Arizona Part Two, Prescott

    Knowing that it was terribly hot in Phoenix, we had planned the majority of our trip for higher altitudes.  Prescott, at almost 5,000 feet was not only higher but 20 degrees cooler. 

The White Striped Sphynx Moth, mort.

 

   Before I could pick up a net, Sandra found our first insect.  A White Striped Sphynx moth had expired in the corner of the steps leading up from the garage.  Suffice it to say, he held still for the photograph.  Later in our trip I wondered if he wasn't dead, just taking a long winter's nap, perhaps, because he seemed to have changed position.  As it turned out, my sweetie had attempted to extricate him for a better look, but he was sort of stuck.  And definitely dead.  To paraphrase John Cleese, "This moth was no more."

    Soon enough I picked up my net and on our first full day, in a grassy patch down the road, I found a yellow butterfly.  I netted him on the wing and brought him back to the laboratory.  He required a tiny bit of the freezer time (less than15 seconds) to render him cooperative. Once he was tractable, we got a fine lateral picture and then he flew.  

The Southern Dogface Butterfly, Prescott, Az.  April 2026

   At this point we made a game changing discovery, as he flew into the sink.  The surface tension of the relatively thin film of water there had adhered his wing to the porcelain, enabling us to take an acceptable picture of his dorsal surface.  This picture will never make the cover of Beautiful Butterflies, but many is the time when we have had a butterfly that would flap furiously yet never hold still in the wings out position for a portrait of his dorsal surface.  

   Do you suppose Neils Bohr or Albert Einstein were the recipient of some serendipitous accident that changed their game?  A quantum leap, as it were?  Is it possible that we could have defeated Tojo and Hirohito with wet butterflies in lieu of Little Boy and Fat Man?

    Well, for those of you who find yourselves in the dorsal surface quandary, I give you the Wet Porcelain Paradigm.

   Google lens initially suggested the California Dogface Butterly.  This, of course, was ridiculous, as everyone knows that the Dogs (or Dawgs if you prefer) reside in Seattle and Athens. Ga. And this turned out to be the Southern Dogface Butterfly.  Caitlin LaBar, in addition to the literature, points out that the California Dogface occurs only in California.  Cait says it has a purplish tinge to the black markings.  What a subtle lepidopterist is Ms. LaBar.

Porcelain Magic, The Southern Dogface Butterfly

    That was it for day one.   The following day, Chuck and I made a morning trek down to the swale near the spot where the pretty yellow Dogface was found.  A seasonal flow of water runs through this area, which supports grass and some sort of tall deciduous trees.  There were birds singing in the trees and we spotted some finches.  Also, a small gray bird in the top of one of the trees that might have been a kinglet or a vireo, but it was plenty drab and failed to hold my attention.  And, anyway, I was there for butterflies.     

   We didn't see anything for a while, and then a large tiger swallowtail came winging its way down the swale.  It flew right past us and Chuck, who was holding the net, gave three quick, fruitless swipes.  In his defense, I find it very difficult to net fast flying butterflies as they whip past. 

The Checkered White attempts and escape

   Chuck attempted to give chase, climbing halfway up a rip rap wall that supported the nearby tennis court.  Suffice it to say, that baby was gone. 

    As he came and went (the butterfly, not Chuck), I had a chance to get a pretty good look.  The things that struck me were, first, that he was very yellow.  Second that he was big. 
 

   Why all this fulmination?  Well, there is a life butterfly to be had.  You might have suspected as much.  The Two Tailed Swallowtail is the Arizona state butterfly.  Here is the information that Gemini AI gives us to support this choice.  First, the TTS is 20% bigger than the Western Tiger Swallowtail, and Mr. G thinks that is as enough to make it identifiable on that basis alone.  Of course, us lepidopterists know that butterfly size, unlike birds, is very tricky.

The Checkered White Butterfly, Prescott, April 2026

     Second, although the base yellow color on the two is very similar, the black markings on the WTS are thicker and bolder than on the Arizona TTS.  The black eats up more of the yellow ground, hence the Two tailed Swallowtail looks more yellow.  

     Last, the Arizona TTS emerges earlier than the Western Tiger Swallowtail.  And this emergence, as Cait will readily tell you, is based on humidity and temperature.  The TTS peaks in early May and WTS peaks a month later.

  If you see the double tail you, have it.  Which I did not. Place sad face emoji here.   

    At the end of the day, I think it is safe to say that my good buddy Gemini thinks we saw the Arizona state butterfly, albeit he will have to appear with an asterisk as big as the Grand Canyon.  Next time I see Mr. G at the Flap On Inn, I'm going to buy him a beer.  

