Category: photography

Readers’ wildlife photos

November 10, 2026 • 8:47 am

There is fungus among us! Today’s contribution comes from Jan Malik, who photographed mushrooms in the Adirondacks.  Jan’s captions and IDs are indented, and you can enlarge the photos by clicking on them:

In this little presentation, I will show a small selection of fungi I found during my hikes in the Catskills, Adirondacks, and the White Mountains this year. Fungi receive little love, undeservedly, and their fruiting bodies – mushrooms – can be a fascinating subject for a nature enthusiast and a culinary experimenter alike. Most of fungal life occurs underground in the mycelium, and for an amateur naturalist, mushrooms are all that can be observed. Besides basic mushroom facts, I also offer some culinary advice, but be warned – accidents can happen either as a consequence of eating mushrooms or reading about them; the former by poisoning and the latter by boredom.

True Yellow Morel (Morchella americana), photographed in the spring. They grow on forest edges, in meadows (especially in former orchards), and the like. I’ve never found them in quantity, so I can’t attest to whether they are good eating, but one needs to collect lots of them for a meaningful meal, since they are hollow inside:

Many edible mushrooms have their doppelgangers – species that, to the untrained eye, look somewhat similar but are poisonous. Morels have their alter ego in the genus Gyromitra (I can’t say which species it is exactly), which grows in mixed woods or disturbed areas, similar to true morels:

For me, the king of edible mushrooms is the Chanterelle, here represented by the genus Cantharellus. The picture shows what to look for: a yellow color and folds, not true gills, on the underside. It looks a little different from its European cousin (Cantharellus cibarius), so it could be Cantharellus phasmatis or Cantharellus paleoxanthomus. They are mycorrhizal (growing in symbiosis with plants, usually conifers), and I usually see them growing singly:

But sometimes, one gets lucky and finds a whole colony of chanterelles. They are delicious when seared in butter with some onions, and they taste even better if cooked on a campfire after a whole day of hiking. Some compare fresh chanterelle aroma to apricots, but to me, it is just vaguely “pleasant” without being fruity:

The chanterelle’s Mr. Hyde is the Scaly vase (Turbinellus floccosus) and other “false chanterelles”. To me, they look different and I can’t imagine mistaking them for true chanterelles, but then I learned to recognize mushrooms before I learned to read:

A close cousin of the true chanterelle is the Cinnabar chanterelle (Cantharellus cinnabarinus). It tastes pretty much like a regular chanterelle but, while widespread, grows in smaller groups. I had no luck finding another member of this family – the black trumpet, which really doesn’t want to be found thanks to its cryptic color:

It is said that the poisonous Jack-o’-lantern mushroom (Omphalotus illudens) can be mistaken for chanterelles, but for me, they differ in everything: a different hue, a different shape and growth pattern, and the fact that the jack-o’-lantern has true gills rather than folds. Reportedly, it shows weak bioluminescence in complete darkness, but I never had enough time on my hikes to confirm that:

Another chanterelle relative is the Yellowfoot chanterelle (Craterellus lutescens or Craterellus tubaeformis – it’s difficult to tell them apart), perfectly edible but less desirable than the true chanterelle. They can be stewed in a buttery sauce with vegetables, leeks, and garlic (my motto is: “If it doesn’t taste good, it doesn’t have enough butter yet”). A little gummy but fine eating still:

They grow gregariously in colonies, in moist, mossy areas under conifers, quite often together with hedgehogs (below). If you find a colony, your basket will soon be full:

The hedgehogs (genus Hydnum, possibly Hydnum rufescens) can hardly be mistaken for anything else: they have small, fragile spines on the underside. In the Adirondacks, they grow in mycorrhizal symbiosis with spruce and fir, going up to 3,000 ft elevation. They are good when dry-sauteed first to reduce water,, and then seared with butter and minced garlic. They remain tender after cooking and form an ideal side dish to roasted potatoes:

Another Adirondack specialty is the mycorrhizal Orange milkcap (possibly a member of the Lactarius deliciosus complex). This is thought to be a European species, but mushrooms are unlike plants or animals, with species’ names being in constant flux. It grows in soggy, mossy areas in the presence of conifers. This picture shows one characteristic feature: rings on the cap:

