A Lovely Day, A Rushing River, A Historic Bridge

Here it is, nearly October, and summery warmth continues,  although thankfully moderated to a more comfortable level. It was so nice today, my husband Denis and I took a picnic up to Hadley, to a lovely little park on Dean Mountain Road, overlooking the rushing whitewater Sacandaga River, just upstream from where it joins the Hudson.  The sound of the rapids just below the deck we sat on was tranquilizing, and the view downstream included sight of the lovely old historic Parabolic Bridge linking Hadley to the village of Lake Luzerne.

A bench on this deck offered comfortable seating while we picnicked, accompanied by the music of rushing water just below us.

The sound of the rushing water so close beneath us was delightful. And for good reason. I have read that crashing water (think pounding surf, babbling streams, or waterfalls) creates negative ions in the air that can have a tranquilizing and mood enhancing effect, as this article from WebMD explains.  And the Sacandaga River always provides plenty of negative ions, thanks to its abundance of whitewater rapids.

Our downstream view included two bridges spanning the Sacandaga River, the nearer one a railroad bridge and a second bridge beyond it, a parabolic bow bridge, which is quite an interesting historic structure. 

Here's an entry from Wikipedia that presents some information about this bridge:

"The Hadley Parabolic Bridge, often referred to locally as the Hadley Bow Bridge, carries Corinth Road (Saratoga County Route 1) across the Sacandaga River in Hadley, New York. It is an iron bridge dating from the late 19th century.

"It is the only surviving iron semi-deck lenticular truss bridge in the state, and the only extant of three known to have been built. In 1977 it was listed on the National Register of Historic Places. Shortly afterwards it was closed to vehicular traffic, and at some time later to pedestrians as well.

"The county had considered demolishing it, but held off after heavy lobbying from local preservation groups. In 2006 it was reconstructed and restored with federal and state grants, and reopened without any load restrictions." 

And here's a little closer view of this handsome historical bridge, thanks to my camera's zoom. When I'm heading north toward Lake Luzerne on Rte. 9N, I often take a short detour through Hadley just to cross this bridge and enjoy the view of the river beneath.  So beautiful!

Same Pond, Same Date, Some Disappointments

West Vly, 9/20, 2024

My friend Ruth Brooks and I paddled West Vly in northern Saratoga County yesterday (9/20/24), exactly the same date as we paddled there one year ago.  Although we still found many similar beauties to behold, it seems our over-hot summer hastened the bloom and decline of a number of the plants we delighted in just a year ago.  I especially missed the ruby-red sparkling leaves of Spatulate Sundew surrounding the miniature forests of yellow-flowered Humped Bladderwort on the mudflats.  Thankfully, the Sheep Laurel shrubs had once again put out some second-bloom flowers, and the Marsh St. John's Wort seedpods and leaves were as vividly colorful as usual.  But many other plants were so faded, I found my photos so disappointing I felt no desire to post a new blog about our explorations at West Vly this year.  But then my Facebook Memories reposted on my Facebook timeline the blog about visiting West Vly I posted here on 9/20/23, with many beautiful photos.  And I thought: Why not re-post that very same blog, adding a few comments (in red) about how things have changed this year? And that's what I'm doing here.

Late-summer Pleasures Paddling a Pond (9/20/2023)

How to choose a favorite season of the year? As a naturalist, I feast so thoroughly in what natural wonders each season has to offer, I always feel ready to move on to the next "course." But oh my, I do think late summer-early autumn is especially delightful. High-summer's sweltering heat has given way to mornings when a sweater feels comforting and the midday warmth is welcome.  The explosion of autumn's brilliant foliage is still a few weeks away, but the berry bushes are heavy with colorful fruits and the meadows appear like tawny seas as the wind moves in waves through the tufted grasses. I can't think of any better way to enjoy this season than paddling a quiet Adirondack pond.   Especially the pond my friend Ruth Brooks and I chose to paddle this week, a beaver-formed pond in northern Saratoga County, with a varied shoreline that offers several diverse habitats: sedge meadow, forested rocky banks, muddy shallows, and boggy shores.

Sedge-meadow Shore

A bright overcast sky turned the pond's quiet surface to liquid silver as we set off along the sedge-meadow shore, where a wide swath of sedges, rushes, and low shrubs stood between the water and the vast forest that surrounds the pond.