Double the fun!

    After all that, you might think we did not see any more butterflies.  Far from it.  That afternoon I took my net and went back to the swale.  The sun was out, and it was pleasant enough to just sit on a flat rock and enjoy the sun on my back.  While sitting there, a white butterfly happened along.  I had seen several white butterflies at the golf course in Paradise Valley and thought they were cabbages.  I mean, who wouldn't?   In this case I stood up and moved in on the culprit, who had foolishly landed in a nearby clump of grass.  Positioning my net, I scooped him up.

    Back at the ranch, Sandra and I went through our usual procedure and produced the pictures you see here. This is the Checkered White.  It is a common spring butterfly in Arizona.  When I first caught him, it seemed like his ventral surface was a bit more yellow than appears in the picture.  

    On our last full afternoon, I made one more attempt at the butterflies in our bucolic development.  I looked long and hard at the seep but there were no butterflies there.  On the dry weedy ground above the seep, I spotted one of those tiny checkered moths.  I guess they are everywhere.  Luckily this one eluded my effort at capture.  As I have difficulty extricating the butterflies and getting them in the bag, this might have ended the hunt.  

Gray Buckeye ventral

    A few minutes later, I saw a dark butterfly land in the dry weeds close by.  As I approached, I recognized it as my new best friend the Ocellated Buckeye.  I approached the buckeye and attempted the catch, flopping the net over the butterfly, at which Sandra is so successful.  I, unfortunately, am not and the buckeye slipped out from under the metal loop and flew across the street.  Rats!

    This afforded me the opportunity to walk up the swale for fifty yards.  During that walk I made the acquaintance of a Rufous Sided Towhee perched on a branch, uttering that cat like call as he checked me out.  It was a little disappointing that we did not see the brown towhee, which must be around Prescott.

   Back on the road, I walked across to the spot where the buckeye had fled.  As I was standing there, a gentleman came along and we discussed what I was doing.  He was Swedish and claimed to know all the butterflies in Sweden.  He was an avid walker and could describe many of the butterflies in the vicinity, including a large blue butterfly with ocelli.  Sounds like a morpho, which would be about a thousand miles out of range.  He went off, presumably to enjoy the smorgasbord of life that the highlands of Arizona have to offer, and I returned to the butterflies.  

Gray Buckeye, Prescott, April 2026

    Soon another Gray Buckeye appeared.  I netted him as he landed in some taller grass and made it back to the ranch with my trophy in hand.  Here you see our best efforts.   After posing for a chilled ventral photo he flopped onto the floor, ending up a bit nose down.  So, our best pictures have a knotty pine background.

   Prescott was great for April butterflies.  I got tantalized by the possibility for an orange spot, and in the process learned what water cress, a wild mustard, looks like.  We'll keep our eye out for that beauty in the future.  Bob is still up one on me with the Arizona orange spot, but apparently, I have him 51 to zip on peccaries!

jeff

Phoenix Baking in the Spring

    Having transitioned from the land of the coconut to the PNW (Land of the Cold Rain?) our first order of business was to visit our children.  Unfortunately, they had moved to distant quarters, so we soon found ourselves in Sky Harbor Airport.  PHX.  the Valley of the Sun.

   For this part of our adventure, we had secured an Air BNB condo on a golf course in Paradise Valley, which is the western part of Scottsdale.  Sounds pretty nice, if perhaps a little on the well groomed side for a nature watcher.  This particular golf course, however, was noted by Gemini to be among the best places to watch butterflies in the area, what with the spaces between the fairways left to indigenous, or at least unmanaged, trees, grasses, etc.   Google's AI, through which I now run all my decisions from fantasy baseball to vacation planning, was the source of the recommendation.  My baseball teams are now in fourth and fifth place.  Take that for what it is worth.  If there is one thing I can say for Gemini, it makes its pronouncements sound reasonable and well thought out, not withstanding the ultimate results.

Tender and Mild.  The sweet javelina, mother and child

   April should be one of the two prime times for watching butterflies in Arizona, the other occurring just after the fall monsoons.  This year, however, climate change is all over the map.  Hawaii is currently experiencing its second Kona Low in a month, a previously rare windstorm with torrential rain.  And in Phoenix the temperatures, which are usually in the high 70s are in the mid 90s.  Bummer.

    Our first morning in the condo, Chuck and I were enjoying our coffee and looking out at the golf course, wondering if the golfers would take umbrance when we trod across the fairway and perused the edge of the rough for butterflies.  All of a sudden, I saw a fairly large mammal, the size of a springer spaniel, emerge from the moist swale between the fairways.  Being a Kona boy, I knew in an instant that this was a pig.  We have them in our yard back in the land of Kalua pork.  

