2017; The Herps That Were

December 11, 2017

As I sit here watching a television show that I'm sure is killing more brain cells than the 9.5% IPA beer I'm milking, I reminisce about this past year. Because you see, it's December 2017 and even though I live in Florida, my plans for additional herping is going to be nil. My days will be filled with shopping and then the holiday all of the shopping is for. So, I'm going to share with you all of my favorite species I found and photographed, and trips that I took, in order of appearance. It was a very busy year, so I'll try to keep the narrative low, but I'll do my best to make up for it with pictures.

The first interesting find of the year came in mid-January in the form of an amphibian via North Carolina. While it wasn't a lifer, I still enjoy finding Mabee's Salamanders (Ambystoma mabeei) every year. It was an eight hour drive from my front stoop to the log where this salamander was sheltering. I was racing a thick squall line up the coast and got there just ahead of the storm. It was a quick flip job, photographs, and I turn around for home. The way home was miserable; rain and sleet most of the way south. Had I had more time, I would have certainly looked for more amphibians making their way to ancestral breeding ponds in this winter rain.

Moving right along. Next I'll include another amphibian (it's early in the year, so that's the way things go). Every year I try to do some local herping. I know that sounds strange, but I'd say 70% of the herping I do is outside of the state of Florida. I think it's the grass is always greener syndrome. Anyway, my favorite area in the entire state of Florida to herp is the eastern panhandle; the Apalachicola region to be exact. The fauna in this area is surprisingly diverse. Though this next species is not unique to this region, it is more readily found there. A day mucking in the ravines and floodplains is a day well spent. Flipping logs in this habitat may reveal a One-toed Amphiuma (Amphiuma pholeter). An eel-like amphibian with internal gills and one small apendage that patrudes from each side of the neck.

Next is a species that may be more common than most people think. They just happen to enjoy the subterranean lifestyle....just a bit shy. The Florida Worm Lizard (Rhineura floridana) is fossorial species that is endemic to the loose soils of North and Central Florida. Most of the time they are seen when heavy rains push them to the surface. Unfortunately, many die in standing water.

Florida Worm Lizard (Rhineura floridana)

Back to salamanders! This next animal was one I had seen many moons ago but I woke up one morning and realized my photos were pretty much useless and they needed updating. So I made the 8 hour drive to North Carolina just for updated pictures. Dipnetting leafpacks in a sluggish creek revealed several Dwarf Waterdogs (Necturus punctatus). The photo came out OK, but I just may need to update again in a year's time.

In late March, Dick Bartlett and I embarked on the first big trip of the year. Unfortunately it was only big in distance and not in time spent at the location. I took a Friday off of work and we left Thursday afternoon for Western Arkansas/Eastern Oklahoma. By Friday afternoon we were finding salamanders and by Sunday morning we were heading home. We ended up with 13 species of salamander in that short period of time. Some of the highlights are below (I couldn't just pick one).

Caddo Mountain Salamander (Plethodon caddoensis)

Rich Mountain Salamander (Plethodon ouachitae)

Ozark Zigzag Salamander (Plethodon angusticlavius)

Western Slender Glass Lizard (Ophisaurus attenuatus attenuatus)

Oklahoma Salamander (Eurycea tynerensis)

Ouachita Streambed Salamander (Eurycea subfluvicola)

Lizards are also a large part of my camera's diet. This particular species is not a Florida native, but I've invested well over 10 years watching this confined population. Hispaniolan Green Anoles (Anolis chlorocyanus) in Broward County have been thriving in a small area for about 20 years. They escaped, or were released, from a reptile dealer that specialized in Hispaniolan herpetofauna.

Hispaniolan Green Anole (Anolis chlorocyanus)

Costa Rica. Does that say enough? Well, if not, than I'll share a little something with you. I took my first trip to Costa Rica this past May with my wife and it was flat-out amazing! We traveled most of the northern part of the country and encountered countless birds, mammals and herps. But this isn't really about the story, as I'm sure I'll do a dedicated blog post at some point, so here are some of the cooler herps we encountered.

Red-eyed Treefrog (Agalychnis callidryas)

Green & Black Poison Frog (Dendrobates auratus)

Strawberry Poison Frog (Oophaga pumilio)

Central American Lyre Snake (Trimorphodon quadruplex)

Slender Hognosed Pitviper (Porthidium ophryomegas)

Central American Coral Snake (Micrurus nigrocinctus)

Tungara Frog (Engystomops [Physalaemus] pustulosus)

Tropical Banded Gecko (Coleonyx mitratus)

Painted Wood Turtle (Rhinoclemmys pulcherrima)

I get to the Appalachians at least three times a year (and often more). This next trip was in May to the southern Smokys, only a week after arriving home from Costa Rica. My wife and I did some hiking, a lot of eating and beer drinking and we flipped a couple of rocks and logs along the way.

Red-cheeked Salamander (Plethodon jordani)

Santeetlah Dusky Salamander (Desmognathus santeetlah)

I've already written a blog about my Kansas trip with Dick that we took in mid June, so there wont be much more than pictures. We were past the prime time for flipping snakes in large numbers, but that didn't stop us from going and finding snakes. It was fun, but to this day, I’m still exhausted from this trip.

Western Massasauga (Sistrurus catenatus tergeminus)

Next up is the longest trip I've ever taken. Dick and I drove from North Florida to Chula Vista, California and back. We herped West Texas, New Mexico, Arizona and California in this 2 week journey and we cleaned-up on species.

Reticulated Gecko (Coleonyx reticulatus)

Trans-Pecos Ratsnake - blonde phase (Bogertophis subocularis)

Twin-spotted Rattlesnake (Crotalus pricei)

Arizona Mountain Kingsnake (Lampropeltis p. pyromelana)

Sacramento Mountains Salamander (Aneides hardii)

Bleached Earless Lizard (Holbrookia maculata ruthveni)

Sonoran Sidewinder (Crotalus cerastes cercobombus)

Arizona Black Rattlesnake (Crotalus cerberus)

Baja Black-collared Lizard (Crotaphytus vestigium)

Spotted Leaf-nosed Snake (Phyllorhynchus decurtatus)

Colorado Desert Fringe-toed Lizard (Uma notata)

A quick weekend trip to meet up with many-o-friend at Snake Road in Southern Illinois led to a few herp finds. No lifers were obtained, but it was just good to see folks and make several fires.

Western Cottonmouth (Agkistrodon piscivorus leucostoma)

Yellow-bellied Watersnake (Nerodia erythrogaster flavigaster)

I'll end with two salamanders from two separate trips. The first was a quick run up to Tennessee with my wife to peep the fall colors, see some waterfalls, and of course herp. I turned up a few species of salamander, but the pictured animal below was the pièce de résistance.

Junaluska Salamander (Eurycea junaluska)

The next trip was taken to Alabama and it was especially significant to me. I drove up to meet my friend Chris Montross for a little bit of mucking around in the swamps. The goal was to find my 8th and final subspecies of Pseudotriton. Disapointed I was not! We turned one up in very short order.

Gulf Coast Mud Salamander (Pseudotriton montanus flavissimus)

It's fun to look back at all of the time and money you burned through in a year's time. There's a song my step Dad used to sing to me, and while I can't remember all of the lyrics, I remember an important line that always plays in my head and I hope it holds true when I'm old:

How do I know my youth is all spent?
My get-up-and-go has got up and went!
But, in spite of it all, I’m able to grin
And think of the places my getup has been!

Snakes on the Plain

July 05, 2017

My brain was awhirl with thoughts of all things herps within the confines of the Sunflower State and once my brain gets implanted with thoughts of destinations and possible observations, I become almost obsessive - for better or worse.

My plan was to drive non-stop from Gainesville, Florida all the way to Russell, Kansas (which is almost dead-center in the state, thus centrally-located) on Friday after work. A roughly 20 hour drive, I knew I'd have to spend at least four or five days in Kansas to make it worthwhile. Driving that distance by myself was tiring just to think about, so I beckoned my longtime herping companion Dick Bartlett to accompany me. He'd just come back from a puffin trip in Bar Harbor, Maine, so his initial reply was "Thanks, but no thanks." Ugh. Then, the day before my planned departure, he called and said "OK, lets go." Sweet relief!

