This is an example of one of the less colorful Rich Mountain salamanders.
If discussions about salamanders come up at all, it is often the big mole salamanders, newts, hellbenders, or the Appalachian group of plethodontids that have brought the discussion about. All too often the caudates of the central states are completely overlooked. This is sad because there are some noteworthy salamander taxa in the montane regions of Missouri and Arkansas. On more than one occasion I’ve hopped in the car and headed westward, photos of the grotto salamander, the ringed salamander, or the beautiful and variable Rich Mountain salamander, Plethodon ouachitae,

As I mentioned above, the Rich Mountain salamander, a very typical plethodontid, is a variable taxon. Adult at a robust 5 to 6 inch length, in some populations this salamander may simply be black and marked dorsally and laterally with a variable number of white and bronze flecks. Elsewhere it may retain the variable flecking on black sides but have a have a beautiful, rich, chestnut dorsum, it too being flecked. On some examples the flecking may be so reduced that it can be overlooked at first glance, and on others, as mentioned, it may be the chestnut coloring that is reduced.

At the eastern end of its range the Rich Mountain salamander may hybridize with the closely related Fourche Mountain salamander, Plethodon fourchensis. This latter was long considered a subspecies of P. ouachitae, and probably should have remained so.

The pretty Rich Mountain salamander occurs in a variety of habitats. Some populations seem to prefer the cover of leaf and moss covered rock slides. Others may be found beneath damp logs or trash.

But one thing is certain. If you like caudates the Rich Mountain salamander is well worth the time you spend in your search, but be certain you do photograph enough to display at least some of the wide variations in color.

Newly metamorphosed "Bobs",
Phyllomedusa bicolor
Meet Bob. Bob, you ask? Who’s Bob. Just wait a few minutes and you’ll see. Well, at least we call him Bob. In fact, we call them all Bob. There ya go! Hear that? That’s Bob. Yep. He croaks his name. Time and again, from dusk til about midnight, Bob—in fact all the Bobs, let us know that all is well.

Let’s track him down so you can really meet him. We’ll start by walking out in back to the banks of the reservoir. OK. Now let’s just stand in the dark for a few minutes. He’ll call again. “Bobbb!” That’s him. Shine your light into the tops of the banana trees and look carefuilly. Ah ha. Right next to us, seemingly undisturbed by the flashlight, is a Bob—a Bob still silent. But next tree down is another—right there—top leaf about a foot from the apex. And he’s a big one.

We watch quietly, our light on low beam, and Bob straightens a little, his throat puffs up just a bit, and “Bobbbbbbb.” Well, it was either a Bob or a burp that time, but I’ll go for the former.

So what are Bob and his brethren? They’re big, beautiful, green hylids, the largest of the phyllomedusine treefrogs. Bob is Phyllomeduas bicolor, a giant monkey frog. We were on the banks of our little man-made reservoir, an area of perpetual moisture. Over the years we had searched various areas of the Peruvian rainforest for these frogs and were delighted when we were lucky enough to find one or 2. Then came Santa Cruz Forest Preserve, the reservoir, and rather than us looking for them, the monkey frogs, at least 3 species of them, came to us.

That night was nearly the beginning of the monkey frog breeding season. The seasonal rains had ushered in the Amazonian summer and bicolors were moving in in numbers. Within a day or so, or perhaps even within the hour, the females would be moving our way and within a week bicolor tadpoles would be schooling in the shallows of the reservoir. Another couple of weeks and the first of the tads, little blue-gray metamorphs, would be emerging.

Mother Nature at her best!

A Cuban racer, Caraiba andreae
Three months to go. In late June Jake and I will be airborne—on the short flight from Central Florida to Havana. As quickly as we can rent a car and rendezvous with our guide, Tomas, we’ll be headed to who knows where for a week of herping and birding with various friends on this wonderful island.

So far I have been to Cuba twice, both times basically for birding. However on the last occasion Lloyd and I managed to sneak away while everyone else was searching for owls and do a little nighttime herping. We walked a long way, but for our efforts saw several Cuban giant toads, Bufo peltocephalus, several species of tropical eleutherodactyline frogs, all of confusingly similar appearance, and distressingly, a few American bullfrogs, Rana catesbeiana. On shorter jaunts we crossed paths with 2 examples of the island’s largest dwarf boa (aka “wood snake”), Tropidophis melanurus, and several pygmy racers, Caraiba andreae.