    Charles was quick to put a name on the swine...it was a javelina.  These wild and native pigs of the desert are apparently found in his neighborhood a few miles to the east, although he had yet to see one.  In fact, he had been warned that they were a trifle dangerous, and so he had made no effort to become personally acquainted.  

Gray Buckeye, iNaturalist

   As we were on the second story and perhaps fifty yards away, he felt very comfortable with this particular pig.  We watched as it nosed along for a while and then a golf cart appeared.  It was hard to tell if the golfers were chasing a ball or the javelina.  In any event, it fled, racing up the golf course like a greyhound.  Our pal Gemini tells us that javelinas, alternatively known as Collared Peccaries, can attain 25 mph.  Humans 12 mph and greyhounds 45, unless they are on the side of a bus, in which case the sky's the limit.  Regardless, this guy was moving way faster than the golf cart.

   The day quickly became hot, and we watched the golfers in their carts only their avocation.  About 9:30 I made my way to that mid-course swale.  In some spots there was standing water with cattails.  Elsewhere there was wild grass and a variety of trees, including a palm, probably not native.  I heard bull frogs and saw a few birds, but little else was moving.

    Two hours later, I tried again.  This time I darn near tripped over a small tortoise that had dug himself a form fitting indentation in the sandy soil. As I walked along, something moved in the grass ahead.  I approached it cautiously and found a dark butterfly well ensconced in the grass.  He was a handsome devil, with ocelli and red stripes on the wing.  There were several blades of grass between me and the bug, so at this point netting was out of the question.  I approached for a picture and watched him opening and closing his wings.  It was God-awful hot out there and I wondered if that helped keep him cool.  Maybe I should open and close my wings?  

Dowitchers on the pond, Riparian Preserve, Gilbert, Az.

   Eventually he flew, never to be seen again.  Google images quickly permitted me to identify him as a Gray Buckeye.  Our friend, Bob Hillis had sent me a picture of this fellow from southern Utah, and I was ever so jealous.  Now we were even, vis avis Gray Buckeyes.

   The following day we went to Gilbert, a relatively new city south of Phoenix.  In the process of putting in a gazillion houses with interspersed shopping centers, the planners developed a park in the desert with a number of large ponds defined by dikes that support trails and plantings, hopefully including native plants that would attract butterflies.  In their wisdom, the planners called this The Riparian Preserve at Water Ranch.  

   We arrived at the preserve at 10.  The entryway was blocked off in such a way that we had to make a second pass and dodge around some cones, ignoring a sign that said the park was closed for a special event.  Once we were parked, I ventured into the preserve to find a gathering breaking up and a nice lady who not only explained that the Mayor's Prayer Breakfast had concluded and the park was open, but gave me some delicious strawberries and tangerines.

White Pelicans and Black Neck Stilts in the desert.

    As we entered, we enjoyed a Gila Woodpecker flitting between a handsome stand of Saguaros, many with holes that might be home for a woodpecker, an owl or a wren.  Setting off on the trail between two ponds, we encountered a number of Gambel's Quail.  After about a hundred yards, the trees lining the trail opened up to reveal a shallow pond with a flock of medium sized, long billed sandpipers, which turned out to be long-billed Dowitchers.  The people who set up the park knew what we would see, for nearby there was a picture heralding the dowitchers.

   Immediately we encountered a couple of about our age, which is to say ancient.  They both had binoculars and they were wearing those modern khaki hats with a curved brim and a cloth in back to protect one's neck from the merciless sun. I noted that they looked like they knew the territory and the gentleman corrected me, saying they were from Eugene, Oregon and this was their first time at the park.  "First impressions can be deceiving," he said.  Perhaps he teaches philosophy at the university.  

    It was really hot, so mostly I wanted information on how long it would take us to complete the circuit we had planned.  All he could tell me was that a bit further up there was an intersection of trails.  

Anna's Hummingbird, Gilbert, Az. Chuck Hill, photo.

   His wife noted that just ahead they had seen some birds, which we decided were avocets.  They were really close, she said, by which she meant she had approached them until they flew away.  We got to that spot on the opposite pond in just an additional fifty yards.  there were white pelicans, black neck stilts and a heron, but no avocets.

   Just as we made it to the intersection, which was dominated by a complicated system of valves, presumably controlling the water level in the many ponds, Chuck spotted a hummingbird on a low branch in a convenient tree.  I got around to the side where this extremely trusting bird permitted us to observe him from about six feet and saw a gorgeous male Anna's.  Chuck was able to get a picture.  I cleaned it up a bit and you see it here.

