Eastern painted turtles usually have an immaculate plastron.
Midland, Eastern, or Intergrade? That is the question.

As a kid I was either skipping school to watch a warbler migration or out bugging the local (Springfield, MA) herp populations. It seemed then that either of these pursuits was a whole lot better than sitting in a classroom.

One of the herp populations that I enjoyed visiting was the huge population of painted turtles in the water lily/lotus ponds of erstwhile local park/zoo, i.e. Forest Park. I didn’t know much about herps back in those early days (I’m not sure I do now!) but I did know that there was a dramatically different suite of characteristics in those turtles. Some had plain yellow plastrons, some had plastrons smudged with dark pigment, and the plastron of others bore a well-defined central figure. I also noticed at some point in time that the carapacial scute sutures (costals and vertebrals) of those having the solid yellow plastrons went nearly straight across the carapace from side to side (excluding the marginals) while the costal sutures of the painted turtles with the plastral figures were not in line with the vertebral sutures. I don’t remember the carapacial suture configuration on the turtles with the smudged plastrons.

So, what did we have in these painted turtles? Employing the description still used today we had eastern painteds, Chrysemys picta picta (solid yellow plastron and nearly straight side to side scute sutures), midland painteds, C. p. marginata (well defined plastral figure and offset costal-vertebral sutures) and intergrades (smudged plastrons).

And therein lies the problem, a problem unbeknownst to me then, and of no interest to the turtles either then or now. But while the easterns and even the intergrades could be easily explained, the presence of 2 well defined subspecies, the eastern and the midland, in the same puddles should not have occurred. Could our descriptive criteria be faulty? Awww heck. As long as the turtles don’t care why should it bother us.

Hatchling rusty whipsnakes are bright green.
Most herpers are familiar with the ontogenetic changes (orange as neonates/hatchlings and green as adults) of emerald tree boas and green tree pythons. But fewer among us are familiar with the color changes of the rusty whipsnake, Chironius scurrulus.

The rusty whipsnake is a hefty and often feisty Amazonian species. Although 4 to 5 feet in length is the most commonly seen adult size, a few may exceed 6 feet by a few inches. Subadults and adults are often found along watercourses where they feed on amphibians and (I have been told but have not verified) fish. The term “rusty” fits the adults to a T—they are a rusty orange, often with scattered black scales dorsally and laterally. The head may have a dusky hue.

The hatchlings, however, are semiarboreal and are a beautiful leaf green. The green dulls quickly with age and growth and within 2 or 3 shedding cycles the once bright green baby has become a dull olive, an ontogeny 180 degrees reversed from the better known emerald boas and pythons.

Once common, today the Tucson shovel nosed snake, C. o. klauberi, can be difficult to find.
The insectivorous (some arachnids are also eaten) genus Chionactis, the shovel-nosed snakes, contains 2 fossorial species, palarostris and occipitalis. The former, the Sonoran shovel-nose, Chionactis palarostris, contains 2 subspecies (palarostris and organica) while the western shovelnose, C. occipitalis, contains 4 (occipitalis, annulata, klauberi, and talpina) .

The ground color of both species is white (or cream or yellow), with well separated saddles of black or brown and (often) saddles, or at least a hint, of red (or orange) alternating with the black. Some saddles, especially the dark ones, may extend ventrally and encircle the body. Colors and patterns vary both subspecifically and individually.

These small (14-17 inches), slender, burrowers feed on insects and arachnids. Seldom seen (unless flipped) by day, they are often found above ground at night and can be remarkably abundant when atmospheric conditions are ideal.

Rarely seen in the United States, the range of Chionactis palarostris, includes nwSN and extreme scAZ. Conversely, C. occipitalis, the western shovel-nose, ranges primarily in the sw USA (scAZ and scCA northward to sNV), entering MX only in nBaja and nwSN.

Habitat of the Chihuahuan Lyre Snake in West Texas
That Trimorphodon vilkinsonii are out there, there is no doubt—no doubt at all. There is also not the least bit of doubt that I can’t find them. Others find them, sometimes mere minutes before I arrive or after I have left. I know this for a fact for sometimes I’ve been allowed to photo the found snake.

