Closeup and personal--a portrait of a hellbender.
Hellbender. Say the word and even herpers who have very little interest in salamanders suddenly perk up their ears. After all, this big aquatic caudatan is not only the biggest caudatan species in the USA, it is one of the 3 or 4 largest in the world. To see one of these, Cryptobranchus alleganiensis by scientific nomenclature, is always wonderful, for not only are they, the salamander, be they baby or adult, unfailingly impressive, but the stream and rivers where they dwell are equally so.

In face, it is the beauty of the surroundings, the solitude, the wading knee-deep in clear rushing waters, the verdancy of the stream-edge laurels, the foggy crispness of the mountain air, as much as the possibility and hope of seeing North America's largest salamander, that keep me returning to certain favored locales.

But there is that hope and, occasionally, persistancy pays. Once in a great while if you flip stream shallows rocks looking for shovel-nosed salamanders you just might turn up a baby ‘bender. Or if you wade enough at night, your headlamp is bright enough, and the water is running clear, you just might be lucky enough to surprise one of the bottom walking big guys while it’s out on a crayfish hunt.

I’ve spent many a night doing just that. I’ve done it in February when the edges were ice-rimmed and the water was so cold that it felt like your toes would drop off. And I’ve done it on July nights when the river ran a whole lot warmer than it had in February. And I’ve seen hellbenders a few times for my efforts. And what wonderful experiences these successes were.

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!

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.

11:00 AM on a cool winter day, the sun is finally out and Blackie is anxious to bask.
At first Blackie as a yearling was no more approachable than any other southern black racer, Coluber constrictor priapus. I’d see him in the tortoise yard, try to approach, and the snake would dart into tall grasses and disappear. When first seen Blackie was well patterned as are most normally colored black racers. It was June when I first noticed him.

But being open to the sunlight the tortoise pen was a great place for a snake to thermoregulate and every couple of days Blackie would make an appearance and on every appearance I managed to frighten him.

Then for a period of about 2 weeks I didn’t see him and I thought, “darn-one of the resident red shouldered hawks had gotten him. But no. He had changed positions and was spending a much of the time when he wasn’t hunting brown anoles behind the tortoise house. We have lots of anoles in the yard so Blackie grew noticeably during that summer. By autumn Blackie was about 26 inches long and most of the dorsal blotches of its baby pattern (I’ve never caught it to actually ascertain its gender) were already suffused by the melanin that would soon obscure all.except chin and throat. These would remain white.

When the seasonable temperatures dropped Blackie disappeared again. Since I heated the tortoise house in cold weather I guessed that the little snake was somewhere near that source of warmth. But then during one of our warm winter spells I found a shed skin coming from a loose spot in our house wall into the tortoise yard. Blackie had found a spot safe from tortoise feet and now that I knew where to look, on warm winter days I would often see a loose coil of the snake’s body slightly below the lowest level of siding.

By mid February Blackie was out basking and feeding again. But now he was not skedaddling if I approached him slowly. By the end of that year Blackie was approaching or may have exceeded 36 inches in length by a bit and he was a jet satiny black.

I seemed to be finding a shed skin from Blackie every couple of weeks but he was less easily seen. Again I thought “oh oh—a hawk got him. But then I found him basking quietly in the greenhouse. I knew it was him because I was moving the black plastic on which he was lying before I saw him and his only response was a couple of flicks of the tongue. This morning, an 85F day, Blackie was back in the tortoise yard and then an hour later basking on the back porch. As he left to begin foraging he stretched completely across the 4 foot wide steps with a bit of tail drooping over one side. That measured out to 50”, about as big as southern black racers get. And when he left he crawled across my shoe. I guess he’s decided I’m harmless.

The black dot on both sides of each ventral scute are a surefire way to identify a Kirtland's snake.
just read a short poem by Taylor West about the little natricid known as the Kirtland’s snake, Clonophis kirtlandi.