When broken, they ooze dark-orange or carrot latex and bruise coppery brown. They are excellent as pickles (in brine), but I like their caps best seared in a pan with some butter or even plain with a pinch of salt. They release the aromatic latex and remain crispy even after cooking:

Rounding up this batch of mushrooms, here is the Chicken-of-the-woods (Laetiporus sulphureus). It is a decomposer of dead wood and its bright colors light up a dark forest from afar. It is best to harvest only the outer parts, as the center is often fibrous. Then, scald it with boiling water to soften it, dust the pieces in flour, add salt and spices of your choice, dip them in egg batter, and then roll them in breadcrumbs. Fry for several minutes in oil to get a chicken-like, umami snack:

Readers’ wildlife photos

November 9, 2026 • 8:30 am

Glory be! I got two batches of wildlife photos yesterday, so we’re set for today and Tuesday. The rest of you reprobates—get to work!

Today’s batch comes from our regular contributor Mark Sturtevant. Mark’s captions and IDs are indented, and you can enlarge the photos by clicking on them.

Here is another set of critter pictures from two summers ago. That time is the measure of my back-log in processing these images. There will first be spiders.

It is always exciting to come across the spider shown in the first two pictures, because it is of a size that would easily cover the palm of your hand. This is one of two very similar species of Fishing Spider in the area, and right now I am thinking Dolomedes scriptus, though I wish I’d taken clearer pictures of the abdomen to be sure. Females in this group haul their egg sac to the top of a plant and build a web “nursery” around it. The newly emerged spiderlings stay in their nursery for a time while the female guards them, and that is when it’s pretty exciting to find one of these scary-big girls just hanging there at eye level, plain as day. You can see the dark mass of spiderlings in the background of the first picture. The females usually barely react to my attentions other than moving to the other side of their plant, but this one repeatedly lunged at the lens when I got close:

Next up is a Long-jawed Orbweaver (Tetragnatha sp.). These spiders use their extra-long chelicerae and fangs to pluck small insects from their web. To us, though, they are as fragile and benign as a piece of fluff:

Lastly, we have one of the larger orb weavers that are very common in certain parks: the Furrow Orbweaver (Larinioides cornutus). They are typically well hidden inside a messy silken retreat near their web, but here I coaxed this one out for pictures:

It was during this summer that I came across a mature Luna Moth caterpillar (Actias luna). These of course develop into one of our largest moths, so naturally I had to take it home for pictures. But that very same day it started to spin its cocoon, so I had to wait for the moth to emerge. Fortunately, this was the first generation, so I did not have to wait long. When a moth or butterfly emerges, there is a period of several hours after their wings are expanded when you can take pictures with little risk of it flying off. I took full advantage of that here, as shown in the next three pictures. The last picture was taken with the 15mm Opteka wide-angle macro lens. Wide-angle macro is growing in popularity because it combines both close-up and wide-angle perspectives, and more photographers are discovering the unique look that this can provide. There exists a bit of a scandal with this lens, however. I bought a copy shortly after it appeared on the market because it was inexpensive, and I wasn’t willing to shell out hundreds of dollars for the better-known alternative lens. Then it came out that Opteka was being sued for infringement because their lens was seen as a blatant copy to that other lens! The Opteka lens virtually disappeared from the market, but it is still manufactured and sold as an “unbranded” wide-angle macro that can be found on other markets like eBay for a little over $100:

Moving on. The next three pictures are of some of the arrivals to my porch lights. The first is a Celery Looper moth (Anagrapha falcifera), followed by a rather cool-looking moth called the Juniper-twig Geometer (Patalene olyzonaria). The third picture is a lovely leafhopper (Gyponana sp.).

The final picture shows an encounter with Jagged Ambush Bugs (Phymata pennsylvanica) that I had never seen before. These little insects are in the assassin bug family, but they are specialized sit-and-wait predators on flowers. It is well known that they can handle dangerous prey many times their size, and so I am frequently drawn to the flower garden in our backyard, in large part just to see what these weird little bugs might be up to. Here I was photographing a mating pair, where the female was meanwhile feeding on a small bee. That in itself was not at all unusual, but then a second male approached from across the flower. As the female was already engaged, as it were, the second male proceeded to also feed on the bee. The other two did not seem to mind:

Readers’ wildlife photos

November 1, 2026 • 8:30 am

UC Davis math professor Abby Thompson has sent us a batch of lovely marine invertebrate photos from California.  Abby’s captions and IDs are indented, and you can enlarge her photos by clicking on them.

