Climbing Fern

 

Last Saturday, Shauna and I participated in the Beaver Christmas Bird Count. Our area of the count covers a very remote area of Jackson County, Ohio, and it was quite birdy, at least in regard to species diversity. Overall numbers were not great. Highlights included five Hermit Thrushes and two Eastern Phoebes. In all, we found 43 species. And reconfirmed the existence of this population of Climbing Fern (Lygodium palmatum).

ASIDE: Hermit Thrushes are undoubtedly far more common in wintertime southern Ohio than is generally imagined. One key to finding them is getting an eye for suitable habitat, which is hardly rocket science. They favor early successional habitats with plenty of fruiting sumac (genus Rhus) and most commonly from my experience, Staghorn Sumac (Rhus typhina). The copious and long-persistent sumac fruit is a staple of their wintertime diet. Once in a while, one will hear the easily recognized low chuck call note of a thrush and find it that way, but mostly, the birds remain silent in dense cover and are easily overlooked. But judicious playing of the thrush's call note - not the song - will usually elicit a response, quickly. Had I not done that, we probably wouldn't have found any on this excursion. Had we had more time to just work Hermit Thrushes, we may well have doubled that number.

Back to the fern. The above photo shows Climbing Fern's scrambling growth habit. It isn't hard to spot a colony, but colonies tend to be fairly rare and local and widely scattered. At one time, it was on the Ohio Department of Natural Resources' official list of rare plants but was rightly removed long ago as it isn't rare enough to merit listing.

Map courtesy of the Flora North America

This is the only member of the largely tropical fern family Lygodiaceae that occurs entirely within the Unites States, and by far the most northerly species. Two others, Asian species and both in the genus Lygodium, have been introduced. One of them, Japanese Climbing Fern (L. japonicum) is widely established across the southeastern states but has not yet managed to make it as far north as Ohio. The other is Climbing Maidenhair (L. microphyllum) which thus far is confined to Florida but seems to be rapidly spreading.

Aptly named, Climbing Fern is adept at scrambling up supporting vegetation, and can climb to several feet in height via its spaghetti-like orangish stems. The green conspicuous fronds are the sterile leaves that are long-persistent. The fertile spore-bearing leaves are short-lived and quite different in appearance. Remnants of these can be seen at the bottom one-third of the plant in the image above. They are the lacy brown extensions from the stems.

The fern's specific epithet, "palmatum" essentially means "hand-like" and the fronds certainly suggest hands. In the fern world (Pteridophytes), which encompasses about 80 species in Ohio, Climbing Fern is among our most distinctive species.

I first saw this Climbing Fern colony over 20 years ago, and it's always rewarding to revisit it each year. The general area in which it occurs has a large silica mine that is still operational and has laid waste to lots of interesting and valuable habitats since it started. Hopefully this fern colony and its vicinity will be spared, especially as there are several other rare plant species nearby, including some that are truly endangered.

The fascinating life of the yellow-bellied sapsucker

 

A male yellow-bellied sapsucker tends a well field

Columbus Dispatch

December 20, 2025

NATURE

Jim McCormac

“And you tell him if he don’t show up himself, he ain’t nothing but a yellow-bellied sapsucking coward.”–Denzel Washington as Sam Chisolm in the 2016 remake of "The Magnificent Seven"

Arguably our coolest woodpecker, the yellow-bellied sapsucker has provided plenty of fodder for insults and jokes. Yes, there really is such a bird, and in my opinion, it is the most interesting of the seven common Ohio woodpeckers.

Unlike the other six woodpecker species which commonly nest in the state, the yellow-bellied sapsucker occurs mostly as a migrant and winter resident. It’s a northern species, breeding across the northern boreal forest, from Alaska to Newfoundland. Nearly all Ohio nesting records come from the extreme northeastern corner of the state, which represents the southern edge of the nesting range.

Sapsuckers are normally mostly non-vocal outside of the breeding season, but occasionally deliver their loud cat-like call, which sounds a bit like a feline with its tail caught in a vise. That will draw a birder’s attention to the bird, which otherwise can easily be missed.

Woodpeckers “sing” by drumming rhythms distinctive to their species. The sapsucker’s “song” is an erratic series of taps that sounds like something a drunken Morse code operator would produce. One hears this frequently on the breeding grounds, but sometimes sapsuckers heading north in spring will deliver their peculiar pounding patter.

