Macro Nature Photography Captures the Secret Life of Little Things

Insects and their kin get a bad rap in our society. Aside from a couple of beloved outliers – think honeybees and butterflies – these critters are often viewed as pests, and many are loathed and even feared. This obscures the fascinating stories that surround their lives and the many ways they contribute to the planet, including their essential role in making our lives possible.

Food and sex are prominent motivators in the lives of insects, as they are in ours. The various ways insects satisfy these needs could be interpreted, through a human lens, as cruel and deceitful. The fecund creativity of evolution has yielded an insect world filled with intrigue. The storylines of insects are as gripping as the threads of deception and cruelty in The Godfather or Game of Thrones.

But like humans, insects also act benevolently. They can be caring parents, providing their offspring with everything needed to survive. And of fundamental importance to us, many have symbiotic relationships with flowers – good for the insects, good for the plants, and crucial for humans, for those plants produce the food we eat.

Above all, insects – and more broadly, arthropods, a group that includes insects, arachnids, crustaceans and other multi-legged invertebrates – are fascinating. Their complex, dramatic lives are largely unknown to us, but despite the great evolutionary gulf between us and them, a strong connection exists. Their stories can enrich our lives, and for the curious among us, engender awe and yes, respect.

Respect for insects and other arthropods guides Bob Noble, whose superb photography illustrates this article. Noble has documented many rare Canadian insects at Heart Lake Conservation Park in Brampton and northwards into Headwaters. He finds many of his favourite insect subjects living their remarkable lives along the Caledon Trailway.

What follows is a sampling of the wondrous lives of Headwaters insects.

European wool carder bee: Nest maker

For centuries people carded wool by hand, using two “cards” with a profusion of narrow metal tines. One card holds the wool, while the second is passed over the first to smooth and align the wool fibres in the same direction. The fleece is then removed from the cards, ready to be dyed or spun.

Small wonder, then, that a beautiful little bee was christened a “wool carder.” Female wool carder bees use their mandibles to scrape hairy fibres from plants such as lamb’s ears and, as seen in Noble’s photo, a native plant called pearly everlasting. They roll the fibres into a ball and carry them to a cavity in a stump, or perhaps a cleft in a rock, and use the “wool” to build nests for their larvae. These comfortable birthing chambers are then provisioned with pollen to feed the young.

Female wool carder bees practise polyandry by mating with many male partners, behaviour that can provoke moral outrage in the human world. Males will also mate with any females that enter their territory: patches of flowering plants that beckon females to collect pollen, nectar and “wool.” Territorial males have been recorded attempting to mate with the incoming females as often as every six minutes!

Females, apparently, play coy but will often accept the males’ attentions because of the resource-rich flowers nearby. Another wrinkle: small male wool carder bees, unable to defend a flower patch, will perch inconspicuously nearby and, given the chance, dart in to mate with females. Unsurprisingly, the territorial males don’t like this at all and will aggressively pursue the interlopers.

Flat-tailed leafcutter bee: Dual identity

Bob Noble’s continuing exploration of life in miniature offers the image of an amazing bee that exhibits both male and female external sex traits. Animals that demonstrate this dualism are called “gynandromorphs,” a term derived from Greek (gyne refers to female, andro refers to male and morph refers to form). In fact, Noble’s image shows the phenomenon of bilateral gynandromorphism, which means “an animal split neatly down the middle between male and female.”

Both invertebrates, such as insects, and vertebrates, such as birds and amphibians, may display bilateral gynandromorphism. Some cardinals, for example, exhibit both male and female traits. But this sharp bilateral division of sex characteristics doesn’t seem to show up in mammals, though whether it sometimes occurs in rodents is the subject of dispute.

In the photo, Noble’s flat-tailed leafcutter is female on its right side and male on its left. Note that the female side sports a somewhat larger mandible, or lower jaw, while the male side reveals a larger front leg. It is unclear how – or whether – these offset characteristics affect the bee’s chances of survival.

Eastern yellow-backed laphria: Deliberate deceiver

In Africa’s Serengeti region, a leopard climbs a tree and waits patiently for antelope to venture near. A herd of Thomson’s gazelles — small antelopes — approaches, and the leopard’s leg muscles tense, her body pulsing with expectation. She launches herself onto the back of one of the gazelles, delivering a fatal bite to the neck.

The eastern yellow-backed laphria, a species of robber fly, is a similar ambush predator. Like leopards, these insects perch expectantly near flowers that attract pollinators, then wait for their prey to come close. When a bee is within striking range, they dart out, grab it and return to their perch to eat.