In her poem, a mere 8 short lines, she referred to a food (slugs), habitat (burrows of mudbugs (crayfish)), crepuscular habits, and the ample supply of musk manufactured and spread by the snake when it is handled.

In other words, it was accurate wording to portray a wonderful and poorly known little (rarely more than 20” and often less than 18”) snake that calls the states of IL, IN, and OH home but that does extend its range a bit beyond the borders of those states.

I’ll take this opportunity to add a few sentences about Kirtland’s snake.

The habitat of the Kirtland’s snake is of a broader scope than just mudbug burrows. I have found them beneath discarded newspapers, paper bags, and cardboard in vacant lots in suburban neighborhoods, under debris in city parks, and under riverbank rocks. They have also been found in pastures and other grassy habitats, again most often beneath debris, and where they occur the ground is usually damp.

Besides slugs this little snake feeds readily on earthworms and one I was photographing disgorged a large leech.

The ground color of Kirtland’s snake may vary from gray to reddish brown and a lighter vertebral stripe is often present. Two alternating rows of black spots range along each side and the head is black with white lips and chin. The coral to terra cotta belly is lightest anteriorly and is bordered on each side by a row of small black spots.

This snake, once considered a water snake, is now protected throughout its range. And yes, like many (if not most) snakes, Kirtland’s snake is not at all reluctant to smear a handler with musk that is produced in glands just inside the cloaca.

Thanx for that poem, Taylor.

2 baby Brazilian horned frogs, always ready to eat and growing fast.
With good reason, Neotropical horned frogs of the genus Ceratophrys have long been hobbyist favorites. Over the years the species availability has varied. In the 1960s the Colombian horned frog, C. calcarata, was available to hobbyists. In later years the Amazonian, C. cornuta, Cranwell’s, C. cranwelli, and ornate, C. ornata, horned frogs were (and still are) readily available to hobbyists. In fact these latter three are not only available, but have been hybridized to a point where actual species identification of captive bred examples is difficult. Between these three there are at least 15 different hobbyist produced color phases now being offered! Although rare, Stolzmann’s, C. stolzmanni, and Caatinga, C. joazierensis, horned frogs have been occasionally available. And finally (at last!) the big, fabled, and coveted Brazilian horned frogs, C. aurita, are now occasionally offered (the single never-available species is the Ecuadorian C. testudo).

But rather than a generalized article about horned frogs, this is primarily about the Brazilian rainforest species, C. aurita. This species occurs in the Brazilian coastal states of Bahia and Rio Grande do Sul, and in some areas of the inland state of Minas Gerais.

At least one person has described this taxon, ostensibly the largest of the horned frogs, as “mythical.” But, although their adult size may be a bit exaggerated, a myth they are not. Adept at remaining in ambush positions while camouflaged by forest floor litter, this frog is often thought to be uncommon. But like many frogs, when gathered in breeding congresses, the Brazilian horned frog may be seen in reasonable numbers. Females are the larger, attaining a body length (and often width) of 8 to 10 inches. They are said by some to reach a length of 12 inches. Males are the smaller being 5 to 7 inches in length.

In keeping with the reputation of these frogs for being biters, the Brazilian horned frog can, will, and does bite. To this habit, as they leap forward, they add a disconcerting bark. And yes, in addition to their strong jaws they have teeth. And, yes, they invariably surprise and occasionally hurt.

Most old images depict this frog as being patterned in forest green and variable brown. A glance at the attached photos will show this to not always be the case. his species from southeastern Brazil occurs from the State of Bahia, south to the State of Rio Grande do Sul, and inland to the State of Minas Gerais.

The Brazilian horned frog, a “myth” come true.

Small snakes, variable bush vipers are adult at from 18 to 24 inches in length.
Meet Africa’s non-eyelashed, muilticolored viperine answer to the crotaline Eyelashed Pit Viper of Central and South America! This is the variable bush viper, Atheris squamiger. An arboreal species, this 18 to 24 inch long viperine is most at home in forest shrubs rather than canopy reaching trees.