   A short distance around the bend, we got another pond view and spotted the avocets.  It was still blazing hot, so the consensus was to get back to car and some blessed AC.  You may have noticed that we did not see a single butterfly, but that's OK., we scored some strawberries and met some interesting people.  It was a good day in Gilbert.  Praise the lord!

jeff

   

    

     

The Hidden Hermit Crab Revealed or A Snorkel at Kahalu'u

    It only rained for a few hours yesterday, and with the surf coming down, it seemed like it might finally be time to return to the beach.  Seriously, with the tremendous rain and coincident run off (you figure it out) the beaches were deemed unsafe and those that the authorities' control were closed for five days.  Now that's a storm.

    We made it down to Kahalu'u on a beautiful morning, the sun shining brilliantly, a few fleecy clouds gracing the western horizon.  They might have been gracing the eastern horizon, as well, but then we would have been in Hilo. Wouldn't we?

Calcinus latens, the Hidden Hermit Crab

  Here on the leeward side (in the wake of the nasty Kona Low Storm, the K word has become verbum non grata) the water was cool and clear.  Presumably enough tidal exchanges had occurred to flush away the things we don't want to think about, and the fish were swimming gaily, as if nothing had happened.

   Even at eight AM, full contact snorkeling was in session.  After fighting off an exceptionally ardent competitor I reached the coral and immediately saw a shell clinging to the vertical wall about two feet down.  It wasn't a tiny shell, either, so I was full of hope as I plucked the coralline algae encrusted nugget from the wall.  It's hard to believe, but to that point I had not had a satisfactory hermit sighting in all these five months.  

   As I rolled the shell in my hand, I was elated to see a little fellow emerge.  He answered the bell like a regular pugilist, attempting to pinch me with his tiny claws.  Soon I had the camera at the ready.  Recently our friend Peter had alerted me to the little microscope on the selector wheel of the Olympus camera and to his success taking pictures of microscopic things.  

   So, what the hell. I selected the microscope and, as I floated in the modest current with just enough bumpy waves to make things interesting, vis a vis water in my windpipe, I attempted to photograph the little guy with this super close up feature.  All the while I was keeping us both afloat, breathing...all those good things.

   I was able to tell with my eyes, as opposed to looking at the camera, that this was one of our two crabs that have a constellation of white spots on the elbow of their chelipeds.  Do I sound like a carcinologist?  

     Both crabs are greenish but the tips of their walking legs are dramatically different.  As you can see, this fellow has purple and white socks with tiny black claw-like tips, greenish eye stalks with a white terminal band and blue eyes.  Those azure peepers must drive the lady crabs nuts.  this Romeo is Calcinus latens, the Hidden Hermit Crab.  

Hawaiian Cleaner Wrasse March 2026, Kahalu'u

    When you see that constellation of spots on the claws, there is a second possibility...Ca. guamensis.  The Guam Hermit Crab is not quite so green, its eye stocks are black tipped with a broad white band, its eyes are black with white speckles and its socks are a simple black stripe.   You may have guessed from the name that it is introduced.  From Guam!

     Thanks to these excellent pictures, I think we have the ID in hand.  Wasn't it lucky that God and St. Peter granted me the opportunity to take one more good hermit crab picture?

   After the hermit was replaced in his coral hideaway, I swam over near the breakwater.  There is a deteriorating chunk of coral that presents itself as valley with a pair of cleaner wrasse that have persisted for over a year.  On this day I got a picture of a cleaner that may suffice.

Crocodile Needlefish, Kahalu'u 2026

    Following that I swam out to the middle, where I saw my first Crocodile Needlefish for this trip.  I've seen bigger; these were only about 20 inches.  One of the duo was sufficiently brave to stay close for a picture.  That I had not seen one previously in the Year of the Horse may speak more to how infrequently I am snorkeling.  Or they may be becoming less common. 

   Ashore Sandra and I had a chance to visit with Kathleen and Haley.  We talked about our recent experience at Kawaihae.  They oohed and ahhred at my nudibranch pictures.  I forced them to look at the nice Ca. latens picture and Haley allowed that the hermit she sees at K Bay is the Cone Shell Hermit Crab.  I had not seen of these this year, despite turning over as many cone shells as I could.  

On the beach: Sandra and Haley

    Haley had recently photographed a Gold Lace Nudibranch at Kahalu'u.  I have only seen one and this is where I saw mine.  Mine was free swimming and I got a picture, but it was not nearly as good as Haley's, who was lucky to encounter the nudi on a rock.  She took my email address and promised to send along her excellent picture, which if she does, you'll get to see it.