The October low tides had some challenging features.   There was a strong wind (which makes me cold and everything harder to photograph), but most importantly the tides were running about a foot over (astronomical) predictions.

The very highest tides here are usually about 6 feet above sea level, and the very lowest about 2 feet below (listed as +6 or -2). A “good” low tide, when lots of different species are visible, is below –1.  This means that a 1-foot difference from predictions has a significant impact on where you can go and what you can see.  The reason for the overage is apparently twofold; the warmer water from El Niño (thermal expansion of the water), and the mysterious “Kelvin waves” sweeping up the coast, which interact in a complicated way. While the physics of the Kelvin waves escapes me, I can attest that the low tides were about 1 foot higher than projected, and that the water is warmer than usual.  While my personal frustration is with the too-high low tides, everyone else is understandably worried about the upcoming King tides in November, December and January, when the maximally high tides of the year occur. If those high tides run 1-2 feet higher than usual, and happen to coincide with a storm surge, there’s going to be a lot of coastal flooding.

Challenging or not, it’s always beautiful to be on the beach, so here are photos from late October.

Some species of gull (Genus Larus)—perhaps someone can tell species from this photo. The sand acted like a mirror in the late afternoon sun:

By-the-wind sailor (Velella velella). In the spring these can wash up by the thousands, but it’s unusual to find any alive at this time of year.     It might be because of the warmth of the water.     I found two very small ones:

By-the-wind sailor underside:

Urtibrina rimicola; this used to be (approximately last week) called a “stubby Pacific rose anemone”; then the taxonomists got to work on it, and it’s now stuck with just a scientific name:

A clutch of nudibranchs:   the first two are common, but happened to pose nicely for the camera:

Hermissenda opalescens:

Orienthella piunca:

The second two are rarer where I am; I’ve found each of them only once or twice.

Apata pricei. Dillon Beach (where I am) was close to the northern edge of this species’ range on inaturalist until a few days ago, when someone posted one from much farther north, near Trinidad, CA.  El Niño at work?:

Polycera atra.  It’s a little hard to believe this coloration is adaptive, but they’re surprisingly hard to spot. The second photo gives a little better idea of how they might blend into their bryozoan prey. Kind-of like a zebra:

Polycera atra blending in?:

The path down to the beach:

Beach in the wind and waves just after sunset:

Readers’ wildlife photos

October 29, 2026 • 9:30 am

Today we have part 2 of Jan Malik’s photos from New York State (part 1 is here). Jan’s captions and IDs are indented, and you can enlarge his photos by clicking on them. Here’s his intro to both sets:

It is a little tradition of mine to spend at least one day each fall watching raptors from an exposed ledge on Millbrook Mountain, which is a part of the Shawangunk Ridge, NY. I would call it a “hawk watch”, but hawks are attracted on their way south by the nearby Hudson River, which is a much better navigational aid. Instead, a whole day is spent observing vultures. This year the foliage was not at its best and the light was below average, so I’m mixing pictures from the past couple of years.

The cliff is home to a mix of about 50 Turkey vultures (Cathartes aura) and Black vultures (Coragyps atratus), our only Northeast vultures. Neither the California condor nor the King vulture makes it here, and the peculiar Crested Caracara, half vulture-half hawk, doesn’t live north of Texas.

I think of vultures as an “underrepresented minority” of the avian world, with charismatic eagles, feisty ducks, or cute songbirds capturing nearly all the attention of birdwatching crowds, while these humble aerial sanitation workers remain in the shadows, unjustly. At least, with the large population of deer in the Northeast combined with vehicular traffic, their food supply is abundant:

This is an immature Turkey vulture, with its head not quite as red as in the adults. It is looking up, since while they feel safe when soaring, they may be occasionally harassed by other local inhabitants on the Ridge:

One of them, quite aggressive, is a resident Peregrine falcon (Falco peregrinus). I see it every time I visit these cliffs, but to photograph a lightning-fast bird is difficult. This being outside their nesting season, it didn’t dive-bomb a human intruder with the intention of scalping or eye-gouging, but simply zoomed past:

Occasionally, Bald eagles (Haliaeetus leucocephalus) also use the Shawangunk Ridge for navigation:

Other raptors, like this Red-tailed hawk (Buteo jamaicensis) also pass by, but usually high above the Ridge:

The largest songbird, the Common Raven (Corvus corax) also lives on the ridge, and a mated pair can engage in their synchronous flight even in the fall:

The Gunks being the best climbing area of the Northeast (de gustibus..) let’s not forget about the local hominid variety, the Homo verticalis. This one is scaling an arête on the route “Nectar Vector” 5.12b/c R, a pretty bold climb. That letter “R” (as in scaRy or an R-rated movie) will scare off an average gym climber:

But humans aside, vultures are the most visible vertebrates on the Ridge:

In good flying weather, one can be surrounded by many vultures who sometimes form a “kettle”, circling on thermals to gain altitude. The swish of wind on your face from them flying within several feet is unforgettable:

As usual in the fall, Canada geese form skeins flying south above the Ridge:

I stay until sunset, just to absorb the subtle colors of the New York backcountry in the fall. This year, I was alone at dusk – all the vultures were gone in the late afternoon, likely attracted to a roadkill. They share with us humans a love for well-seasoned meat, so bon appétit!:

Readers’ wildlife photos

October 28, 2026 • 8:30 am

We are of course lacking readers’ wildlife photos, though I don’t know why. If you have some good ones, please send them in.

We do have a batch today, though, sent in by reader Jan Malik. Today’s photos feature vultures from New York State, and there are photos of other birds that will come in a part 2. Jan’s captions and IDs are indented, and you can enlarge the photos by clicking on them.

It is a little tradition of mine to spend at least one day each fall watching raptors from an exposed ledge on Millbrook Mountain, which is a part of the Shawangunk Ridge, NY. I would call it a “hawk watch”, but hawks are attracted on their way south by the nearby Hudson River, which is a much better navigational aid. Instead, a whole day is spent observing vultures. This year the foliage was not at its best and the light was below average, so I’m mixing pictures from the past couple of years.

The cliff is home to a mix of about 50 Turkey vultures (Cathartes aura) and Black vultures (Coragyps atratus), our only Northeast vultures. Neither the California condor nor the King vulture makes it here, and the peculiar Crested Caracara, half vulture-half hawk, doesn’t live north of Texas.

Here’s an early morning view from my perch, which is quite exposed but ensures privacy from the numerous hikers. Progressively fading into the distance are other parts of the ridge: Near Trapps, the Trapps, and Skytop, while the Hudson Valley is on the right:

Vultures are late-morning flyers. The unpredictability of their food forces extreme energy-saving behavior, such as efficient soaring flight and lowering body temperature at night by several degrees to minimize heat loss. In the morning, they use sheltered depressions in the cliff to sun and warm themselves. Here, three Turkey vultures spread their wings in the so-called horaltic pose, maximizing exposure to solar radiation:

Eventually, at 9-10 AM, the Millbrook cliff rocks heat up a bit and thermals—vertical movements of air based on density differences—develop enough to allow soaring flight for the Turkey vultures, who in good conditions can stay aloft indefinitely, flapping their wings only when taking off or alighting on a perch:

An hour or so later than for the Turkey vultures, flying weather develops for the Black vultures. Turkey vultures are possibly the most efficient flying organisms (outside of invertebrates), while the Black vultures need a little more effort to stay aloft – flapping their wings often enough that it is possible to tell them apart from a distance:

Another difference is the underside of the wings – it is mostly silvery-white in Turkey vultures:

Black vultures have white markings on the tips of their wings’ underside only:

Additionally, while Turkey vultures have uniformly black/dark brown wing coverts, Black vultures have white markings on their primary feathers, making them appear from a distance as white spots:

Black vultures often fly or soar with their feet down. This is paradoxical since it obviously increases aerodynamic drag, and I’d think that the Black vultures – having higher wing loading than the Turkey vultures – would do everything possible to avoid that. But apparently it is needed to stabilize the flight, possibly due to a different aspect ratio – Black vultures have slightly shorter tail feathers than do Turkey vultures:

When at rest, Black vultures stay together and a bit apart from the Turkey vultures, but I did not notice any particular animosity between these species. Each vulture group has social rules, with the best perches reserved for dominant birds. Scuffles are infrequent and posturing is usually enough to make a contender vacate a prime spot:

From time to time, Turkey vultures also conglomerate to rest and warm themselves in the sun. The same wing anatomy that allows hours-long soaring flight also lets them spread their wings effortlessly by locking their joints:

But then it’s taking to the air again, soaring up and down the ridge, in the hope of catching a whiff of decomposing flesh. What helps them in finding food is their good sense of smell, which they have in common with pelagic seabirds. From my observations on the Shawangunk Ridge (or, as climbers call it, the Gunks), their hearing is sub-par; a few times when scrambling on a ledge I caught a resting vulture quite unaware of my presence until I was nearly touching it:

Part 2 to come.