I began looking for this elusive nocturnal snake on Texas trips in the ‘50s with my friend and mentor, Gordy (E. Gordon) Johnston. We drove (actually Gordy drove and I rode) back and forth, and failed to find them. Subsequently I have failed to find them on many of the same roads, right up until today, some 55 years later. If not anything else, at least I am consistent—except for one time. That one time about 15 years ago, Kenny and I were driving through the Chinati Mountain ghost town of Shafter, Texas. In the middle of the town (population once about 4,000, now about 11) we found a DOR lyre snake. The DOR snake was rather fresh and I wondered where the car that had killed it had come from, where it was going, and if the killing of the snake had been deliberate or accidental. It just seemed impossible that with that little traffic the paths of car and snake should have crossed.

Since then I have looked with reasonable regularity during all kinds of weather at all hours of darkness, and never again glimpsed one. Hugh tells me they’re fairly common. Ron tells me they’re very rare. I know only that I have driven and walked the rockcuts in their known TX range for more than half a century and have not only failed to find them, but failed dismally. Time to switch to birding.

The question--will ontogenetic changes turn this little western coachwhip pink?

One of the most noteworthy snake features of the Big Bend region is to be found on adult western coachwhips, Masticophis (you are free to call them Coluber if you choose!) flagellum testaceus. The adults assume a bright (some call it “screaming”) pink coloration. The juveniles—up to at least a 3 foot length—are typically a straw tan with broad, light, bands.

Coachwhips and the related whipsnakes are usually very evident in the Big Bend region. Since both Jake and I hoped to surprise and photograph one of the pink adults, we made a point of searching for them on several mornings. On most of those days we drove for at least 50 miles on our searches, and on one occasion we drove for more than 200 miles. Zero coachwhips, zero whipsnakes. If you’re thinking “what a failure,” just imagine how we felt. We had failed to find one of the most conspicuous and commonest of Big Bend’s diurnally active snakes. This stationary high pressure system was really crimping our style (and our hopes). With our allocated trip duration quickly drawing to a close we decided to move up to northeastern Presidio County. Could (or would) a change of venue make a difference in our success (or lack of same)?

Did it make a difference? Well, we at least saw a coachwhip—a straw colored juvie-- streaking across the roadway. We saw Texas horned lizards and lesser earless lizards. We saw desert box turtles. And we saw Ron and Daniel Tremper who had just seen an adult pink colored coachwhip cross the roadway and stage one of their oft-duplicated yet always surprising disappearing acts—probably by scooting down a ground squirrel hole.

But, and for us this was an important “but,” Ron and Daniel presented to us without ceremony a 30” western coachwhip that they had chased down (all I can say is a respectful “WOW”). It now sits in a place of honor as the only snake in my very small herp collection. I get bitten by it almost every day but I’m hoping that as it grows and if it drinks enough blood it will assume the beautiful pink of its Presidio County brethren. I’ve gotta get that picture somehow! Thanks, Ron and Daniel. I’ll keep you posted on the ontogenetic changes—if any.

Trans-Pecos rat snakes were the species most commonly seen.
With several mobile homes (cabins) scattered over the hilly terrain, and having a herp-friendly owner, Wild Horse Station is a magnet for herpers and birders. Although Jake and I had failed to make reservations earlier, we had lucked out. Mrs. Hammer (owner) still had one unrented cabin. We rented it and decided on an afternoon nap to prepare us for a night of herping.

Although it had poured here the night before we arrived, the low pressure system had then been replaced by a high that was to persist for the 5 days we were in the Study Butte-Terlingua region. Weatherwise, things did not look overwhelmingly in our favor for snake movement. But after having driven 1500 miles with high hopes firmly entrenched, adversity is difficult if not impossible to accept.

So anyway, here we were, still with high hopes, at Wild Horse Station for 5 days. Luckily, our friends from last year, Charles and Wendy Triche, were in the next cabin so we could visit and commiserate.

