Blunt-headed tree snakes are blunt nosed and big eyed. This example is darker and with smaller blotches than usual.
When is a head high broken vining tendril not a head high broken vining tendril?

Why, when you grab a handful of tendrils to try and regain you balance and one of them suddenly turns a big-eyed head around on a slender neck to look at you, of course. And that is when you realize that you are doing exactly what you have warned your tour participants not to do—grab without ascertaining what it is that you are grabbing. This time, fortunately, no harm was done to either the grabber (me) or the grabee (snake—blunt headed tree snake, Imantodes cenchoa, to be exact). But the encounter did serve to rewarn me and there had been no one with me to witness the faux pas.

Blunt headed tree snakes are among the commonest and most distinctive of the arboreal serpents of the neotropics. The short snout, big eyes, and supple slenderness are echoed in this region (Depto Loreto, Peru) by only this snake’s congener, the much less often seen Amazonian I. lentiferus.

Nocturnal by preference, I. cenchoa bears prominent saddles, brown against a light reddish to chalk white ground color while the ground color of the tan saddled I. lentiferus is usually a lighter greenish tan. Both species prey on treefrogs and (usually) sleeping lizards. Adult size is 28 to 36 inches.

Juvenile common bird snakes are often darker than this individual.
It was dark—rainforest dark-- and rainy—rainforest rainy. I was trying to balance on a slippery fallen log that stretched over a newly freshened rivulet. Made it. Now came a rain-slicked slope about 30 feet long and descending about 15 feet. About half way down grew a spiny trunked palm. It was in a perfect position to make you want to grab hold of it as you slipped and slid by. I can tell you from experience, it would be better to fold your arms up and fall. At the end of the slope was a small but muddy permanent creek forded by a couple of easily replaceable small, wet, logs. And then on the right side of the trail (also in mud) was a small clump of non-spiny palms, the face high fronds of which were for some reason often chosen as resting places by common bird snakes, Pseustes (Phrynonax if you choose) poecilonotus, a pretty but feisty snake that looks and acts much like our rat snakes as well as by occasional juvenile fer-de-lance, Bothrops atrox (yes, these climb!). Just getting to the palm clump was often an adventure in adversity. Then, if a snake was there identifying it before grabbing might also be trying. Adult bird snakes, black above and yellow(ish) below were easily identified. But the mossy brownish juveniles looked far too much like a fer-de-lance for a snap identification. Love those rainy Amazon nights.

This nearly patternless mutation was once known as Rana pipiens burnsi, the plain leopard frog.
I stood ankle deep in waters still chilled by the Minnesota winter, listening to the yodels of distant loons, and hoping that in at least one of the flooded swales along this roadway I would finally find at least one of the 2 frogs—1 light colored, the other dark-- for which I was then searching. Both now simply mutant phases of the northern leopard frog, Rana pipiens, were once considered subspecies. The light one had been referred to as the plain leopard frog, R. p. burnsi, and the dark one as the Kandiyohi leopard frog, R. p. kandiyohi. I had first seen both when I was a kid as preserved specimens at a New England biological supply house. Now, a half century later, I hoped to find and photograph them.

On that first trip, made in May, the water was still chilly but air temperatures were in the high 70s to low 80s. Cattails and other emergents were flourishing, mosquitos were rampant and bloodthirsty, and leopard frogs, normal colors and patterns predominating, were abundant.

But I did succeed in finding and photographing a few of each of the hoped for mutants. Both were just as attractive as I remembered them being.

Now, a decade later (I don’t rush into anything!), I was back in Minnesota but a bit further north than my previous trip. It was mid-January, and temps were unseasonably warm, hovering at or just above freezing. The week before the temperature varied from zero to minus 30! In recognition of the season, we were birding, with great gray owls, not leopard frogs, being the target taxon.

This was a good thing, for except an open canal on Lake Superior and plowed roads the whole region was icy and snow covered. The mosquitos of summer were not missed; the leopard frogs were.

But having experienced both seasons, a temperature variance of more than 100 degrees Fahrenheit brought the hardiness of those leopard frogs into sharp focus. The adaptations of poikilotherms in boreal regions is remarkable indeed!

Eastern hellbenders may be strongly patterned or virtually devoid of markings.
I was in northeastern Georgia, about a 6 hour drive from home, staring in awe at the natural beauty of my surroundings. Delighted by the solitude and cooled by the knee-deep, clear rushing waters, the beauty of the forest greens, off-whites, and pinks of the stream-edge mountain laurels, and the crispness of the mountain air, all tied to the possibility of seeing North America’s largest salamander, the wonderful hellbender, brought memories of similar scenes far to the north.

There were a few partially submerged rocks along streamedge. Beneath some I found southern two-lined salamanders, Eurycea cirrigera. In deeper water, about 6 feet of my starting point—HELLBENDER! Not big, about 15 inches, but a hellbender.

The possibility had become a reality. I had checked beneath only a half dozen stream bottom rocks when beneath a flat rock just to the side of a riffle I found the young hellbender, Cryptobranchus a. alleganiensis. Photos were taken. I watched as the little giant slid unhurriedly beneath a riock, and I left, happy.

Now on to the rhododendron edged streams of the Carolina Blue Ridges, terrestrial salamander central!

A pretty Australian green frog in today's pet trade.
Throughout the years I have had several treefrogs that were “dumpy” either by stature or by name, but one in particular stands out in memory. This was a small Australian green (White’s) treefrog, Litoria caerulea (subsequently dubbed “dumpy treefrog” by the pet trade) that my friend and mentor Gordy Johnston and I imported from “Oz” in the mid-1950s.



Only about an inch long when received, the frog had a hearty appetite and quickly began to grow—and grow—and GROW! Within a year it was over 3 inches long and by the time it stopped growing (in length) it was just over 4 inches long. Although its growth lengthwise was noteworthy, its growth in girth was equally so. It became robust, then heavy, then on its diet of insects and pinky mice, it became rotund, and then actually corpulent. Yep, it was “dumpy.” And it remained so for most of the 20+ years of its life.


20 years? Indeed. This and many other amphibians have lengthy lifespans. And the good thing about the dumpy treefrog is even when they mistakenly grab a finger you don’t wind up with embedded teeth as is apt to happen in a horned frog bite. That, in itself, may be enough to sway your choice. Enjoy!

Searching for just the right spot.
Earlier in the day it rained just enough to dampen the ground. No matter the relatively insignificant rainfall, the moisture WAS significant to a female Indian star tortoise. She deemed it nesting time. She had begun coursing the entire enclosure at about the time the 3rd droplet had

fallen. And she continued until an hour later when she had chosen a site that she felt satisfactory. The site chosen was a grassy area between 2 small woody shrubs. She began the nesting process at 1:30 PM and continued preparation through a heavy rain that filled the in-process nest and a temperature drop (from 83F to 65F) until 4:00 PM. Egg deposition and refilling took another hour and a half.

As soon as the female had completed the nesting sequence, Patti redug the cavity with “egg-theft” in mind. In traditional fashion the neck of the nest was long and of small diameter while the egg-site was larger and easily contained the 5 eggs. Interestingly the female, showing more dedication than many do, had not only ignored the temporarily flooded conditions of the nest and the resulting “mudpie” but had encountered and worked around a large horizontal root as well. It took Patti about 15 minutes of careful manipulation to remove the eggs.

The eggs are now in the incubator and I’ll let you know the results in about 3 months. Wish us luck.