of our own fears and biases. Removing the stigma of an untidy abode, a weedy lawn, or a yard planted with mundane but native flora would go a long way to improving the health of the Earth as a whole.

Dove City

Tucson, Arizona must be the Dove Capital of North America. There are at least four species that can be seen now, and throughout the warmer months, right in the heart of residential neighborhoods.

There is, of course, the ubiquitous “rock dove,” better known, if only dismissively, as the domestic pigeon, Columba livia. Native to Europe, but domesticated around the globe, this species can form large flocks of multi-colored individuals. The standard plumage is shown here. They are not unattractive birds really, especially when the light reveals the iridescent nature of their neck feathers. Still, the most obvious and obnoxious result of their presence is their excrement. Lack of rains to wash away this mess means that the guano can breed all manner of pathogens, easily stirred up by wind gusts. Further, many of the electrical and telephone wires in Tucson stretch directly above the pedestrian sidewalks. I’d really like to strangle the idiots who designed and installed this arrangement.

The next most abundant member of the family Columbidae is the almost equally widespread mourning dove, Zenaida macroura. These are sleek, handsome birds, generally very tolerant of humans approaching them closely. Their nuzzling behavior during courtship is also endearing. I spotted this female on her nest in Greasewood Park, a city park on the very western edge of Tucson. You do find mourning doves in those natural habitats where apparently the pigeons fear to tread.

Perhaps the most elegant of our local doves is the white-winged dove, Zenaida asiatica. Despite the name, this is a decidedly native species, but it only strays north of Mexico during the warmer months, usually appearing in Tucson sometime in April, and leaving again in the autumn. I know it is spring when I see my first white-winged dove. They are striking in flight, as that narrow, white edge to their wings at rest becomes a broad white band as they fly away from you. They occur all over town in a variety of settings, but are perhaps most obvious when perched atop a blooming saguaro cactus, their heads buried deep in the flowers as they sip the rich nectar.

Last, and appropriately least, is the diminutive Inca dove, Columbina inca. They resemble small mourning doves at first glance, until startled, when they take flight from almost under foot, making a distinctive noise with their rapid wingbeats. The rusty red patches on the wings immediately identify them when they go airborne. At rest, the scaly appearance of their plumage helps you to recognize them. Kenn Kaufman says that he has rarely seen this species outside of cities and towns. Indeed, this pair was in a “utility easement” (read “alley”) between and behind houses in my own midtown neighborhood.

Who knew that such diversity could be found amongst what many consider “trash” birds? I’m delighted to learn that Tucson holds some secrets that only the persistent observer can decipher.

From the "Duh" File

Duh. That was my reaction to the column “Ask Marilyn” in yesterday’s edition of Parade magazine (April 19, 2009, page 12), the popular newspaper insert. Her “Know it All” sidebar talks about the effects of hunting and fishing on wildlife populations. American and Canadian researchers have apparently determined that hunting the largest and fittest specimens, and keeping only the biggest fish, is detrimental to the breeding success of animal populations. No kidding.

It does not take a genius to figure out that human hunters are a poor facsimile of natural predators like cougars, wolves, and bears that take mostly weak, sickened animals, and also cull calves and the young of other prey species. That is pretty basic knowledge, and it follows that purging the elite from the gene pool is going to have an adverse effect on the collective health and fitness of game animals.

Unfortunately, Homo sapiens has backed itself into a corner. We have largely eliminated natural predators from ecosystems, in part because we do not wish to become prey ourselves. We also graze herds of livestock that represent an economic investment for which we try to limit losses as best we can. The absence of large predators has meant a corresponding increase in prey animal populations that we then treat as “competition” for “our” resources, be it forage for cattle and sheep, or the vegetable garden we planted for our family’s needs. Well, folks, we can’t have it all.