The nights cooled quickly allowing the few snakes that were out and about to move shortly after nightfall. But let me tell you how bad conditions (I really don’t think it was our searching techniques!) were; on a 30-mile stretch of road where we usually see a dozen or more rattlesnakes of 4 taxa, in 5 nights we saw ZERO, and on that whole trip we saw only a half dozen Trans-Pecos rat snakes! Even the prey items, the pocket mice, kangaroo rats, and other desert rodents, were at an all time low.

The half dozen Trans-Pecos rat snakes, Bogertophis subocularis, we found were all normals (no blondes, but Bob Hansen’ s group found a blonde the night after we moved northward—congratulations Bob and gang). The few variable ground snakes, Sonora semiannulata, found were pretty but none were of the more colorful banded phases. And after dozens of runs and rock checks through prime habitat, finding our principal target taxon, a Chihuahuan lyre snake, Trimorphodon vilkinsonii, remained only a dream.
Will there be a trip next year? Only time will tell. If so will it show better results. Only Mother Nature and Jupiter (the God of weather) can say.

Although a cool morning, eastern collared lizards were up and active.
On our second night in Comstock we were treated to more rains and the only significant find was a DOR Baird’s rat snake. It was time to head west again. Radar showed clearing weather and the forecast in the Davis Mountains was for several days of hot, clear, high-pressure, weather. From one extreme to the other with neither evening downpours nor stationary high pressure systems being exactly conducive to herp activity.

The stop at Davis Mountains State Park was actually a birding stop with elf owls and Montezuma quail being the target species. But with that having been said, neither Jake nor I are exactly adverse to happening across herps of any species.

While searching out the owl, a pair of Texas whiptails, Aspidoscelis gularis, busily searched out insects. During the longer search for the quail we happened across both a foraging eastern collared lizard. Crotaphytus collaris, and startled an almost fully grown Great Plains skink, Plestiodon obsoletus. This was a lifer for Jake who spent a half an hour following the skink, camera in hand. Again, time for a nap in preparation for a night of road-cruising.

These 3 Trans-Pecos copperheads were found on this trip.
Our plans again changed, but only by a few minutes. The hour was late and we had decided to call it a night. Then, well on our way to the road exit, I decided “aww heck. Just one more pass and then we’d leave. I reversed direction again and had hardly gotten up to cruising speed when “SNAKE.” I slammed the brakes on and Jake was out of his door before the car fully stopped. Another “WAHOOOOO,” then “Copperhead.”

This, the Trans-Pecos copperhead, Agkistrodon piscivorous pictigaster (and yes, I’m aware of the nomenclatural changes but I happen to believe in the subspecies concept!) was another lifer for Jake.

This, the southwesternmost of the 5 subspecies of copperhead, is also the most strikingly colored. The dark bands are wide, shade to a narrow rich mahogany edging fore and aft, and contain a central light patch as they near the dark belly. Pretty? You have to see and adult example (juveniles are paler overall) of this pit viper to fully appreciate its beauty.

And we were able to appreciate it 3 times, for besides Jake’s lifer, we found 2 additional copperheads. Things were looking up. Now on to Study Butte.

This little yellow mud turtle chose to be active during the deluge.

We awakened to a persistent and thickening cloud cover rent in all directions by bolts of cloud to ground lightning. Thunderstorms surrounded us. Hmmmm. What now? We hadn’t driven all night only to be thwarted by storms. But as it turned out, thwarted we were. To the west was a solid wall of rain. Eastward seemed a bit brighter in a dark sort of way, so we headed east to 277, a fabled gray-banded kingsnake road, only to be met by still intensifying thunderstorms.

Within minutes it was raining so hard that the wipers were ineffectual. Lightning, in all of its many incarnations, was incessant. Jake and I knew that our first night in West Texas was destined to be a bust; if any herps at all were active it would be the amphibians, and so it was--almost. Of the many possibilities that night we were to see only Couch’s spadefoots, Scaphiopus couchii, Rio Grande leopard frogs, Rana berlandieri, and a single yellow mud turtle, Kinosternon flavescens, that scuttled quickly from the pavement. The storm of that evening was epic with rainfall exceeding 5 inches. Motel time!

