It was a beautiful sunny day in northern California. Kenny and I turned eastward and headed for the locale of our target of the morning, Plethodon stormi, the Siskiyou Mountains Salamander.

Five minutes later we were beneath a cloud cover that became increasingly dense as we proceeded eastward. A few minutes later it had begun to rain and a few minutes after that the rain had become snow. Snow.



At the time, Kenny was living in Texas. He was used to snow. But I was then (as now) an old, fat, Floridian. I seldom acknowledge the existence of snow and am even more loathe to have it falling on me. But I had driven 2500 miles to see this salamander (among others) so I wasn't about to be deterred by the vagaries of Mother Nature without at least making an attempt to see our goal.

By the time we had gotten to our final turnoff the ground was very white and the conifers were postcard picturesque. The stream (which had nothing to do with the salamander except as a landmark) burbled, bubbled, and rushed between newly whitened banks.

A north wind whistled. The beautiful sunny day had been left far behind. But now at the salamander's habitat we began pawing through the snow to access the rocks, beneath which the caudatans dwelt. Man, those rocks were cold.

Within minutes both Kenny and I were complaining about numb fingers. But we persisted until we succeeded in finding a juvenile.



Photos were taken, the day was declared a success, the car's heater was turned on full blast, and we headed for lower -- and hopefully snowless -- altitudes.

Photo of adult salamader under the jump...