Although in some populations the color of the variable bush viper may be a rather standardized olive-green, in other locales the variations in coloration are nothing short of remarkable. In these latter the little snakes may be of some shade of green, orange, russet, cinnamon, blue, yellow, charcoal, or brownish. Some may even be of one color dorsally and a second color laterally. And on any of these colors the snake may or may not bear a vague or prominent dorsal pattern of dark-edged, darker than ground color, dorsal saddles or chevrons. The belly may vary from immaculate to heavily spotted. Have I yet described a variability sufficient to warrant the name? I would certainly think so.

Atheris squamiger occurs in tropical West and Central Africa

This snake will bite if threatened and envenomation has resulted in human death.

A typical mole salamander, tigers spend most of their life underground.
Rain, rain, go away, come again some other day! Those are 10 words you'll probably never hear Jake or me say. We like amphibians, amphibians like moisture, therefore we welcome rain with the proverbial open arms. Not that we actually have much choice anyway. But on 14 December a wonderful frontal system decided we needed moistening. It pulled into the region on silent feet (meaning very little thunder and lightning) at 0200 hrs and slowly moved over us for the next 30 hrs, dumping as it passed up to 4" of water. So on the evening of 15Dec we went amphibian-ing. We were hoping to see and photo (our cameras love hard rain---not!) at least 3 target species--southern chorus frogs, ornate chorus frogs (more on these 2 anurans in later blogs), and tiger salamanders. We went, we looked, we succeeded--and that was noteworthy because we had failed on earlier occasions. The wonderful eastern tiger salamander, Ambystoma tigrinum, is the largest terrestrial caudatan in the east. Although it has an immense range, occurring from Long Island, New York to Northwest Minnesota, southward to East Texas and Northwest Florida, over much of this range it is of local distribution and the suitable habitats, containing the ephemeral ponds preferred as breeding sites, are being reduced by drought and construction on an almost daily basis. The reduction of the needed habitats, combined with commercial collecting for biological supply houses and the pet trade, can have disastrous and long term results on this species.

Besides the above mentioned problem, increased vehicular traffic has made access to their breeding ponds more hazardous, and in some cases nearly impossible, for tiger salamanders. Speaking for the Florida situation, recent observations seem to indicate that the breeding populations are now comprised of fewer adults, making each remaining individual of paramount importance to the continued success of the increasingly vulnerable populations.

If any of their variable colors could be considered normal, it is this phase with the mossy green ground color.
I have always been enamored of arboreal vipers, be they of the America’s, Africa, or Asia. I was so infatuated with them that at one time Patti and I kept and bred, or at least tried to breed, 30+ species. But, truth be known, although I found all of interest and beautiful, over the years two of my favorites became and remained, 2 of the more commonly seen Central and South American species, the 2-lined forest pit vipers, Bothriopsis bilineatus, and the eyelashed pit piper, Bothriechis schlegelii. Why these 2? I just don’t know. But even between the two I favored one over the other, this being the eylashed species.

Perhaps it was the ease with which this variably colored snake could be housed, fed, and bred. Or perhaps it was the overall hardiness. Then again, I guess that it could have been the remarkable and entirely natural variability of color. You like ‘em green, the eyelashed viper comes in several naturally occurring phases that vary from a dusky forest green to pale green. If you like something different and don’t mind searching a little, you will likely be able to find an orange –red, a yellow-orange, a bright yellow (the latter is known as the “oropel” phase), or a yellow with greenish or dusky bands (the “tiger” phase).

It was many years after I had acquired my first trip of eyelashed vipers that Patti and I had an opportunity to meet this snake in the wild. We went to Costa Rica. Patti called it a Honeymoon. I called it a herping trip. On the first afternoon, after walking a rainforest trail and marveling at poison frogs and minute geckos, as we walked back to our hotel I glance at a small banana tree that edged the path and stopped dead in my tracks. I was looking at a small grayish B. schlegelii! I hadn’t even known they came in that color.

