Spatial patterns of within-tree Enaphalodes rufulus (Coleoptera: Cerambycidae) attacks during outbreak conditions in the Ozark National Forest in Arkansas, United States of America

Enaphalodes rufulus (Haldeman) (red oak borer; Coleoptera: Cerambycidae) is a native wood borer that colonises and develops in oaks (Quercus Linnaeus; Fagaceae) across southeastern Canada and the eastern United States of America. It is rarely considered a pest because it normally occurs at low population density levels in stressed or dying oak trees. In the late 1990s and early 2000s there was a large, historically unique outbreak of E. rufulus in the Ozark mountains of Arkansas and Missouri, United States of America. This outbreak provided an opportunity to investigate within-tree spatial distribution of attacks during unusually high insect population levels. Fifty trees from northern Arkansas were felled and destructively sampled. The locations of attack sites by female E. rufulus were standardised across varying heights and diameters for comparison across trees. Attack sites showed a significant clustered pattern within trees. Attack sites were aggregated towards the lower and middle bole, and on the south-facing side of trees. This pattern has been seen in other insects, including wood borers, and is potentially related to differences in temperature. These patterns of ovipositional behaviour in outbreak situations have implications for E. rufulus resource partitioning and facultative intraguild predation among larvae.

Rediscovery of Dixa repanda Peters and description of its putative sister species, Dixa falcata sp. nov., from the south-central United States (Diptera: Dixidae)

Dixa repanda Peters, previously known only from the type series of three males, was rediscovered after targeted collections in the southcentral and midwestern United States. These collections also revealed the presence of its undescribed putative sister species, Dixa falcata sp. nov. The two species are sympatric in the Ozark Mountains. Adults of D. repanda are redescribed and those of Dixa falcata are described. Males of both species are distinguished from related, similarly colored species by a falcate gonostylus and extremely reduced cercus. Males of the two species are easily separated from each other by the shape and thickness of the gonostylus. Females are not reliably separable from each other or related species. Biological insights, including known distributions, of both species are provided.

Traveling Light: Gunstock Hollow and Dag Hammarskjöld

It was new to me. Backpacker magazine had listed Gunstock Hollow as the “best Southern hollow in America,” and I was curious. The dog and I set out one weekend, hiking the middle fork of the Ozark Trail into this hollow nestled between two ridges. Three days remained in deer hunting season that year, so I tied a red bandana around Desert’s neck and wore a bright orange vest myself. With a name like Gunstock Hollow we figured we ought to be careful. Gunstock Hollow is typical of a lot of closed-in wilderness sites in the Ozarks. Thickets of densely growing trees give it a secluded and mysterious air, muffling sound. A wandering stream runs through it, leading down to Neal’s Creek below. Two huge cedar trees, a couple hundred years old, stand watch in the middle of the valley. The haunting trees and a series of knoblets that pepper the area give the place its character. You find deer tracks everywhere. I wouldn’t call it the “most beautiful hollow” in the Ozarks, however. I suspect its name drew the attention of Backpacker magazine as much as anything else. “Gunstock Hollow” fits the hard-core romanticized image that people have of rural Missouri—a place where moonshine distillers have been replaced by meth cookers, where desperados like Jesse James have morphed into the criminal mania of backwoods communities steeped in the drug culture. The stereotype of the illiterate, inbred, shotgun-wielding hillbilly is reshaped today in the stark and violent world of Winter’s Bone. All this is certainly part of the history (and reality) of the region, yet I’m intrigued by the tendency to make wilderness more sensational than it is. Tourist boards and backpackers alike are prone to fabricate a backcountry of the imagination, something more colorful, edgy, and dangerous. Exaggeration attracts tourists. It enhances the image of those who brave its dark wilderness trails and points up the stark simplicity of the people who live there. The Ozark Mountains lend themselves to tall tales as it is, but storytellers like to accentuate the dark, eccentric, and scandalous. Maverick places delight us.