One reason that sapsuckers can easily be missed is that they spend much time creating and maintaining complex “well fields” on tree trunks. While so engaged, a sapsucker quietly works with the horizontally arranged rows of neat holes in the trunk that it has created. The holes, which might number into the dozens in a single well field, ooze sap. And tree sap is a coveted food for the sapsucker, and the reason for the bird’s curious name.

Sapsuckers will “frack” hundreds of different tree species, in which they construct two types of well fields. In spring, when sap flows upward through the xylem tissue in the bark, the individual wells are small and round. After leaf-out, their sap-mining is concentrated on the phloem tissue layer, in which sap flows downward. These holes are larger and rectangular. The male sapsucker in the accompanying photo is working a phloem well field.

In warmer weather, insects galore are drawn to the sugary sap, and these bugs are eagerly scarfed down by the feathered engineers. For a sapsucker, the perfect food is a gooey ball of sap with bugs rolled into it, an insectivorous nougat for birds.

It isn’t just sapsuckers that benefit from their sap wells. Ruby-throated hummingbirds visit frequently to lap up sap, which can be up to 10% sugar. Evidence suggests that hummingbirds may sync their movements to stay in proximity to sapsuckers, and even nest near active well fields. Long before the first manmade hummingbird feeder was created, yellow-bellied sapsuckers were feeding hummingbirds.

I have spent much time in northern Michigan, where sapsuckers can be the most common breeding woodpecker species. A favored nesting tree is quaking aspen, especially those afflicted with a heartwood decay fungus called Phellinus tremulae. The fungus weakens the inner wood, making it easier for the sapsuckers to excavate their dwelling. The hardworking male sapsucker does nearly all the excavation. By all appearances, the female supervises his work, flying in periodically to inspect progress, while the male looks from the hole and receives instructions from his better half.

Once construction is complete, the female lays four to five eggs, which are brooded by both sexes. About two weeks later, the sapsucker-lets hatch. After the nest is vacated, they are often appropriated by flying squirrels or other cavity-nesting species unable to create their own dwellings.

Sapsuckers begin to move south into Ohio in late September and can be fairly common in October. Many remain throughout winter and become more common southward in the state. The longest distance migrant of our woodpeckers, sapsuckers range south through Central America nearly to South America, and throughout the Caribbean countries. I have seen them multiple times in the jungles of Costa Rica and Guatemala. That was rather a shock the first time, seeing this woodpecker of the northern forests in proximity with manakins, motmots and toucans.

A great local place for migratory and wintering yellow-bellied sapsuckers is Green Lawn Cemetery in Columbus’s south side. The cemetery, Ohio’s second largest, covers 360 acres and is a true birding hotspot. Wandering between the central pond (‘the pit”) and the old bridge and ravine to its west can be especially productive for sapsucker-seekers.

Naturalist Jim McCormac writes a column for The Dispatch on the first and third Sundays of the month. He also writes about nature at jimmccormac.blogspot.com.

A pair of sapsuckers, male below, female above

Northern Coralroot: A wee orchid

I wanted to share some imagery of a really cool little orchid that I made last spring, in the mountains of southern West Virginia. This is a species that is listed as endangered in my home state, and I've never seen it in Ohio. Here, it's known only from a few sites in the extreme northeastern corner of the state.

A quintet of Northern Coralroot (Corallorhiza trifida) arises from the cold, boggy mire of a high-elevation bog in Pocahontas County, West Virginia. It was nearing full bloom on the very early date of May 4 (2025). At that locale, snow is still a likely possibility. The early blooming of this elfin orchid leads to another common name: Early Coralroot.

ASIDE: There is essentially no standardization for plant common names, thus it is vital to know and use scientific names, like Corallorhiza trifida, when researching flora, to ensure that you are harvesting data on the correct species. I prefer Northern Coralroot for this species, as it certainly is that. Although there is other northern species of coralroot, just as there is another eastern coralroot that blooms in spring.

Northern Coralroot is an elfin plant, and that short individual - second from left - in the above photo is probably only 2-3 inches in height. It'd be quite easy to pass this one by, as from an upright position - and I assume most readers are hominids that walk with an erect posture - the plants are easy to miss due to their small stature. Fortunately, when in flower, the tiny petals are a somewhat luminescent yellowish-white and their faint glow can draw the eye.