This western diamondback was seen several times in one night.
At dusk—a clear, warm, dusk-- we found a vinegaroon! On a trip that had been plagued with evening downpours, that was a definite step in the right direction. Vinegaroons (aka whip scorpions or uropygids) are always a welcome find. Detaining it for photos induced the release of the protective acetic acid concoction from which this arachnid takes its name, but within a minute or two the little beast was continuing its trek across the pavement.

Although we were the first ones on the road, three other cars of herpers soon joined the hunt. But despite the competition we did reasonably well. The first find was a 2-foot long black-tailed rattlesnake, Crotalus m. molossus. Jake spied its nose, barely out of the roadside grasses, soon after darkness had fallen. Second up for the evening was a 2-foot long western diamondback, Crotalus atrox, the first of this normally abundant species we had seen on the trip. A trusting snake, we saw this young rattler on several other of the evening’s passes. The third snake of the evening brought an explosive “YESSSSSS” followed by a victory dance from Jake. It, a western hook-nosed snake, Gyalopion canum, was a taxon that had evaded us for the previous 2 years. And as it turned out, it was the only example of this little arachnid and insect eater that we found on this trip! Lady luck was smiling occasionally.

A Texas patch-nosed snake made a cameo appearance then retreated.
It was 3PM when Jake finished loading his necessities in the Honda. This would be the first long trip for the CRV and I was hoping it would prove as trusty as the old ’96 RAV that had only recently “bitten the dust.” I-10 was only an hour away and once in the westbound lanes of that highway we would really be on our way. By the time we had reached the Alabama state line dusk was nigh. Traffic was fast through Mississippi, then Louisiana followed. Over the Mississippi River and across the 18+ mile long causeway that spans the Atchafalaya Basin. Finally we rolled into Texas, made it uneventfully through Houston and continued on to San Antonio—and beyond. The world turned, the sun rose then disappeared behind an ever thickening layer of clouds. A short foray in Kinney County produced a pretty and feisty bullsnake and followed by a fleeting view of a Texas patchnose. Under the cloud cover we again moved westward. Del Rio was behind us and finally Comstock, our first real destination was on the horizon. The motel beckoned. Lunch at the C&J beckoned equally persistently. Then it was time for a long overdue nap.

Adult matamatas, like this 10 incher, are darker in color than the hatchlings.I was walking and netting slowly in the shallows of the Rio Orosa (Amazonian Peru) hoping against hope to find young marbled swamp eels, Suriname toads, aquatic caecilians, or baby electric eels. So far I had found only a few tetra and cichlid species but it was getting late and I was getting tired. Lightning rent the sky and illuminated the towering cumulus clouds miles distant, closer to the Rio Amazonas. Another scoop produced a few more fish and a 3” long rock. Whoops. There are no rocks like that in the Amazon. I had scooped a baby matamata, Chelus fimbriatus, from the grassy shallows. And after 20+ years of scooping it remains the only one I have ever personally found.

There is no other turtle in the world that even approximates the appearance of the matamata. The mud-colored, rough textured, flattened, oblong, carapace bears 3 prominent keels. The plastron is small and provides virtually no protection to the underside of the limbs or neck. The neck is horizontally flattened and prominently fringed. The head is flattened, bears triangular temporal lobes, a snorkel like nose, small eyes, and a wide curved jaw. Neck and head are mud-brown dorsally. Ventrally the head and neck of adults (they can reach a length of 16”) are usually dark but young examples have a pinkinsh chin and 3 very pink, broad, throat stripes .

But enough words. The accompanying pix will better explain the overall appearance of this remarkable turtle. Enjoy.

Hatchling spotted turtles usually have only a single spot in each carapacial scute. These may increase in number as the turtle ages.
Strange though it may seem, the beautiful and aptly named spotted turtle, Clemmys guttata, has been hiding in many of its disjunct Florida ranges pretty much in plain sight. Now the lone species in the genus Clemmys, the spotted turtle has an immense, but disjunct, range that reaches on one leg of the range from southeastern Canada westward to eastern Illinois and on the other leg southward from southeastern Maine through the eastern seaboard states to central Florida. Everywhere secretive, it is nowhere more so than in Florida.