Since then I have seen a few others in the field. Admittedly, not many, but among those seen have been an oropel and one of mossy green. What wonderful snakes!

This snake has an interesting defensive display during which it opens its mouth widely and faces the perceived threat. The snake will bite if threatened and envenomation has resulted in human death.

Coloration alone indicated that this snake was Bothriechis supraciliaris.
This occurred in those “good old days,” in the days when, believe it or not, snakes (including this one, but usually baby boas), mouse opossums, tarantulas, and other creatures were imported by accident in shipments of fruit and especially in bananas. This snake arrived with bananas at a fruit vendor in Boston in the early 50s and rather than killing it the Boston Museum of Science was notified. The snake was gathered in due haste by researchers from the Museum’s Herp Dept.

Back then it was identified as an eyelash viper, Bothrops (now Bothriechis schlegelii (this was 1954, the same year that B. supraciliaris, the blotched palm viper was described, but back then very few folks knew of the existence of the latter). For reasons that were unknown to me then and remain so today, rather than being preserved the snake was maintained in the live collection and when a year or so later I saw the beautiful snake and got excited about its existence it was given to me. I kept it for years, photographed it (as best I could in those days) and after its death the snake was disposed of in a now forgotten manner. From time to time I have published its photo. For years nothing was said, but in recent years I have been told that the snake, rather than a schlegelii was a supraciliaris. Others steadfastly maintained it was a schlegelii.

Nothing remains of this snake but its old photos. Its identification has not really been settled. Although I’ll probably never know for certain, Just for the record, I have since seen snakes that were very similar to my questionable snake, and that were definitely supraciliaris. I’m still leaning in that direction and always shall.

This is a typically marked adult ringed salamanderJake and I were recently back in southwestern Arkansas on, as might be expected, a herping foray. Ever since Jake had learned of this salamanders existence, he had told me time and again, he had been enamored of the beauty of the ringed salamander, Ambystoma annulatum, and although we had been in the region where they were found on previous trips, neither weather conditions nor season, had been conducive for these aptly named mole salamanders to have emerged from their burrows. So we had previously whiled away our time searching for and photographing some of the other Ozarkian caudatans.

But today, a cool autumn day, was different. It was raining and the rain was forecast to extend well into the coming hours of darkness. We had a few locales to check out before dark. All in all things were looking good. Necessary tedium first--motel, a bite to eat-- then into the mountains.

After bumping for several miles along a woodland dirt road we found ourselves in a land of rocks. This was definitely ringed salamander habitat—but there was a problem. Rock after rock, for as far as we could see, had been freshly turned out of its cradle and just left lying atop the leaves. We could only guess that this was the work of uncaring market hunters. For the first hour Jake and I rolled rocks back into their original positions. By then darkness was approaching and we discontinued the reconstruction efforts with hundreds of rocks still out of place. We did want to get a few minutes of salamander hunting in.

We walked a bit further to a small ephemeral pond and found after considerable searching Jake’s lifer ringed salamander and dozens (probably hundreds) of freshly laid eggs.

The rain continued making photographing difficult but not impossible and we were soon on the way back to the motel.

Once back to the paved road, the rain now barely a sprinkle, we were lucky enough to see another 4 ringed salamanders. Our trip was a resounding success.

A profile of the beautiful white rattlesnake.
Can white be a camouflage color? It sure can when it is peppered with tiny black flecks of color and sitting atop or amidst a number of rocks that are similarly colored.

And is there any such place?

There surely is. And Jake and I were amidst those rocks right now—or actually, right then. It was late on a night late in August in Arizona and even at well past midnight the heat was radiating from those black speckled white rocks as we searched for our target, a black fleckled white speckled rattlesnake. “Speckled” is the name of this snake, Crotalus pyrrhus, as well as its color.