Here is the overall lower US distribution of Northern Coralroot (map courtesy of BONAP). It barely extends south of the Great Lakes, and the plants in my photos were made in one of the two southernmost counties in West Virginia, both depicted in yellow (which means "rare").

BONAP maps are misleading, insofar as the big picture is concerned, as they don't portray records north of the lower 48 states. This coralroot ranges across Canada and extends north to Alaska and southeastern Greenland and also occurs across Eurasia.

Here is the Flora North America map, which makes clear why I prefer the name Northern Coralroot. This tough plant probably gets stepped on by Polar Bears on occasion!

Northern Coralroot also occurs widely across Eurasia, including Siberia. The species has been cleft into two varieties, and most of the North American plants are apparently Corallorhiza trifida var. verna. I assume the Eurasian plants would be mostly/all the nominate variety (C. trifida var. trifida).

A tight shot of the inflorescence. Very beautiful flowers, but on a tiny scale. All of those floral parts would be measured in millimeters.

Reproduction is interesting in that Northern Coralroot flowers are mostly, maybe often entirely, self-pollinated. When ripe, the pollinia, or pollen sacs, fall off and land on the stigma (pollen receptor). Thus, insect transport agents are not required. A wise strategy for a plant that often blooms when it can still be quite cold. But insects can transfer pollen if conditions allow for their movement. About the only group of insects that I could find reference to are various flies (Diptera). Go flies! There may be no order of animals as underappreciated as the Dipterans. But I'll leave flies for another day.

A botanical reminisce: Gall-of-the-earth (Prenanthes trifoliolata)

About this time of year - early winter - I begin to internally lament the lack of flowering plants. We recently had about five inches of snow, and nighttime temperatures are dipping into the low to md-20's F, with teens soon to come. For the botanically inclined, such as your narrator, this means a few months of a floral dry spell, which occasionally makes me pine for warmer seasons (much as I love winter, snow, cold, diving ducks, raptors, etc.).

I've been spending scads of time with the photographic files, catching up on labeling and archiving a backlog of unprocessed material, and digging out material for a few new projects. In the course of that, I often run across old stuff that brings back good memories, and this post features one of those subjects - one that I never got around to blogging about (I did have a blog in 1997 - the year the word "blog" was coined, although I didn't know to call my site that, then).

On August 26, 1997, I was botanizing a high, dry ridge deep in Shawnee State Forest. This is Ohio's largest contiguous forest at around 71,000 acres, and it is a hotbed of biodiversity, both floral and faunal. Shawnee is truly a state and national gem, and enormously significant to the conservation of scores of species. Many state-listed endangered and threatened species occur here.

WAY back in 1997, the forest was not as well explored botanically as it now is and wasn't as much on the radar screen. Nonetheless, I am sure that rarities remain to be discovered.

Anyway, at that time, I was keen on discovering a plant species that I figured surely must occur in Ohio and constantly kept my eyes open for it. And it was on this date, at the exact spot in the photo above, that I finally discovered it. While the plant in question is quite tall, with some specimens towering to six feet or more, it is a spindly species that can be passed by. Several flowering specimens are in my photo, but good luck spotting them. To compound matters, the plant in question closely resembles another species in the same genus and could easily be dismissed as its commoner brethren.

Here's the USDA Plants Database map of the species in question (click to enlarge, if so desired), which is known as Gall-of-the-earth (Nabalus trifoliolatus). Field botanists pore over maps such as this, seeking likely new native plants to discover in their state. In this case, it seemed that there was a high likelihood that Gall-of-the-earth (weird common name; "gall" means bold or impudent) should be in extreme southern or eastern Ohio, as it ranges right up to our borders in those regions.

I should note that there are two errors on this map, in regard to Ohio. The Ashtabula County record (farthest NE county) is apparently in error, based on a mention in Gray's Manual of Botany. No documenting specimen can be located, so that record must be regarded as hypothetical. The southern county highlighted in green is Adams County. It should be Scioto County, the county immediately to the east. That's apparently an error by the USDA Plants Database.

Anyway, back to the find. As I walked the road banks in the first photo, I saw a number of towering specimens of "wild lettuces" (as members of the genus Nabalus [at the time of this discovery, Prenanthes] are sometimes known. The rub with an easy identification is White Rattlesnake-root (Nabalus alba). It resembles Gall-of-the earth to a great degree and is locally common in Ohio with records from at least 35 counties.

