Charlotte's Web

One of the first stories of wildlife I remember reading was Charlotte's Web, by EB White.  The unlikely friendship of a pig and a spider reassures the young reader that even when one thinks one is alone in the world, one really isn't.

Spoiler alert for those who haven't read the book, but enjoy reading books for youth and might one day read this one:

The story finishes with Wilbur, the pig, finding Charlotte, the spider, missing, and astonished that her offspring fly off into the wind with nary a concern for their future.  With glee, they catch the wind with their threads, disappearing into the atmosphere.

Araneus Diadematus is Charlotte.  She is the most abundant orb weaver in Canada who can claim responsibility for spiral (orb) webs larger than 30 cm.

Each day of their lives, as long as the weather is dry, they spend 30-60 minutes building a web in the dawn hours.  Typically, they'll rebuild in the same location, but they will change locations to suit food abundance and personal safety.  As they reach maturity, their mobility decreases (they are poor walkers) so they spend the final months of their lives in the same home, under a man-made ledge or a cluster of leaves in a hedge.

In the dark nights of fall, the now heavy females then make one final pilgrimage to find a nesting spot for their eggs.

October, 2012

She is gravid - her abdomen is full of eggs.  After laying her eggs, her abdomen will shrink to about a fifth the size - the size of her cephalothorax (she will look similar to a male).  She will guard her eggs, but ceasing to build any webs (a good nest site is not necessarily a good web site), will eventually starve and die.

On a spring day, about 6 months later (as was the case for these), the warmth and dryness will trigger her eggs to hatch.  Thousands of tiny yellow bodies will cluster together for a few days while they get a bearing on life.  Then one by one, they will crawl to a relatively high point where they will release a thread of silk, allowing it to be caught by the wind, and be ballooned off towards new lands.

Each one, with legs outspread, could fit inside the 'o' on your screen.

At least six eyes are visible.

Ballooning spiderlngs have been witnessed, kilometres-high in the sky.  They are equivalent to atmospheric plankton, going where their currents take them.  This effective dispersal strategy typically makes them the first arrivals to any newly terra-formed volcanic island, though they may need to wait a while for food to arrive.

As soon as they can walk, they know how to spin a web. Their instincts lead them to build their first web with a technique identical to the last web they will build.  There are no practice webs, no "I was feeling lazy so this is the best I could do" webs, no bragging about "this is my best web, let me Facebook this".  No emotional excuses for doing what they need to do to survive, to propagate their species.  They build webs, simply because they are spiders.

Bald on the beach

On the way back home from a grocery run one afternoon, we saw a large convocation of eagles on the beachward side of the roadway.  We pulled over, and witnessed about 30 bald eagles in the midst of a frantic feast (though wild animals do tend to always dine in degrees of franticness).

Taking off with the bounty

With nearly a dozen eagles permanently guarding what remained of the food, another dozen or so sitting on nearby perches, and another couple dozen or so in the air flying in, grabbing bits of food, and flying off, and another few dozen or so in trees savouring their meal, there were perhaps 60 eagles in the vicinity.

Latecomers

It was only after about 10 minutes of observation that it became clear to me what they were eating - discarded salmon heads and backbones.  A fisherman had dumped them on the beach, to the enthusiastic glee of the many eagles.

Giving chase - entering the mad foray surrounding the pile of salmon carcasses might require boldness only the tenacious youngsters or the more senior adults possess, but intimidating another eagle to drop its food is something anyone can do. One needs to consider the ocean-bound scavengers, however, such as the seal in the foreground.

Onlookers

Fanny Bay - not just known for their oysters

One of my sources for information about nature on the island is Island Nature .  It is because of that site that I first heard of the herring spawn in Comox, driving my desire to visit the beaches there.  The blog also informed me of the sea lions stationed at a floating wooden structure at Fanny Bay (location of the famed Fanny Bay oyster farms), which was on our way up to Comox.

I've seen sea lions in the wild, but never this close, and never this many.  They are here for the herring.  From the parking lot we could already hear their loud barks.

"I hear barking, but they don't look like dogs"

Rafts of lions

From our pier, we were probably only 10 metres away from the boisterous pinnipeds.  We didn't think we could get any closer.  But we did.  A dive boat had just dropped off its divers, and the driver of the boat asked if we'd like a short boat ride to the raft of sea lions. Who would say 'no'?

Contentment

barking contest

The type who can sleep despite the ruckus

I think we all know who the bully is here

Sea lions are one of the creatures who are quite comfortable with humans, making them easily viewable.  With full bellies, and about four times heavier than any of us, they did not seem to care as we circled them in our boat.  They shouted barks in our general direction, but were generally more concerned with preserving their prime resting spots, making for a wonderful viewing opportunity.

Herring - the signal for the start of spring

A dozen or years ago, I watched the Planet Earth series for the first time.  I watched the entire series with enthusiasm, as it introduced me to groundbreaking form of wildlife cinematography. Each animal story was framed inside its ecology, to illustrate beautifully the food web.

Each episode of the series would focus on specific biomes, and one of those was Cold Waters, referring mostly to waters in the Pacific Northwest.  It described one of the natural wonders of the BC coast - the return of the herring to the beaches where they were hatched. 

Yellow brick road

For a few days, timed with a high tide, herring will proceed to spawn in the intertidal beaches.  The eggs are intended to stick on smooth surfaces like bladderwort and kelp, but billions upon billions of eggs will float away with the pounding surf and coat the beaches.  About a week later, those that survive desiccation and predation they will hatch during a high tide.  The congregation of fish does not go unnoticed, and sea lions, orcas, and sea birds will all gorge themselves on the buffet.  It is the sheer number of spawning herring that ultimately gives their next generation a fighting chance.

Peering out at the world with well developed eyes

A minute-old hatched herring next to two eggs

Tide pools are filled centimetres-deep with herring roe.  In this photo, maybe one egg might reach maturity.

We missed the actual spawn by a few days - we were told that orcas and hundreds of sea lions passed through the week before to follow the herring.

The males employ a shotgun approach at fertilization, ejecting milt (sperm) into the water after a female has laid her eggs, turning the water an aquamarine colour.

Herring roe is traditionally used by native first nations as a food source, and I wanted to try it - I picked up a clump, and bit in.  The salty crunch is no different from the Tobiko used in sushi.