2:30 pm on Friday came and so did Dick, in his trusty metal steed. Our trip to Kansas would take us the remaining 1.5 hours of North Florida, the length of Georgia, through Tennessee, Kentucky, Illinois, Missouri and about 3.5 hours of Kansas. Taking turns sleeping and filling the gas tank we eventually arrived in Russell on Saturday at around 10 am. Mostly dead, we decided (of course) to go out and drive some roads for birds and other wildlife - because we hadn't driven enough. We found roughly a million and half flycatchers, dickcissels, western meadowlarks and a handful of upland sandpipers and other LBJs (little brown jobs), but no snakes. The temperature rose fast into the low triple digits and that slowed everything down, including us. We conceded to tiredness and retreated to a hotel.

Upland Sandpiper (Bartramia longicauda) on an old fence post.

After a very short 4 hour rest, we headed an hour or so away for a series of dusty, grid roads that bisected some natural and disturbed prairie habitat. Driving with a constant rooster tail of white dust behind us, we drove for a couple hours seeing only a few DOR (dead on road) snakes. Mostly Red-sided Gartersnakes and Plains Gartersnakes. But just as the daylight was fading and the shadows were lengthening we saw a small snake sitting motionless on the edge of the road. I jumped out quickly and received a dust cloud to the face. Luckily the snake hadn't moved from its resting position and also luckily it was not a road casualty. I picked up a beautiful young Speckled Kingsnake (Lampropeltis holbrooki) and brought it to Dick, who was in charge of the steering, breaking and turning portion of the road cruising experience. He is very proficient at these skills.

Speckled Kingsnake (Lampropeltis holbrooki)

In June the sun doesn't set until after 9 pm in this part of Kansas and doesn't get fully dark until almost 10 pm. But that didn't matter this evening as an immense thunderstorm, born from the distant prairies and carried across huge open expanses, had nearly reached us. We could see a solid wall of rain approaching us and lightning that would put any all night rave to shame. Since we were in Kansas, the only thing I could think about was tornadoes and yellow brick roads. We drove back towards Russell but were shortly overtaken by the outer edge of the storm, but missed the big event. Frogs and Toads were skipping across the road in our headlights like thousands of little bouncy balls. Mostly Plains Leopard Frogs and Woodhouse's Toads. We paused for a long moment just south of the storm to watch the lightning display. With the car and headlights turned-off I stepped out of the car for some photos. Only the swooshing wind and the subtle rumble of distant lightning could be heard. Peaceful.

Plains Leopard Frog (Rana [Lithobates] blairi)

Saturday morning came early for us. We were out the hotel door around 7 am and headed in the direction of another target, the Western Massasauga (Sistrurus catenatus tergeminus). This time of year females will be out in the morning warming themselves and their unborn babies. And even though you can also road cruise them, we decided to walk a dike road that had rip rap on both sides and was surrounded by wet prairie. Immediately we found a very nice Red-sided Garter Snake (Thamnophis sirtalis parietalis) stretched-out on the rocky road. Thamnophines can be immensely beautiful and this individual was no exception. We trudged onward for several minutes and saw a few Diamondback Watersnakes (Nerodia rhombifer) that were camera shy. Onward more and the grasses within the trail started getting thick and tall. Now carefully walking, I noticed movement in the grass only inches from my left foot. It was a sausage of a Massasauga and it very quickly retreated into the rocky rip rap. I didn't expect that! Would that be the only glimpse we'd see of this species? We didn't have to walk far before the answer to that question was "no." Another gravid female was out basking, and it was much easier to photograph. This was a subspecies lifer for me, so I took many, many photos from all angles. In fact, I took so long that I hadn't realized Dick was done and heading back to the car. This road/path was long and straight and I could see that Dick was nearly to the car that was parked about a half mile away! Oops.

Red-sided Gartersnake (Thamnophis sirtalis parietalis)

The day had just started and one of our targets was acquired. On the way back I actually saw another gravid female heating-up on bordering rocks. So now it was time for some late morning birding. We drove roads and watched the fence posts, electric wires and over the road flybys for the feathered critters. The only notable birds were a pair of Western Grebes (Aechmophorus occidentalis) that were in a prairie pool. We found a few more Red-sided Garter Snakes and Plains Garter Snakes (Thamnophis radix) along the route, but that was it for the day and a diurnal nap was in order.

Western Grebes (Aechmophorus occidentalis)

That evening we cruised hard for several hours only finding more garter snakes, a DOR Prairie Rattlesnake (Crotalus viridis), many Western Slender Glass Lizards (Ophisaurus attenuatus attenuatus) and Texas Horned Lizards (Phrynosoma cornutum). These were all fun, but we did want to see a live Prairie Rattlesnake. As night fell, yet another large thunderstorm was heading our direction - a carbon copy of the previous night. We drove a little in the rain finding more of the same amphibians. We called it a night when we noticed the temperature had dipped into the mid 60s.

Texas Horned Lizard (Phrynosoma cornutum) in the foreground and Richard D. Bartlett (Dick Bartlett) in the back...incase there was any confusion.

Texas Horned Lizard (Phrynosoma cornutum)

Monday. I had to do some work on my computer from the hotel so Dick took a solo. He drove three hours to SW Kansas in search of Black-billed Magpies. When he arrived back at the hotel he was spent. It was a long day for him, but he did find the birds. I don't know how he did it, but almost immediately we left for a one hour trip north to do some more afternoon and evening cruising. This night we did fairly well, finding a few beautiful Ornate Box Turtles (Terrapene ornata ornata) and by flipping rocks at the base of a road-cut we found another Speckled Kingsnake, a Prairie Ring-necked Snake (Diadophis punctatus arnyi) and an Emory's Ratsnake (Pantherophis emoryi). Later that evening while driving, we came over a hill to see a moderately sized snake scooting off the shoulder of the road. We hurried in its direction and stopped to see a five foot Bullsnake (Pituophis catenifer sayi) heading for a barbed wire fence line. I jumped out of the car while it was still half moving and I got the snake back onto the road for some pictures, which did not please him one bit. It reared-up into the "s" shaped strike position and posed for the two-legged interlopers. This was about 7 pm and the sun was getting low, but it didn't matter because yet again the clouds were moving in. Oh well, we had a decent day and our hotel was an hour south, so we decided it best to go back and get an actual decent night's sleep.

Ornate Box Turtle (Terrapene ornata ornata)

Bullsnake (Pituophis catenifer sayi) in its element.

Tuesday. Our last full day/night of herping was here. We managed a few cool animals in the morning, most notably a Western Painted Turtle (Chrysemys picta bellii) crossing from an agriculture field towards a small cattle pond. These are the prettiest of the painted turtles, in my impartial opinion. We then found a Graham's Crayfish Snake (Regina grahamii). At this point the temperatures had reached supernova and this little Crayfish Snake was sitting motionless in the middle of the road. I thought it had to be dead, but when I reached down to pick it up, it quickly squirmed and bit me. Dead things don't usually act this way, so I had to surmise that it was in-fact alive.

Western Painted Turtle (Chrysemys picta bellii)

Graham's Crayfish Snake (Regina grahamii)

A midday nap and then we were off cruising the road in search of a Prairie Rattler. Almost instantly after turning onto the road of choice, we saw a snake in the road ahead. Its head was down, its back was convex and tapered towards a horizontal tail. THAT is a rattlesnake! As we drove up to the beast we watched as it stopped moving and started to assume the defensive coiled posture. It was hot outside - probably in the mid/upper 90s and this snake was hot. While this was not a lifer for me or Dick, it was still a pleasure to be in its presence. We took photos until our arms couldn't hold the cameras up and then moved on. That night we cruised an additional two Prairie Rattlers, but nothing else.

A Prairie Rattlesnake (Crotalus viridis) basking on a chalky road.

Close-up of a Prairie Rattlesnake (Crotalus viridis)

A happy adult Prairie Rattlesnake (Crotalus viridis) that was crossing at sunset while temperatures were in the mid 60s.

Like most trips, this trip was tiring diversion from reality, but worth every baggy eye. We ended up driving home the next afternoon after a bit of birding. About 20 hours later, we were home.

Even though Kansas has been typecast as a boring, tornado-filled expanse, there is a little bit of awesome if you look beyond the wheat.

Upturned Noses and Uplands; Hunting Hognoses

February 07, 2017

As sweltering temperatures lose their grip on the deep south, and the daily humidity and thunderstorms wane into blue skies of high pressure, the diurnal snake activity surges. This is especially evident in the reptiles of the Florida Uplands. People come from far and wide in hopes of seeing some of these unique animals that inhabit a sensitive ecosystem.