A flower and buds of Gall-of-the-earth. The smoking gun for identification of this species, which is easily enough seen in the field, is the color of the pappus hairs, which subtend the flowers and fruit. I located some mature flowers, mostly past, pulled some of the pappus for inspection, and Voila! The pappus was pale white - quite unlike the cinnamon-brown coloration of the look-alike White Rattlesnake-root. I finally had found Gall-of-the earth in Ohio.

Here's my original specimen of Gall-of-the-earth, collected on August 26, 1997 - the same day I made the above photos. This one is housed at the Ohio State University herbarium. A duplicate specimen is at the Miami University herbarium.

Twenty-eight years have now passed since this find, and no other populations of Gall-of-the-earth have been found. In a good year, the tiny area where it occurs in Shawnee State Forest might host 80-100 plants - a true endangered species, which is how it is listed by the Ohio Department of Natural Resources. You can see that list RIGHT HERE. It'd be awesome if someone could find more Gall-of-the-earth, ideally in another county (or two, or three...).

Finding a new native plant species for Ohio is always a thrill, and the experiences remain etched in my mind. To date, I've discovered or co-discovered a dozen new ones and rediscovered nine extirpated plants - species that no one has seen in at least 20 years, and in most cases, it's been far longer than that.

Winter snowstorm

As always, click the photo to enlarge

I awoke to a winter wonderland. About five inches of powdery snow fell overnight (for us, that is a snowstorm), encasing everything in a blanket of snow. The aftermath of such snowstorms is often ephemeral, so I headed out before daybreak to bask in some real winter, one of my favorite seasons. This is the Olentangy River in Worthington, Franklin County, Ohio.

Scioto Brush Creek earns Scenic River status

Scioto Brush Creek earns Scenic River status

NATURE

The Columbus Dispatch
November 30, 2025

Scioto Brush Creek in Scioto County, Ohio

Gov. Mike DeWine and Ohio Department of Natural Resources Director Mary Mertz announced recently that Scioto Brush Creek had been designated as Ohio’s 17th State Scenic River. They did so in the shadow of the beautiful Otway covered bridge in rural Scioto County.

Scenic river status allows the DNR to commit expertise and funding to ensure best management practices along the stream. Rivers receiving this designation are the best of the best, and ODNR wants to ensure that they remain that way. Local officially designated scenic rivers include the Big and Little Darby Creeks, and the Olentangy River. Nearly 1,000 river miles have been enrolled in the state’s Scenic River Program.

Scioto Brush Creek has its headwaters near the Adams-Scioto county line, near the village of Peebles in Adams County. It flows 41 miles in a southeasterly direction, confluencing with the Scioto River at Rushtown in Scioto County.

I’ve been familiar with the beautiful blue-green waters of this biologically rich stream for nearly 40 years. In the infancy of my career with the ODNR (early 1980s), I was fortunate to serve as grunt labor for two of the most knowledgeable ichthyologists in Ohio: Ted Cavender of Ohio State University, and Dan Rice, former zoologist for the Ohio Department of Natural Resources.

“Fishing” the Cavender-Rice way is hard work, involving a clunky john boat, a heavy gas-powered generator, fish-shocking gear and large seines. The scaled crowd can’t hide from the “shocker,” which sends a mild electric current into the water, stunning fish to the surface. They soon recover, but each is identified and tallied before release.

Both men were researching the as-then poorly known fisheries of Scioto Brush Creek and producing amazing finds. The popeye shiner, thought to be extirpated from Ohio (known only from 1893 specimens from the Maumee River and not seen since) had been discovered in Scioto Brush Creek in 1985 by a crew of Ohio EPA biologists, and Cavender and Rice were expanding fish surveys of the stream.

The state-endangered popeye shiner occurs only in Scioto Brush Creek, in Ohio

In all, 86 fish species have thus far been documented – over half of all the species found in the entire state. Scioto Brush Creek remains the only known Ohio location for the state-endangered popeye shiner, which is common in the stream’s lower reaches. Far more conspicuous than the shiner are amazing numbers of longnose gars. The big, primitive fish often float at the surface, looking like sticks scattered in the water. I have seen dozens loafing in pools.

Far rarer is the endangered shortnose gar, which occurs at least occasionally in the stream’s lower reaches. Both gar are ecologically important in that they serve as hosts for the glochidia (larvae) of various freshwater mussels. Three species of endangered mussels call Scioto Brush Creek home.