West Vly, 9/20/2023

It was obvious from our first paddle strokes that this pond itself was once forested land, before the beavers dammed its outlet stream at its northeastern end.  Dotting the shallows are numerous stumps of long-drowned and toppled trees, the woody remains now populated by marvelous mixes of mosses, lichens, fungi, and flowering plants.

The most colorful of those flowering plants right now are masses of Marsh St. John's Wort (Hypericum virginicum), with pink-tinged lime-green leaves, scarlet stems, and glossy ruby-red seedpods.

Ruth is an avid student of mosses, so she found much to engage her interest in the mosses that carpeted the stumps.

I was grateful to have Ruth's tutelage, for although I admired this velvety green moss with its spiky reddish sporestalks, I did not know what name to call it by until Ruth told me it was Dicranum flagellare, also known as Fragile Broom Moss.

Ruth was also able to put a name to this fluffy-looking lime-green moss that carpeted another stump: Aulacomnium palustre, or Ribbed Bog Moss.

At least I did recognize this spiky denizen of many stumps, the carnivorous insect-eating pads of the wetland-dwelling wildflower called Round-leaved Sundew (Drosera rotundifolia). Those spiky "hairs" are tipped with a sticky fluid that is attractive to insects, who land on the pads expecting a snack, only to become the plant's meal when the pad folds over the now-trapped insect and digests it for its own nutrients.

Update, 2024:  Sadly, we could barely detect the shriveled remnants of this or a second species of Sundew (Spatulate-leaved) on either these stumps or the mudflats this year.  I'm afraid that this summer's heat had either forced them to complete their lifecycle and promptly fade,  or else be baked to death.

Along this shore, wide swaths of Carex lasiocarpa (also known as Slender Sedge) fill the shallows between the forest and the open water.  That vernacular name is so descriptive of this lovely grass-like sedge, with its gracefully curving slender tips.  It is soft and fine, not stiff like many other sedges, so it is almost constantly swaying either slowly or briskly, according to how gentle or strong is the wind that sets it to dancing.

The Slender Sedge's tawny monoculture is livened by occasional patches of Marsh St. John's Wort, with its leaves of an almost incandescent hot-pink.

Update, 2024: I am happy to report that this species of Marsh St. John's Wort was just as beautiful as ever this year.  As were the Slender Sedge and the Canada Rush, pictured below.

Not a ridged-stem sedge but rather a round-stemmed rush, Canada Rush (Juncus canadensis) was bearing dark-maroon spikelets that stood out against the background of pale Slender Sedge.

Wetland shrubs like Leatherleaf and Sweet Gale punctuate this sedge meadow, and we were astounded to find this Hornworm clinging to a Sweet Gale twig, its body covered with the pale larval cocoons of a parasitic wasp, most likely the wasp Cotesia congregata.  Sometime earlier, the wasp used her ovipositor to lay her eggs inside the Hornworm, where the larvae hatched and fed on the insides of the caterpillar.  Eventually, the larvae emerge onto the caterpillar's skin, where they attach and spin cocoons from which the next generation of wasps will emerge. Of course, this eventually kills the Hornworm, but it still looked very much alive on this Sweet Gale leaf. Poor thing!  Very interesting, of course.  But still . . .!

Behind the sedge meadow, thousands of acres of state forest spread for miles. I photographed this short stretch of the forest because I was intrigued by how so many of the typical conifers of the Adirondacks were clustered here along the shore. The two small trees are Balsam Fir (left) and White Pine (right), while a tall skinny Tamarack (yellowish needles) rises left of center. I am pretty sure the darker conifers include both Northern Hemlock and Black Spruce, but I could not get close enough to examine their needles for positive ID.

Forested Rocky Banks

We soon turned into a quiet bay that offered quite a different, steeply rocky forested shoreline that directly met the water's edge with no intermediate strip of shoreline sedges. At the far end of this bay stretched a long beaver dam, an impressive construction of logs and branches and rocks and mud that held back all but a trickle of the pond's entire water.  A few years ago, we could not paddle this pond because this dam had been breached, and the water in the pond was too low to paddle on. But beavers didn't earn their epithet "busy" for nothing,  and that dam was soon repaired.

We could paddle right up to the edge of the dam, the top of which stood at least eight feet above the wet meadow that lay below.

The beaver dam allowed enough of the pond's water through to feed the small creek that flowed away toward the woods.

