Why Evolution is True is a blog written by Jerry Coyne, centered on evolution and biology but also dealing with diverse topics like politics, culture, and cats.
We have a short RWP today as there are more posts to come. First we hear from Robert Lang, who sees a surprising amount of wildlife near his home in the eastern LA “suburb” of Altadena. Robert’s intro is indented, and you can enlarge the photo by clicking on it.
Although every day sees another few housing starts in post-fire Altadena, it’s still mostly empty of people, but after a year that included plenty of rain, the vacant lots are lush with plants—a mix of native coastal sage scrub, invasive weeds, and landscaping gone wild. This temporary rewilding provides plenty of cover for the local wildlife to come down out of the hills and hang out. Yesterday the workers at our site reported that a bear had stopped by and done a walk-through of the framed house (fortunately, just lookie-looing, no damage). Today I did a short hike on the Gabrielino Trail above my old stomping ground of JPL and saw a different (younger) California black bear (Ursus americanus californiensis) just off the trail, and I shot the photo below. . .
. . . also this video.
This isn’t the bear species on the California state flag, which is the California grizzly bear (Ursus arctos californicus); that was native to this area but was hunted to extinction in the early 20th century. In the 1930s, 28 “problem bears”, California black bears, were taken from Yosemite and released in the San Gabriel and San Bernardino Mountains of Southern California. The black bear species is highly variable in coloration, ranging from black through brown, blond, and even white (the so-called “spirit bears” of British Columbia). Most of the bears we see in Altadena are brown, like this youngster, all descended from the original Problematic Twenty-Eight.
JAC: Here’s the California state flag sporting a grizzly:
Original: Donald Graeme Kelley. Vectorization: Devin Cook, Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons
News is pretty scant as it’s just the same-old same-old, but I have a few stray wildlife photos to exhibit today. I’m all out of photos excerpt for these, so please send in your good wildlife snaps. In all the photos below, readers’ captions are indented and, as always, you can enlarge the photos by clicking on them.
First, from Scott Ritchie, his favorite photograph of Australia’s golden-shouldered parrot (Psephotellus chrysopterygius), an endangered species and the world’s only parrot that lives in termite mounds.
Bob Jochums sent two photos of Barred owls (Strix varia) taken outside Atlanta, Georgia.
A family “portrait” (minus Papa) on the “veranda” of the nest box.
An earlier photo of Mama leaving the nest box to get a little time to herself … or to hunt for food or nuzzle with Papa.
From Claudia Baker:
Red-headed woodpecker (Melanerpes erythrocephalus), picking at the rail fence along the front of my property, in Eastern Ontario, in July 2023. I have never seen one around here before, so was quite excited to get pictures of it. Can’t tell if it’s male or female, as the sexes are similar. It is the only eastern woodpecker with an entire head that is red. Their range is East of the Rockies from southern Canada to the Gulf states. They apparently will hide foot in crevices of wood and return for it later, so maybe this is what it was doing. In any case, it dug around in this rail fence for awhile, long enough for me to get several pictures.
It will hide insects and seeds in cracks in wood, under bark, in fenceposts, and under roof shingles. Grasshoppers are regularly stored alive, but wedged into crevices so tightly that they cannot escape. It has many nicknames, including half-a-shirt, jellycoat, flag bird and the flying checker-board. I read that the Red-headed woodpecker was the “spark bird” (bird that starts a person’s interest in birds) of legendary ornithologist Alexander Wilson in the 1700s.
I did not know that there are worms in my rail fencing. Or maybe this worm was hidden by this gorgeous bird earlier and it came to claim its lunch.
Red-headed woodpeckers are fierce defenders of their territory. They may remove the eggs of other species from nest and nest boxes, destroy other birds’ nests and even enter duck nest boxes and puncture the duck eggs. (!) Quite mean for so beautiful a bird!
I have not seen another since this one in 2023. The oldest Red-headed woodpecker on record was banded in 1926 in Michigan and lived to be at least 9 years, 11 months old.
You won’t believe this even exists but up here in Ludington, Michigan there are at least TWO entirely white squirrels, NOT albinos–I saw two of them, many miles apart, last year. And now there’s one in my yard! 1/8 pic.twitter.com/LHfbFhvAOi
— Roseland, Chicago: 1972 (@RoselandChi1972) May 10, 2026
It seems like the white squirrels might be new around here, because last year the year-round neighbors looked at me strange when I asked about them. This year, there have been other sightings, and one neighbor expressed envy that I got one in my yard. 3/8 pic.twitter.com/JOkUomJr6f
— Roseland, Chicago: 1972 (@RoselandChi1972) May 10, 2026
From Peggy Mason in Canada (see location at bottom):
These harbour seals (Phoca vitulina) were lying around on the rocks of Poise Island in Porpoise Bay in Sechelt, BC, Canada. There were five of them. They ranged from silvery white (the smallest, a baby I think) to black with some white markings.
