Summer's Hunt

It's cold now, the insects are gone. I can only anticipate more hunts next year and recall this setting of past strivings; the epic struggles between a determined human hunter and a host of highly-evolved flying insects.

Man Eating Bugs, the impressive ‘picture-book’ by Menzel and D’Alusio that illustrates worldwide entomophagy, includes dragonfly hunting on the exotic island of Bali. The people there call them ‘sky prawns,’ which is significant. I knew I’d have to go get some, and that the hunt would be hard work. I once read about a simple way to catch dragonflies – pluck them while they rest on branch-tips over little streams at night. But I’ve never found them that way. It would be either stalk/charge/swing-the-net or nothing.

This made the hunt the most labor-intensive I’ve executed. Some would say more laborious than the prey is worth but if I started listening to the voice of reason I might be tempted to give up on entomophagy altogether, and hat would be a crying shame.

The Indonesian method was similar, but craftier. The hunter [generally kids] would visit the ponds and paddies frequented by dragonflies. The tool of choice: a considerable length of reed, the end of which coated in sticky tree sap. This would be held out like a perch and yet flicked at the right moment, taking an insect while on the wing.





My technique: Iaido-style. The haft is held down and to my left, across the body, double-handed. Having sighted my target, I approach stiffly, one footfall at a time. I would keep my eyes locked (not always as easy, especially when another target would interpose) until the moment to swing the net. Once I learned to swing just above the insect's resting position I could sometimes see it rise into the net's apeture, but at least as often I saw it sail away over or beyond the net. My average was not very impressive but I improved.



The documentation: minimal, merely these words and images. I've been obliged to work alone so there’s no one to hold a camera. I took these pictures so I'm not in them. I probably looked so ridiculous out there that only motion picture [a la Youtube] would have done it justice.





The results: not too bad.

I haven't done much to identify them; this bothers me a little, since, given how little is known about which insect species are edible and which aren't, it would be useful to have a lock on what I plan to eat or to serve to the public. But I've spoken with an expert or two, and there seems to be no records of any toxic in dragonflies North America. So that's reassuring.

I did get some large grasshoppers along the way. They're much easier to identify, by and large, when it comes to that: they're Dissosteira carolina and they're not easy to catch. In fact before I developed my own technique I looked really silly chasing them across the field as I missed getting them again and again. Once I got my method on, though, things were slightly different: I caught them once in every 5 tries instead of once in every 12, and though I still looked ridiculous it wasn't quite as bad.

There were other good moments out in the field; birds, deer. Once I surprised a young black racer and managed both to get him in the net and then out again in my hands before he could foul the material with his very nasty-smelling cloacal emissions. After admiring him I let him go. After all, this is not a reptile-eating endeavor I’m running here, and I have no interest in taking an animal from the wild as a pet.

The eating: dragonflies taste a bit like burned toast, but the texture is unique.




It's no surprise that cooking the dragonflies robs them of some of their delicate perfection. They look pretty good on the plate, but nothing compared to freshly-frozen.

What will I do with these insects now that I've got them? They're available for the contest in Richmond, or for some special order from a customer. And I'll probably experiment with a preparation or two as well.

A Colony Attacked

This might not seem a dramatic image. It was the site of a great catastrophe, at least from the perspective of the carpenter ant colony that lived there. I am what befell that colony.


I'd first turned over the log on impulse, and replaced it carefully when I found a seething mass of large, winged black ants. I returned the next day and a few times after that over the next four or five days. The ants were members of the genus Camponotus, a.k.a. carpenter ants. I've known for some time that people have eaten these ants here and there; supposedly lumberjacks in 19th Century Maine ate them to avoid scurvy.

I'd envisioned a "clean kill," meaning a labor-efficient harvest wherein I could harvest the insects only. It didn't work out that way, mostly because the ants had no interest in being harvested and therefore tried to run away very quickly. And it's true that that seething business rattled me; I knew that the ants couldn't hurt me, it was just that as I was scrambling to collect as many as I could, this is what I ended up with:



A whole lot of wood bits, dead leaves, and some soil, with a good deal of ant-made sawdust. It required a good deal of processing. I would've liked to document this process, but the sad truth about both this blog and much of my work in entomophagy is that I do a lot of it alone so there's no one to hold the camera.

I had about six or sevent containers from my various raids; some had this litter from the forest floor; in others it was mostly sawdust from inside the log. I found that sifting the mix in large bowls worked quite well, reminiscent of the old-fashioned wheat-from-chaff technique. All of this in order to get to the prize: the pupae.

Of course I'd collected a heck of a lot of ants too, and I was most interested in them also, despite my slight concerns about Wolbachia -- an endosymbiont that wouldn't do me much good if it was in my system. Here's the ants with a few bits of wood [toward the end of the sifting].

And here they are again -- the queen (one of many; methinks the colony, having done well for itself, was about to send a whole raft of winged alates into the the world); some drones; and the necessary workers.




I find the ants quite beautiful, dead or alive. And working on prepping them as food emphasized what I'd felt when I was collecting them at that log -- a touch of guilt.



I thought of the colony as a society or a machine consisting of living parts, each of which pursues its function for the greater good of the whole. This conception is on my mind quite a lot, and it's something that I'm pretty sure I wouldn't find in hunting magazines (if I read them, that is). A "real" hunter, as represented in such publications, respects his or her mission and goal; respects the quarry and the landscape too; honors the kill, but doesn't succumb to any feelings of guilt about having to kill. After all, hunting is simply the involvement of the meat-consumer in the process of getting the meat, and therefore the hunter is more authentic than someone who simply lets others do the killing, and merely picks up the wrapped and sanitized Styrofoam tray in the supermarket. There's a lot to be said about that perspective.

I appreciate the times when I feel this way, which I sometimes do. Other times, though, I have other feelings. When I was collecting cicadas off the trees in New Jersey in 2004 I thought a lot about the fact that these insects had been underground for 17 years, all in order to emerge and mate and die. All of that time in preparation for procreation -- arguably, the prime evolutionary function and purpose of every organism. And here I was, getting in the way of that. Granted, it's not much of a stretch to say that I was acting like any other predator. The mass emergence strategy of these multiple billions of cicadas was an evolutionary response to my actions as much as it was to the actions of birds, snakes, skunks, raccoons, bats, etc. The cicadas are a temporary banquet. "Go ahead," the vast numbers seem to say. "Eat all you want. We'll make more anyway. All of your efforts cannot make much of a dent in our overall numbers." How generous. Yet I remember the mixed feelings as I scooped up dozens of handfuls of live adult, newly-winged cicadas and the just-emerging nymphs into the large ziploc bags that went straight into the large icy cooler.

And so it was with these ants. A nation is attacked by something with greater technology. I don't really need to kill the ants, since I have lots of other foods that I could eat. But I'm trying to make a point here with entomophagy. It's just like other kinds of hunting, right?




Another kind of hunting these days has been for dragonflies (and the odd grasshopper along the way). It's the opposite of 'anting;' for one thing, it requires stalking and netting the individual insect, and so it would seem to be less labor-efficient. Given the way that I've executed this ant project, though, it's a toss-up.