Because of examples found along Interstate 4, what is thought to be the southernmost population (Polk County) is rather well documented. From there it jumps spottily northward along the east coast to Duval County and westward to Hamilton and Wakulla counties. Long known to occur in north central Florida, the Alachua County population is currently being tracked and documented by FWC biologists. There they are finding that the population is more robust than was expected. This is encouraging in a world where so many other herp species are being extirpated or actually becoming extinct. And if you happen to find a spotted turtle, either dead or alive, in Florida, please take a moment to contact and advise the Florida Fish and Wildlife Commission.

Adult Colombian red ears may attain 10" in length and the pattern becomes suffused with melanin.
No doubt worse for the baby turtles than for the humans who bought them, there was a time- span of several decades (until 1975 when the sale of turtles having a carapace length of less than 4” became illegal) when hatchling red-eared sliders, Cumberland sliders, and Mississippi map turtles were sold over the counters of almost every five and dime store in the nation. In that time frame the little turtles were hatched in Gulf Coast turtle farms by the tens of thousands. But it was soon apparent that despite the immense numbers produced, the little reptiles became unavailable for several months each year. To the rescue of the industry came the South American country of Colombia.

Their baby turtles, both red-eared sliders and Amazon sidenecks, hatched at a different time of the year and became available as a “fill in” for the months when the American species were not available.

Thus, we were introduced to the Colombian red-eared slider. Then (when subspecies were in vogue), this pretty turtle was known as Pseudemys scripta callirostris. Today this same species is known as Trachemys callirostris, and it, like many other once common pet trade species, is no longer often seen.

Boomslangs are variably colored. Greens, blacks, and grays are most common.
Are you old enough to remember the term “junk” or “trash” snakes? No?

Well these were terms once used by importers for the “unordered” snake species that they received (and were expected to pay for) on each order of imports. They were usually common, often rear-fanged species (such as guarda caminos (road guarders)), tree snakes, genera Philodryas and Ahaetulla, cat-eyed snakes (Leptodeira and Boiga) and if the order was from Africa, boomslangs!

The boomslang (boom=tree, slang=snake in Afrikaans), Dispholidus typus, is a wide spread, very common, arboreal species that African dealers tried desperately to sell with each and (almost) every valid order from each and (almost) every American dealer. The boomslang, a rear fanged colubrine taxon, has a complex and dangerous venom. This was learned in the hardest and most indelible way by herpetologist Karl P. Schmidt, who suffered a bite from one and documented the effect of the venom that proved lethal 24 hours later.

Of variable color and pattern, the 3 ½ to 6 foot long boomslang may be black, gray, green or more rarely brick red. The green(ish) eyes of this lizard and frog eater are proportionately large, and especially so on juvenile examples.

The boomslang is no longer a commonly imported species, and rather than being a “disposable” taxon are now coveted by many venomous keepers.

My how the times have changed!

Adult Mt. Kenya bush vipers are clad in a contrasting pattern of black and yellow.

It was back in the 1970s I acquired my first Mt. Kenya bush viper, Atheris desaixii. I hadn’t been looking for the taxon and I’m not even sure that I was aware of the existence of this viperine species until then.

Even then the acquisition was happenstance. I got a phone call one night from Hank Molt. It was back in those old those old days when Hank was “king of the herp rarities.”

“Dick. I know you like bush vipers and I’ve got one here that you just have to see.” It’s from Mt. Kenya and you’ve got to see it. C’mon up.” The fact that I was in Tampa and Hank was in Philadelphia was of small consequence. I hopped on the next northbound Delta and was soon in Philadelphia.

Hank met me at the airport and an hour later I was staring at one of the prettiest snakes I had until then seen. About 2 feet long, the ground color was charcoal and besides almost every dorsal and lateral scale bearing a tiny dot of butter yellow, the yellow was carried over into an intricate pattern.

When I asked Hank the price of the snake I was taken aback. Back in those days herps were usually quite affordable. This one teetered on the brink of being non-affordable. But I wanted the snake, Hank wanted to sell it, and after a bit of bargaining, it became mine. Ahhhh. Those were the good old days!