This is the silvery white baby:
This is the very black one:
Here is the silvery white baby, possibly with its mother. That is what I thought – basically from their proximity and size difference – although I received no confirmatory data one way or the other on this:
Bonus pictures are a beautiful bald eagle (Haliaeetus leucocephalus), a juvenile judging by its coloring and some pretty pink flowers on Poise Island.:
Send in your wildlife photos! I am almost out. Thank you in advance.
Today we have miscellaneous photos from the Catskills taken by reader Jan Malik. Jan’s captions and IDs are indented, and you can enlarge them by clicking on them.
Here is another batch of pictures from my hikes in the Central Catskills this April and May. They are not too artistic, given the fast pace that a weekend backpacking hike demands, but they give a sample of what common animals a casual hiker can see in these “mountains” (the Catskills are an eroded plateau and, despite being steep in places, they are too low to have an alpine zone).
White‑tailed deer (Odocoileus virginianus), right in the parking lot at a cloudy sunrise. It was slurping water from a muddy puddle despite a clear stream flowing nearby, so it must have been leftover salt that attracted this ungulate. Woodstock residents like their roads well salted. One has to drive carefully at dusk around Woodstock, as there are many deer browsing on lawns and gardens.
In the woodland, I found the first of many red efts of the Eastern newt (Notophthalmus viridescens). This is an intermediate land stage of development between the aquatic larva and adult forms. Red efts have lungs, but air exchange through the skin is also important, supplying 30–40% of their oxygen demand. They travel through the forest litter when it is humid enough—after rain or in the early morning:
This is probably a blue‑headed vireo (Vireo solitarius), collecting nesting materials. If my identification is correct, then it is not possible to tell a male from a female, as they are sexually monomorphic and share rearing duties almost equally. Interestingly, however, a female may desert the nest just before fledging to mate with another available male:
Possibly an Eastern comma (Polygonia comma), found at higher elevation:
Black‑and‑white warbler (Mniotilta varia). I think this is a male. If so, he may be led by a female into the territory of another male to provoke a fight and allow her to judge his fitness. These birds occupy a similar niche to nuthatches and brown creepers; they climb and circle tree trunks to find arthropods:
Eastern towhee (Pipilo erythrophthalmus), male. These colorful sparrows hang around the edges of forest clearings:
Eastern American toad (Anaxyrus americanus americanus), hiding in a ramps patch. I wonder whether they would prey on red efts or if the efts’ foul taste would be a deterrent:
While passing through oak woods rich with acorns, I heard many alarm chirps from Eastern chipmunks (Tamias striatus). Most made themselves scarce as I approached, but one remained on guard duty:
Not a good picture, but here is a dark‑eyed junco (Junco hyemalis). These are hardy birds, staying year‑round in the forest. In winter they form close‑knit flocks with a few dominant individuals and a strict pecking order:
Chipping sparrow (Spizella passerina) on the side of a quiet road. These migrate to more southern states in winter and in summer nest closer to human settlements:
Mourning cloak (Nymphalis antiopa). There were a couple of them in the area, continuously jousting in the air for control of the territory. I see them every spring in that exact spot, but this year they were too engaged in battling each other to stay still, so this is a picture taken a few years back:
Brown creeper(Certhia americana), shown here just a moment after eating a couple of mayflies. They are common enough, but I rarely see them due to their near‑perfect camouflage. Without directly comparing the bill length it is difficult to tell a female from a male:
Raising Hare was published by Pantheon books in 2024; it’s a relatively new and short book (2024; 284 pages) by Chloe Dalton, who worked for the UK government as a foreign-policy advisor. But her regular work receded in importance when she came across a baby female European hare—a leveret—huddled in the bush in her country residence. Her decision to take in the orphaned baby changed her life and character in many ways, all recounted in this wonderful memoir which has won many prizes. I recommend it very highly.
The book is not mawkish at all, but observant and thoughtful. Most of it is devoted to her perceptions of the hare (which she never names), an animal that she lets run free indoors and out, though it usually spends most of its time in her house. The narrative lasts three years, during which the hare has six leverets of her own. Dalton becomes engrossed with its behavior and studies the literature on hares extensively in addition to her own constant observations. All this results in the reader becoming deeply educated about an animal that few see—except running away at a distance.
