Feeds:
Posts
Comments

Posts Tagged ‘leaf litter’

Red bat. Photo by Gil Lopez.

By Erik Baard

When New York City flies under the Gotham moniker, there’s a good chance Bat Man will show up in scenes of mayhem. But in this living city, residents usually have to work harder to spy bats, seeking them out in quiet corners or on professionally guided tours — sometimes with the help of modern technology.

That wasn’t the case for Woodside, Queens’  Gil Lopez, an edible landscape designer and urban farmer. Later in the evening after the great summer hail of August 15th, he emerged from his bedroom to find this red bat had flown into his apartment livingroom.

“He was cute. He had an adorable, fuzzy face and a little snub nose,” Lopez said. “When his wings weren’t spread out, he was no bigger than my fist. I could have held him in my palm.”

Red bat. Photo by Gil Lopez.

As it happens, Lopez waved his arms to steer the bat into the bathroom. The bat flew rapidly around his arm-waving host without making any contact, despite close quarters. Lopez was surprised by the bat’s “smooth, gliding flight” and that it was tracking him with its eyes. Contrary to popular mythology, bats have vision.

Lopez had thoughts of putting the red bat to work clearing mosquitos away from the urban farm he co-founded, but instead helped it out the bathroom window. Lopez’s five-minute encounter extraordinary; unlike the colonies of little brown bats that pack caves and other hollows in NYC, red bats live largely solitary lives among trees. Because there aren’t social, they’ve been spared the “white nose syndrome” afflicting other bats.

Red bats at rest. Photo by Lynn Robbins.

“I am surprised that one was found in a NY apartment,” said Lynn Robbins, a Missouri State University biologist who specializes in bats. But the hail storm may have played a role. “The only time people report them to me is after a storm, when their tree roost may not have provided them enough protection and they can show up anywhere, but in a man-made structure is not common.”

Lopez lives across Queens Boulevard from the quiet and leafy New Calvary Cemetery, a pretty ideal red bat habitat. A keen observer might spot them in normal conditions hunting for bugs around street lights glowing amid the deciduous trees of the graveyard.

Red bats might soon be even harder to spot. Their coloring (females are grayer) camouflages them against predators among autumn leaves, and when temperatures drop near zero, they dig down into the leaf litter and enter the low metabolic state called torpor. When asked if decomposing leaves leaves produced heat to sustain the bats, Robbins replied that the leaves are “probably just insulation over that big thermos called earth.”

Red bat camouflaged in autumn. Photo by Lynn Robbins.

Red bat in leaf litter. Photo by Lynn Robbins.

Red bats “can migrate long distances to enhance their survival,” Robbins notes. But a mild winter might yield more red bats — they bear up to five young in a litter, as compared to the two typical for bats. “If there is good weather and and plenty of food, their numbers can grow much more rapidly than other species,” Robbins said.

Read Full Post »

Northern Dusky salamander in leaf litter. Photo by Sarah Goodyear.

Editor’s note: We are thrilled that National Public Radio featured Nature Calendar’s quest for the Manhattan population of Northern Dusky salamanders (well camouflaged in leaf litter above) as part of its Earth Day coverage. Check out the online story produced by NPR’s hot new show The Bryant Park Project:

http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=89830807

__________________________________________________________________________________________

by Erik Baard

Amphibians serve as a bellwether for ecosystems ranging from tropical rainforests to temperate woodlands, and the news is rarely good. The Global Amphibian Assessment of 2004 found that we may have lost 120 species since the 1980s. Another 32% of remaining species are threatened with extinction, and 43% are suffering population declines. That’s an environmental body blow when you consider that salamanders alone are the largest contributor to vertebrate biomass in many North American forests. Part of this crisis seems traceable to global causes like climate change and ozone depletion. More often the problems are tied to local pollutants and habitat fragmentation.

Yet we bring you a quietly happy story of survival in, of all places, Manhattan.

Back in 1944, a 21-year old German immigrant naturalist named Carl Gans noted the presence of dusky salamanders living on a muddy slope in northern Manhattan. They prefer areas with limestone and need copious water, but only if it’s very slow flowing and not laden with silt. Weed-choked streams and bogs are good habitats. Seepages, that is gradually inclining hillsides where water saturates a broad swath of soft earth, are also places where a dusky salamander seeker might find quarry under rotting logs, leaf litter, and some loose stones. This common species is often known as the “pit bull of salamanders” for its stocky body and large jaw. Like many salamanders, they lack lungs and so breathe through their moist, delicate and permeable skin when they outgrow their newborn gills.

The duskies were probably a fun find for Gans, but he quickly moved on to adventures with sharks and exotic reptiles in a stellar, globetrotting career researching biomechanics and evolution. New York City had big ideas too. Over the next six tumultuous decades we built highways and iconic skyscrapers, birthed punk rock and hiphop, and rode waves of crime and condos with equal gusto.