    Good Haley, good nudibranch and goodbye from the land of sky blue waters.

jeff

Treat every wayward shell with an appropriate degree pf suspicion!

    

Kona Low Windstorm 2026 or "We thought you was a toad."

     This week climate change to the leeward side of the Big Island.  We here in Kona are protected from many of the wind and rain storms that ravage the Hilo side and much of Maui and Oahu, including Honolulu.  This week, however, the dear good Lord, who now wears the mantle of climate change, brought us into the picture. 

Jennifer Robbins says, "I told you it was coming."

 

     Recently we had some work done on the palm tree outside our kitchen window.  A monstera had grown up and up in such a way that 30 feet from the ground it was resting its leaves on our roof.  Well, you can't have that!  And so, we got our beloved gardener, Felix Henandez (no known relation to the Mariners former ace), to come and take care of those giant leaves.  He did a thorough job, removing about ten feet of monstera trunk from the palm tree.  His wife, Linda, and I carried about 300 pounds of trunks and leaves from down in the garden and up to the truck. 

Rhinella marina, the Cane Toad, enjoys the storm

    A week later came the first wave of the Kona low.  It was a wind storm from the south, sporting gusts in the 40 mph range.  As it turned out, Felix had destabilized the monstera in such a way that it dropped another 200 pounds of trunks and leaves, which the following morning I hauled up to our carport, cut to size and fitted into yard debris barrels.  

   That afternoon the real storm, the one Jennifer Robbins at KHNL had been threatening us with, roared in from the south.  Over a few hours we had 65 mph gusts and 7 inches of rain.  This combination was unprecedented.  Storms from the south are so rare that most people here leave their south facing windows open all the time.  We weren't the only ones who, while watching the rain blow sideways, suddenly realized that it was blowing through those windows into the house.  As soon as we realized what was going on, we got those windows closed wiki wiki.

    There was some sporadic flooding around Kona and the night club above the ABC store in the village had its roof blown off, but mostly we were OK.  By contrast, the people in Pahoa, the wild west town outside Hilo, just got their electricity back yesterday.  

Mr. Toad.  I remember him Horatio. An amphibian of charm and wit.

    It may seem like a trivial aside, but back in the lower 48 March is Spring Break.  Undoubtedly, there are scores of young families hunkered down, watching it rain, and muttering dire epithets against Pleasant Hawaiian Holidays.  

     And don't think the storm was an isolated bit of bad weather.  It has continued to rain, and all the beaches are closed for what is somewhat euphemistically called brown water.

    The following morning it was time to clean up.  We lost two palm trees (luckily, they didn't fall on the house.)  In the process of gathering leaves and fronds down in the garden, I spotted a toad sitting quietly under a succulent.  Because this is the dry side of the island, we don't see toads very often, so this was a real treat for me.  Yesterday, as I was sawing a fallen palm tree, I spotted the toad in exactly the same place.  Things were a bit more under control, so I hauled up a load of palm trunk and returned with the camera.  I hope you enjoy my pictures of Mr. Toad.  

    This is the Cane Toad, Rhinella marina.   Until recently it went by Bufo marinus, but the guys at the Journal of Toads and Newts, in an attempt to justify their phony baloney jobs, had to change the scientific name.  The Cane Toad was introduced to Oahu from Puerto Rico in 1932 in an attempt to provide a predator for a beetle that was attacking the sugar cane.  As it turned out, the toad was very successful and ate everything except the beetle.  It now supplies a charming garden presence on all the major islands.

If only it were that simple.

   In a similar manner, we acquired barn owls and mongooses.  And guess what...we still have rats!

   Personally, I think the toad is quite handsome and I wish we had more.  Pet owners, however, don't feel the same.  When endangered, the toad secretes a toxic substance from a gland behind the eye.  Bufotoxin is poisonous to cats, dogs and even humans that are stupid enough to handle the toad.  It can make you sick, cause seizures and even death.  Perhaps I should send one or two to 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue.  If I dress it up like a Russian supermodel perhaps my nemesis will give it a smooch and succumb.  If only it were that simple. (Sigh.)

   No article about toads, at least here at the Kona Beach Blog, will pass without a mention of Delbert, a charmingly simple fellow, with a penchant for robbing Piggly Wigglies.  In Oh Brother ,Where Art Thou, he memorably whispers to his friend Pete, "We thought you was a Toad."  They're in a movie theater in Mississippi, Pete has been reincarnated after vanishing at the hands of the Sirens, leaving a leopard frog hopping in his work shirt on the banks of a stream.  If you haven't seen O Brother..., I insist that you watch this movie right away.  