Scarlet Kingsnake! Need I say more?
Levy County is huge and still relatively untrammeled in many areas. Lately I have been spending less and less time fieldherping and more time birding, pursuits said by some to be relatively similar but that I find vastly different.

It was not until I had turned and was well on the way out that I noticed the remains of a huge long dead pine. But it was not the standing pine, itself well hidden in a canopy of green, that had caught my eye. Rather it was a huge fallen limb, a foot or more in diameter, that beckoned.

I slowed the car, passed, continued about 100 yards then decided to stop. Backing up that final 100 yards took only a few seconds. Shift lever in park, I stepped from the car and walked the couple of dozen few feet to the limb, shifted one end of it an inch or two, stepped back, looked down, and found myself staring at what until that moment been a well-hidden partial coil—red, black, yellow, black red—a beautiful, adult, scarlet king, Lampropeltis triangulum elapsoides. A worthwhile stop indeed.

Body color can vary to blend with the substrate.
It was just past sunup and I was walking a boardwalk over a saltmarsh in Levy County when I noticed the chunky, charcoal-on-gray snake lying loosely coiled on some bent over marsh grasses. A little further on there was another in what seemed an easily duplicated scene and then a third. In fact, the only divergence from this snake-on-the-grass format, from what I had begun to think of as the “norm” after seeing it over and over on the last 2 trips occurred almost at the end of my stroll where the elevated walkway passed through a stand of mangroves. There, a slender, more alert, and more brightly colored yearling Gulf salt-marsh snake, Nerodia clarkii clarkii, took immediate notice of my not so stealthy approach and with alacrity moved from its sunny position on the walkway into the darkness and obscurity of the mangrove branches.

Simple statistics: Since being described in 1853, this small water snake has had an unsettled nomenclatural history (Regina clarkii – Baird & Girard 1853, Tropidonotus clarkii – Cope 1861, Natrix clarki – Allen 1932, Natrix sipedon clarki – Conant 1958, Natrix fasciata clarki – Conant 1975, Nerodia clarkii clarkii – Conant & Collins 1991). When healthy this snake is of moderate girth, seldom exceeds 30” in adult length but is often 21 to 25 inches, with females being the larger sex. Dorsal ground color can vary between tan or pale gray to charcoal and there are 4 darker stripes, 2 dorsal and 2 lateral. There are from one to 3 rows of lightspots on the belly.

A burrowing frog floating quietly between the bleating calls.
So What’s a Waaaaaaaa-mooch?

It was probably about 1949 or 1950 when I learned of the "waaaaaaa-mooch." A couple of my favorite childhood books were by naturalist Ivan T. Sanderson. And it was in his "Living Treasure" (published in 1941) that he discussed his first encounter with this, the tropical Mexican burrowing frog Rhinophrynus dorsalis. He perceived its vocalizations as a series of long, mournful, “waaaaaaa-moooooch” cries

Despite its name, this frog may actually be found well beyond Mexico. It is known to range from Costa Rica northward to southern Texas, but its distribution is spotty. Additionally, the frog is very secretive, usually emerging from its burrows to forage only during heavy rains, and to breed only during sustained torrential rains.

It was during a hurricane event in Texas’ LRGV that I finally met this anuran in the state. It had been pouring for 2 days and the countryside was awash. Gusty rain was driven in through the cracked windows. I was soaked. A flooded ditch and beyond that a flooded pasture… Then a chorus of waaaaaaaAAAHHHHS.

Different dialect but the very same eagerly sought frog.

In the ditch were a number of triangle shaped faces. As I watched I saw that those tiny frog faces were attached to inflated bodies that bobbed up in down in time with their calls, a bit like a flattened carousel where the horses go up and down in time to the music.
Success.

Curly-tails are alert and very fast.
The curly-tailed lizard, Leiocephalus carinatus, looks superficially like a heavy bodied swift (fence lizard) with an unruly, upcurled, tail. Present in Florida since the mid-1930s when it was deliberately introduced in the hope that it would consume unwanted insects in the sugarcane crops, this active diurnal Bahamian native is now seldom seen in the cane growing regions but has become common to abundant along the east coast of Florida from Martin to Miami-Dade counties and in lesser numbers in Monroe County. There it may be seen displaying on curbstones, parking barriers, and garden ornaments in locales as varied as sea-dunes to inland parks and urban neighborhoods.