On countless Saturday mornings in late summer and early fall I have awoken to the sunrise twilight. I peak out my bedroom window to see if the sky is void of cloud cover, and if it is, I begrudgingly force myself out of bed and into my car. Usually I'll sit in my car for a good 10 minutes blinking away the weird thoughts of sleepiness and then another few minutes contemplating whether to drive south one hour into the Ocala National Forest, or northwest one hour into the Tifton Uplands. It usually comes down to what I want to see. Southern Hognose Snakes (Heterodon simus) or Eastern Hognose Snakes (Heterodon platirhinos) are usually on the menu and are typically the main goal for herpers hunting in these regions.

Going south into Ocala National Forest this time of year you are more apt to find Eastern Hognose. The numerous grids of sandy roads are ideal for snakes to soak up the heat from the morning sun. I recall one October morning in 2008 when my final denouement led from my driveway to this forest in the heart of Florida. It was a picture perfect morning and I was especially tired (I probably indulged in one too many bar sodas the night before). I arrived at one of my main cruising roads just as the sun was kissing the tops of the longleaf pines.

Temperatures were still cool, maybe only in the mid-60's and the dew was still adorned to the orb weaver spider webs. By the time the sun was high enough to soak the roads in sunlight, I was seeing snake trails and I knew the time was perfect. I trudged on as the blinding reflection of the sun's rays on white sand caused a perpetual squinting of the eyes. But I knew there would be hognose moving...and I was correct. I drove directly over what was clearly a young hognose, straddling it between my tires. I leisurely got out of the car, knowing that these snakes are as slow as a one-legged turtle. Sure enough, a hatchling hognose sat coiled in the middle of the road. Young Eastern Hognose are all generally pretty similar; a light gray with black, or dark gray, jagged saddles.

Some individuals in this area maintain that look into adulthood or get even lighter.

While others will turn almost uniformly black with a blueish gray belly.

I photographed the baby and moved on. That day I cruised until the early afternoon and would end up finding four more babies of similar size and two black adults. I left the forest happy that I had fought off the Sand Man that morning.

Southern Hognose (or just "simus") are a species that ranges through the north 2/3 of Florida. However, they are only commonly seen in small sections of the northwestern portion of the peninsula. The first time I encountered this animal was in early October on a day much like the Eastern Hognose day. Mark Kenderdine and Chuck Saitta agreed to show Daniel Dye and myself a group of roads known as "The Blocks." Mark and Chuck traveled in one car and Daniel and I in another. They were the seasoned experts and had been coming to this location for years. They told us how the old timers would pay the local kids a few dollars to drive around the grid of sandy roads on their bikes and collect simus. The stories told by Chuck and Mark replayed in our heads as we drove the network of roads. Although a mundane and overall hypnotic way to look for snakes, driving sandy grid roads can be quite productive. We had just turned down a road when I told Daniel to "stop, I saw something." I didn't know if it was a snake but it definitely looked different than the other trillion sticks. We get out of the truck and Daniel immediately says "SIMUS" and as I go around the back of the truck I say "YES" and picked it up. I looked up to see him looking at the ground. He wasn't looking at the same snake. We were both overjoyed to see two hatchling simus only three or four feet apart on the road almost exactly parallel. It was even more satisfying because these were lifers for both of us. We saw that they were heading away from a manicured lawn that stretched out in front of a Turkey Oak forest. We walked in the grass to see if there were more, and sure enough, Daniel picks up a third hatchling from the grass. All three were varying degrees of the "red phase" Southern Hognose. We brought them to show Mark and Chuck who both hadn't seen anything yet. Mark said something along the lines of "I knew we shouldn't have brought you here; you found our snakes."

On subsequent trips to areas north and south I've seen countless adults, juveniles and hatchlings of several color varieties. To me they are all of equal beauty. I don't keep or sell them, so they are only worth the memories I take. Of course memories are much easier to recall if you take 100 digital pictures of each snake.

Speckled Racers; The Jewel of the Rio Grande Valley

January 17, 2017

It was early April of 2009 and Dick Bartlett and I had been on the road for eight days, stopping for various herps along the way. From Florida to Tennessee to the Winding Staircase of the Ouachita Mountains and then due south to a number of locales in central and eastern Texas. At the tail end of the trip we would end up in Brownsville, Texas. A border town at the southern tip of the state that we had high hopes for seeing several species. Above all else I wanted to see a Speckled Racer (Drymobius margaritiferus); the most hoped for animal of the entire trip.

In this portion of the Rio Grande Valley a few species venture over from their southern ranges to inhabit the sabal palm groves, Tamaulipan thornscrub and sandy lomas along the boarder. The Specked Racer is one of these limited range occupants and we had very limited time to locate it.

We arrived at a park on the outskirts of Brownsville at an hour that would make birders envious. We entered a path and began walking one of several loop trails that took us through mesquite groves, sabal palm and oak hammocks and a smattering of small resaca ponds. The habitat seemed ideal...and it proved to be when a snake came into view. It was wrapped around the base of a large sabal palm, periscoping slightly exposing the cream colored chin and throat. It was about 10 yards off the side of the path but I was eminently aware of what I was looking at, so of course I yelled "Green Snake!" It was not a Green Snake at all, but was a Speckled Racer. My overwhelming excitement and adrenaline made my mouth spew something my mind was not thinking. Dick, judging by my enthusiasm, deciphered my misidentification and figured out it must be a Speckled Racer (though Rough Green Snakes do exist in the area in large numbers). Unfortunately, the snake had seen us and our camera draw was slower than the snake's need for self-preservation. One step and it was gone in a flash of green. We saw one other individual later in the day, but it ended with a similar outcome.

A Sabal Palm hammock along the banks of the Rio Grande.

We had only one day left in the area before our long trek back to Florida. In the hotel room we talked about our misfortune; the bothersome feeling of failure sat heavy on our thoughts and words.

The night was cool, so we figured we needed to be on the trails when the sun was up and making its way to the forest floor. These patches of UV would be a great place for a cool snake to heat up.

We arrived at the path and we were greeted by a few morning Green Jays eating seeds at a feeder and several Plain Chachalacas laying lazily along the brush line. We heard a Great Kiskadee in the distance calling boisterously. The forest was alive with winged wildlife and we hoped the scaly versions would show themselves next.

Green Jays can be a common sight in deep south Texas.

After about an hour of hiking the day started to really heat up and Texas Spotted Whiptails (Aspidoscelis gularis) were now darting across the path and actively hunting. Just as we thought our morning was a wash from the onset of another hot day, we see a coiled snake on a fallen palm frond just feet from the path edge. It was a beautiful Speckled Racer and it was just sitting there motionless. We could not believe our luck! We rushed to get our cameras ready as silently as we could, but you know how that goes; the quieter you try to be, the louder you will end up being. We fumbled with our equipment while keeping an eye on the snake that seemed apathetic to our presence. We ended up taking far too many photos (not realistically possible) and marched on. The only other snake we saw that day was a juvenile Gulf Coast Ribbon Snake (Thamnophis proximus orarius) and a fresh shed from a large Texas Indigo Snake (Drymarchon melanurus erebennus).

A Texas Spotted Whiptails (Cnemidophorus gularis) doing its best ostrich impression; "out of sight, out of mind" — A Texas Spotted Whiptails (Aspidoscelis gularis) doing its best ostrich impression; "out of sight, out of mind"

Speckled Racer (Drymobius margaritiferus) atop of fallen palm fronds. — Speckled Racer (Drymobius margaritiferus) atop of fallen palm boots and fronds.

The intensly beautiful scalation of a Speckled Racer (Drymobius margaritiferus).

To me, this snake represents one the prettiest snakes in the world. Not just the New World. Not just the Old World. Both worlds and probably countless others. Each scale is jet black with a turquoise highlight on one side and a single, circular yellow spot within the turquoise. When it glides across the ground the color flows together in a light green swoosh. We were as happy as we could be for two people who still had to drive 1,200 miles back to Florida. I'd do it all again for just a glimpse of this gem of the Rio Grande Valley.

In Search of Pygmy Rattlesnakes in the Carolinas

January 08, 2017

Sitting here on my couch in my little blue house in the ever-developing town (city?) of Gainesville, Florida, I often reminisce about my ever-growing database of herping memories. I recall the successes, and even though I lament the failures, they are as much a part of my memories as any other...and unfortunately they are far more numerous.