As we paddled very close along the rocky banks of this bay, we were startled to see abundant patches of Narrow-leaved Gentians, fading now but still vividly blue. This species of closed-flowered gentian (Gentiana linearis) started blooming at least a month ago, and the now-browning flowers attested to the aging of these plants.

It amazed us, though, to see the quantity and brilliance of blue the flowers retained.

Update, 2024: We managed to detect one remnant of this Narrow-leaved Gentian at this same site, but its flowerhead was almost completely brown, with only the slightest tinge of faded blue.

Just as amazing was the presence of newly blooming flowers on the shrubs of Sheep Laurel (Kalmia angustifolia) that grew right at the water's edge.  This species of laurel first blooms in late June/early July, but it does occasionally bloom again in the fall.

And the presence of these tightly folded Sheep Laurel buds were an indication that this shrub still had some blooming to do!

Update, 2024:  We did find a few open flowers on the Sheep Laurel this week, but many fewer than last year, and none of these folded buds at all.

Muddy Shallows, Sphagnum Bog 

Proceeding around the pond, we came to an area so shallow that each paddle-pull lifted mud and released the gagging swamp-smell of methane gas.  I sometimes had to push my canoe instead of paddling it, to creep a little closer to these mats of ruby-red glistening Spatulate-leaved Sundew (Drosera intermedia) that were studded with the bright-yellow tiny flowers of Humped Bladderwort (Utricularia gibba). I have seen these species of sundew and bladderwort individually on other sites, but it is only on this pond that I have ever seen this truly delightful combination. Worth the struggle, for me!

Here's a closer look at the tiny blossom of Humped Bladderwort, revealing how it might have acquired its vernacular name.  This is a bladderwort species I have always found firmly embedded in mud, even when protruding from the water, not freely floating as some other Utricularia species do.

Update, 2024: We did find a scattering of the Humped Bladderwort flowers this year, but many fewer than last year.  And I was hugely disappointed to see them protruding from water instead of decorating mud flats and being surrounded and their beauty enhanced by the sparkly ruby-red leaves of the Spatulate-leaved Sundew, which was nowhere to be seen.

We were right on the edge of a vast Sphagnum bogmat, where masses of Cottongrass waved their white terminal tufts in the now-stiff breeze. The Cottongrass was waving so wildly, none of my photos of it were in focus.  I did manage to spy another typical denizen of bogs right at the edge of the mat, sheltered enough from the wind that it sat quietly for the picture-taking. A Pitcher Plant (Sarracenia purpurea), its now-aging flower still held aloft above its vase-shaped carnivorous leaves. These leaves hold water, along with digestive enzymes, so that any insect that happens to fall in will be drowned and digested.

Update, 2024:  We did not see a single stalk of Cottongrass swaying above the bogmat.  Not a ONE, where thousands danced here a year ago.  What could have happened to them? I know that they persist well into October, which is when I took this photo of another bogmat where they are known to bloom:

Heading Home

Growing a bit tired from pushing against both mud and a stiffening wind, Ruth and I headed back toward where we'd launched our canoes.  I felt a moment's panic as I surveyed the far shore and could not detect our put-in place.  But then I recalled that we had lingered there to admire some berry-laden shrubs, the likes of which we had not seen anywhere else on our circuit around the pond.  So all we had to do was look for the raspberry-red fruits of Wild Raisin (Viburnum cassinoides).

Near that Wild Raisin was an Arrowwood shrub (Viburnum dentatum) that bore blue-black fruits

And a lower-growing shrub called American Bush Honeysuckle (Diervilla lonicera) bore leaves that had already turned wine-red, and each twig held clusters of brighter-red seedpods of a most amusing shape, like something that Dr. Seuss might have invented.

Update, 2024: We found not a single fruit nor seedpod remaining on any of these three shrubs this year, nor could I find the pedicels that might have held such fruits and seeds. That makes me wonder if they ever did bloom and fruit this summer.  Or if they did bloom, could the  too-early heat have caused them to bloom out of sync with their flowers' pollinators and thus the flowers did not produce fruit? I truly fear that climate change will seriously affect the pollination of native flowering plants.

Those three colorful shrubs served as very reliable guideposts, and we easily found our trail to where we had parked our cars.  Nature saved one last treat to top off our already wonder-filled time on this pond.   As we lifted our canoes to dry land, right there in the shoreline grasses was a gorgeous Ladies' Tresses Orchid (Spiranthes sp.), shining so white, like a beacon. 