The genus Leiocephalus is large and diverse. Alone, the species L. carinatus¸ the taxon present in Florida, contains 13 Bahamian and Cuban subspecies. Most are of quite similar appearance and the subspecies are best differentiated by range. Although over the years at least 3 subspecies (L. c. armouri, L. c. coryi, and L. c. virescens) have been introduced to Florida, only the first of the 3, the northern curly-tailed lizard, has become firmly established.

Although not particularly inclined to do so, this lizard would much prefer to bask or dart actively about at ground level as it forages for insects in piles of building rubble or oolitic limestone.

Most adult male marbled salamanders are precisely marked in black and white.
The beautiful marbled salamander, Ambystoma opacum, ranges southward from extreme South Eastern New Hampshire and Southern Michigan to East Texas and Northern Florida. Interestingly and sadly, the Florida range of this pretty autumn breeding mole salamander once extended as far south on the FL peninsula as Hillsborough County (Tampa Bay). I know this as a fact, for back in the mid-60s Ron Sayers and I found both adult and juvenile marbled salamanders beneath weathered ties under railroad bridges near Lithia Springs.

I am not sure when this population of marbled salamanders disappeared from that area. Nor do I know the whys of its disappearance. Having moved northward, it was not until 1979 that I returned to Florida and was able to return to the locale. By then everything about the area had changed. The area was dustbowl dry, the discarded ties were gone and the railroad itself was little more than a memory.

Now, when I hope to see one of these autumn breeding, light banded, black salamanders, I start my search in woodland locales about 200 miles northwestward of Tampa. But as I search I can’t help but reminisce about the Florida, the herping, of the last half of the 20th century and thinking that the changes herpers see now are not for the better.

An adult pair of green forest Dragons, male right.

I had veered from the trail a bit. Darkness had fallen and we had stopped at a riverside Amazonian village. The evening meal was prepared on the riverboat and a half-dozen of us were walking a trail with our Peruvian guide in the lead. So far, all seen had been a blunt-headed tree snake and 2 species of gecko. I wasn’t too far from the trail, and this being my first trip to the region, I wasn’t about to lose contact with the guide. The Amazonian rainforest is a wonderful place, a bastion of greenery at all levels—including face level.

And it was at face level, on a horizontal branch extending outward from a slender sapling, that I met my first green forest dragon, Enyalioides laticeps. Sleeping soundly on that limb, the foot-long lizard was even greener than the surrounding greenery. Blunt nosed, heavy bodied, and long tailed, in appearance the lizard reminded me of an Asian green water dragon.

Waking only after I had lifted it carefully from the tree, the beautiful creature was identified by the tour leader, photographed by the several hike participants, and replaced.

Since then I have found that this lizard species is rather common and is a whole lot easier to find at night as it sleeps than during the day when it is active.

This was a wonderful start to a 10 day long Amazonian interlude during which over 100 herp species were seen and photographed. Life was good!

Hatchling western chicken turtles.
Chicken turtles, the 3 subspecies of Deirochelys reticularia are wanderers. Between periods of aestivation or brumation chicken turtles wander from ephemeral pond to equally ephemeral roadside ditch where they hunt crayfish, dragonfly larvae, and occasional small fish, or other turtle fare, and then wander on again. I usually see, more by accident than intent, the eastern and the Florida subspecies every year, but the western is far less of a certainty. In fact, I have seen the western chicken turtle, D. r. miaria, only twice in the wild.

The most recent sighting, now several years ago, was in a shallow, woodland surrounded, brushy pond in a city park in Houston, TX. Brandon had led Kenny and me to this pond. He had earlier seen the turtle on several occasions and felt that on this sunny day the turtle would be up and basking. He was right. It was an adult and we found it lying quietly on a slender fallen tree, easily visible, but difficult to photograph.

We tried but got only voucher shots and our manipulations alerted the creature. It dropped the several inches from the limb to the safety of the water. Our visit was concluded. Next stop, the Grasslands.

