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.