How could we have missed this beautiful flower when we first launched? I think we were focused on what wonders awaited us on the water, and we overlooked a marvel like this that was growing on land. This orchid was like a perfect dessert that crowned a delicious feast!

Update, 2024: We did not find a trace of this lovely white orchid near the shore this year.  But orchids can be fickle like that, failing to bloom in the same place as they did other years.  We did find this year the spent flower stalk of a single Spiranthes specimen further up the trail toward the parking area, but in a spot where we found at least four of them last year.  And they were all in full beautiful bloom on 9/20 a year ago.  This year, that single specimen was so shriveled and brown we hardly noticed it.

Before I leave this recap-and-update post, I do want to add a few photos from this year's paddle on West Vly.  First of all, I was struck by how advanced the trees were in turning their autumn colors, quite a bit more vivid than they were on this date last year.  As kids, were were told it was Jack Frost who painted the trees like this, but I'm wondering now if it's more heat than cold that does it.

I did find a plant there this year -- Swamp Candles (Lysimachia terrestris) --  I had never noticed at West Vly before, especially when it had formed its reproductive structures called bulbils.  These little red wormy growths that form in the leaf axils are neither buds nor seed pods, but rather they are the plants' clonal organs, which eventually fall off into the mud to produce genetic clones of the plants where they land.

We were struck as we paddled through Water Lily pads how the pads looked almost frosted by the white molted skins of small greenish bugs that were crowding the surface of the pads. I wondered if these bugs might be an instar of the nymphs of Water Lily Planthoppers (Megamelus davisi) that feed exclusively on Water Lily and Pond Lily pads. But so far, Google has not located any source that could confirm this.  Anybody want to chime in?

Bladderworts, Planthoppers, and Other Wonders!

What is so rare as a day in . . . September! For then, if ever, come perfect days for paddling a quiet little Adirondack Lake like Fourth Lake.  Summer's crowds and summer's oppressive heat are behind us now, and on this lovely day my friends Sue and Ruth and I had this lake, just a bit north of Lake Luzerne in Warren County, all to ourselves. And if not for the ripples caused by our own moving canoes, this impressive view of Potash Mountain would have been perfectly reflected in the still water.  Lovely!

We could have chosen several other beautiful little lakes to paddle, but this is the closest one we knew of where we were certain to find extravagant numbers of Purple Bladderwort (Utricularia purpurea). The masses of brown-colored underwater structures were certainly visible earlier in the summer, but it's not until later in the blooming season that the flower stalks lift their tiny purple blooms above the water.

Here's a closer view of those pretty purple flowers. Note that these stems bear no leaves at all, for this is a plant that does not depend on chlorophyll for its nutrients.  As is the case with other plants called "bladderworts," those masses of thready underwater parts are full of tiny bladders that suck in even tinier organisms that the plant digests to fill its nutritional needs.

Fragrant Water Lilies (Nymphaea odorata) also bloom abundantly on the surface of this lake.  We were impressed by how pristinely beautiful the floating flowers remained, even though their leaves were looking quite ragged and worn and yellowed with age.  

But then, it's nearly impossible to find a Fragrant Water Lily bloom that is not perfect.  For as soon as the flower is pollinated, its retractable stem recoils and pulls the now-fertilized flower down into the lake-bottom mud to produce a new plant.

I have often seen poking above the water's surface the spent flowers of Yellow Pond Lilies (Nuphar variegata) that produce an attractive fruit, but not a sign of them did I see today, despite acres of their large heart-shaped leaves floating on the lake.  Their flower stalks still protruded, but every single one was missing its flower or fruit, for some aquatic critter (maybe Muskrats?) had devoured every single one.  But I did see other critters availing themselves of the Pond Lily leaves. As we passed through masses of them, I noticed swarms of tiny light-colored bugs hopping all over the leaves, as well as the surface of the water.

I managed to get a close-up view of these tiny bugs, despite their constant motion. These wee little flea-like insects are Water Lily Planthoppers (Megamelus davisi) -- a most appropriate name, since they certainly perform enormous hops and they feed almost exclusively on the leaves of Water Lilies and Pond Lilies. Despite marring the pristine appearance of these plants' floating leaves, these planthoppers are a most beneficial insect, especially to Cricket Frogs, who feed on  Megamelus davisi almost exclusively.  