Three and half years ago while on a trip to Croatan National Forest for a NAFHA meeting, several herpers had gone looking for the red phase Carolina Pygmy Rattlesnake (Sistrurus miliarius miliarius). They succeeded in finding three, while myself, Josh Holbrook, Daniel Dye, Michael Dye and Don Filipiak looked for various swamp dwelling critters in the heart of the forest. We had fun and found a lot of obscure animals, but my jealousy over their finds was conspicuous. A few preferred words were expressed while eating fire-burnt marshmallows that evening at the campsite. They were said in a facetious manor, but envy was at the heart. I had never seen one in person, but it was one that I mentally circled in the Peterson Field Guide as one that I MUST see.

I failed to see one that trip, or a trip I took two weeks after, and then two subsequent trips a year later. It was a Groundhog Day of defeat. This is where Dick Bartlett comes in to play. I expressed my want for this subspecies, and it took very little convincing to get him to agree to go on the outing. He said he hadn't seen one in 20 plus years and it would be really fun to see one again. He only wanted to change the itinerary slightly. He wanted to add the sandhills variant as well; an almost lavender snake.

We arrived in northeast North Carolina in the late afternoon and started hitting the roads immediately. It was still hot, but the ambient air temperature was dipping rapidly. On our first pass down a winding road we saw a large snake in the left-hand lane. Both ends of the snake was tapered with a hump in the middle and an elevated tail - distinctively rattlesnake. Too large for a pygmy so the only other option for this region is a Canebrake Rattlesnake (Crotalus horridus). We took our photographs - me with my gaudy, accessory-burdened DSLR and Dick with a much smaller point and shoot. One thing about Dick Bartlett that many people already know is, he has seen, and photographed, almost every species and subspecies of herpetofauna the USA has to offer. Nowadays he just enjoys taking photos of everything and anything. This little, unimpressive looking camera, allows for that.

The Canebrake was escorted from the roadway and we loaded back into the car for more eye exercise. On the second pass Dick noticed a gravel road that branched off our main cruising road. He thought it looked good, so we turned down it. Not 100 feet down that road we could see another snake ahead on the left side. I shouted "STOP!! Snake!!" We were a long distance from the snake, but I knew I was looking at a red Carolina Pygmy. I got out of the passenger side and ran the several yards up to where the snake was located. It was the reddest snake I had ever seen. Both Dick and I stared in awe for a moment before we realized we better get our cameras. We were prepared for a late night of herping, but the sun hadn't even set and we already acquired our main objective. We stayed out for a few more hours to see what may cross our paths, but nothing more would.

Dick Bartlett in action photographing the red pyg.

The next day Dick asked if I had any idea where to find the sandhills Carolina Pygmy. I said "no idea, do you?" I could see him scanning his cerebral hard drive, but all was lost to time. We were going to have to go on instinct and iPhone. From satellite maps I found several roads that looked promising in the sandhills of South Carolina and eight hour later we were there.

Again we arrived a couple of hours shy of sundown and started hitting random roads. However, this time the sun did go down before any snakes would allow themselves to be seen. A little after 9pm something would show itself, and unlike the last trip, it was not immediately clear it was a snake. It just looked like a bright clump of pine needles. I turned my head and looked down as we passed it and noticed that it moved slightly. I knew it just had to be a young pygmy. After another sudden outburst of "STOP!! Snake!!" I got out of the car to confirm we had now successfully found another variant of the Carolina Pygmy Rattlesnake... and it was beautiful.

Later that evening we found another one of equal size. The only other snake that evening was a Southern Copperhead (Agkistrodon contortrix contortrix). We found not a single non-venomous snake on the entire trip, but it didn't matter because we had seen exactly what we wanted to see. Incidental finds are fun, but the triumph of successfully finding our goal is a fond memory I can bring to my couch.

A Fatigued Day on the Ochlockonee River

January 03, 2017

As a youngster growing up in New England, my choices for turtle species was minimal. Even still, they were my favorite animal to get outside and look for. Maybe because I could get in my grandparents canoe and go somewhere by myself. Once on the lake I felt a sense of freedom. To this day I make frequent trips to water bodies in Florida to see turtles. And to escape household chores, of course.

On this particular day I had very little planning, but I knew I wanted to go kayaking and photograph map turtles. I left the house well before the crack of dawn and headed for the Florida panhandle for the closest map turtle species; the Barbour's Map Turtle (Graptemys barbouri).

The closest river these turtles reside in is the Ochlockonee River, but at the time I had never been on this river and had no inkling as to where to put the kayak in. How hard could it be? I found a dirt road that looked to dead end to the river via my iPhone map app. This road did, in fact, lead right to the river. Unfortunately, it was a 15 foot sheer drop to the river and I was feeling particularly lazy this day. I set out on foot to see if there was any other way to get down and was able to find what looked like a feeder channel that led to the river. This channel was easier to get to, so I opted for this. I set the kayak in the channel and started paddling in the direction of the river. After a short distance I realized this may be a channel, but the water was low and this was now a small pool. I stumbled, and fell, and swore through three more of these little pools until I finally was able to see the actual river. By this time I was already drenched in sweat and covered in mud and was hoping that the old saying "it can only get better from here" was true.

I paddled up river, reckoning that later I'd be tired and the current could bring me back. The river was winding and had numerous sandbars with log snags everywhere. I could see turtles on many of the snags, but they were extremely skittish and would drop to the water before I could get my camera ready. Not to mention, this was the weekend and there were copious amounts of motorboats zipping past me. That didn't help in keeping the turtles on the logs. I determined my best plan of attack was to pull the kayak onto a sandy shore, pull out my folding chair and sit and wait for turtles to arrive. As I was docking the kayak I saw a Redbelly Watersnake (Nerodia erythrogaster erythrogaster) resting in the water under the shade of a willow. I took advantage of a subject to photograph while waiting.

In-situ Redbelly Watersnake (Nerodia erythrogaster erythrogaster).

A posed shot of the Redbelly Watersnake (Nerodia erythrogaster erythrogaster) along the river.

There were snags and partially submerged fallen trees on the far bank and I just knew eventually there would be a turtle basking on them. And eventually, they did. First came an adult male Suwanee Cooter (Pseudemys concinna suwanniensis) than a few more smaller individuals and a large Yellow-bellied Slider (Trachemys scripta scripta). It took another 10-15 minutes before the first Barbour's Map Turtle climbed out of the water. Soon after a Gulf Coast Spiny Softshell Turtle (Apalone spinifera aspera) climbed out of the water and onto the near-vertical far bank. I thought it was going to sit and take in some UV light, but instead it climbed up the bank to the top. It looked unsettled and started sniffing the sand and circling like a dog at the foot of the bed. It then found a location that looked sufficient and started digging with it's hind legs. I was happy to see her drop about 15 eggs into the cavity.

Suwannee River Cooter (Pseudemys concinna suwanniensis)

Adult male Barbour's Map Turtle (Graptemys barbouri).

Juvenile Barbour's Map Turtle (Graptemys barbouri)

Left: Barbour's Map Turtle (Graptemys barbouri); Middle: Yellow-bellied Slider (Trachemys scripta scripta); Right: Suwannee River Cooter (Pseudemys concinna suwanniensis)

Gulf Coast Spiny Softshell Turtle (Apalone spinifera aspera) egg laying.

The best part about all of this, I could photograph them while sitting in a chair, in the shade on a sandy beach. Which was extra enjoyable since I knew I had to eventually retrace my torturous, if not comical, route into the river.

An Alterna Kind of Night

December 23, 2016

The daytime temperature was flirting with 110 degrees Fahrenheit and the sun was baking all that was exposed. The rocks and the pavement would blister the skin if touched. We were in the Chihuahuan Desert of West Texas (the Big Bend region) and we wanted to see all that it had to offer.

The day turned into evening and Dick, like every evening, had to stop for a sunset photograph (or 20). I agree, it was a pretty sight to behold, but he knows I hate to stop for sunsets. Especially when we are in a state that's larger than some countries and we had a long ways to go to be anywhere. But he's getting older and that means one thing; he really gets pleasure out of seeing me squirm.

Dick Bartlett hypnotized by the turning of the earth.

I guess I'll take a photo too...since I'm here.

