Weather and schedule permitting, I set aside at least thirty minutes of every day to escape civilization and, camera in hand, head out into nature. One afternoon this week, with barely half an hour to spare, I took a short walk along the boundary of a local wetland. On returning home, I was surprised to see that I had taken almost 60 photographs in that half hour. After weeding out the bad shots I was left with a handful of potential keepers, maybe 10. Looking at what was left, I was struck by the diversity of insect life in this tiny sliver of swampland.

In this post I will share with you what I found on that short walk.

I am fortunate to live in an extraordinarily biodiverse corner of subtropical North America. Tucked in between coastal Mississippi and the Florida panhandle, the Eastern Shore of Mobile Bay lies smack on the 30th parallel. The climate is warm and moist, with plentiful sunlight and an unusually long growing season. With only the Pacific Northwest enjoying more annual rainfall, we get the silver medal for wetness. Our unusually varied geology, rich evolutionary heritage, plentiful river systems, and frequent brush and forest fires all contribute to the biodiversity of the region.

And while a handful of photographs obviously doesn’t prove a thing about the biodiversity of our ecosystem, it did give me pause for thought. Maybe it will do the same for you?

My first encounter of the afternoon was this beautiful European potter wasp. Though intimidating, these are quite timid creatures. They can be coaxed into delivering a sting, which is quite mild, at least by wasp standards. If trying to distinguish this wasp from, say, a bald faced hornet, I would advise against testing the mildness of its sting, just in case.

One bush further down the path were a couple of swarthy skippers, busily chugging nectar. These amazing little butterflies seem to be oblivious to nosey photographers. Either that or they like to pose. Or show off their absurdly long tongues? Who knows.

There are a great many hover flies in this part of the south. Some of them like to sip nectar from flowers, others prefer the more assertive flavor profile of fresh dung. They are found in just about every habitat on earth, with the exception of Antarctica. I read somewhere that they have even been found on Mount Everest. I wouldn’t have thought there would be much nectar or dung on Mount Everest. Interestingly, only the males do the hovering.

Sitting a little bit higher in the same bush as the drone fly was this stunning spicebush swallowtail. Butterflies of this family, the Papilionidae, include the largest butterflies on the planet, and this individual was uncommonly grand. Unfortunately, as I crept forward to get a tighter shot of the metallic blue scales on the hindwing, which were glittering dramatically in the evening sunlight, I spooked her and she was gone.

Unlike the rat-tailed maggot mentioned above, this butterfly produces one of the most delightful larvae in nature. My daughter sent me this iPhone picture of a spicebush swallowtail caterpillar that she came across, halfway across the country, on the same day that I took this shot of the adult.

A few more yards down the path, something caught my eye, creeping across a plant and close to the ground. A member of the order Hemiptera, or true bugs, this is an adult squash bug, a major agricultural pest in this part of the world.

This impressive insect is closely related to aphids, assassin bugs, stink bugs, and even bed bugs. What all these bugs have in common are specialized mouthparts that are used for piercing and sucking. Some are carnivores, like the assassin bug and bed bug, but the majority are herbivores that use their sharp, hollow proboscis to suck sap from various plant species. Another thing they have in common with the stink bugs is the nasty habit of oozing a revolting smelling fluid from slits on the underside of the abdomen when alarmed, or crushed. Members of this insect order cause major headaches for gardeners and farmers, threatening crops of cucumber, squash, melon, and other cucurbits (my new word for the day!).

Moving on…

My next encounter was with a small common checkered-skipper butterfly, a close relative of the other skipper on today’s list. It was right about this time that the batteries in my flash gave up on me. Clouds were blocking the sun and, with no time to replace the batteries, all I could do was open up the lens and bump the ISO to get this shot. The resulting image shows how shallow the depth of field becomes at f/2.8, with the head and thorax in sharp focus and the wings, a couple of millimeters closer, softly blurred. I love the effect, but replaced the batteries anyway.

These flies are everywhere in this part of the country. They are the most colorful and dramatic of flies, with metallic blues, greens, and golds, lustrous rainbow wings, and huge reddish-orange compound eyes. They are among my favorite subjects to photograph, thanks to their nervous, twitchy behavior and their (apparently) incredibly short memories. Let me explain. Every time I take a picture of this fly, almost always using a low power flash, he will leap into the air (much as I do when the phone rings during my sixth cup of Starbucks Italian Roast) and, no sooner is he airborne, he seems to forget what startled him and he returns to exactly the same spot on the very same leaf. And he will keep this up, acting totally surprised, over and over again, until my XQD card is full.

I sometimes wonder if my delight and fascination with the antics of a long-legged fly may be a sign that I should get a social life.

Turning to head back to my car, I spotted one of my favorite butterflies taking a breather and showing off her magnificent colors. Species of the Junonia genus are quite interesting, having evolved to feed on plants like the ribwort plantain that produce a bitter class of chemicals known at iridoid glycosides. Thanks to this diet, the caterpillars of this butterfly are not appetizing to many of the birds, wasps, and other animals that are predators of most other larval butterflies. Buckeye caterpillars are also quite safe from me as, preferring not to eat any caterpillars, I have never tasted one.

When I take these short bug-walks, I am often pleasantly surprised when the last encounter of the day is something special. This day was no exception.

This brilliantly colored, metallic Agapostemon sweat bee was a real treat to behold. Larger than many of the sweat bees, this is a spectacular insect. They are useful pollinators and can be found in areas with dense concentrations of flowering plants. They are more commonly seen in the early morning and at dusk, with some close relatives of this species being entirely nocturnal. They are ideal photographic subjects, being non-aggressive, slow to alarm, and even slower to sting.

They are called sweat bees because they are strongly attracted to human perspiration, which they drink to supplement the salt in their diet. Interestingly, like every other animal species known to man, they are not attracted to my perspiration. A fact I try not to take personally.

My thirty-minute walk over, I stow all my gear in the car and head, reluctantly, back to civilization. I didn’t add a thing to mankind’s growing understanding of biodiversity, nor to my own. But I did leave the swamp feeling recharged and counting the minutes until I could return.

Is this how you like to experience nature? I would love to hear about your nature photography walks - where you go, what you shoot, why you do it? Feel free to ask a question or leave a comment below. I always answer.

Until next time…..

For a scholarly discussion of Alabama’s biodiversity, I urge you to read R. Scot Duncan’s excellent article “Biodiversity in Alabama”.