Usually, when my friends and I visit Fourth Lake, we paddle some distance up a small creek at the north end of the lake.  We did not get far up the creek this day, due to trees fallen across it, but we were rewarded by the splendor of the masses of Water Willow (Decadon verticillatus) at the mouth of the creek.  There are very few waterside shrubs that can rival the color of Water Willow leaves in the fall.

Earlier in the summer, the Water Willows sport long arching branches of beautiful purple flowers.  A close look now reveals developing seedpods that are the equal in beauty to any flower.

Milkworts and Orchids -- and MORE! -- Along the Powerlines

Daniels Road State Forest lies just north of the city of Saratoga Springs, and it's much better known to bikers than it is to us botanizers.  Many marvelous bike trails wend through the woods at this site, but I and my nature-nut friends are instead drawn here to discover the many interesting plants that thrive in the sunlight under some powerlines that run for miles in each direction.  

Here my friends Tom and Sue explore the lines running west.  Sue probably has a bug in her camera viewfinder, for she has become quite a passionate (and patient!) photographer of these fascinating but camera-shy creatures.

These are the lines running east, with clear views all the way to Vermont and its distant mountains.

Milkworts and Orchids Abound!

I first came to this site just one year ago, when my pal Dan Wall told me I'd find incredible numbers of Purple Milkworts (Polygala [now Senega] sanguinea) growing here, just steps from the parking area.  And boy, he sure wasn't kidding!  There were so many, I could hardly avoid stepping on them.

What beautiful flowers, the vivid purple bracts encasing tiny bouquets of multicolored miniature florets.

My last year's visit was later in September than my return this past week, and I'm wondering if the Purple Milkwort blooms I found this time will eventually turn more pinkish than the blue-purple they appear this year.  I also witnessed their blooms this past week much earlier in the day after a chilly night, and the flowers were still spangled with morning dew.

I don't find Purple Milkworts very often, but certainly more frequently than I find our native fall-blooming orchid called Yellow Ladies' Tresses (Spiranthes ochroleuca).  These beauties were in their glory along this powerline, some in full bloom and some still with florets not yet opened. So this orchid show has only just begun!

Here's a closer look at the dainty florets that make up the floral spike of Yellow Ladies' Tresses.

And an even closer look reveals the yellowish throats of the florets that suggested the Yellow (Ochro) part of this orchid's name.  I know it as our latest Ladies' Tresses species to bloom around here.

Some Open-field Finds

Ambling along the sun-warmed powerlines, we enjoyed seeing many meadow-blooming flowers.  The wayside fields were a sea of goldenrods, probably of several species, but I was content to enjoy their beauty without having to know their exact names.  This bumblebee didn't care whose nectar it was imbibing.

At first glance, I might have assumed that these starry white flowers were those of Frostweed Aster (Symphyotricum pilosum), because of the flowers' relatively large size and the plant's open habit of growth.  But wait:  these stems were smooth, not hairy, as the specific name "pilosum" would indicate.  So this aster is likely the hairless variety of S. pilosum called Pringle's Aster: Symphyotrichum pilosum var. pringlei.

Many of the darling little florets of Blue Curls (Trichostema dichotomum) had already dropped off by late morning, but a few still clung to the plants.  I think it is obvious how this Mint-family wildflower acquired its vernacular name!

We found a few plants of Sweet Everlasting (Pseudognaphalium obtusifolium), a native wildflower that often looks as if it were still in bud.  But this is what these florets will look like until the white papery bracts open to spill the seeds.  I love to pinch a floret to release its scent that reminds me of maple syrup.

Occasional plants called Rattlesnake Roots (Nabalus sp.) were dangling a few open white flowers.  Since most of the ones we found today all had at least some three-parted leaves, we assume they were the species called Three-leaved Rattlesnake Root (N. trifoliolatus).

Near the edge of the woods where trees shaded the ground, we found a beautiful patch of Partridgeberry plants (Mitchella repens), their small evergreen ground-hugging leaves studded with bright-red berries.

Out in the open, acres of tawny Little Bluestem Grass (Schizachyrium scoparium) swayed with the breeze, the sunlight twinkling off the fluffy tufts that sprout from its glossy ruddy stems.

