Butterflies are gross
Insects we trust
So, it turns out that checking out bugs is a year-round activity here in Maine. Let’s be honest, seeing tiny cold blooded critters scurry across ice in the heart of a Maine winter is a wonderful thrill (miss you ice, see you soon!). That said, I’ve come to discover, summer too is a fantastic time to check out bugs (go figure!). On warm summer days I like to check out pond edges and meadows for dragonflies and butterflies and whatever else is fluttering about.
Like so many other humans, I have favorite walking routes that I take to maximize the potential of my nature observations (not sure if it works, but it feels right). When I go the local route, I meander through the woods and d0wn to the shores of the marsh (for dragonflies et al). I then return back up through a meadow (for butterflies et al). This particular route has developed over the years with the goal of reducing the chance of scaring off critters; while continuing my never-ending quest for the best lighting (it turns out the angle of the sun is an important factor to consider). What I’ve found is that while traveling this particular route, the best way to travel is clockwise.
“Whatever”
“Whatever,” is the new one word answer I give when I am asked, “what are you looking for?” A more complete answer would be “whatever I can see”, but a longer answer can lead to more discussions and really, who goes into the woods to talk to people? A good “whatever” can kill a conversation quickly.
So, with eyes wide open I recently made my way to the shores of the marsh and sure enough dragonflies were dartin’ around like crazy! When dragonflies are near water the scene tends to be frantic. There’s a lot of zipping and zooming—a loose neck is a good for any dragonfly watcher.
This level of energy makes sense once you realize that flying above the pond’s shoreline is almost all male dragonflies. And they are there to mate. Once a female shows up, their energy becomes even more intense. Let’s limit the judgements and just be happy that you are not female dragonflies. Other than our female dragonfly readers of course.
Two kinds of observers
So, there are two kinds of observers, or at least two… likely more. Anyway, there are two types of observers that I am thinking of. There’s the type who walks onto the ferry with their binoculars and cameras out and at the ready; and there is the type of observer that boards the ferry and has to pull stuff out of their bag to get to their camera which is buried at the bottom of the bag, oftentimes with several hats and a sandwich in the way. Usually at this point, a coffee is spilled, and the observer misses something good out in the ocean (say a porpoise or a bird) due to the fumbling around. I am of this latter group. It is what it is.
Butterfly a buggin’
A quick vocab lesson: Spraint | (noun) | often plural, a piece of otter poop.
Alright, back to the story. You remember the clockwise route I mentioned? Well heading clockwise, I move through the forest. Often, this is just a quick walk on my way to the marsh shore. Once I am down by the shores of the marsh I put my camera together. Single lens reflex type, with a zoomy thing on the front. I really have no good reason to wait to put my camera together, but this is tradition, and it is what it is.
So, I always put my camera together on this rock by the marsh. Same rock every time, it’s like a table for me. The other day I was fiddlin’ with my SLR and a butterfly (yes, a butterfly) comes out of nowhere and starts hassling me! (I may be exaggerating a little). But really, it was flying around my head and darting off only to return in the haphazard, frantic pattern that only butterflies master. “What did I do?” I asked out loud. I looked around and immediately realized what it was I’d done.
While I was using that one rock as a table I was also standing by another rock (this is Maine, there are rocks all over the place). Now this second rock is special to me because sometimes a local otter will use it as latrine! So, it’s special to me, and special to otters as well, I guess. A handful of times over the years I’ve found piles of spraint on this rock, and sure enough there was a fresh pile there that day.
The spraint was moist…
“Butterflies are so gross.”
The spraint was fresh. How could I tell you ask? Well, it looked moist, and it had a still glistening stream of brown liquid running down rock from it (see photo). Plus, there was a separate tiny brownish puddle inches away from the pile—the “splash zone” which hadn’t fully dried yet. One might call it “super fresh.”
I took a step or two away from the spraint and the pushy butterfly stopped harassing me. Instead, it landed on that second rock right next to the fresh spraint mound. Apparently, the rock was special to that butterfly too, or at least on this particular day it was. The butterfly was there for the spraint! A kindred spirit that I may have inadvertently spraint-blocked! My bad, my dung loving lepidopteran acquaintance!
Spraint as a resource
I quickly got my camera together and sure enough, after a moment or two (nearly a lifetime for a butterfly I suppose) the butterfly hopped over to the spraint. There it busted out it’s proboscis and started sucking. It was tapping into a food source that all the other insects flew right past… dung! Butterflies are so gross.
Suckin’ salt?