In 1991, botanist Stan Stine discovered a population of the federally threatened Virginia spiraea on a remote gravel bar in the stream. It has since been found on five other gravel bars, all along Scioto Brush Creek.

On a hot August day in 1993, Stine and I were wading up Scioto Brush Creek – easiest way to explore the stream – when we spotted a glimmer of purple on a steep, muddy bank. Sloshing over for a better look, we quickly realized that we had found the first Ohio record of southern monkshood in Ohio. This site and a few others along the stream are the only Ohio populations of this gorgeous buttercup family member. Numerous other rare plant species are found along the stream.

The endangered hellbender – a gigantic aquatic salamander – occurs in the creek, along with many other amphibian species. Nearly 100 bird species breed along the Scioto Brush Creek corridor, whose riparian forests are largely intact. Their ranks include many Louisiana waterthrushes and cerulean warblers, the fourth and fifth rarest warbler species in eastern North America.

Thanks to the Friends of Scioto Brush Creek for petitioning for designation of their namesake stream as a State Scenic River. Founded in 1998, the organization has labored tirelessly to promote stream conservation. Kudos too to ODNR’s Scenic Rivers Program within the Division of Natural Areas and Preserves. Launched in 1968, that successful program has made Ohio a frontrunner in stream conservation. We are fortunate to have such groups working hard to protect our waterways.

Naturalist Jim McCormac writes a column for The Dispatch on the first and third Sundays of the month. He also writes about nature at jimmccormac.blogspot.com.

Rufous Hummingbird and other vagrant hummingbirds

 

An adult female Rufous Hummingbird (Selasphorus rufus) perches atop her favorite perch. This species, a rare visitor to Ohio, was visiting a feeder at a home only 10-15 minutes from my house. On November 23, Shauna and I ran down to have a gander at the little beauty.

The hosts, Dan and Sally Carlstrom, were exceptionally gracious in allowing visitors. Probably 150 or more birders visited, and nearly all saw the bird.

Ohio's first record of Rufous Hummingbird dates to August 15, 1985, when a male appeared at the feeders of Midge and Perry Van Sickle in Westerville. It remained for three days and was seen by over 100 people, your narrator included. As is the case with all first state records, the hummingbird generated great excitement, but at that time, none of us knew what was in store.

Since that inaugural Rufous Hummingbird, dozens of other records have been documented. While still a rarity, one or two appear most years. An exceptional year was 2003, when over a dozen birds were reported. Many Ohio extralimital hummingbirds have been banded and thoroughly documented by hummingbird bander Allen Chartier of Michigan, the bird in the photo included. Right now in Ohio, there is a Ruby-throated type (possibly Black-chinned, banding should resolve that tricky identification), another Rufous Hummingbird (or Allen's, also hopefully to be resolved by banding), and our second state record Mexican Violetear (visitation by the public is not possible for this one).

The 1985 Rufous Hummingbird was the first non-Ruby-throated Hummingbird (our only breeding species) recorded in Ohio. Since then, five other species have turned up, making for seven hummingbird species for the state, and there will likely be more additions to the list.

While the advent of hummingbird feeders is often implicated in this increase, I don't think that we know with certainty that that's the cause. It may be that there have always been out-of-range hummingbirds, and their propensity for visiting feeders just brought them to light. Also, the horticultural industry has managed to produce many plants with flowers that produce blooms late into the year, and this may be a contributing factor in the eastward wandering of western hummingbird species - which all of our vagrants (with one exception) are. The exception is the Mexican Violetear (Colibri thalassinus), a species of southern Mexico and Central and South America.

Wayward birds such as these are often termed vagrants. That's not a good word for them, in my opinion. "Vagrant" means someone/something without a home, that idly wanders about. That's not the case with these hummingbirds. They have well-defined breeding and wintering grounds, and their seasonality in both is also well-defined, as is their migration. Furthermore, a number of so-called vagrant birds, including some hummingbirds, have returned to their "vagrant" haunts year after year. While no one knows exactly where they go for the breeding season (most extralimital hummingbirds turn up in late fall/early winter), for all we know they return to the breeding grounds, find a mate, and nest.

I wonder if they might be better termed "scouts". Virtually all populations of animals, especially highly mobile birds, are constantly expanding/contracting their ranges for a variety of reasons. And the former - expansion - can only occur if scouts are exploring beyond the normal range, in search of new inhabitable lands.