Once night had fallen we cruised the heat-emitting blacktop for several hours with little to show for it. We know that sometimes activity in the desert can result in very late nights that lead into early mornings. I remember looking at the thermometer gauge and seeing 92 degrees and then looking at the clock and seeing it was after midnight. This was going to be one of those late nights.

Eventually we tired of sitting in the car and needed a good leg stretch. So we put our state required reflective vests on and headed for a large roadcut. This particular cut was about 10 feet high and 50, or so, yards long. It was mirrored on both sides of the road and busy with crevices and cracks. It screamed "snakes!"

Dick took the north side cut and I took the south. I am not a very fast walker, but compared to Dick, I was Speedy Gonzales. This cut went over a hill and turned to the south, so he was eventually out of sight completely.

I looked ahead and could see the roadcut was tapering down to its distal end. Since there wasn't much left, I turned off my headlamp and looked up at the night sky. The low humidity and almost zero light pollution in this part of the country makes for some amazing stargazing. This night was no exception. The Milky Way sat directly overhead and there were so many stars that it was hard to focus on just one. I shook my head in amazement and then turned my headlamp back on. I walked only two or three steps when I saw the obvious outline of a snake at the base of the cut. I put my headlamp on a higher power setting and aimed it at the snake. There, in the beam of my light, was a beautiful River Road Gray Banded Kingsnake (Lampropeltis alterna). I watched it for a moment and could see it was just cruising the base of the cut, poking it's head in the crevices and quickly retracting it when no prey was present. It was my very first trip to West Texas and this was my very first wild alterna. It was a hefty 30 inch "alterna" phase female. While I was pretty excited to see this animal, I resisted from telling Dick immediately. We had several more nights in this area, so I bagged the snake for some better photographs and we left for the hotel.

Summertime in the desert can be awe-inspiring.

The next day in the hotel room I pointed to a bag that was sitting on the floor and asked Dick if he would open it and see what was inside. He obliged by opening and peaking in. The look on his face when he glanced up from the bag was priceless. I nonchalantly said "oh yeah, I found that at the roadcut." Dick isn't the only one who knows how to ruffle some feathers.

Disoriented in Northeast Alabama

December 18, 2016

Everyone knows just how absurd those car navigation systems can be. They tell you to turn at a place that would end in disaster if you blindly followed. They humorously try to pronounce road names and sometimes send you many miles out of the way when you could just do a u-turn and be at your destination. Dick Bartlett and I had one of these mishaps in Northeast Alabama.

We decided to take a few days to go in search of the stygobitic Pale Cave Salamander (Gyrinophilus palleucus palleucus) that dwells in caves from Southeastern Tennessee to Northern Alabama. The cave we were heading for was in Northeast Alabama.

We left in the afternoon from North Florida and arrived in the Birmingham area of Alabama just before dark. We neglected to look at any weather forecasts for the region, but we lucked-out on a little bit of rain. At one of our needed gas stops we could hear a cacophony of Upland Chorus Frogs (Pseudacris feriarum) from a ditch adjacent to the gas station. We triangulated a couple, took a few photos and moved on.

Upland Chorus Frogs (Pseudacris feriarum) were calling from a roadside ditch in northern Alabama.

The rain quickly turned from a slight drizzle to a violent and torrential thunderstorm which made visibility minimal. We decided it was probably best to find the next exit with a hotel and take it. In the parking lot of a small roadside hotel (that has probably never had to utter the phrase "no vacancy") the rain and wind only became worse. We got a room key from the office and drove to the back where our room was. The storm became suddenly much worse and we were not immediately able to leave our vehicle. The treetops were nearly horizontal with the ground and the rain was too. After what felt like a fortnight, we scrambled into the room and turned on the TV to see if the apocalypse was upon us. At the bottom of every channel was a significant weather warning, eventually turning into a tornado warning that named our county as the hot spot.

The next morning we opened the hotel door to assess the damage. The sun was out and all was eerily quiet, but there were trees and branches littered in all directions. A Mourning Dove was underneath a car still marinated in the night's rain. We later learned that there were several tornadoes in, and around, the Birmingham area; some extremely destructive.

Despite having to maneuver around a few downed obstacles, we made our way to the mountains with no major detours. We had a GPS coordinate for the area we needed, but we either didn't write it down correctly or we are completely inept at imputing them into our navigation system. I did some phone internet research and found the correct mountain on a caving forum. I manually put the spot into the map on the navigation and away we went.

The navigation system's voice instructed us to turn onto a random road that lead up a mountainside. It was a dirt road that was probably used for logging once upon a time. It looked like no one had been up, or down, this road in quite some time. The road was mostly mud from all of the rain and was extremely difficult to traverse. When we got to the top of the mountain we ran into a gate that said "No Trespassing on Hunt Camp." But the navigation lady was telling us to continue to the other side of the mountain. She insisted that this road continued and we were only a few miles from the destination. Unfortunately for us, she had no idea what was going on. Luckily for us, we could hear the calls of a few hopeful Mountain Chorus Frogs (Pseudacris brachyphona) through the car windows. They were calling from the mud puddles that were caused by the tire ruts in the middle of the road. We caught a couple, photographed them and retraced our steps down the mountain.

Upland Chorus Frogs were breeding in these tire ruts at the top of a small mountain.

Mountain Chorus Frogs (Pseudacris brachyphona) are a medium-sized chorus frog that have been found at elevations as high as 3,600 feet.

We found a roundabout way to get to the other side of the mountain, but not before we saw something truly unusual. In the middle of nowhere Alabama some farmer had a lot of time, imagination and a sense of humor that could fill a thousand silos. It was hundreds of large rocks painted to look like animals. I don't know if it was possible for us to just pass this by without giving it the attention it demanded. The self proclaimed "Rock Zoo" was just the thing we needed to get our moods back on track.

We finally made it to the side of the mountain that held the cave of our objective. The only problem was, the online forums only had so much info. They got us to the mountain, but they didn't give specifics. Cavers are just as (if not more) secretive about their locations as herpers. We parked the car and walked the side of the mountain for hours looking for anything that resembled a cave. Nothing. We drove up and down the road with the same result.

On one final pass we came to a switchback that had what looked like a faint path at it's apex. We parked the car and noticed that this was indeed a path, so, naturally we followed it. We walked for a long distance with pessimism until we found a telltale sign we were on the right path; a single, filthy knee pad that had assuredly been on a caver at some point. Now, more optimistically, we traipsed on. We made it to a huge rock wall where the path lead directly to a hole in the ground. We assumed this must be the cave we needed. It didn't look like much from the outside, but after we crawled down into the small opening and onto a flat surface, we could see this was a massive cave. However, the flat surface we were standing on was actually a 50 foot elevated mound of mud that led down to a clear running, rocky creek. It was quite treacherous in that the right side of the mound was an almost 45 degree, sleek-surfaced mudslide. A wrong step would not be difficult and that would lead to a very painful result. Straight ahead there was an area that, over many years of cavers entering, was a worm path in the mud. It was still pretty difficult since it was pretty much a wet, muddy ladder where foot holes were dug into the face of the slope. It was getting late, and we were already tired, so we decided it was probably in our best interest to not attempt this descent with wobbly knees. We turned around and climbed back out.

Out of the darkness appears Dick Bartlett.  To the bottom left of the photo you can make out a slope.  This slope is 50 slippery feet to the bottom. — Out of the darkness appears Dick Bartlett. To the bottom left of the photo you can make out a slope. This slope is 50 slippery feet to the bottom.

On the way back to the car we flipped a couple of logs and we found both the lead, and normal phase, of the Southern Zigzag Salamander (Plethodon ventralis). We also found a stunner of a Northern Slimy Salamander (Plethodon glutinosus) that was wedged in a rock crevice. Getting a few "bycatch" species, is something we focus on in-case the target is not acquired. I don't dare to guess how many thousands of miles have been traveled and not finding what we were looking for. But that's part of it (or so that's what I am told).

Southern Zigzag Salamander (Plethodon ventralis).

Leadback phase Southern Zigzag Salamander (Plethodon ventralis).

Northern Slimy Salamander (Plethodon glutinosus).