Robber flies exemplify the ancient biblical idiom “a wolf in sheep’s clothing.” Evolution has cloaked them in the non-threatening garb of bumblebees, a type of disguise called “aggressive mimicry.” Other types of mimicry serve up ruses that make vulnerable animals appear threatening. Flower flies are examples.

The goal of the robber fly’s aggressive mimicry, however, is not to frighten potential predators, but to lull prey into complacency. We’re all aware of people who could be labelled “aggressive mimics,” predators who cloak themselves in an air of respectability to pursue nefarious agendas. But please don’t condemn the robber fly for moral failings. Instead, celebrate its evolutionary ingenuity.

And next time you’re in your garden admiring the constant traffic of bees and wasps, look around carefully for a “bumblebee” that isn’t acting like a bumblebee. Though these wonderful little predators aren’t rare, their deception fools not only bees, but us as well.

Trout-lily mining bee: Brief visitor

At one time, most of humanity depended on seasonal resources for food. Many of us, especially in less developed parts of the world, still do. Here in Headwaters, autumn Atlantic salmon runs once supported Indigenous Peoples and settlers alike. And we still look forward to the tapping of sugar maple trees in early spring and to the ripening of sweet corn in late July.

So it is no surprise that wild animals also depend on seasonal resources. But some insects depend so completely on fleeting resources that their annual period of activity is severely constrained. One of these insects is the trout-lily mining bee. This lovely little bee depends primarily on trout-lily pollen to feed its larvae, although it may also visit other spring wildflowers.

Its appearance in our woods, then, generally coincides with that of trout lilies, aka fawn lilies or dogtooth violets. These beautiful spring ephemerals last about a month in Headwaters, roughly from late April through May. When their brief period of bloom ends, adult trout-lily mining bees die. But their larvae, snugly settled in earthen tunnels, feed on the bounty of pollen their mothers provided, then enter a pupal stage that lasts through the summer. In the fall, they emerge as adults, but they must shelter in their lairs until the sun coaxes woodland wildflowers into bloom the next spring.

Trout-lily mining bees represent the many pollinators that have a narrow range of floral partners. These insects would disappear if their host plants disappeared. And their host plants would suffer if their dedicated pollinators disappeared.

Great golden digger wasp: Natural pest controller

Among the predatory insects few are as impressive as great golden digger wasps. One of the largest Headwaters wasps, they buzz into our gardens like miniature propeller-driven airplanes to drink nectar from bee balm, milkweed and mountain mint.

Their name is apt — or almost so. Their size makes them “great,” and they dig in soil to build their nests. But are they “golden”? Their upper abdomens and legs are brilliant orange. Hair on their upper bodies is also orange, but may be perceived as a rich golden colour.

Regardless, these wasps are lovely animals, and though their presence in gardens might inspire fear, they are gentle — except from the point of view of the orthoptera tribe, which includes grasshoppers, katydids and crickets. Energized by sugary nectar, great golden digger wasps hunt these herbivores, sting them and pack them into earthen tunnels to feed their larvae.

In the photo, a drumming katydid is the victim. The katydid is paralyzed but still very much alive. This keeps the katydid — the food — from spoiling until the wasp larvae hatch. The lingering death of any animal makes us uncomfortable, with good reason, but great golden digger wasps don’t prolong the misery of their prey out of malice. And we should appreciate, too, that these wasps and many of their kin act behind the scenes to control insects that raid our crops and gardens.

Tomentose burying beetle: Progeny protector

Airplanes enable humans to quickly fly from one city to another. And for some mites — tiny arachnids related to spiders — burying beetles are their passenger airplanes. The beetles can fly and the tiny flightless mites cling to them to get airborne transportation to distant food sources.

Phoresy, the term for this method of transport, means “an association between two species in which one transports the other,” a fairly common practice in the insect and arthropod world. Many flies and beetles are used as transport by tiny mobility-challenged arachnids. As far as I know, phoresy isn’t found in the vertebrate world, but I fondly recall my mother telling a much younger me that hummingbirds hitch rides on Canada geese — under the armpits (wingpits?) of the geese! This belief was once widespread because people couldn’t accept that tiny hummingbirds can fly thousands of kilometres on their own.

What’s in it for the beetles? Do the mites pay the equivalent of airfares? The best answer, it appears, is “it depends.” Burying beetles are aptly named. They locate a small dead animal such as a mouse, lay their eggs on the carcass, and then — surprise! — protect the eggs by digging a pit in the soil beneath the body and burying the mouse. When the eggs become larvae, they feed on the mouse carcass.