    And in the meantime, leave the toad kissing to the experts on Pennsylvania Avenue.

jeff

Snowflake Octocoral at Kawaihae Harbor

    This week Peter and Marla returned for a brief visit to Kona.  This afforded me a chance for some excellent snorkeling, if only Peter could fit me into his crowded dance card.  Yesterday morning, the four of us, and even more as it turned out, met at Kawaihae.

Note the gills on this Trembling Nudibranch

    It was a beautiful day, with just a bit of mist at the foot of Kohala mountain as we completed our drive to the harbor.  Tuesday was one of those odd tropical days, when there was very little tidal exchange; as we arrived the tide was low, about plus half a foot and it would stay that way for roughly eight hours.  

   Soon, Peter and I were finishing our preparations, and he noted that I wasn't wearing much in the way of lead, only two pounds compared to the eight that he was wearing.  This is the usual amount that I carry at Kahalu'u where the swimming is much different, with shallow rocks, currents and waves (so maybe I'm more concerned about drowning) than the situation at Kawaihae with still, deep water.  He was polite enough not to criticize me, leaving it up to me to experience the error of my ways on my own.

   As we entered beside the LST ramp, it was obvious that the water was not too cold and very cloudy.  Visibility was less than five feet.  We gave a gentleman who was fishing from the foot of the ramp a wide berth and we swam out to the first platform.  This is the smallest of the three that the army uses to moor the LST which brings some amazingly large, wheeled vehicles from Oahu for maneuvers at the Pohakuloa training base up on the Saddle Road .  A clump of branching coral that once housed a developing Klein's Butterflyfish was still there, with no baby butterflies, and little else.

Painted Nudibranch Kawaihae 2026

   We swam out to the second platform, bigger with many more pilings, but still with no significant finds.  And so, empty handed, we went to the third platform.  Halfway around the shady side I encountered a beautiful soft coral.  When I showed it to Peter, he said that this was likely an octocoral and it may be an invasive species.  Suffice it to say, I took plenty of pictures and we continued our perusals.  

   Simultaneously, we found nudibranchs on opposite ends of the platform.  I found a pretty trembling about eight feet down on one of the inside pillars.  I dove several times in this tight quarter to get a picture that while in focus, is still above the nudibranch.  

Radioles and pinnules, A closeup of a feather duster worm

    As an aside, I have been making a set of larger nudibranchs out of Anne Van Brunt's clay and while this picture is not perfect, it provides a really good look at the gills.  I had not noted the white base in the past and I'm going to have to go back and make tiny alterations to my model.  

   Extricating myself, I swam around to where Peter was working with his nudibranch which was thankfully still visible.  Peter had a Painted nudibranch which was now about four feet deep on the outer, sunny side of a corner pillar.  His nudibranch was small and dark.  Four feet is a difficult depth if you are not wearing enough weight.  If you are trying to flip and free dive, your fins aren't able to get a purchase in the water, and you bob right back to the surface.  If you are appropriately weighted, you can just sink down that short distance.  So that's my excuse for this mediocre picture.  On the bright side, it does illustrate how far forward the gills are on the slender body.  

Snowflake Octocoral. Kawaihae, March 2026

   I'm going to bet that Peter has an excellent picture of this nudibranch, so watch his blog, onebreathkohala, for his excellent pictures and insights.  

   There were at least three feather duster worms on display on these pilings ranging from eight to ten feet deep.  I commented that I could still remember how delighted I was to see my first feather duster and Peter noted that at the minimum they were very photogenic.  With that in mind you are going to be treated to a duster photo or two.

    The individual feathers are called radioles,  The tiny side branches that hold the feather together are called pinnules.  And these are covered with microscopic cilia that beat rhythmically, drawing food to the center of the crown.   More than you wanted to know about feather duster worms?

   The water near shore was impossibly cloudy and so we were soon showering off in what I maintain is the best shower, worldwide. A few feet from the glimmering Hawaiian ocean with a view of Mauna Kea not too far away, this is one spectacular location and the fresh water on a warm day is pretty delightful.  And the perfect place to clean my bleeding leg wounds...swimming around encrusted pilings is bound to inflict some damage!

The orange stalk is actually an encrusting sponge.

   Our friends,  Hai and Lottie and their daughters had arrived, and we visited for a few minutes before Sandra and I needed to dash off for our appointment in Waimea.  