It was Jake who had decided on this target, the speckled rattler. Then he had added the specific color. Sounded good to me, and after all, the locale was only 2000+ miles away from our homes. Heck. What’s 2000+ miles to dedicated herpers. I had dragged Jake farther than that to see a single species of bird. And neither of us make any special claim to our birding prowess.

So after borrowing and loading Patti’s car for the trip, off we went. A day and a half later we arrived and were searching the habitat. 4 days later, after finding a fair number of great herps and groggy from lack of sleep, we realized we had failed to find the target and since we still had a few semi-target species—rock rattlers, regal horned lizards and a stop at the wonderful Arizona Sonora Desert Museum-- a few hundred miles to the east it was time to begin our multi-stopped retreat. Fortunately we were more successful on our list of semi-target taxa than we had been on the target.

Are we going to try again? You betcha! And the next time, in the famous last words of somebody (I think it was Jake!), “we shall succeed.”

But for now, Eastward-ho!

External gills, functional eyes, tailfin--the larval grotto salamander has all three.
Currently there are 191 named species of salamanders in the USA. This large amphibian grouping is contained in 8 families of which the largest by far is the Plethodontidae with 147 species plus well over a dozen subspecies. With the use of genetics it is probable that an additional 25+ species will soon be added to this family.

The plethodontids vary in size from 2” long dwarfs to what are considered in this family comparative giants of 9”. Among these are species that are entirely aquatic throughout their lives (paedomorphic taxa), others which are just as entirely terrestrial, and many that are in between these two extremes. Most seek seclusion beneath logs and rocks in damp woodlands, some prefer a similar microhabitat along stream edges, and others live beneath rocks and leaf litter submerged in streams, creeks, or rivulets. Terrestrial taxa have well developed, fully functional eyes, some aquatic forms have reduced vision, and some aquatics are blind. And then there’s the grotto salamander, Eurycea (formerly Typhlotriton) spelaea, a most remarkable little beast that may be encountered in the cave systems of Southeastern Kansas , Northeastern Oklahoma, Southern Missouri and Northern Arkansas.

Troglodytic when adult and in its later stages as a larva, after hatching the larvae often follow connecting underground streams from the darkness of caves to the daylight outside. At that point they are pigmented, being a weakly patterned olive brown to tan. They then have functional eyes, 3 pairs of external gills, and a well-developed tailfin. During the daylight hours they, like many aquatic salamanders, hide beneath rocks and stream bottom debris. On cloudy days and at night they are more inclined to depart their lairs, swimming and foraging in the open.

After a larval duration of several years the 3 or 4 inch long larvae follow their home streams back into the darkness and undergo a metamorphosis that is typical in some respects but atypical in others. Simplified, typically the gills and tailfin lessen in size and function until they are fully resorbed and the larvae become capable of existing terrestrially. Atypically the pigment of the now subterranean salamander is gradually lost and rather than becoming lidded and terrestrially functional as do the eyes of other plethodontids, the eyes of the grotto salamander degenerate and the lids fuse, producing at adulthood a pinkish, sightless, terrestrial, troglodyte.

Welcome to the wonderfully complex world of Mother Nature.

Yep! I sure do recognize red pygmys now!
The spring of 1953 was a long time ago, but it was then that Gordy Johnston took me on my first long distance herping trip. In his VW Beetle we traveled from MA to our destination of northeastern NC in just a few hours. I was entranced. Heat, humidity (not that at that time of year the heat and humidity is any stranger to New England), immense live oaks, more pine trees than I had ever seen before, and the possibility (read that probability!) of new herps (back then the words herps and herpetoculture had not yet been coined –right Philippe?).

I’m sure that we found may herps on that trip, but of these one in particular sticks in my mind—a red phase Carolina pygmy rattlesnake, Sistrurus m. miliarius. And the reason I remember it is because when I found it I had no idea what the little snake was.