It turns out that hares are not only playful, but extraordinarily patient, sitting in one spot for hours. (The leverets are largely left alone after birth, huddled inconspicuously in the vegetation save for a brief daily period when the mother suckles them.) The adults, too, spend a lot of their time flattened in places where predators are less likely to attack them. After all, hares have been called “nature’s buffet,” for they are herbivores but are attacked by all manner of carnivores.
Dalton spends a fair amount of time in introspection, wondering what it’s like to be a hare (a question never answered) and seeing how she herself has been changed by the constant presence of a wild animal. (I have to say that I’ve gone through something similar with ducks.) At any rate, the writing is first-rate, the natural history is thorough, and this is one of the best human-and-biology books I’ve ever read.
Two friends who have good taste in books recommended Raising Hare, and I didn’t look up any reviews before I read it. Now I will, so I’ve just read the NYT review here. An excerpt:
Despite less-than-encouraging words from a local conservationist about the leveret’s chances of survival, Dalton committed. For anyone who has hand-fed an unweaned animal in the hopes of saving its life, her anecdote about desperately eye-droppering lamb formula into the leveret’s mouth on their first night together will spark an instant flashback.
As she found out, the internet is full of information about rabbits (the hare’s smaller domesticated cousin), but there’s not much on hares themselves. She dug deep into the research, even consulting the 18th-century poetry of William Cowper for clues on which solids to feed the leveret, and reports, “Porridge oats were the final revelation. When I sprinkled a few oats in a bowl, it swallowed them with every appearance of satisfaction.”
Dalton did not name, tame or cage the animal, turning her house into a free-range hare bed-and-breakfast. Its behavior began to change her own: “I was moved by the leveret’s dignity, the sense of well-being and calm it spread, and the simplicity of its life.”
Adapting her own work-driven existence to the daily rhythms and environmental awareness introduced by her furry new housemate, she had an epiphany: “I’d been waiting for life to go back to normal, but if I could derive this much pleasure from something so simple, what else might be waiting to be discovered?” The irony of learning to slow down from an animal known for its speed is not lost here.
. . . To divulge much more of the book’s arc would rob the reader of its most revealing moments, especially as the hare matures and her priorities shift. But Dalton’s clear, measured prose and Denise Nestor’s delicate drawings provide a gentle cottagecore vibe and a bit of solace in a world that has now returned to an even more frenetic state. In “Raising Hare,” nature, indeed, takes its course.
The review is, in my view, far less enthusiastic than the book deserves, so here’s a bit from the Guardian review:
The cover and endpapers of Chloe Dalton’s debut, Raising Hare (beautifully illustrated by Denise Nestor) at first seem to resemble these children’s books: there are no rabbits, but hares, doing what hares do: inspecting berries, leaping, boxing, feeding young and gazing outward, apparently, towards the reader. The story of this excellent book is in one sense familiar: a narrator, experiencing a rupture or crisis, is transformed through a magical encounter with a “wild” creature, a hare. But there is much more going on here. As hare and narrator enter into conversation, their strange dialogue begins to shed light on our relationship with our non-human neighbours, bringing into question assumptions about control, consent, boundaries and autonomy. Unlike my daughter’s books, this is a sustained and patient attempt to cross the species abyss, and to see the world through the hare’s eyes.
That’s more like it. Here’s the cover, and you can click on it to access the Amazon review.
The NYT gives a photo of Dalton’s hare attributed to Dalton, so I don’t think I’m violating any journalistic rules to show those photos. Isn’t she beautiful?
(From the NYT): The hare at the heart of Chloe Dalton’s memoir.Credit…Chloe Dalton
Here’s an 18½-minute video of Dalton reading from the book and discussing its contents, including the changes the hare wrought in Dalton herself.
Reader Ephraim Heller has sent some lovely photos of humpback whales, including their recently-discovered and amazing behavior of bubble-netting. His captions and IDs are indented, and you can enlarge the photos by clicking on them.
Pacific herring (Clupea pallasii) spend most of the year dispersed across the open North Pacific, but each spring they converge on Sitka Sound to spawn. The 2026 spawning biomass was estimated at roughly 233,000 tons of mature herring. This attracts commercial fishermen, fishing birds, Steller sea lions, gray whales, humpback whales (Megaptera novaeangliae), and… me.
