This is a typically colored Canefield Kingsnake.
There was a time when because of a more than ample food supply (garter snakes, water snakes, leopard frogs and rodents) drawn by the always full irrigation ditches these big busily patterned kingsnakes were actually fairly common. In the canefields they were so abundant that market hunters collected and made them a staple of the pet industry.

Canefields? What exactly are canefields. Well without overexpounding on the subject, I’ll simply say that over vast acres, actually miles, of southcentral Florida, where the Everglades once existed, thanks to King Sugar and an often uncaring government, there are now fields of sugarcane, and sugarcane = canefields.

And the kingsnakes that once thrived there are known by the vernacular of “Canefield kings.” Their actual name is Florida Kingsnake, Lampropeltis getula floridana, and their range now extends far southward from the canefields to the tip of the Florida peninsula. But herewith we are discussing only those kings from the canefields that surround Lake Okeechobee and extend a bit southward from there.

Today (2020), due to habitat polluted by the rampant use of insecticides and pesticides, as well as major alterations of the topography that has resulted in a huge reduction of the snake’s prey species and cover in the canefields, it would seem that these beneficial snakes have gone from common to rare. This is an abrupt change in only a 3 or 4 decade time span.

As hatchlings these kingsnakes are quite dark in overall color, with often barely discernable crossbands and even more difficult to see light speckles on some of the dark scales. Colors lighten and patterns become more visible as this kingsnake grows. Adults have a light brown ground color with many scales edged in black, and with irregular off-white dorsal banding. Lateral markings are varied. Some are merely extensions of a dorsal band, some appear like a rough edged triangle, others are just whitish scales scattered haphazardly over the snake’s side. The venter is usually yellowish with yellowish checkers. The average length of predominantly terrestrial, primarily diurnal, snake is 3 ½ to 4 ½ feet. However they occasionally exceed 5 feet.

Clutch size for this kingsnake is usually between 5 and 20 eggs. Hatchlings measure between 9 and 12 inches in length.

Currently difficult to find, I must wonder whether the next decade or two will bring extirpation or renewed abundance to this iconic kingsnake. We’ll hope for the best, of course.

Hatchling Eastern Kingsnakes often have a bit of orange laterally.
Jake and I wanted to see eastern kingsnakes, Lampropeltis g. getula, There are a few places where this subspecies can be found in northern Florida but Jake insisted that we’d have a better chance in Georgia. I’m easily swayed, so on a Sunday morning, about the time the midwinter sun was thinking about rising so we piled camera and us into the car and headed northward. Once there we rendezvoused with Noah and his dad, Dave, who knew this area far better than we, and began the hunt.

Noah and Dave really did know the area. They guided us to one abandoned ramshackle shack, and the fallen roofing tins associated with such locales, after another. Many harbored rodent nests but none sheltered snakes—of any kind. Until, sometime about midday a flipped sheet of tin divulged—SNAKE!—but darn, it was only a hatchling southern black racer, Coluber constrictor priapus. The racer home was carefully replaced and we moved on.

We moved from tin pile after tin pile (called flip spots) but no other snakes. We moved on to a tangle of fallen and a few still standing dead pines. We searched high and we searched low. Just as we were about to abandon efforts, Dave called out SNAKE! He had chanced upon a juvenile gray rat snake, Pantherophis obsoletus spiloides. We actually took pix of this one. In our minds it wasn’t as good as a king, but it WAS better than a baby racer (we never told the racer this).

Time was moving on but Noah suggested one more spot. He had never found a king at the suggested spot but he felt it had potential. Off we went and 30 minutes later we stopped beside 3 pieces of plastic. Jake, Noah, and Dave piled out. I’m a lot slower these days—I watched. Beneath the first piece of plastic, nothing. Ditto on plastic number 2. But plastic piece number 3? It held in its folds the prize of the trip. As Noah happily exclaimed “The crown jewel of a fun day of tin flipping, a chunky female Eastern King.” I’ll simply add that it was scale perfect, very well nourished, and just entering ecdysis.

Photos were taken, the snake was replaced, we shook hands, hopped in the cars, and in the proverbial cloud of smoke (actually flying sand) we closed out the great kingsnake hunt.

Black-chinned red salamander
It had been an arduous drive from Florida to Tennessee. Traffic had been and continued to be heavy, the weather was warm, and scattered thunderstorms of considerable intensity had slowed traffic a bit. Drivers, often volatile, were inclined to be even more so when impeded in the slightest. We had long ago left FL behind us, a bit more recently said goodbye to Georgia, and were now bidding adieu to South Carolina. The destination of Cherokee, NC, was not too distant. As dusk enveloped us we were greeted at the NC state line by more thunder, lightning, and torrential rain. If this would just continue, the night, now hovering at 70F, should cool a bit more and be ideal for amphibian movement. A half hour later the sky was nearly clear, we had found a hotel, were lamenting the sun slowly dipping behind the curvature of the earth, had a bite to eat, and decided to continue for another 30 miles to our destination. At least traffic had thinned.

Roadsides were wet and we hope there was moisture enough to induce amphibian activity. But 30 minutes later, as thunder rumbled anew, we knew we wouldn’t have to worry. Lightning began strobing from cloud to cloud. First a gentle shower wet the woods and road, tyhen harder, and harder still. It was dark and the traffic had dwindled until there wasn’t a car in sight.

Spring peeper, Pseudacris crucifer, then another. WhoopsEurycea longicauda—a wood frog, Rana sylvatica,-missed it. An elk crossed the road. Was that a worm. Quick stop. No worm, but a Blue Ridge 2-lined salamander, Eurycea wilderae. And then another and another. Then a long-tailed salamander, Eurycea longicauda . More 2-lines and peepers. The Oconoluftee River was roaring over submerged rocks. Then 3 large salamanders in rapid succession—1 Black-chinned red, Pseudotriton ruber schencki, and 2 Blue Ridge spring salamanders, Gyrinophilus porphyriticus danielsi. Had to move over for a few cars. Another long-tail. And so it went for the next couple of hours. Then on a whim I turned into a darkened overlook, shuffled a few fallen leaves, and voila—a red cheeked salamander, Plethodon jordani. At each stop I took several photos, my flash vying with the lightning bolts, trying all the while to keep the camera dry. Managed to almost do that. New batteries needed in both camera and strobe.

Time to call it a night. Couldn’t have been better. Birding and (hopefully) bear watching tomorrow.

Motel, here we come.