We were only moderately rested for our plunge into the chasm. The night was long and filled with grumblings about the muddy hellacious hill. But the next morning we got down into the cave, stood at the edge, looked down, and after about 20 minutes of expletives we did reach the actual stream at the base. Once there, we noticed the walking was simple. The cave was large enough to drive a freight train down and the topography was benign. We walked upstream, deeper and deeper into the cave. It must have been close to a mile when we reached a portion of the stream that was much deeper. I shined my flashlight into the deep pocked of water and a bit of movement caught my eye. I took a few steps closer only to watch a large adult Pale Cave Salamander (Gyrinophilus palleucus palleucus) vanish into a crevice that was positioned at the deepest part of this pocket. Our goal just slipped away. We marched on for a bit more until we reached an area where the water was only a few inches deep and had less flow. The water was dispersed in a larger area due to a natural dam caused by mineral deposits. There were several small rocks in this pool, so we began flipping. Under the second rock we flipped was a beautiful, young, Pale Cave Salamander. This salamander had no escape route and it must have been aware of this since it didn't move. We took our photos as best as we could in the formidable darkness, and headed back the way we came.

One of two Pale Cave Salamanders (Gyrinophilus palleucus palleucus) seen on this day.

The ascent up the mud wall was something we hadn't really thought about when we were gracefully falling down it an hour ago. We arrived to the wall, looked up, and took a seat on a rock. While waiting for some kind of inspiration, we see lights coming in the cave mouth 50 feet above us. There were several cavers coming in, so we decided we would wait for them and then we'd go up. They slowly climbed down and eventually reached us at the bottom. They greeted us and told us they were from a local university. They had the complete spelunking gear; helmets, ropes, carabiners, harnesses, spiky boots, the works. They look at us, covered in mud, wearing shorts, boat shoes and nary a rope between us, and must have thought we had fallen into the cave.

We managed our way out of the cave after some creative interpretation, and headed home. Success was attained and we only had to deal with a few days of aches and discomfort. Ibuprofen can dull the pain, but our trip to the bottom of a muddy Slip-n-Slide, and back out, will be etched into our memory for a lifetime.

Maine's Boreal Herpetofauna

December 16, 2016

When asked: "where is your favorite place you've ever herped?" my almost instantaneous answer is: "Maine." This may drop a few jaws, but I may also be showing some bias It is, after all, the place of my origin, and it is still home to the majority of my family. It also may be, in large part, due to the mostly unblemished landscape where birch and hemlock forests, cranberry bogs and rocky, mountain streams are as common as the signs for fresh lobster that line the streets of Bar Harbor. Herping is a combination of many factors to me, and the whole experience must include more than just herps. I can travel all over the globe and see some of the most amazing critters it has to offer, but when I breath in the fresh, crisp air of a Maine summer night, there is absolutely no other place in the world I'd rather be.

The herps in Maine may not be the most spectacular or desirable to most, but they occupy a special nook in my heart. And most of them can be found within a few square miles of my dad's property in Somerset County.

The origin of all my love of herps started with a single hatchling painted turtle that my dad handed to me as a 5 year old. He was fishing and noticed it sunning on rock on the bank. He thought it would stifle my boredom, so he caught it and and handed it to me. He had no idea what door he permanently jarred opened. Those turtles were a daily encounter and yet it was still an endless joy for me, and it still is today.

Eastern Painted Turtle (Chrysemys picta picta) sunning in a roadside ditch

Because Maine is basically one big, wet marsh and the summer temperatures hover around mild, you can find nearly all of the species throughout the summer months. Flipping logs and rotting debris you can even find Spotted Salamanders (Ambystoma maculatum) and Blue Spotted Salamanders (Ambystoma laterale) which can be rare finds outside their breeding season in most states. In fact, all of the herps pictured within were found during my annual one week visit in early July.

Spotted Salamander (Ambystoma maculatum). One of several flipped under a wood pile on my dad's property.

Blue-spotted Salamander (Ambystoma laterale).

Certain snakes, like the Northern Redbelly Snake (Storeria o. occipitomaculata) and the Maritime Garter Snake (Thamnophis sirtalis pallidulus) can be abundant when flipping a variety of cover. Less frequently encountered are Eastern Milk Snakes (Lampropeltis triangulum triangulum). I see them most frequently around my family's old abandoned farm, where they now have free rein over the neglected wooden structures. One snake that has given me more grief over the past 10 years than all others, is the Smooth Green Snake (Liochlorophis vernalis). Once I could find this snake with some frequency along the edges of a wildflower pasture abutting my dad's house. I can't even speculate as to why this snake has nearly disappeared from the area. I say that because this chunk of Maine has scarcely changed in the past 50 years. Pesticides? not used. Cats? same as there ever was. Lawnmower? Besides the turbo charger my dad thinks is needed on everything that has an engine, I'd say the areas cut are the same. Whatever the reason, I finally was able to find one crawling through the dew-laden grass one morning. I made a thundering noise of enjoyment that I cannot properly convey in writing. I'll try to explain what kind of noise I made. My dad, who is in his early 60's and doesn't hear too well, was sitting in the garage at the time. The garage is several hundred feet away from where I found the snake. I approached the garage and flung the door open. My dad was standing there with a cigarette in hand, and before I could say anything, he says "I hope that girly scream was because you found that grass snake". Lucky for me, it was. I unapologetically nodded with a satisfied grin on my face.

Northern Redbelly Snake (Storeria occipitomaculata occipitomaculata)

Maritime Garter Snake (Lampropeltis triangulum triangulum) with the barn my great grandfather Hutchinson built in the background.

Eastern Milk Snake (Lampropeltis triangulum triangulum)

Smooth Green Snake (Opheodrys vernalis). Once common, this snake has become quite the challenge for me in recent years.

One of my favorite sounds is the roaring cacophony of chorusing Gray Treefrogs (Hyla versicolor) that irrupt from the willows prior to an evening thunderstorm. During the mornings, however, you can hear the calls of a different frog. The "cah-tunk, cah tunk, cah-tunk" of the Mink Frog (Rana septentrionalis) is less pleasing to the ears, but it's nothing compared to the stench that is secreted when handled. It's a special kind of gross that is akin to cutting into an old onion, or an old gym bag that you forgot to take out of the car for a few weeks; whichever is more recognizable to you. Wood Frogs (Rana sylvatica) are often encountered while hiking through the pinewood forests. They can be quite variable and always beautiful.

Other than the prevalent Eastern Painted Turtle (Chrysemys picta picta) and Common Snapping Turtle (Chelydra serpentina), the only other turtle within range of my dad's property are Wood Turtles (Glyptemys insculpta). They are certainly not a common sight and when I found one in a rocky brook, I showed my grandfather and dad. They both said they had never seen one. These are people that are in the wilderness all the time and my grandfather was even a ranger in the Allagash Wilderness Waterway for 35 years. They were enamored by the turtle and couldn't believe it existed in Maine. Whether they had seen them and mistook it for a snapping turtle, or truly had never seen one, I was very happy to be able to share this with them.

Wood Turtle (Glyptemys insculpta), a species of special concern in Maine.

In my slightly biased opinion I think Maine is an under-appreciated section of our country. Mostly all of the herpetofauna found here can be found in higher abundance in states not so far away, but the beauty and solitude of the state make the experience of herping it a euphoric one. Just watch out for the murderous black flies.

On the Salamander Trail; A Test of Endurance

October 20, 2016

Some herping trips take a great deal of planning, budgeting and forecasting, while others are a bit more spontaneous. This next trip was both. For me, I rarely think too far ahead about many things, including herp goals, but I had planned this trip months ahead. My companion, on the other hand, joined on a whim.

Sometimes fate seems quite real. My trip was planned and I was all but ready to go, when a day prior to my planned departure the transmission in my Jeep failed. That very day Don Filipiak called and wanted to get away from his insular home in the Florida Keys for a few days. I told him of my plans for the upcoming weekend and it seriously captivated him. The catch was, we would have to use his vehicle as mine was nothing more than a two ton radio at this point. He was alright with this idea so he scheduled his time off work and planned to meet me here in Gainesville, Florida early Thursday morning.

We left at an hour that is normally reserved for news paper deliveries and birders. Our first destination was Pigeon Mountain. This mountain is part of the Cumberland Plateau that runs from eastern Kentucky southwest into central Alabama, and more importantly, it is home to a profusion of herpetofauna; particularly salamanders. I have been to this mountain a dozen or so times and have found most of what it has to offer, but that does not stop me from enjoying it immensely each and every time.