Here’s a humpback whale jumping for joy:
And here is Sitka Sound, with Mount Edgecumbe (a dormant volcano) in the background:
The scientific name of humpback whales is Megaptera novaeangliae, meaning “big-winged of New England,” due to their oversized pectoral flippers and first observations off of New England. These flippers increase their agility and enable their unique behavior: bubble-net feeding. Here are views of the baleen:
Bubble-net feeding is not a fixed behavioral pattern; it is a culturally transmitted skill, and not every humpback population practices it. The behavior has been documented extensively in Southeast Alaska, and a long-term study published in January 2026 in Proceedings of the Royal Society B tracked its spread in the Kitimat Fjord System of northern British Columbia over a 20-year period (2004–2023). Of 526 individually identified whales, roughly half were observed bubble-net feeding at least once, with more than 92% of those events occurring in a group context:
The behavior gained momentum after the 2014-2016 marine heat wave (“the blob”) that reduced prey availability across the northeastern Pacific. Researchers interpret this as whales adopting a more efficient foraging strategy in response to environmental stress, and transmitting that knowledge through their social networks:
The hunt begins when a group of humpbacks locates a school of small prey — herring, krill, or juvenile salmon. One whale, often referred to as the “bubble-blower,” dives beneath the school and begins exhaling air through its blowhole while swimming in a tightening upward spiral. The released air rises as a cylindrical curtain of bubbles. Fish do not readily cross this curtain, so as the spiral contracts, the school is compressed into an increasingly dense ball:
Meanwhile, one or more other whales in the group produce “food call” vocalizations: loud, frequency-modulated cries that vibrate the swim bladders of herring, causing them to clump even more tightly together. The calls also appear to serve a coordinating function among the whales themselves, signaling when to begin the final ascent. I could occasionally hear the food calls on the deck of my observation boat:
When the prey is sufficiently concentrated, the group orients below the net and lunges upward in near-unison, mouths agape, through the center of the bubble column. At the surface, each whale engulfs thousands of fish in a single pass, then strains the water out through its baleen plates as it rolls and closes its jaws. Groups involved in a single feeding event can range from two to around 16 individuals (according to the literature), each surfacing in roughly the same position relative to the others on every lunge. It’s hard to tell exactly how many bubble-netters are in this photo, but I think it is more than 16:
Quantitative work using drone footage and bio-logging tags has found that solitary humpbacks actively adjust the number of bubble rings, net diameter, and the spacing between individual bubbles from one dive to the next. This level of fine-tuning (“manufacturing” a tool and modifying it based on conditions) contributed to a 2024 study’s argument that bubble nets qualify as tools under standard definitions. On average, a well-constructed net can increase the prey density available in a single lunge by roughly sevenfold, without measurably increasing the whale’s energetic expenditure:
No other baleen whale species does this, and biomechanics research suggests morphology is the reason. A 2025 study comparing turning performance across seven mysticete species found that bubble-net feeding humpbacks achieved centripetal accelerations that exceeded the upper limits recorded in comparable maneuvers by all six other species tested. The humpback’s large pectoral flippers generate substantial lift, which helps the animal bank inward tightly and decrease its turning radius enough to close a spiral into a true net. Other whale species, even if they could theoretically attempt the maneuver, would likely burn too much energy to make the strategy worthwhile:
My next post will include photos of other animals that come to Sitka sound to enjoy the herring feast.
We have more photos! Today’s batch comes from Leo Glenn, and were taken in New Zealand. Leo (and his friends’ ) captions are indented, and you can enlarge the photos by clicking on them:
It’s been a long time since I’ve submitted wildlife photos. I just haven’t taken any recently that I thought were worthy of submission. However, my son, Ossian, and his partner, Emma, are enjoying a semester study abroad program at the University of Otago in Dunedin on the southern island of New Zealand, and they have granted me permission to share some of their photos. All of the photos are on the Otago peninsula.
The birds at the waterline are Variable Oystercatchers, Haematopus unicolor. Photo by Ossian Glenn:
Today I’m stealing (with permission) the photos of Aussie biologist Scott Ritchie, whose Facebook page is here. And what better subject than kangaroos? Scott’s captions are indented, and you can enlarge his photos by clicking on them.
My last report from my Melbourne to Sydney trip. From Depot Beach in New South Wales. It was epic. Stayed in a National Park cabin that looked out over the ocean. And at 5 o’clock our front lawn became the bar for Eastern Grey Kangaroos [Macropus giganteus]. And in the morning, you could take pictures of the kangaroos watching the sunrise. What could be better for a boy from Iowa?
We had a ring-side seat for roos. There would have been over a dozen here, not including joeys in the pouch:
The boys like a bit of rough and tumble:
They are smart to avoid those claws:
. . . just barely:
Squaring off:
I missed the kick shot. A sudden loud thump. Then the fight was over. One kick!