When I returned from that trip I began to think about making a herping trip a priority and mentioned it to Jake. His answer was “let’s go.”

So I contacted Tomas, a herper, birder, and all around biologist, and plans were made. We’re hoping for photos of several species each of dwarf boas, a Cuban water snake or two, more racer taxa, anoles, curly tails, and anurans. Not to mention the big Cuban boa. Oh yes—and a stygian owl! Please wish us luck.

The extent of the blue suffusion on a male Xenagama can be easily seen on this breeder male.
When I looked in the terrarium at the dealer’s I could hardly believe my eyes. Soaking up the Florida sunlight in an outside pen were a number of little brownish lizards that lay, basking, their bodies as flat as the proverbial pancakes. And except for a short slender tip, the tail was flattened, rimmed with enlarged spike-shaped scales, and turnip or shield shaped when viewed from above.

This was my introduction to the pudgy little turnip-tailed agama. Collected from the aridlands of Somalia and Ethiopia, this agama, Xenagama taylori, is adult at about 4”. Quietly colored like many desert lizards, they may vary from tan through various browns to terracotta. Dark flecks, spots, or ocelli may be present on the back and sides as might small whitish spots. The various markings are most pronounced on young examples. Some metachrosis occurs with an individual lizard being lighter in color when it is warm than when it is cold. Males displaying territorial tendencies or in breeding readiness develop a suffusion of rich blue on the snout, chin, throat, anterior chest and upper forelimbs. Females in breeding readiness may (but not always do) develop a very pale blue suffusion on the chin and throat.

Females produce about a half dozen eggs in a clutch at the end of a nesting burrow and the hatchlings are about an inch long. Although these lizards may also dig shallow sleeping burrows that are “plugged” by the flattened spiky tail, ours seemed to prefer squirming into loose sand beneath their flattened basking rocks.

Adults are omnivorous, eating a broad array of insects and leafy greens. Hatchlings are primarily insectivorous.

These are not “flighty” or nervous lizards and if you like Uromastyx you should love Xenagama. The latter are not always available, so watch the ads carefully.

This is the only green Florida chorus frog that Jake or I have seen in a lifetime of herping.

The chorus frogs, genus Pseudacris of the family Hylidae, vary in size from just over ½ inch in size (the little grass frog, P. ocularis, of southeastern USA) to 2 inches (the California and the Pacific treefrogs, P. cadaverina and P. regilla respectively). Although a couple of other Pacific Coast species do attain a 2” length, the lion’s share of the species and subspecies are adult at a slender 1 ¼” in length.

Among these latter is our little southern chorus frog, Pseudacris n. nigrita and its often synonymized subspecies, the Florida chorus frog, P. n. verrucosa. This latter, whether or not valid, was differentiated from the nominate form by having a broken dorsal pattern rather than complete, although irregularly edged, stripes and a dark spotted, rather than an all-white, upper lip.

One of the draws (for me) when we moved to Gainesville, FL was the fact that the characteristic ratcheting calls of southern chorus frogs could be heard in many places well within the city limits. Sadly, today, 25 years later, most of those choruses have been silenced, the ephemeral waters from which they seasonally emanated now having been replaced by apartments, subdivisions, and parking lots.

Having commented time and again on the absence of chorus frogs in the city, on a recent rainy night herping trip, Jake and I were delighted when one county westward we heard these little winter choristers first in the dozens and then by the hundreds. Despite the loud choruses it took a while for us to actually see any of the vocalizers, because these like most chorus frogs, most often call while hunkered down, with only a nose showing, in grass clumps growing in shallow water. There, their striped patterns and gray and black colors blend perfectly with the background hues and shadows.

So, if you’re driving along on a humid or rainy night and hear sounds like many people dragging their thumbnails over the teeth of a pocket comb, stop and acquaint your self with these little beings of the winter wetlands.