We arrived at Pigeon Mountain 7 hours later and we immediately headed to a cave in search of the mountain's namesake salamander; the Pigeon Mountain Salamander (Plethodon petraeus) and cave's namesake salamander; the Cave Salamander (Eurycea lucifuga). We easily encountered these species, and a few Northern Slimy Salamanders (Plethodon glutinosus), took the photos, and left. The next location on the mountain were a few seeps, followed by a rock-laden stream. In the seep we found two adult Northern Red Salamanders (Pseudotriton r. ruber) and in the rocky creek we found many dozens of Spotted Dusky Salamanders (Desmognathus conanti) and one large adult dusky salamander eater, the Carolina Spring Salamander (Gyrinophilus porphyriticus dunni). Also found were several Southern Two-lined Salamanders (Eurycea cirrigera). All found at the stream edge under rocks. This concluded our first day and we headed for a hotel room for a shower, a bed and a beer (not necessarily in that order).

Pigeon Mountain Salamander (Plethodon petraeus)

Northern Red Salamander (Pseudotriton r. ruber)

Carolina Spring Salamander (Gyrinophilus porphyriticus dunni)

Southern Two-lined Salamander (Eurycea cirrigera)

Spotted Dusky Salamander (Desmognathus conanti)

When I planned this trip many weeks prior, I had no way of knowing that a massive frontal system from the Gulf of Mexico was going to rip through the whole eastern portion of the United States. Our next location was 5 hours north into the southern tip of Illinois and the rains had already begun there. Not a week prior a very large winter storm had left much of the state under several feet of snow so water was plentiful. The next target was the Small-mouth Salamander (Ambystoma texanum). The location where they breed is within the floodplain of a tributary that leads into a river. Our nightmare of complete failure due to inundation was soon brought to life as we drove over the Tennessee River bridge. It had severely breached it's banks and the nearby agriculture fields were now below a ripping current.

Jeremy Schumacher and his son Joseph met us at a dirt parking lot at the end of a winding country road. He would be our tour guide into the uncertain floodplain. As he lead us down a hillside toward the river we noticed a few logs that looked good for anything that might want to escape the deluge below and the rain above. The second log we flipped we found a stunning young Spotted Salamander (Ambystoma maculatum). After a quick photoshoot with the salamander, we proceeded downward. As we got to a bridge that lead over a tributary, Jeremy stated that he had never seen the water this high. We continued into a mesic hardwood forest that we immediately noticed was more of a continuous watery basin. Mostly all of the suitable logs were submerged, and the ones that weren't only produced a few more Spotted Salamanders. We walked for an additional hour, flipping here and there, but found nothing. At this point the rain was getting heavy and we had to drive another 5 hours east into Kentucky for the evening. So we called it quits, said our goodbyes and thank yous in the parking lot and departed.

Spotted Salamander (Ambystoma maculatum)

I had talked to Jason Butler about this foray since it's initial planning. I really wanted to see Streamside Salamanders (Ambystoma barbouri). This salamander was the real reason behind this whole endeavor and would be a lifer for both myself and Don. I figured we might as well make the most of it and get a few other caudates in the peripheral vicinity.

The combination of rain and warmth made for ideal salamander migrations. Jason mentioned a spot south Lexington he wanted to scout out, so we headed that direction. After what seemed like a fortnight we arrived at the hotel to check in prior to heading out to the road. After more delays from other guests checking in and far too many pleasantries between them and the concierge we finally had a room. It was getting late and Jason was already at the road so we bypassed dropping anything off at the room and headed towards his whereabouts. It was roughly a half hour from the hotel to the destination road and all along the way we were getting updates from Jason. He was texting me pictures of all the salamanders that he had already encountered. This only made us uneasy and anxious as we just knew as soon as we arrived the rain gods would hit the off switch. How wrong we were. We weren't even at the location when we saw our first salamander. It was a portly female Streamside Salamander. We didn't know how much time we would have later, so we took some quick photos and moved on. Not a mile down the road our next salamander gleamed in the headlights. This was a monster and the most unmistakable and recognizable species in the salamander world. A male Eastern Tiger Salamander (Ambystoma t. tigrinum) sat still on the wet tarmac before us. This was a lifer for Don and probably his biggest goal. I've seen my fair share of them between Maryland and Florida, but I never tire at the sight of this impressive animal. We still hadn't met up with Jason by the time we came across another Tiger Salamander, several more Streamside Salamanders and our third ambystomatid, the Jefferson Salamander (Ambystoma jeffersonianum). This salamander was another lifer for Don and a pseudo-lifer for me (I've seen them at the edge of their range in Maryland). Again we took photos and headed for the actual destination road and Jason. The cell phone service was next to nil, so that made for at least an hour of phone tag with Jason and several wrong turns. We did finally meet and we headed out in a single car. The night was truly an amazing sight to behold. We saw close to one hundred Streamside Salamanders, several dozen Jefferson Salamanders, Tiger Salamanders, Spotted Salamanders and Southern Two-line Salamanders in this quintessential herping evening. A mass migration like I've never seen before.

Streamside Salamander (Ambystoma barbouri)

Jefferson Salamander (Ambystoma jeffersonianum)

Eastern Tiger Salamander (Ambystoma t. tigrinum)

We arrived back at the hotel around 2 a.m. at the edge of exhaustion. We walked into the room and quickly realized it might have been a good idea to check the room BEFORE we left for herping. Staring us in the face was one queen sized bed. One queen sized bed for the two of us. Our fatigue far outweighed our cares and the head-to-toe sleeping position was put into action.

Saturday morning we decided to head back for one more attempt at Small-mouth Salamanders in Illinois. We figured if there was nothing there to flip, and there was no place for them to hide, they had to be in the water. We picked a pool that looked optimal and began looking in the leaf litter that blanked the bottom. Almost immediately we found a lone male Small-mouth Salamander. We had no need to try for more and we also didn't want to disturb them further while they were breeding, so we photographed him, let him go back to his salamander business, and away we went.

Small-mouth Salamander (Ambystoma texanum)

We decided that we hadn't had enough, so we both resolved that heading back to Pigeon Mountain to try for a few other species was our best bet. We made it there sometime in the late afternoon. We drove up the mountainside, through a few switchbacks and parked the car. We were in search of Green Salamanders (Aneides aeneus) now. A denizen of the limestone formations and outcroppings that spatter the mountain. We hiked around for a couple of hours until we found the area we were looking for. The sun was already at the western horizon and flashlights were in hand. We found several right off the bat and by the end of the evening we had seen 10. Some were peaking out of cracks, others were deep down in bottomless fissures and some were right in plain sight on the rock face.

The next day we drove the 430 miles to Gainesville, Florida where the trip had finally come to it's closure - for me, not Don. He still had to drive an additional 400 miles to Key Largo. We are still texting each other asking "who's turn is it to buy gas?" All together we drove over 2,000 miles, covered five states and found 15 species of salamanders. I'm not sure we could ask for much more from this trip (except for sleep). It was something I will likely never be able to duplicate. I may never try.

Trial and Error in the Coastal Plain

October 13, 2016

Many of my herping trips start out only days, hours and even minutes prior to departure to a destination. They usually initiate with Dick Bartlett calling me, or emailing me, the idea and me replying with a "OK, lets go."

In early 2010 I was on a chorus frog kick and I wanted to knock out several species. Dick and I talked about it a lot but we never talked about which species, or when. On a Friday afternoon in early March, Dick called me and explained that he was needing better photographs of Brimley's Chorus Frogs (Pseudacris brimleyi) and we were going to leave in a couple of hours. I was still at work, but I managed to convince my boss that I wasn't feeling well and needed the afternoon off. They either think I have a serious reoccurring illness or, more likely, know that I'm lying and don't care, because my usage of "sick" time on a Friday or Monday are familiar occurrence.

We left for our four hour drive to South Carolina that afternoon. The weather report was promising, with high humidity and mild temperatures. However, this all changed upon arrival; the clouds had moved-on and a dry cold front left high pressure and crisp, cold temperatures. We decided to travel roads and listen for calling amphibians in hopes that something was bonkers enough to make itself known. The only thing we heard was a few distantly calling Spring Peepers (Pseudacris crucifer) in a sea of wind-blown tree branches.

Some trips don't pan out, and our disappointment was four hours worth of expletives.