Even back in those long ago days the woodlands were far from pristine. Logging, especially of pines, was big business. This seemed especially so on the Albemarle Peninsula and the vicinity of Lake Mattamuskeet. Itinerant sawmills were scattered here and there through the woodlands and wherever one of these sprang up clearings were begun, and like Topsy, they grew and grew as the trees were cut and cleaned (debarked and trimmed). Soon sunshine shone where before had been comparative darkness and the trimmings of the trees grew into piles of seclusion for many herps. At some point the sawmill packed up and moved, leaving behind the trimmings and the tin-roofed open shelter that had protected the machinery from the elements.

Gordy and I had happened upon one of these vacated mill locales and we were busily turning the tree trimmings when I turned up this little red snake. As surprised as I was, the little snake coiled and struck at my nearby hand. Hmmmmm.

“Gordy, I’ve got a baby copperhead here.”

Gordy hurried over and carefully edged the little snake into a gallon jar. We both stared. Its dark saddles on the orange-red ground entranced us—and even after staring at it and realizing that copperheads were usually banded, not saddled, when we left with it and a big kingsnake that also confused us (it was a red phase mole king, Lampropeltis calligaster rhombomaculata) it was with the thought that we had found a strange appearing copperhead.

It was not until we had returned home that a more knowledgeable friend looked at the snake and commented about the tailtip button that we realized we had actually found a pygmy rattler, a red one, a phase that we had had no idea existed. Ahhhhhhh—those good old days (no internet, very few books, and youth---learning could be a real challenge!

Males of Lacerta viridis, the European green lizard, are an intense dark green with blue jowls.
Memories sure help keep us going. Initially I was going to blog about the first red Carolina pygmy rattler I had ever seen way back about 1956 or 58. Then I said no. Let’s talk about black rat snakes in the derelict houses along Rte 1 up in VA. Or maybe rainbow snakes along Rte 17 in SC. But then I happened across a photo of a western green lizard in Topeka, KS and got to thinking about Quivira Specialties Company.

Quivira Specialties was a mail order live creature and curio supplier. One of the first, it was owned by Charles E. and Mae D. Burt. I learned about the company after reading their ad in the magazine “Outdoor Life”. I was probably in one of the junior high (now middle school) grades at the time so that make the time period in the 1950s.

Mediterranean gecko. Note the transverse barring on the tail.
I’m not keeping as close of a watch on herpetological happenings as I once did, so when Jake mentioned to me “there’s a new house gecko in eastern Louisiana” I was more than a little surprised.

But when I indulged in a little research I found that this gecko, the small-spotted house gecko, Hemidactylus parvimaculatus, had been first reported from the viicinity of the Audubon Zoo in New Orleans, about 5 years earlier in 2013. So I guess it can’t really be considered new, just newish. Just as a “by-the-way” this gecko is native to Sri Lanka, Reunion, Mauritius and Rodrigues, Comoro Islands, Maldives, Mascarene Islands, and India (Kerala). It has now been introduced in areas as diverse as Australia’s Cocos Islands and Louisiana (Orleans, Jefferson, and St. Tammany parishes).

Trachemys scripta elegans, the red-eared slider is brightly colored when a hatchling, less so as an adult, and may live for more than 50 years.
Let’s hearken back to the 1940s and 1950s. Despite those “old days,” in fact those “old years,” being the formative years for my interest in herpetology and herpetoculture, I’ll be the first to admit that they were among the toughest of times for the little turtles then referred to by the dealers (in those days dealers were as diverse as 5&10 cent stores and every town’s independent pet shop) as “baby green turtles.”

This is a "straight from the wilds of Okeetee" Okeetee corn snake.
The ad stated “This boy is stunning, pics do him no justice! He is a wild caught straight from Okeetee.”

Okeetee? What’s an Okeetee?

It’s not only a “what,” but also, rather, a “where,” and in this instance the ad pertained to the colors and patterns of the corn snakes, Pantherophis g. guttata, found there, in fabled Okeetee.