Mini-Wetlands Along the Way

As we made our way along the deeply rutted and mostly rocky service lane that follows the gentle dips and rises of the terrain, we occasionally encountered mini-wetlands in the hollows.  The mud was obvious, as was the distinctive vegetation: Cattails, Tearthumb, Water Plantain, Meadowsweet, and other denizens of swampy spots, including abundant numbers of Purple-stemmed Asters, also called (appropriately) Swamp Aster (Symphyotrichum puniceum).

These small swampy spots were also paved with the pretty purple flowers of Slender Agalinis (Agalinis tenuifolia).

Another denizen of these damp soils was this Mint-family plant called Water Horehound (Lycopus americanus), with wreaths of tiny white flowers encircling the stems.

Bunches of Bryophytes

When we return here next week with with our Thursday Naturalist friends, the bryophyte-lovers among us will find much to amuse them.  But even folks who couldn't tell a moss from a mouse could delight in just the sheer beauty of such arrangements as this, of Blue Clubmoss (Diphasiastrum tristachyum), Bristly Haircap Moss (Polytrichum piliferum), and the persistent green leaves of Ovate-leaved Violets (Viola fimbriatula) decorating the trailside rocks.

This spiky green clubmoss (Lycopodium clavatum) has at least two quite descriptive vernacular names: Running Clubmoss (it travels across the ground) and Wolf's Paw (note the furry tips of the branches).

I don't really need to know that the white curly stuff is a Reindeer Lichen or that the green spiky stuff is Haircap Moss (not to mention the scientific names of either) to be awed by the sheer beauty of their combination.

But I do know the name of this green spiky stuff (Selaginella ruprestis or Rock Spikemoss), and I also know (thank you, Ed Miller) that it's not a moss, but rather a kind of plant called a "fern ally." (I think that means it is a vascular plant and can grow in drier habitats than most mosses can. Corrections are welcome!)   This was certainly a dry habitat, atop a sun-baked rock.          

We'll be lucky to have our moss-loving friend Ruth Brooks with us next week, since she is a serious student of bryophytes and can help us put names to some.  But as her posture here indicates, we may have to take some very close looks to see how the organisms differ.  Bring your loupes!

A Couple of Colorful Critters

Looking closely can often reveal all kinds of wonders.  Such as this gorgeously colorful Hooded Brown Owlet Moth caterpillar (Cucullia convexipennis) dining on goldenrod.

Or this red-spotted, yellow-striped, white-dotted American Lady Butterfly larva (Vanessa virginiensis).  I have seen this very species of caterpillar pulling the florets of Everlasting blooms together to create pupation chambers.  Perhaps that's exactly what this one is doing here, since those are Sweet Everlasting flowers,  pulled apart and reassembled and being wrapped with silk. To appreciate what I'm talking about, click this link to see many more examples of American Lady pupation chambers constructed from Everlasting blooms.

UPDATE, 9/17/24: Returning to lead several nature walks along this same powerline, I found a few other interesting things.  Just to record my findings here this fall, I'm adding their photos and my comments here:

This Lowbush Blueberry shrub (Vaccinium angustifolium) usually blooms in May.  But now it has put out some new flowers, way too late in the season for them to ever produce fruit. I have seen this phenomenon once before, at a different location. I wonder how often this occurs.

What a snaky form for a fungus! And what a lovely shade of purple! So distinctive, you'd think it would be easy to find in my mushroom guides. But it wasn't. Anyone know its name?

Thanks heaps to my friend Dana Stimpson, who told me the name of this beautiful fungus: Violet Coral Fungus (Clavaria zollingeri).

How could I have missed seeing the bright-yellow flowers of Spotted St. John's Wort (Hypericum punctatum) on my two previous explorations along this powerline? Perhaps they were still in bud a week or more ago. I can barely make out with my naked eye the tiny spots on the flowers and buds, but they do show up better in photos.

The dew was still on the grass when I spied dozens of dew-bedecked disc-shaped webs along the trail. A close look revealed that the webs were actually double-deckers, for these were the constructions of the Bowl and Doily Spider (Frontinella pyramitela).  This tiny spider weaves a fairly complex sheet web system consisting of an inverted dome-shaped web, or "bowl," suspended above a horizontal sheet web, or "doily." The spider hangs from the underside of the "bowl," and bites through the web prey that falls down into the non-sticky webbing. This web design allows the spider to survey its prey below the web while remaining above in a protected location.  In this photo, the wee little black-and-white spider can be seen dangling just to the right of the top web.