Now, I know what you are thinking, the butterfly was getting its daily salt intake. That was my first thought too! I mean, we’ve all seen it, at boat launches and pond edges, groups of swallowtail butterflies mingling around the ground, proboscis slapping where salts and minerals have collected. It’s a fun scene to watch, and butterflies often number in dozens or more. But that is not a scene where one leaves thinking, “man, butterflies are gross.”
If you think of it, it makes sense that salt might be a harvestable resource at otter latrines along the coast. Latrines can be littered with bits of crab exoskeletons, fish scales and bones, most, if not all, originating from the ocean. And the ocean is salty!
What the spraint?
“…the size and shape of the bones in the spraint signaled this otter had likely eaten a frog, or frogs.”
But this spraint was moister than the fresh spraints I’ve seen before, and it was also lacking crab exoskeleton pieces. There was no sign of any fish bones or fish scales. Oh, there were bones, and plenty of them. But they were not fish bones. Holding the pile together was a blackish, somewhat gooey-like material.
I didn’t want to impact the butterfly any more than necessary, so I didn’t poke around in the spraint. But later when I looked at the photos, the size and shape of the bones in the spraint signaled this otter had likely eaten a frog, or frogs. Amphibian spraint (spraint full of amphibian) has a different consistency than fish spraint, and one thing they definitely don’t have much of is salt. Salt and amphibians don’t mix, and if you don’t believe me…
Wait – what butterfly are we talking about?
Ha! Halfway through writing this story and I haven’t introduced the main characters in this story yet. Meet the northern pearly-eye butterfly (Enodia anthedon).
Northern pearly-eyes are a common butterfly of northern woodlands, but their behavior and adaptations make them an uncommon sighting (in my experience). Usually, I see a handful a year, fluttering around in the summer woods. Maybe I get a quick glance before getting back to the grind (I do work you know), but on this particular day I learned more than most of my past encounters with northern pearly-eyed butterflies.
Satyrs – this just may be the butterfly group for you
Northern pearly-eyes are members of the family Nymphalidae (brushfooted butterflies), specifically part of the subfamily Satyrinae (the Satyrs). When I started paying attention to butterflies in the 90s there was a push for Satyrs to be their own family, with their own cool Latin name and everything. Sounds like this is still in discussion today, which is just another reason why learning Latin names will never be more than a hobby for me.
As we humans, learn more, Latin names continue to change and evolve—probably more than just about anything in nature in my lifetime. In the past, I’ve learned the Latin name for mushrooms and new world warblers only to have the names change as DNA knowledge expands our understanding. I’m glad we are learning, but trust me, it’s not a good feeling to waste time and brain space on such things. And who says there aren’t more changes to come? I mean, it wasn’t that long ago when there were two accepted Kingdoms – plants and animals. Ohhh, the simpler times.
Anyway, this lesson in Latin has confirmed two perspectives I’ve held close to my heart, and that is (1) the critter (or plant, or fungus) doesn’t care what you call it, and (2) we, as humans, really don’t know spraint about anything!
Weren’t we talking about butterflies?
Anyway, Satyrs, yes, and their presence in the Nymphalidae. I’ll let our buddies Rich Cech and Guy Tudor say a little about this group, from their book “Butterflies of the East Coast”.
“Browns and satyrs feed exclusively on monocotyledons (grasses, sedges, cane).”
“Nearly all of the other subfamilies have at least some members whose adaptive strategies depend on toxic body chemicals, or mimicking species that carry such toxins. Distastefulness is in fact a defining trait of several important species groups… But the Satyrinae appear to be edible at all stages of life, and have in fact made it an art of surviving despite this vulnerability… This group merits careful study for its adaptive innovations… Finally, most nyphalids are brightly colored, but temperate zone satyrs are generally drab – or subtly muted at best.”
“Satyrs specialized as grass-eating, dung-sucking cryptics”.
“Satyrs have short proboscises and a characteristic enlargement (swelling) near the base of their forewing veins. The proboscis length is consistent with feeding on mud, dung, and decaying matter rather than nectar. The forewing swelling is thought to function as an auditory sensor, allowing browns to detect the approach of predators by sound.”
“The adult’s flight style, often described as weak or erratic, is actually well-crafted to be unpredictable, with sudden changes of direction and frequent sudden drops, hopefully not worth a predator’s while to pursue.”
Cool quotes and cool info! Thanks Rich and Guy!