Monday, three days after our initial failure, Dick called and told me that the humidity and rains would be back that evening. I was at work, and as per usual, I explained I needed to get off early again. This time something remarkable happened. We arrived in South Carolina and the weather forecast was correct! Some rain, but not torrential, and the temperatures were hovering around 60 degrees. The roadside ditches were alive with chorusing anurans. We hadn't yet arrived at the correct roads but we had already seen some notable creatures. A couple Midland Brown Snakes (Storeria dekayi wrightorum) were crossing the wet roads as well as a few Mole Salamanders (Ambystoma talpoideum).

Midland Brown Snake (Storeria dekayi wrightorum)

We drove around for quite some time in the known location and stopped to listen anytime we heard vocalizing. Many of the choruses of Southern Chorus Frogs (Pseudacris nigrita) and Spring Peepers were deafening. This made it even harder to make out a small squad of Brimley's. After several twists and random turns we heard a call that sounded just a bit different. We stopped the car and the calls stopped. We waited. After a few minutes one would start calling, and then another. The short, high-speed trills gave away the location of our target. A sluggish stream that was roughly three feet across and a foot deep, was alive with these chorus frogs. They were all calling from the bank, which was almost vertical and several feet above the surface of the water. Dick reached to grab one, and came up with a clump full of sphagnum moss. As we were sifting through to find the frog, we noticed a dark mass moving. While he missed the frog, he did come up with a Carolina Slimy Salamander (Plethodon variolatus). A completely random occurrence.

Brimley's Chorus Frog (Pseudacris brimleyi)

Southern Chorus Frogs (Pseudacris nigrita)

Carolina Slimy Salamander (Plethodon variolatus)

We left that location and began driving. We were happy, and didn't need anything else for this to be a successful outing. We still had our windows down listening to the night's activity when we heard a single call of something else that wasn't a member of the usual suspects. We turned around and drove back to the call. "Pip...pip...pip...pip..." was the sound of a single Ornate Chorus Frog (Pseudacris ornata) a good distance past the treeline. I really needed photos of this species so I trekked in and located the pond. It was a shallow vernal pool filled with ample amounts of blackberry and brambles. The frog was not easy to pinpoint. He would call for a few seconds, stop, and then swim to another part of the pond. After what felt like an hour I finally tracked him down. I watched as he would swim underwater and pop up 5 feet away and call again.

Ornate Chorus Frog (Pseudacris ornata) calling from emergent grass

Dick and I still reminisce about this trip anytime we go somewhere and the weather doesn't cooperate. One of us will simply say; "remember South Carolina?"

A Muddy Encounter

October 13, 2016

One late December afternoon I had an idea. I wanted to see a specialized salamander that is not a particularly easy one to come by in Florida. The salamander, Pseudotriton montanus floridanus, or the Rusty Mud Salamander. I emailed Dick Bartlett and explained to him my dilemma; I know what the salamander is, but I don't know where to see said salamander. He explained that nowadays we'd have to go to the Eastern part of the Florida panhandle to have a realistic chance of finding one. There used to be populations along the upper Santa Fe and Ocklawaha Rivers, both of which are closer to Gainesville. Even closer, a small stream that runs through the University of Florida where the type locality was collected. I've flipped more logs and debris along this stream than I care to share. Drought, or human encroachment, may have played a role in their disappearance from this region of Florida. Whatever the case may be, I now have to drive roughly three hours to where they now reside.

We left the following Saturday morning. In North Florida temperatures can be cold, even bitterly cold, this time of year. That morning it was in the mid 20 degree Fahrenheit range and the expected high temperature was to reach a balmy 46 degrees Fahrenheit. We decided to make a side trip to look for white squirrels so as to let it warm-up to a tolerable temperature. They were not too far off from our salamandery destination but for some reason it took us the better part of the day to find and photograph. The people that resided in the RV Park were a bit amused to see two grown men running around with cameras trying to photograph squirrels. We finally acquired the pictures we desired and got out of there before the locals changed their mood from amused to annoyed.

By the time we arrived at the mud salamander locale, the sun was flirting with the western horizon and the temperatures were layer-worthy. We grabbed the flashlights and headed down into the ravine and into the floodplain swamp. We followed a sluggish stream upward until we were in an area where several seeps flowed from the hillside and gathered into several shallow, muddy pools. We flipped hundreds of logs, and when desperate, small logs that more resembled sticks. We were able to find a lot of bycatch. The most abundant were Apalachicola Dusky Salamanders (Desmognathus apalachicolae). They gave our hearts enough of a jolt to keep us going longer than we probably should have. We also turned up several Three-lined Salamanders (Eurycea guttolineata), numerous Southern Two-lined Salamanders (Eurycea cirrigera), a few Southern Slimy Salamanders (Plethodon grobmani) and a couple Marbled Salamanders (Ambystoma opacum). We had walked for about an hour and the sun had long since set. Now the temperatures were nearing the freezing mark and we needed to walk back to the car. Our fingertips and toes now lacked feeling and the onset of shivering was imminent. Getting to the car was an internally joyous occasion since our outward emotions were suppressed by the biting cold. Now it was time for full-blast heat.

Three-lined Salamanders (Eurycea guttolineata)

We decided to get a hotel for the night so we could thaw-out and maybe try again in the morning. The hotel was actually quite full for a random night in the middle of no where. The parking lot was filled with big, dirty pickup trucks. Most of which had dog cages in the beds. It was the middle of hunting season, and the hotel clerk said we were lucky that he had a room left. Besides the occasional dog barking, the night was filled with warmth and sleep.

We woke up the next morning and had partially forgotten just how cold it was that night. I opened the door and was bludgeoned in the face by a cold I thought only existed in the Arctic Circle. I shut the door. That night the lows had dipped into the teens. We actually had to unsheathe a credit card and chisel the ice from the windshield. I think I was wearing everything I brought, which was barely enough to keep the stinging cold from my skin.

We ate a prolonged breakfast at a restaurant full of men clothed in orange and camo. Each telling a story of the prior day's sightings and happenings. In many aspects, we did not fit in. We thought maybe the temperature had risen during our slow-paced overindulgence of eggs, pancakes and other less healthy choices. We were wrong, but that wasn't going to stop us. We arrived back at the location and headed back to the seeps. Some of the water had ice on the surface and some of the logs were frozen into the mud. This seemed futile, but we marched-on and further than the night before. We saw most of the same species of salamanders (maybe even the same individuals) as the prior night. After several hours of searching we decided to make our way back to the car. Our pace back was quicker because we craved that comforting heat and we weren't flipping everything in sight. About 100 yards from the car we came to a log that had obviously not been moved. It was a big rotten log that I had initially passed-by because it appeared too heavy to move. Dick then says "why don't we flip that log?" I say "well, it's ginormous and I don't think we can." He says "lets just try." We grab apposing sides and begin to flip. It was much easier than I thought and when it was removed from its cradle, I saw movement. It was a Three-lined Salamander. Out of the corner of my eye I catch more movement. I see the brick red pigment on this salamander and knew immediately what I was looking at; my lifer Rusty Mud Salamander. I grabbed it so quick that Dick didn't have a chance to see what it was and didn't believe me until I opened my hand. This time, the cold could not censor my elation.

Rusty Mud Salamander (Pseudotriton montanus floridanus)

My Blogs....

This will be a collection of stories from my various trips. Most of the content will be herp related with a lot of nonsensical narrative mixed within.

Featured Blogs

December 2017
- Dec 11, 2017 2017; The Herps That Were Dec 11, 2017
July 2017
- Jul 5, 2017 Snakes on the Plain Jul 5, 2017
February 2017
- Feb 7, 2017 Upturned Noses and Uplands; Hunting Hognoses Feb 7, 2017
January 2017
- Jan 17, 2017 Speckled Racers; The Jewel of the Rio Grande Valley Jan 17, 2017
- Jan 8, 2017 In Search of Pygmy Rattlesnakes in the Carolinas Jan 8, 2017
- Jan 3, 2017 A Fatigued Day on the Ochlockonee River Jan 3, 2017
December 2016
- Dec 23, 2016 An Alterna Kind of Night Dec 23, 2016
- Dec 18, 2016 Disoriented in Northeast Alabama Dec 18, 2016
- Dec 16, 2016 Maine's Boreal Herpetofauna Dec 16, 2016
October 2016
- Oct 20, 2016 On the Salamander Trail; A Test of Endurance Oct 20, 2016
- Oct 13, 2016 Trial and Error in the Coastal Plain Oct 13, 2016
- Oct 13, 2016 A Muddy Encounter Oct 13, 2016