Formerly Seminatrix. Now Lithodytes. Somebody needed a paper! North Florida black swamp snake.
The sun was already low in the sky when Patti and I decided to scoot on over to Sweetwater Wetlands Park for a short walk We figured we had an hour or so before the rangers would shepherd us out for the evening’s closing. A barred owl was already calling in the distance, but our target was actually a fulvous whistling duck that had flown in a couple of hours earlier. We met and chatted with another couple of strollers and rather than birds their comments were almost entirely about the number of snakes that they had “just seen” on the trails. Well, what the heck. We could do a duck AND check out a few snakes as well. Good thing we decided that, because the duck ducked us, but the snakes were active on all of the berms and trails.

There were no rarities, but there was a lot of color variation. The snakes were all natricines—water snakes, ribbon snakes, and red-bellied swamp snakes. The hand’s down winner as far as numbers were the 25 or so Florida banded water snakes, Nerodia fasciata pictiventris. They were present in all sizes from 3 foot long adults to last year’s neonates that had hardly grown an inch during the long winter dormancy. Next in number were the Florida green water snakes, Nerodia floridana. They, too, were seen in many sizes, from 3 ½ foot long adult females (the days of the 6 footers are long gone!) to 1 foot long youngsters. The ribbons numbered 2, both adults of the Peninsula persuasion, Thamnophis sauritus sackenii, the only subspecies found here. And last, but definitely not of the least interest was the single adult female North Florida black swamp snake, Liodytes (formerly Seminatrix) pygaea pygaea. Although only a foot long she was heavily gravid and nearing her parturition date. So the score was ducks zero, natricines about 35. No question about the winner there.

Mussels and crayfish beware. You are being searched for.
Rapids, calm, more rapids then more calm. Kelly and I were on the 7-Point River, now searching for, among other things, common map turtles, Graptemys geographica. Still an hour or so before dusk, robins were already chirruping their evening songs and red bats were flitting in quest of insects just a few feet above the water.

Thanx to Kelly and another AR GFC biologist, both of whom dove deeply to check on Ozark hellbenders, Cryptobranchus bishopi, I had already had an opportunity to see and photo one of these huge salamanders. Throughout that float we had been watched by raccoon, a mink, and taunted by common map turtles that rose from the depths almost, but not quite, in reach from the boat.

But now we had a longer net that I hoped would increase our chance of getting up close and personal with one of these chelonians. It didn’t. They continued to surface but as if divining our intent, all were now even more distant. Well, darn.

While not the largest of the genus, the common map turtle is big. Females attain a 10” carapace length and males are between 4 and 6” in shell length. Females, mollusk and crustacean eaters, develop the enlarged head associated with such a diet. IOW, they are an impressive turtle. And I had just about decided I was going to have to leave with no photo.

But Lady Luck was with us. Just as we beached a big female map turtle came trudging down the sandy bank. Probably returning to the river from a nesting, pix were taken, and we, turtle and humans, went merrily on our individual ways.

Thanx again, Kelly. Yours is a beautiful region.

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!