But burying beetles are not the only insects interested in dead animals. Blowflies also lay their eggs on deceased animals, and their maggots compete with the burying beetle grubs for the resource. This is when the mites step in. When they disembark from their beetle transports, fly eggs are their preferred food source. This helps the beetle larvae by reducing competition and, in a manner of speaking, “pays” the mites’ fares.

Ah, but nature is complex. The mites may also feed on the beetle eggs. This helps the beetles when blowfly eggs are abundant — but hurts when they’re not.

Yellow-legged flower fly: Aphid’s enemy

Stinging yellow jackets shout “back off” with yellow and black colouration. Lots of harmless insects such as yellow-legged flower flies have capitalized on this warning messaging. If robber flies mimic bumblebees to get close to their prey, flower flies — aka hover flies — mimic wasps to make predators think twice before they attack. Flower flies also fool us. My guess is that most gardeners label them bees or wasps when they are, in fact, harmless flies.

Yellow and black colouring triggers caution in many animals. Predatory insects and birds take notice – and so do we. Like flower flies, humans have exploited these colours. We use black and yellow to catch the attention of motorists. Signs that warn us of curves in roads and school zones are examples. I’m struck by how our visual and nervous systems converge with those of other animals.

Flower flies are a gardener’s friend. They lay eggs in aphid colonies and their larvae eat those plant pests with gusto. The inset photo shows the larva of a short-tailed aphideater, a related species of flower fly, enjoying its aphid lunch.

Black giant ichneumon wasp: Deadly driller

Biomimicry is a field of science inspired by how living organisms have evolved to solve challenges. Materials for human use are often inspired by these solutions. A well-known example is Velcro. In 1941, Swiss engineer George de Mestral looked closely at the burrs clinging to his dog after an outing — and went on to develop Velcro’s distinctive hook-and-loop design.

Medical engineers, attempting to develop safer and more effective surgical probes, have been inspired by the egg-laying appendages (ovipositors) of ichneumon wasps. Their ovipositors are impressive: 10 or more centimetres long, but the width of a hair. When not in use, they coil like garden hoses in structures at the tip of the wasp’s abdomen.

Ichneumon ovipositors can penetrate wood without kinking or breaking. The female ichneumons probe logs and stumps to find the larvae of wood-boring horntail wasp grubs and, sensing the presence of the grubs while drilling, can change direction if needed, a feature that would benefit today’s surgical probes.

But the wonder of ichneumon ovipositors goes beyond their remarkable flexibility and wayfinding. These needle-like organs also deliver enzymes that break down wood, and if that isn’t impressive enough, the tips are reinforced with ionized manganese, making them as strong as carbide-tipped drill bits.

When these organic drills contact a horntail grub, they inject a paralyzing serum and lay an egg. When the ichneumon eggs hatch, the larvae feed on their horntail hosts, pupate within the wood, and emerge as adults the next spring.

Horntail wasps have their own interesting story. They transport spores of a wood-rotting fungus and inject these spores into logs with their eggs. The fungus grows in the wood and is eaten by the horntail larvae. It also softens the wood, enabling the grubs to tunnel to their hearts’ content. All good, right? Not quite. The predatory ichneumons can smell the fungus and follow the scent to the horntail nursery logs. Upon arrival they unsheathe their ovipositors and begin drilling, spelling doom for the horntail larvae.

Shamrock orb weaver: Agile arachnid

Among the transformations that demonstrate evolutionary ingenuity and help animals survive, the adaptations of spiders are among the most spectacular. Imagine managing eight legs in a scramble across a sticky web to subdue an ensnared insect. Imagine the cognitive ability required to combine the sensory input of eight eyes into a comprehensible image. Imagine being able to spray a liquid that, upon contact with air, becomes flexible webbing stronger than steel by weight.

The shamrock orb weaver is common in the fields and meadows of Headwaters. These beautiful arachnids build the classic webs we think of when we think “spider.” Charlotte (in the children’s story Charlotte’s Web) is an orb weaver, albeit a wonderfully caring and literate one. Her* friendship with Wilbur the Pig, slated for the abattoir, led her to spin the words “Some Pig” into her web.

I once wondered whether any animals preyed on wasps and hornets. I now know that wasps, like all creatures, have enemies. Skunks and bears dig up their nests, praying mantises eat them alive, and I once watched a cardinal tear open a paper wasp nest to feed on the larvae. But the most effective wasp predators may be spiders like Charlotte and her kin.