Fallen pines and scarlet kingsnakes just seem to go together.
The salamander mentioned in the last blog having been found, I began the 60 mile drive back home. But about 20 miles into the drive I began reminiscing about a big eastern diamond-backed rattler I had seen crossing a forest road on my last trip. So I turned around and retraced my drive about 10 miles and turned into the forest. The area was a bit damper than when I had last wended my way, but I was pretty sure the diamondbacks wouldn’t mind, not that I actually thought I’d see one. But timing and temperature were on my side, so…

I drove slowly along a road once dry but now awash with rainy-season slushiness. Eventually the road ascended a few inches into pine and palmetto forest. Five minutes then 10, and still no snakes—of any kind. The next easily accessed turnaround spot was still a few minutes ahead so I continued. Sort of. But a big pine, long dead but newly fallen was lying across the road. Whoops. Turnaround was now unavoidable. But the dead pine, fully a foot in diameter, beckoned. Could I move it from the roadway? Probably not, but what the heck, it was worth a try.

And though moving the pine did prove impossible (for me) as I tried a slab of bark loosened and then slipped away. Fortuitous, yet unintended, as the bark slipped away it left behind a beautiful, 20” long scarlet kingsnake, Lampropeltis triangulum elapsoides.

Pictures were taken, the snake was placed near some remaining loose bark, and before I left had again disappeared from sight.

This was a great ending to what had until then been a mud-flung day.

One- toed Amphiuma are the smallest, most unicolored, and habitat restricted of the 3 species.
It had been a typically muggy late spring day in northcentral Florida and I had decided to take a drive to the Gulf Hammock area and try my luck in finding a one-toed amphiuma, Amphiuma pholeter. Unlike their 2 wide-ranging and larger two-toed and three-toed relatives, both of which are less restricted in habitat preference, the little one-toed species insists on a habitat consisting of a liquid mud slurry and is restricted in range to Florida’s Gulf Hammock and Panhandle as well as a tiny speck of range in sw GA and sw AL.

Amphiuma pholeter, unicolored and slender as a #2 pencil, was described in 1950 and is a unicolored grayish brown both above and below. It is fully adult at an 11 to 13 inch length. The limbs—all 4 of them—are so tiny that they may be easily overlooked, and as suggested by the common name, bear a single toe per limb.

Because of its dependence on mud-slurry habitat and spotty distribution this aquatic salamander (yes, it’s creek-side habitat is well on the watery side of dry) this little salamander can be difficult to find even in spots where it is known to exist. But once seen its unicolored body, lack of external gills, and tiny one-toed legs, are positive givaways.

So, the next time you feel like reverting to childhood mudpuddles and mudpies accentuated 100 times over, opt for a one-toed amphiuma search. You may not find the salamander but just think how rejuvenating a return to childhood ways will feel. Good luck.

An eastern hog-nose in its best cobra pose.
They don’t always erupt like the example in the first picture, but the one thing you can be sure of is that eastern hog-noses, Heterodon platirhinos, are of as variable disposition as they are of color and pattern. Whether they ignore you entirely, perform their “cobra display”, play dead, or simply assume an immobile loose coil in the grasses, for a herper an encounter with this rather common snake of eastern and central North America is always an enjoyable experience.

In the springtime you may be lucky enough to happen across a female moving slowly across a road or through vegetation that is trailed closely by one or more amorous males. In the late summer and autumn it is often the hatchlings that are encountered.

On one April day, Dan and I were driving along a mid-Florida sand road. Our way was pleasantly interrupted by a crossing brightly patterned female eastern hoggie. Before she has made it all the way across a smaller male, this one black, emerged from the roadside vegetation the female had just left and behind him were a second and third male, both brightly patterned. Almost assuredly the female was leaving behind a pheromone trail, invisible in all ways to us, but easily followed by the tongue-flicking, trailing, males.

We took a few pix, then stood quietly until the four had crossed. Quite probably, once from sight, breeding soon occurred, and egg-laying and hatching would happen in due time.

Although we saw little else on that trip, it had been a truly successful herping experience.

This is the gravid female Canebrake Rattler we saved.
I long ago stopped trying to figure out what makes canebrake rattlers, Crotalus horridus atricaudatus, do what they do. It's a whole lot easier when you realize that they just do what they want to do whenever they want to do it.

This heavily gravid female was coiled on a busy paved road in August in the full sunshine. Road surface temp was ~120F. We moved her because there were a rancher and his wife parked on the other side of the road, pistol drawn, waiting to shoot the snake when she moved. While we were easing the snake into a bucket I asked the rancher why he had waited. Said he didn't want to put a hole in the tarmac. As good a reason as any other I guess.

He asked what plans we had for the snake.

When I told him we would find a nearby quiet place and release her, the rancher looked at his wife in disbelief, shook his head, and drove off.

We did exactly as I had said we'd do and wished the snake a long life as she slowly left the confines of the pail.

And yes, I have called the snake a canebrake and not a timber. I’ve even used its old trinomial nomenclature. I have done do because I feel this remains correct. But please, call the snake anything you wish to. It simply doesn’t care.

This is a hatchling Northern Rainbow Snake
Rainbow Snakes, Farancia erytrogramma ssp (2 subspecies) were once relatively common but are now considered uncommon to very rare. The southernmost subspecies, the South Florida rainbow snake, F. e. seminola, known only from 3 examples and not seen for the last several decades, has now been declared extinct. Believers continue to hope this is not true and searches continue. The northern rainbow snake, F. e. erytrogramma, adult at 4 to 5 feet in length and nonvenomous (it can rarely be induced to bite!), once ranged south along the coastal plain from the southern tip of MD to central FL, and westward to eastern LA. It has not been seen over much of this range for a very long time. In fact, deservedly or not, one found recently (Feb 2020) in central FL was given headline publicity. It is quite likely that river damming and the corresponding marked reduction in the catadromous American eel, the primary prey item of the rainbow snake, is the main cause of the greatly lessened numbers of the rainbow snake.

Both subspecies are shown herewith

The South Florida rainbow snake, much the darker of the two, is a preserved specimen at the Florida Museum of Natural History.

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.