Tiny legs having one toe each identify the one-toed amphiuma.

One minute I was standing upright on the edge of a semi-dried creek’s backwater. Then one more step I was thigh deep in soupy mud and if there hadn’t been a bank edge sapling for me to grab I’d have probably been face down in the goop. Kenny was doubled over with laughter. I didn’t know whether to try and back out or to flounder forward another step. In fact, right then I was wondering exactly why we were here. I had expected mud. Just not so quickly (read that unexpectedly) and not so deep. And I had expected to search for the target beast, a one-toed amphiuma, Amphiuma pholeter, by standing high and dry on the bank and dragging the small meshed net through the goo.

This was a colder than cool Florida day in February, and although it was nothing like a Maine winter day would have been I was uncomfortable, and knew that before I could get back in the car I had to get even more uncomfortable cleansing at least most of the mud off in the colder-than-cool fast moving stream ahead of me. Also, since I had fully intended to stay high and dry I had not brought a change of clothes with me. Well, darn it!

So let’s see now—I was in thigh deep mud that seemed to promise it was even deeper ahead of me, Kenny, dry and fairly warm, was busily scooping through the liquid mud with his net, and I had to get at least partially cleaned off. Stream, here I come.

Although I never did get to net up a one-toed amphiuma (aka mud eel) on that trip, it mattered not. While I was trying to extricate myself Kenny got a couple of the little critters, and pix were possible.