Three things must change. First, we have to re-configure our hunting and fishing regulations. Second, we have to learn to accept some risks, like losing livestock to predators now and then. Taking simple precautions, and continuing to invent non-lethal predator deterrents can solve this second problem. Lastly, we have to look at what we think we own, and realize most of it is a shared resource with other organisms. There is no business model in nature, and the sooner we learn this, the better. After all, we can change our mindset much easier than a predator can change its diet.

Culture as Spectacle

Ecotourism is becoming increasingly popular, but in tandem with the benefits can come costs to the indigenous peoples that occupy the same areas as the wildlife that visitors flock to see. It occurs to me that, too often, we treat those “other” cultures as a form of wildlife, too, and this needs to stop.

I had visited this subject privately, when I began thinking of Native Americans, and how they have been so stereotyped, in both positive and negative ways, and how, ultimately, any stereotype is a negative because it so limits one’s perspective.

I was prompted to think about this again while viewing an installment of the PBS series Independent Lens, which aired a documentary called Milking the Rhino on April 7, 2009. Kenya and Namibia were the two sites profiled, each with issues surrounding the sharing of wildlife and land between tourists and native tribes.

Historically, White colonials in Africa prohibited natives from hunting wildlife, a resource that indigenous peoples were dependent upon, in part, for food. Instead, game safaris allowed White hunters to shoot trophy animals. Later, creating national parks meant relocating tribes wholesale. Sound familiar?

Today, many tribes earn their livelihood through farming, and grazing livestock, which are equally unwelcome pursuits in many wildlife preserves. Ecotourism services have sought to balance this effect by employing tribespersons as guides, interpretive naturalists, liaisons with the scientific community, and as workers in the hospitality industry of lodges and camps build for tourists; and by growing food crops in gardens to be shared with the locals. Still, resentment boils over.

A filmed discussion between the lead government official in charge of Namibian game parks, and the woman in charge of the ecotourist lodge, was telling. She was protesting that the local tribe would essentially turn its village into a “curio shop” in order to sell souvenirs to her visitors. “This is not what [my clients] expect” she intoned emphatically. Her message was clear. Visitors expected tribal peoples to behave naturally, just like the other animals they came to see.

Well, why shouldn’t the tribe be able to exploit the tourists? Seems the least they should be allowed to do in exchange for being exploited themselves. My mind drifts to what I imagine will ultimately happen to tribal customs and rituals. A choreographer from Broadway will be sent to Papua New Guinea to instruct the tribes in how to properly execute their native dances. Don’t forget the wardrobe assistant, either.

The tragedy, as I see it, is that in the act of providing entertainment services to tourists, tribes are corrupting their customs, stripping the meaning from their rituals, and we all lose when that happens. There is no reverence in culture as spectacle, no sacrifice demanded of passive observers. It is us westerners who need to change our expectations, and recognize our arrogance.

For more on Milking the Rhino, and to participate in the ongoing online discussion, please visit the Independent Lens website.

Save Wildlife: File Your Taxes

I am probably preaching to the choir, but for those unaware of the opportunity to contribute to their state’s non-game wildlife fund, take a look at your state income tax form. It may have a “check-off” allowing you to donate a small amount from your refund (or add a little to your tax debt) to help protect non-game wildlife.

According to a 2003 survey of tax check-offs, non-game wildlife was the most popular of the many causes represented by state income tax check-offs. At that time, only Arkansas, Hawaii, Maryland, Michigan, Missouri, West Virginia, and the District of Columbia did not have non-game wildlife check-offs. Please tell me if you know those statistics have changed recently.

State budgets nationwide have taken a beating in this poor U.S. economy, with cuts still deepening. Anything we can do to make up the fiscal deficit on behalf of wildlife and conservation will be greatly appreciated. I am well aware that many people are unemployed at this time (I am one of them!), and it is perfectly understandable if donations are not at the top of one’s priority list. Those who are able to give, however, should be encouraged to do so. What better way to celebrate Earth Day a little early?