Noted for their hearing (so cool) and erratic flight, there’s a lot more going on with these butterflies than looks and suckin’ nectar. Locally (mid-coast Maine) I see common ringlets (Coeonympha tullia) and common wood-nymphs (Cercyonis pegala) more frequently than I see northern pearly-eye, but that may be because of where I spend most of my time (observing in open meadows and shrubby fields rather than woodlands). Habitat habits can be hard to kick.
Here’s Cech and Tudor again with some insight on the woodland satyr group …
“Woodland Satyrs tend to stay close to the forest floor, where they feed on sap, dung, and putrefying materials.”
‘The northern pearly-eye, a hardy species that flies at twilight in dim, northern forests…”
So, catching back up to the present (more like a couple weeks ago) this northern pearly-eye was close to a forest floor and it wasn’t in the forest either… it was some 20 feet or so from the forest. And on top of that, it was far from twilight and there was nothing dim about the scene. Something was up.
Unquenchable thirst, undeniable smell
To me, it’s hard to fully imagine what it’s like to be a butterfly, or anything other than myself for that matter. I mean, it’s easy to imagine being a butterfly, but imagining things accurately is not easy. One thing for sure is that smells (be they pheromones, flowers, or a steaming piles of moist spraint) play a much larger role in a butterfly’s lifetime than they do in mine. And from watching butterflies, and for other assorted olfactory reasons, I am thankful I am not at the mercy of my sense of smell. Or at least not like butterflies are.
You think your spraint don’t smell?
Might be surprising to some, but I don’t actually make a habit of smelling spraint or any other scat for that matter. Fox urine? Sure, but when I visit otter latrines, I seldom pick up any smells whatsoever. Even in the heat of summer, I don’t notice the smells… Sometimes the latrine can be a little fishy, but in my experience, you’ve got to get low, right in there and take a big whiff to experience the smell. And if you don’t believe me…
The thing is, for an otter latrine to really work there have to be smells. Take a look at these sniffin’ and rollin’ videos of mid-coast river otters at a latrine…
Sure, there’s spraint and the white gooey stuff to look at and to learn from, but the latrines act as message boards between otters, both for a local population and for those that may wander into a territory. The messages left are not, “wow, crabs are good this year!” Nor are they, “lots of fish in the marsh!” No, instead, the messages are of identification and presence of otters and otter groups. They are messages of territoriality, messages of estrus, messages of welcome, and messages of stay away. There are numerous glands that add to marking these messages, so it’s not what’s in the spraint, rather it’s the whole package.
Smell undetected, still suspected!
“The smell of this fresh, moist pile of amphibian spraint was too irresistible to fight the urge.”
What would pull you out of your cozy habitat, during the heat of the day when you are a creature of twilight? Something smelly I bet (remember we are trying to think like butterflies). The smell of this fresh, moist pile of amphibian spraint was too irresistible to fight the urge. The amount of effort butterflies really put in to fight an urge or not is up for discussion, but for this Northern Pearly-eye a threshold of smell had been crossed. It was active, and actively pissed at me for getting in between it and the moist dung. Not on purpose!
This story ends with a poem
‘Otter spraint blues 15’ by Kirk Gentalen
I left the butterfly on the spraint,
just as I had hoped.
Been 20 years or so
a scene such as this I’d seen.
Same three thoughts
ran through my same one head
What a world,
Butterfly on poop,
Now why hadn’t I thought of that?
As if that wasn’t enough/in conclusion
I’m sure that there are people out there who talk about butterflies and their interesting adaptations, but I don’t ever hear from or about them. In my experience, butterfly people want you to think all butterflies are nice and pretty. It’s kind of like how nature people who want you to believe the forest is filled with “balance” and “calmness”.
To me, the Satyr group is an epitome of butterfly diversity and evolution. Satyrs, “the nonconformists”, go down their own path, taking advantage of increased hearing and non-traditional food items. Balking at toxicity, bright colors and mimicry Satyrs do their own thing. There may be no shinier example of butterfly diversity than a Northern Pearly-eye feeding on River Otter spraint. And with that in mind, how does one not totally love evolution?
Epilogue – same as it ever was
Earlier this year, I became intrigued by the concept of “once in a lifetime.” Now, whenever I encounter something new, like a Northern Pearly-eye butterfly feasting on river otter spraint, I wonder, “Will I ever see this again?” Every experience is unique, and this might be the only time I witness such a scene. While I doubt I’ll see that exact butterfly again, the encounter reminded me that nature is full of surprises. Whether I see it again or not, I’m just grateful for the experience. Spraint = survival. See you at the spraint, maybe with some lepidoptera friends!