   So what about that octocoral.  Back at the ranch, I reviewed the octocoral in Joh Hoover's critter book.  This piece was written in 1999 and, what with the warming of the oceans, things have changed.  Hoover lists a single species, Sarcothelia edmonsoni, and he notes, as we suspected, that octocoral derives its name from the eight tentacles that are borne by the polyps.  Other corals in Hawaii have six tentacles.

   At this point I repaired to Gemini AI.  Say what you will about the people at Google, but between Google lens and Gemini, they have provided the amateur naturalist with a couple of powerful tools with which to explore, identify and explain our world. 

    So let's scoot ahead to 2026 and see what Gemini has to say about our octocoral situation.

    The really big news is that there is now an exceedingly nefarious octocoral found mostly near Oahu.    This is Unomia stolonifera. Gemini writes, "This is an aggressive, fast growing soft coral that smothers native reefs and has no natural predators in Hawaii. It has already devastated native reefs in Venezuela.

   "It is pinkish white, and is known for its dancing, 'pulsing' motion of its polyps."

   Snowflake Coral, Carijoa riisei, is our established invasive...it's been in Kona for decades.  "It is particularly destructive below 75 meters, where it overgrows and kills Black Coral."  FYI Black Coral is the stuff from which jewelers fashion Hawaii's state gem.

     You will notice in my excellent pictures (you see, I do OK when I'm not bobbing up and down like a frickin cork) that the octocoral appears to have brownish orange stalks leading up to the tentacles.  This is a symbiotic red encrusting sponge, Desmapsamma anchorata.  The relationship makes both species more effective at taking over the reef.  The sponge produces a cytotoxin which defends the octocoral against predators and it strengthens the runners (stolons),  enabling the coral and the sponge to overwhelm the reef more effectively.

And the world will never be the same.

   Snowflake coral grows in diving depths, but is also known from snorkeling depths, especially in harbors where the piers with their pilings provide high water flow and dense shade.

    Voila. If you see an octocoral in Kona today, it is probably Snowflake Coral.  Like real snowflakes the coral tentacles are bright white.  Real snowflakes are reputed to be infinitely singular.  These polyps, on the other hand, dependably bear eight tentacles.  

   The world is changing, so enjoy it while you can,

jeff

The Usual Suspects

     My choice of swimming venues is currently limited, so it seems I am seeing fewer species that might qualify as blog worthy.  Still, I'm seeing some fish that made me very happy when I first started snorkeling in Kona.  Recently the surf has diminished, and the water clarity has improved, providing the opportunity to take some better pictures of what we disparagingly call the usual suspects.  

     A few days ago, I went swimming on the Paul Allen side of the pier and saw painfully little.  That night I dreamed of swimming with eagle rays, perhaps because my best eagle ray encounter, lo these many years ago, took place just seaward of the entrance to Paul Allen's Lagoon.

    As an aside, some of you may wonder about Paul Allen's legacy.  Paul was never a big time fish watcher, but he did provide some serious cash in pursuit of PNW sports franchises.  Immediately after the Seahawks won the Superbowl, their current owner, the Paul Allen Estate, put them up for sale.  His will dictated that his assets, including the Seahawks and the Trailblazers be sold and the proceeds go to charity.  

Pearl Wrasse, Kahalu'u 2026

    Seattle fans have a dream:   MacKenzie Scott (Jeff Bezos's ex), Melinda Gates and Jody Allen (Paul's younger sister and primary heir, who manages the trust that currently owns the Seahawks) will team together to buy the franchise.  It is possible, despite what one hears in the Seattle media, that this is only a dream.  But such a grouping of three fabulously wealthy ladies in the Jet City, coming together to buy the favorite sports team, is the stuff that dreams are made of.

   And what about the Thurston estate, which provides the sea front for Paul Allen's Reef?    Following Paul's death, the estate was sold to Sam Altman, CEO of Open AI for 47 million.   I have not seen anyone using the estate for several years, and now it is back on the market for 49 million.  If one were considering this simply for a base from which to watch fish, there are probably better bargains.

    A couple days after that disappointing swim, I went to Kahalu'u.  To be honest, the highlight of that excursion occurred as I was sitting on a rock in the entry, putting on my fins.  As I sat there, over the seaward lava came a middle-aged foursome.  Walking on those rocks on your way out of the bay is never a good idea.  In this instance, one of the gentlemen had copious blood dripping down both shins.  A true "Oh my God" moment.  Could he have attempted to crawl onto the lava knees first?  Note to swimmers:  swim all the way in and sit in the sand to take of your footwear!

Yellowtail Coris, supermale, Kahalu'u 2026

     At any rate, the water was clear, not too cold, although it wasn't pulsating with marine life.  I did see a couple nice fish, though, including a female Pearl Wrasse near the Rescue Shelter. 