As to the where, Okeetee is a huge hunt club that is situated in Jasper County, SC.

Below our windows, this Florida leopard frog was on the prowl for insect drawn by the lights.
Darkness. Thunder. Lightning. Ferocious rain. Nervous dogs. Moths drawn to the window screen by the lights. I sat here watching 2 pretty, fair-sized moths, wondering whether they would leave in the rain. A kerthunk! and before my eyes one moth disappeared. It didn't walk away. It didn't fly. It was just gone, Another kerthunk and the 2nd moth disappeared, What the...? So I walked out, got soaked, and initially saw nothing. 2 screens down another moth landed. A patch of dirt exploded and the moth disappeared. Beneath the window sat a well camouflaged Florida leopard frog, Rana sphenocephala utricularia. If the rain weren't in my eyes I'll bet I would see the anuran smacking its lips. I wonder if my soaked camera will ever work again?

Besides these 2, we saw several other Carolina "sandhill phase" pygmy rattler on this trip.

Initially our photo-target was the carpenter frog, Rana virgatipes. We had both seen this little ranid on many occasions but it just seemed time to upgrade photos.

But as Jake and I often do, by only an hour later as we had crossed into Georgia, our photo-target list had grown to encompass three additional taxa, Carolina pygmy rattlers Sistrurus m. miliarius, of the Sand Hills phase, just for the heck of it, a southern copperhead, Agkistrodon c. contortrix, and a small, still undescribed two-lined salamander lookalike, Eurycea species. As it turned out, we were successful on all but the salamander.

For a few years the Marie Gallante sail-tailed anole could be seen in southwestern Florida. It was apparently extirpated by the occasional freezes.
This is a pretty, large (males to about 9 inches females significantly smaller), bluish headed anole with a yellow-green body color. Males have a prominent tailfin. This anole, Anolis ferreus by name, is endemic to the island of Marie Galante in the Lesser Antilles. In the 1990s several examples (adults of both sexes and hatchlings) were seen and photographed in Lee County, FL, but the small population seems no longer extant.

Disturbed during an evening crawl, this canefield king coiled and hissed rather than hurrying away.
Florida’s not like it used to be. But that’s no secret. Native Floridians and long-term residents have known this for decades. And since I’m one of the latter and I have an interest in natural history I’ve noticed and disliked the trend, the never ending conversion of natural areas to macadam covered parking lots and shopping centers. When I started coming to Florida in the mid-1950s US 27 was a 2-lane road that was clad down to Lake Okeechobee with woodlands and a few pastures and south of the Lake was edged on the east by an Australian pine rimmed canal and Everglades and on the west by Everglades, Everglades, and more Everglades. Somewhere to the west of Okeelanta was an area termed “the peanut patch” in which were a dozen long unused migrant laborers houses, all of which were then home to what seemed an endless number of beautiful deep orange Everglades rat snakes.

Female Cuban treefrogs can attain a length of more than 5 inches.
I had been told for years that the ”Dreaded Cacophony” was coming. And about 12 years ago it finally got here. The “dreaded cacophony” had become a reality. I think it was first heard in Alachua County, FL in a tiny temporary runoff puddle by the post office. Then, that same year it a second cacophony was heard a few miles away in an even smaller puddle at the entrance of a subdivision. The noises sounded like a series of rivet guns badly in need of oiling. The next year it was heard from a couple of more ponds and the year following from still more. The cacophonists were here and it seemed they were here, despite winters that were a lot colder than those where they had evolved, to stay.

This is a very pretty male red-cheeked mud turtle.
The turtles of the genus Kinosternon are distributed southward from extreme southern New York and North Carolina to northern Argentina. The common name—mud turtle—aptly describes most not only in color (muddy brown or gray—some species do have contrasting colors—white, yellow or red-- on the cheeks) but in preferred habitat as well.