Rough stuff for salamanders. Nearby pavement can accelerate water flow and sweep away salamanders, their young, and the small insects and worms they eat. Pesticides and herbicides cause mutations, behavioral aberrations, or outright kill them. Hydrocarbons and salts running off roads poison them. Clear cutting trees and shrubs denies them the protective shade they require. Urbanization finds a thousand ways to do them in. Even the gentler suburb of Westchester County saw its dusky salamanders nearly vanish in the latter twentieth century. The Manhattan area of the salamanders’ habitat became known for prostitution and illegal dumping, including many stripped cars (since cleared).

Despite the odds, Ellen Pehek, senior ecologist with the Natural Resources Group of the New York City Department of Parks and Recreation, led a little expedition alongside the Harlem River Drive to revisit the site. Astonishingly, the salamanders were still there.

“That was quite a find. I think people assumed they were gone, but they just hadn’t gone back to check on them,” Pehek said. “The lesson here is that we can protect them without giving up recreational activities. We can plan around these habitats to avoid certain places and all coexist. If they can live in Manhattan, we know we can coexist.”

Pehek was kind enough to share the location of this rare habitat with me – not that it was easy to find, even with directions. “Landmarks” included puddles and hillsides that looked alike to someone out for a casual stroll. To protect this special place, Pehek asked that I not reveal it here. But she encourages readers to visit the duskies in the Staten Island Greenbelt (check out the June 1 “Amphibian Adventures” program!), where they are plentiful.

I invited my old friend, Laura Conaway, and her wife, Sarah Goodyear (whose photos you’re enjoying – click to enlarge), on a salamander safari. Also joining were Laura and Sarah’s son, Nate, and Laura’s brother, Brian. Both Laura and Sarah are writers, and I got to know Laura when she edited a number of my Village Voice stories. She’s now a web editor with The Bryant Park Project at National Public Radio.

After a few wrong turns on my bike and direction checks by cell phone with the very-patient Pehek, we met up and walked the edge of a wood, never leaving the sounds of traffic and Latin music far behind. A small pack of sad-faced stray dogs slowly wound their way single-file up through hillside outcroppings in single file while Northern Flicker woodpeckers busy on fallen logs below. Baseballs were oddly placed in the crotches of locust, dogwood, and oak branches. Glass was ubiquitous. Some boulders were cracked and slivered; tell-tale bullet shell casings lay beneath them.

We turned over logs as we went. Millipedes here, pillbugs (aka rolly pollies) there, but no salamanders. I was starting to feel foolish. Laura continued to record, I continued to stall.

Finally, Brian exclaimed, “Found one!” From that point on, we found duskies and more common redback salamanders under every log in a small area. No wonder Pehek was so cautious about protecting the duskies’ coordinates: on the entire island of Manhattan, this species’ habitat can be measured in yards.

The salamanders were still when held, but quite fleet of foot on the ground. They have very muscular hind legs, which are a distinguishing characteristic second in prominence only to their muddy, dark gray-brown camouflage pigmentation. They are known to be excellent leapers. Subtler differences include a pale line from the eye to the corner of the mouth and an immobile jaw – they lift their heads to open their mouths.

The duskies felt cool in my palm (they don’t grow larger than five inches) for the few seconds I held them before I returning them to the wet ground, lest their skin dry.

Not so camouflaged now. Photo by Sarah Goodyear

“Most salamanders like the cold. You think of cold-blooded creatures liking warmth, but they can’t handle the heat. They sort of almost pass out from your skin warmth. They’re not something you want to handle for long,” Pehek cautioned. “They need to recover in moist leaf litter or a cold stream.”

In a few weeks they’ll begin courtship, an involved affair that includes head stroking, “butterfly” forelimb movements, and tail straddling. Then the grape-like egg clusters will develop in the mud during the height of summer. By the season’s end, yellow-spotted, gilled juveniles will be scurrying about. As they mature, the spots fade and the gills are subsumed. Salamanders don’t travel far in their several years of life, hugging the same muddy spring or stream bank.

That doesn’t mean they’re equally easy to find year-round. “They like a somewhat steady temperature, so when it’s too cold they’ll burrow down and do their thing there” in the warm earth, Pehek said. “In the middle of summer, when it gets too dry, they’ll also go under ground.”

A good strategy to catch them in action, Pehek advised, is to go to their haunts after sunset with a headlamp or flashlight. “At night they’ll climb around flowering plants and shrubs looking for invertebrates to eat.”

But don’t interrupt their feeding for too long – it’s important work. “They eat the insects that break down the leaf litter, so salamanders are slowing that decay. There’s carbon sequestered in those leaves, so in a way you could say salamanders are slowing down global warming,” Pehek said.

Read Full Post »