A resting pair of turnip-tailed agamas.
Meet Xenagama taylori, a species deserving of much more attention by the herpetocultural community.

It was about 30 years ago when I first saw X. taylori, a small (to about 4 ½ “ total length), robust, oviparous, agamid lizard that has come to be known as the shield-tailed or, more commonly, the turnip-tailed agama. It is a burrowing, aridland , omnivorous species of Somalia and Ethiopia. Small insects are relished as are the blossoms, fruits, and seeds, of desert plants. The very spiny, flat, broadly rounded tail is used as a burrow plug by resting lizards. This, like many desert species, is not a brightly colored lizard. Although the dorsal colors may darken or lighten, the ash-gray to rich tan dorsal color blends well with the substrates chosen by the lizards. The belly is white. In fact, the only splash of color displayed by the species are the bright blue chin and chest that are assumed by displaying males.

For several years following the initial importation of this lizard (and one congeneric taxon), Xenagama taylori was popular with hobbyists. When maintained in desert terrarium setups having a temperature of 80 to 95F and a hot spot of 110 to 120F, it proved hardy and was not difficult to breed. Sadly, it is now a seldom seen species in herpetoculture.

Target taxon #1: Chihuahuan lyre snake, Trimorphodon vilkinsonii.As you read this blog, Jake and I are driving westward; destination Texas’ Big Bend…the Chihuahuan Desert. My mind’s eye is already visualizing the desolate roadways, some paved, many dirt and rock, edged with spine studded plants and crossed by packs of feisty javelina (peccaries), lizard-hunting roadrunners, four species of rattlesnakes, horned lizards and lyre snakes. The mountains, the Davis’, the Chisos, the Christmas’s, the Rosillo’s, and if you travel a bit further west, the Guadalupes, islands of boulders and talus, sere and windworn in some spots, lush and green in others. Lajitas, where the elected mayor is a goat! Terlingua that bills itself as a ghost town. Study Butte that fortunately has a 24- hour gas station. There’s Big Bend National Park and Big Bend Ranch State Park nestled tightly against the Rio Grande (Rio Bravo to many) that are, except during tourist season, bastions of solitude. Despite having been to this remarkably beautiful area on a dozen occasions, I still anticipate each visit with excitement. Will the old windmill still be standing? What herps will we see? What birds? Will we see a panther, a badger, bannertail kangaroo rats, Border Patrol? We’ll soon know. We’re almost there.

Speedy and agile, this species occurs only near Presidio, TX and in southwestern New Mexico.Finding the gray-checkered whiptail, Aspidoscelis dixoni, out near Presidio (TX) wasn't too difficult. Kenny and I located the (now contested) species in an old roadside dumping ground where amidst the sun-baked boards, house hold unwanteds and bullet riddled car skeletons several gray checkered whiptails had found home. But finding them and photographing them proved to be two very different projects. Photographing a lizard that moves only in instantaneously applied bursts of jet propulsion amidst piles of trash and building debris rife with protruding nails and broken glass was another matter entirely. For our own safety we elected to employ capture and release techniques, Lizard nooses to the rescue!

Like many whiptails, this is a hybrid, parthenogenetic (unisexual) species. It is named in honor of the late Dr. James R. Dixon. The species, a member of the confusing Aspidoscelis tesselatus complex, is not recognized by all researchers.

This vocalizing Pine Barrens treefrog is in a Florida panhandle locale.
Quonk, quonk, quonk. Some say these calls are reminiscent of the honks of geese. I’ve never been able to pick up on this similarity, but to each their own. Instead I hear the vocalizations of the beautiful Pine Barrens treefrog, Hyla andersonii, as being similar to, but a bit higher in pitch and more rapidly repeated than, the calls of the more common green treefrog.

Known to occur in the bogs of the New Jersey Pine Barrens and the Carolinas, it was not until 1970, when researcher Steve Christman found a road killed specimen in Florida, that this beautiful green, orange, and plum, colored treefrog was known to occur in acidic/sphagnaceous/steephead habitats on Florida’s western panhandle as well as in adjacent Alabama.

Although not common, now that more than 150 small populations have been found, it is recognized that this treefrog is not quite as rare as once thought.