Readers’ wildlife photos

October 15, 2026 • 8:15 am

Another batch of photos arrived this morning, this time from reader Andrew in Oz.  Andrew’s captions and IDs are indented, and you can enlarge his photos by clicking on them.

Yarra Bend, Melbourne, Australia

These photos were all taken in an hour or so, in a bit of bushland three miles (5 km) from downtown in a city of 3ish million people.

The Birrarung River (also, more commonly, known as the Yarra river). Melbourne’s main river. Often very brown – locally known as the river that flows upside down:

Pacific black duck (Anas superciliosa):

Dusky moorhen (Gallinula tenebrosa):

European honey bee (Apis mellifera). We sometimes call this the feral bee. In, I think, a River Red Gum, (Eucalyptus camaldulensis):

Black-faced cuckooshrike (Coracina novaehollandiae). A cute common name is the Shufflewing – when they settle after flight, they shuffle their wings alternately:

Spotted pardalote (Pardalotus punctatus) – female. Tiny bright little bird – common but hard to see and identify. Today I was lucky:

Spotted pardalote (Pardalotus punctatus) male:

 Red-rumped parrot (Psephotus haematonotus). More usually seen on the ground in small flocks. Surprisingly well camouflaged in the grass – quite easy to almost step on:

Pied currawong (Strepera graculina). Common, beautiful loud meodious song:

Rainbow lorikeet (Trichoglossus moluccanus). One of the most common birds in eastern Australia. Incredibly bright and beautiful – and loud:

Noisy miner (Manorina melanocephala). Another very common bird. A few lines from a review (by noted biologist/author Tim Flannery) of the book “Where Song Began” by Tim Low:

The title of Australia’s most aggressive bird … must go to a rather drab gray member of the honeyeater family known as the noisy miner.

Accused in a scientific paper of “despotic aggressiveness,” the species has been recorded driving off fifty-seven rival types of bird. Indeed the noisy miner’s aggression has led to it becoming “one of the most important mechanisms through which habitat fragmentation and degradation threaten populations of eastern Australian woodland birds.” “They will turn on almost anything,” Low says: “koalas, cows, bats, pigs, snakes, lizards, people,” as well as other birds. And worse, they recruit allies in their bullying, including the aptly named butcher bird—a sharp-beaked, shrike-like predator that the noisy miners leave alone—provided they refrain from taking their eggs and young.

Noisy miners will even recruit humans as allies. Some years ago, a great fracas emanating from a mob of noisy miners outside my house in Sydney induced me to leave my work and investigate. As I stepped outside, the birds fell into silent expectation. Looking down, I saw a python. I got the distinct feeling that the noisy miners expected me to deal with it. But I like pythons, so I left it and returned inside. The howl of disappointed rage emerging simultaneously from dozens of beaks had to be heard to be believed. To get any peace, I was forced to move the snake.

Readers’ wildlife photos

October 14, 2026 • 8:45 am

Today is the third and last set of photos sent last week, so I am of course in need of more. Send ’em if you got ’em!

The photos today come from reader Jan Malik. Jan’s IDs and notes are indented, and you can enlarge his photo by clicking on them.

In August I had to go to one of Mexico’s southern states for work (the usual story of Americans taking the jobs of hard-working Mexicans). The 12-hour shifts left little time for photography, and only toward the end of my assignment did I manage to spend a full three hours in a small nature preserve. The preserve is maintained by a certain state-owned company with an effective monopoly on oil exploration and processing in Mexico. Soon after entering, I realized that the preserve might well have been a money-laundering enterprise, but nonetheless, I went ahead trying to find interesting arthropods.