    On my last spin up the middle, I photographed a nice male Yellowtail Coris. This species has four distinct patterns.  The keiki are red and white, sometimes called the Red Labrid Wrasse.  I had been lucky to see one at Ho'okena last week.  There is an intermediate that is fascinating as its coat turns from red and white to the female pattern, which is the most common.  And then you have the big males with the striking cobalt blue and lime green face pattern.  This is certainly one of the most striking among fish we see regularly.

   As you can see, usual suspects in calm, clear water are dramatically better than no suspects in choppy current! 

Teardrop Butterflyfish, Kailua Kona Pier, 2026

   Yesterday, conditions were the most calm yet.  It was one of those days when the tides varied little; it was going to be about half a foot, which is pretty shallow, for most of the day.  Since I wasn't excited about crawling over the rocks at Kahalu'u, we went to the pier.  

    There has been a different cruise ship in port every day for a week.  Yesterday Kailua Kona hosted the Ruby Rainbow, or something like that.  The ship was huge, home to 3,000 guests.  As I stepped into the water, I was greeted by the welcoming smell of diesel exhaust, courtesy of the multiple tenders ferrying the myriad cruisers from ship to pier and back again.  Keeping an eye on those floating buses, I swam out into some exceptionally clear water.  It was as clear as Ho'okena had been last week.  This time I had the camera at the ready, but would I see some worthy subjects?  

     Out past the last swim buoy, over a coral reef, I spied four Teardrop Butterflyfish .  The top of the coral was about eight feet down.  It rose from the bottom perhaps fifteen feet below. I got a picture of all four and one of a single that floated up a little nearer the surface.  This is a nice picture, but it would have been better if the fish was faced more forward.

Oval Butterflyfish, Kailua Kona Pier 2026

   I had seen some Oval Butterflies on the way out and then again among the coral in the deeper water near the fourth swim buoy.  As I worked my way in, I found a cooperative pair in the coral near the second swim buoy.  The water was very clear there and only six feet deep.  

   This is one of my favorite Hawaiian fish.  The bright gold surrounding the pectoral fin reminds me of those illuminated houses made famous a few decades ago by Thomas Kincade.  His publicist portrayed him as the painter of light.  Can these ovals be the butterflies of light?  In any event, they are a jewel among the usual suspects.

jeff

Monarchs Mating in Our Front Yard!

Monarchs doing what they do.

    



Two days ago, in the late afternoon, I was preparing a papaya for dinner. It was a juicy one and messy. Suddenly I heard Sandra (who had climbed our driveway to retrieve the mail) yelling for me. Thinking she was in trouble, I dashed to her aid.

"Are you all right?" I queried.

"There's two butterflies on the ground!" she yelled back.


Now here is a lady in touch with her priorities. This butterfly shit is an emergency!

I made my messy papaya way up to where Sandra was standing. There on the stone step, as advertised, were a pair of Monarch Butterflies, one on top of the other.

Schmoopie had already enjoyed an eye full, so she was dispatched to get a phone (ten years ago it would have been a camera) while I watched the action. What I witnessed was surprisingly violent. One has to assume that it was the male who was on top. He changed position frequently, always keeping the damsel underneath.


Sandra returned with her phone and attempted to take a video. Following that, she took several still shots, which was a good thing, because between the two of us we were unable to produce a video. All of this fetching and photography took five minutes. I said something like, "How long do you think they will go at it?"

Photos courtesy of SKG Studios, Sherman Oaks, Ca.




Sandra is an excellent reader and so she had a much better idea than I. She replied, "The books say this can go on for up to16 hours." We have since verified this, looking specifically at mating behavior in Monarchs, with Mr. Google. After a few more minutes of observation, during which I alternately felt like a voyeur or perhaps that I ought to call the domestic violence team down at Kailua PD, it was apparent that this was going to go on for a while and we might as well leave them to it.

As it turned out we went in and watched the news and had dinner. When we went out after, it was getting dark and the butterflies were either going at it somewhere else, or they had completed the transfer of genetic material and conjugal gifts.


As above, the movie may exist somewhere in Schmoopie's phone, but if it does neither of us can find it. We did have four serviceable still pictures, however, and you can see the two best here. We sent two to Caitlin back in the lower 48 and by the next morning she had replied. "Yes," she said, "that's two butterflies doing what they do."


That Caitlin LaBar is one delicate wordsmith.


For my part, I'm wondering if that male Monarch should be applying for work at one of those seedy video establishments in Sherman Oaks.

jeff