Post by NathanGrosse on Aug 3, 2016 3:36:07 GMT
Today while out collecting in a local county park with mixed deciduous forest/native prairie habitat, I came across many usual species for my area (Minnesota, USA). I netted about half a dozen Cupido comyntas, a Limenitis archippus (a species that had eluded me until today) and a female Papilio glaucus in unusually good shape, amongst other species. However, the most exiting (and infuriating) thing I came across today was yet to come.
As I was hiking through a more densely wooded path, I turned the corner where there was a break in the trees. Wild raspberries abounded. Suddenly, there it was: a huge flash of black and yellow. This was a swallowtail, but this was no P. glaucus or P. canadensis--too much black above--nor was it P. polyxenes; too small. (Yes, here in the northern U.S., we only have three regularly occurring species of swallowtail). But I instantly recognized this huge beauty: tt was Papilio cresphontes, the Giant Swallowtail. Not a particularly spectacular species by swallowtail standards, but a rare stray in my area only observed every few years. Definitely something I hadn't seen before. The specimen lazily flew over the raspberry bushes, almost landing here and there, but never quite staying still. I gripped my net, drew a deep breath and told myself "Nathan, don't blow this..."
If you read the title of this thread, I'm sure you can see where this story is going... I slowly walked into the bushes, not caring about the thorns in the slightest. The butterfly perched on a branch about a meter ahead of me and I knew I had my chance. I snapped the net over it, and... There was nothing. Nothing in the net, nothing below. I had been looking at the specimen the whole time and had sworn it hadn't flown away, but sure enough, it wasn't there.
I stared in bewilderment for a few seconds, then frantically looked back and forth for where it could have gone, but there was no sign of it. After more then a few seconds of profuse cursing, I stood up (the raspberry thorns seemed much sharper all of a sudden) and walked back onto the path. I watched the edge of the forest like a hawk, searching for the swallowtail. Twenty minutes later, it was still nowhere in sight. Then suddenly, as if to taunt me, it appeared out of nowhere and flew past me at a blazingly fast speed I couldn't possibly match. Then it was gone for good. I'm debating going back sometime tomorrow to the same site to try to catch this specimen again, but for now, that Giant Swallowtail is the one that got away.
I'm sure many of you have had similar mishaps while in the field. How about we all share our saddest collecting-related stories here so we can share in each other's misery?
As I was hiking through a more densely wooded path, I turned the corner where there was a break in the trees. Wild raspberries abounded. Suddenly, there it was: a huge flash of black and yellow. This was a swallowtail, but this was no P. glaucus or P. canadensis--too much black above--nor was it P. polyxenes; too small. (Yes, here in the northern U.S., we only have three regularly occurring species of swallowtail). But I instantly recognized this huge beauty: tt was Papilio cresphontes, the Giant Swallowtail. Not a particularly spectacular species by swallowtail standards, but a rare stray in my area only observed every few years. Definitely something I hadn't seen before. The specimen lazily flew over the raspberry bushes, almost landing here and there, but never quite staying still. I gripped my net, drew a deep breath and told myself "Nathan, don't blow this..."
If you read the title of this thread, I'm sure you can see where this story is going... I slowly walked into the bushes, not caring about the thorns in the slightest. The butterfly perched on a branch about a meter ahead of me and I knew I had my chance. I snapped the net over it, and... There was nothing. Nothing in the net, nothing below. I had been looking at the specimen the whole time and had sworn it hadn't flown away, but sure enough, it wasn't there.
I stared in bewilderment for a few seconds, then frantically looked back and forth for where it could have gone, but there was no sign of it. After more then a few seconds of profuse cursing, I stood up (the raspberry thorns seemed much sharper all of a sudden) and walked back onto the path. I watched the edge of the forest like a hawk, searching for the swallowtail. Twenty minutes later, it was still nowhere in sight. Then suddenly, as if to taunt me, it appeared out of nowhere and flew past me at a blazingly fast speed I couldn't possibly match. Then it was gone for good. I'm debating going back sometime tomorrow to the same site to try to catch this specimen again, but for now, that Giant Swallowtail is the one that got away.
I'm sure many of you have had similar mishaps while in the field. How about we all share our saddest collecting-related stories here so we can share in each other's misery?