The white peacock butterfly (Anartia jatrophae), with a damaged wing, which probably occurred during a not quite successful pupation or immediately after, when the wings are soft and pliable and can get entangled in the exuviae or vegetation:

A leaf-cutter ant from the genus Atta—as evidenced by the sharp spines growing from its thorax. This may be Atta mexicana:

They were busy stripping bare a nearby ficus tree, which from my observations is one of their preferred foods, with supple leaves and twigs that are easy to cut:

More precisely, ficus is not the ants’ food, but raw material for their underground gardens, where they farm and tend to a fungus growing on plant matter, then eat the special tissue produced by the fungus. The fungus (Leucoagaricus gongylophorus) has lost the ability to thrive on its own and depends entirely on the ants for survival. In fact, a leaf-cutter ant’s nest is a consortium of at least three symbiotic organisms—ants, fungus, and bacteria growing on the ants’ exoskeleton, which secrete antifungal compounds to protect the garden from parasitic infections:

These ants are vegetarians (and often dreaded agricultural pests), but occasionally they may collect other arthropods, like this unfortunate caterpillar, which is being carried to an underground nest to be used as fertilized for the fungus:

I first became interested in the small creatures that live unnoticed under our feet after reading, decades ago, a popular science book by Bert Hölldobler and Edward O. Wilson, “Journey to the Ants,” which I highly recommend. The same team also wrote “The Leafcutter Ants: Civilization by Instinct,” which is still on my reading list. Perhaps that book contains the clue to this picture – how two or more ants with such tiny brains can organize their work so they can carry items to their nest together:

Leaving the ants alone, I went deeper into a subtropical grove, where by accident I spotted a supremely camouflaged tree trunk spider (family Hersiliidae), possibly from the genus Neotama. It was perfectly flush with the tree trunk; in fact, after looking away from it for a moment, I had trouble spotting it again. Normally it would have two “tails,” actually elongated spinnerets, at the end of its abdomen, but one of them had broken off on this individual:

Trying to photograph the cryptic spider, I brushed against another tree nearby and something—I thought moss or dirt—broke off. But, seeing several insects milling about around that spot a moment later, it turned out to be an encased termite tunnel, a section of which I had just destroyed. By the look of these nasute soldiers, they are from the genus Nasutitermes (spinning the taxonomic roulette wheel, it may be Nasutitermes corniger). They are completely blind and the first to lay down their lives in defense of their nest, trying to squirt a sticky liquid from their nozzle-like heads to ensnare invaders:

The termite tunnel led to a large bulbous nest. Some birds, like trogons and parakeets, use these structures for nesting—they breach the relatively fragile walls constructed from chewed plant material, saliva, and feces, then let the insects do the hard work of sealing the broken internal runways, thus acquiring a climate-controlled, safe nesting place:

Looking closer, there were two termite castes that appeared at the breach in their fortified tunnel: nasute soldiers, the bodyguards of the colony, and workers, here visible with lighter-colored heads and functional mandibles, trying to mend the breach. They must do it quickly, or marauding ants will invade the nest. Usually, after a breach in the defenses is mended, some straggler soldiers are left outside to die:

There was no shortage of ants in that neighborhood, for a few trees away I saw some turtle ant workers (genus Cephalotes, but I don’t know the species). They acquired the moniker “turtle” because of the soldiers’ flat, armored heads, which they use to block the entrances to their tree nests. They seemed to proceed with their business more deliberately, not in the feverish hurry expected of ants:

Some of them appeared to be carrying their larvae or pupae in their mandibles. These arboreal ants can reportedly control their fall to land back on the tree trunk and safely stick the landing:

This is possibly the spotted red bug (Pachycoris klugii), but they are highly variable so I may be wrong:

This tiny (about 5 mm) larva is probably a species from the bagworm family (Psychidae), which if everything goes well pupates into a small moth. It was crawling slowly, turning its armored head around, searching for anything palatable. The protective case is made from its own silk and plant debris. Adult males are winged, but females of many species stay inside their protective cases for life:

Another arthropod was a common spinybacked orbweaver (Gasteracantha cancriformis). I might have seen this species in New Jersey, but definitely in Texas. Unlike many squishy spiders, this one has a tough carapace and spines, making it a difficult morsel to chew or swallow whole. Its bright color may be an honest, warning signal to predators not of a foul taste or toxicity, but of the risk of choking or throat damage

Leaving the preserve, I spotted this butterfly, which could be a glassy-winged skipper (Xenophanes tryxus). The whitish spots on its wings are actually semi-translucent: