This is a Red-bellied newt in its terrestrial stage.

Broadly speaking, there are two rather distinct groups of newts (family Salamandridae) in the USA. There are the small primarily aquatic species of the genus Notopthalmus that range in one or another of their 3 species from TX eastward and an equal number of the larger, rather terrestrial species in the genus Taricha. These latter, restricted to the Pacific Coast states are collectively referred to as the Pacific or the Western newts. The California and the Sierra newts are subspecies of T. torosa, the Rough-skinned and the Crater Lake newts are subspecies of T. granulosa, and the beautiful Red-bellied newt, T. rivularis, stands alone.

The Pacific newts are hardy and easily maintained, but not all are readily available.2 are protected by either state or federal mandates. If available to the pet trade at all Pacific newts are seasonal.

The Pacific newts are large (to 8") salamanders that have a less complex life cycle than their eastern counterparts. In the winter to spring breeding season all are aquatic. Following the breeding season, the late spring, summer, and autumn all are terrestrial. Captives are far more comfortable in a semi-aquatic or a woodland terrarium with a small pool of water than in an aquatic setup.

Dorsally all Pacific newts are vary from a warm fawn to deep brown (rarely yellow). The venters of two species, the California and the rough-skinned newts, are a pretty, unspotted yellow. The color of the venter of the third species, the red-bellied newt, is aptly described by its common name.
Worms and suitably sized insects will be eagerly accepted by your captives. If the worms are large and your newts are small, worm sections impaled on a broomstraw can be offered your captives. You can often get your salamanders to accept small pieces of beef-heart by using the same method. Small feedings may be given daily. Larger feedings may be required only once or twice a week.

Wash your hands well after handling any Pacific newts. All produce very toxic glandular secretions.

An adult female Florida green water snake.

The Wetlands across the street from our house has been active and open for about 5 years now. It was developed from some old vacant but overgrown and tangled seasonal swampland. The tangles were primarily of plants intent on dissuading human passersthrough--catbrier, dodder, poison ivy and blackberry canes predominated. But one day “no trespassing” signs were erected. A few day’s later bulldozers and other earth moving machinery arrived and before our wondering eyes the “monkey-get-back-bushes” of all manner disappeared and we finally realized the full scope of the land manipulation. Acre after acre of shallow ponds had been bulldozed from the long-hidden surface area, the few existing trails were obliterated, a huge cache basin was dug and dammed to catch the debris (sofas to TVs and signs to clothing!) tossed by humans into a still existing but redesigned creek that fed waters to the affected area. Culverts were laid, dikes topped with graveled roads were built, a lengthy boardwalk was in place, and truckloads of emergent plants (from Juncus to Bulrushes) were brought in, unloaded and planted stategically in the pond-to-be basins that were finally being dampened by the water that was finally being allowed to trickle and accumulate---and accumulate—and accumulate. Sweetwater Wetlands Park was open to the public.

The first year as what I would consider normal for our native snake populations including, but not limited to, Florida banded, Nerodia fasciata pictiventris, and Florida green water snakes, Nerodia floridana. The next year was better for all herps, and the 3rd year even better but it was truly a banner was a banner year for the water snakes.

It was a warm year and by mid-February the snakes were breeding. Florida banded water and Florida green water snakes were present in virtually all patches of emergent vegetation in gender skewed ratios—to each female there would be 3 or 4 males in attendance. I noticed, the park rangers noticed, and the herons noticed. The snakes were commented on by the rangers and me—the snake became a major food source for the herons—especially the great blues and even more especially for the American bitterns. Until they migrated northward in April the bitterns parading through the shallow marshes almost always held a wriggling snake in their beak. It was obviously easier for the birds to go herping than to go fishing.

That summer a reduction in water snake numbers was expectedly inevitable. But by the next spring there had been no noticeable bounceback. And throughout the next year we saw only half a dozen green and about a dozen bandeds.

Last year (2019), I saw even fewer greens, but a few more bandeds. I’m wondering now whether the abundance seen in 2016 will again occur.

I can hope.

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!

Although rear-fanged, the red-lipped snake was once common in the pet trade.
The Red-lipped or Herald Snake, Crotaphopeltis hotamboeia, is a rather small, nocturnal, rear-fanged, colubrine snake from Sub-Saharan Africa. It is adult at 3 feet or less, and has large rear-fangs that have been described as “blade-like.” It is oviparous.

When surprised it is a defensive snake species, flattening the head, distending the lips, and striking forcefully. If carelessly grasped it will bite. In other words, this little amphibian eater does all possible to appear formidable.

Despite producing a venom that is fully capable of overcoming the amphibians on which it preys, bites sustained by humans have shown no signs of toxicity. What isn’t known of course is whether the bites were sufficiently forceful or lengthy for the snake to bring its rear venom conducting teeth into play. When kept captive it quickly tames and once acclimated seldom attempts to bite.

The common name describes an identifying characteristic of red-lipped snakes from the southern part of the range—the upper lips (labial scales) are red. However, this species in the more northerly part of the range may have white, cream, or even dark upper lips.

The head of this species is nearly black with an iridescent sheen (the iridescence is especially notable when the snake has freshly shed its skin), is noticeably darker posterior to the eyes, and is darker than the brownish to olive dorsum. When the snake’s body is inflated as when it huffs and puffs in indignation, white interstitial flecks in the form of narrow bars are often visible. The venter is white.

This snake, once common and inexpensive in the pet trade, is now less frequently available.

A profile of an adult male Great Plains Skink
This dweller of plains and prairie grasslands is known scientifically as Plestiodon obsoletus. It is not only pretty, but is also one of the 2 largest skink species in the USA where it may be equaled in size by the more easterly Broad-headed skink, Plestiodon laticeps.

The ground color of the Great Plains skink varies from light sandy tan to a much darker olive-tan. Each dorsal and lateral scale is edged in black or very dark brown. The edging varies in thickness, producing when minimal a light tan skink or when broad one that is quite dark in color. Over all the pattern may be appear speckled, striped, or almost nonexistent. The sides may be darker than the dorsum. This lizard does not change color or develop a strongly widened head when in breeding condition. However, males may develop a wash of orange along each side and become more territorial. Females are normally a bit smaller than the males and, except when gravid, are slenderer.

Like those of many skink species, the hatchlings are of a color very different than the adults. Hatchlings have a black head and body, white labial (lip) spots, a few small yellowish spots along the upper edge of the snout and above the eyes, and a dark blue tail.

This insectivore ranges widely in the USA from southwest Nevada and extreme southwest Iowa southward to south Texas and southern Arizona. It also ranges well into northern Mexico. Secretive, they are primarily terrestrial, can burrow, but often seeks seclusion beneath surface cover.

Bluish and caramel is just one of the colors of the variable ground snake.
Those among you who think snakes can be identified by color will likely find the profile of this diminutive burrower disconcerting. Having a record length of nearly 19 inches, the nonvenomous and harmless Variable Ground Snake is more typically 10 to 13 inches long. Ranging westward from western Missouri and eastern Texas to southeastern California and northwestern Nevada, this is a grassland/aridland snake that is most often found beneath flat stones and other ground surface debris. It feeds on insects and other small arthropods (ie centipedes, scorpions, spiders, etc.). The ground snake’s head is slightly wider than its neck, a helpful identifying characteristic.

And now for the color—ready for this? First the belly; this is unmarked and may be white, cream, or pale yellow. The underside of the tail may be unmarked or banded. Now to the dorsum. This may be steel gray, tan, fawn, cinnamon or other brownish hues and may be unpatterned, have a brown to reddish dorsal stripe, or have only a darker brown to black head. Or it may have the anterior or even the entire body saddled with broad black markings. As if this were not confusing enough, the back may be cream to rich tan (the sides are usually somewhat lighter) and be saddled with darker gray, brown, blue, or red. The saddles may be few and far between, or many and close together, and may be only on the back or extend far down on the sides.

I guess that by now you can see why the term “variable” is a bit more fitting than “western” for this tiny, harmless, and beneficial snake.

Just as a by the way, this little burrowing snake makes an interesting and hardy, albeit secretive, captive. It usually feeds readily on crickets, waxworms, or tiny caterpillars. So---if you want to keep a pet snake but don't have room for a large terrarium consider a 10 gallon tank decorated with a few inches of earth and a securely supported flat rock beneath which the snake can hide, and if you have enough light a cactus or other succulent may be added. And don't forget a flat water dish. Good luck.

Salamandra salamandra is the fire salamander most often available in the pet trade.

Although they are now hard to access in the USA, occasional fire salamanders may be offered in the pet trade. They are, roughly speaking, the Old World ecological equivalent of our ambystomatid species.

Fire salamanders are lovers of coolness, their ranges extending from cool, temperate lowlands to high into the European Alps. They are ovoviviparous, adult females bearing about a dozen gilled, living young in cool shallows. The gills may be prominent and well-developed, or in the perpetual coldness of alpine regions, nearly entirely resorbed at birth.

When keeping and breeding fire salamanders, coolness and cleanliness should be your 2 major concerns (of course this holds true for all caudates). Since salamanders like to burrow, and must be moist, several inches of fresh, damp (NOT WET), unmilled sphagnum moss will adequately provide for their needs. Or if this simple setup is not to your taste, you may prefer to make a naturalistic masterpiece having plantings of mosses, selaginellas, or even readily available potted plants such as vining philodendrons. Flat rocks, and driftwood can then be added to your taste. As with the sphagnum, the substrate should be kept damp, not wet.

Since amphibians absorb their moisture requirements through their skins and mucous membranes, it is unnecessary to provide a drinking dish but this is optional and will be needed, as will temperature cycling, if successful breeding is to occur.

Although it is entirely unlike the newts in appearance, the European fire salamander is a member of the same family, the Salamandridae. There are a number of subspecies (now often considered species) of this terrestrial caudate, their separation being based upon pattern (as well as locality and genetics).

The common fire salamander bears the redundant nomenclature of Salamandra salamandra. Hardly could a more beautiful salamander be imagined. The stocky, six inch length of the fire salamander is clad in glandular black skin highlighted with spots and stripes of intense, metallic, yellow. The head is broad and flattened and a pitted parotoid (nape) gland is present on both sides of the neck. The skin and parotoid secretions of the fire salamander are more toxic than are those of most other salamander species. Although it will not harm you (or them) to handle them gently, wash your hands before rubbing your eyes or putting your finger in your mouth.

Enough said.

A profile of a South Florida boa constrictor.
Boa constrictors? In Florida? Don’t you mean pythons?

Ummmm. No. Believe me, I am well able to separate boas from pythons—even without a field guide in hand.

Unlike the pythons that continually, though inadvertently, grab the headlines, the boas are a quiet snake that has survived in a small section of Miami for close to 60 years. They are so retiring that even in the 1960s when I was avidly searching for them I was able to find only one. They are an easily handled and easily kept snake that has always been a hobbyist favorite. As hobbyists are wont to do, over time, decades actually, and many failed attempts, a number of color morphs have finally been developed and stabilized. Just a few of the 25+ variations now available from herpetoculturists are blood, albino, Arabesque, hypomelanistic, leopard, jungle, and sunglow phases.

The boas in the population being discussed here are of normal color and are the result of animal trade escapees from back as far as the 1950s. More than one subspecies was involved, which fact results today in pretty snakes of muddled subspecific appearance.

Today, after being basically ignored for many years the FWC has decided they should be eradicated and has asked that all found be humanely killed.

The boas are beautiful snakes that are patterned in tans and red with a little black and a little white mixed in. They are adult at 6 to 10 feet in length but are usually closer to the lower figure in that size estimate than the upper.

Often brown, the Cuban treefrog may change colors in only a few minutes.
Let’s talk Cuban Treefrogs, Osteopilus septentrionalis. These interesting frogs are not only now a very real part of Florida’s unnatural history, but have been for close to 80 years now. And no matter your outlook on their presence, you might as well face the fact that unless Mother Nature herself takes a hand, this frog is here to stay.

The Cuban treefrog is a member of the bony-headed treefrog group. It was introduced to the Florida Keys, probably inadvertently in commerce, in the 1920s. It thrived in its new home but its presence was basically ignored. By the early 1950s the frog populations had outgrown their insular home and had become well established on the southern peninsula. This fact was commented on by herpetologist-researcher, Al Schwartz. By 1958, when I moved to FL comments were being made about the voracious appetite of the Cuban treefrog and laments were heard that it would out compete (it can do so) and eat all of our native hylid frogs (at a 5.5” body length adult females would certainly be capable of eating most native species) and the demise of our natives within the growing range of the Cuban was imminent—totally and completely. But here we are, nearly three quarters of a century later, and this disappearance still hasn’t happened. Populations of native hylids may be somewhat reduced here and there, and we may have some fat Cuban treefrogs, but I can still go to the Everglades or Lake Okeechobee or almost anywhere else and still hear vibrant choruses of green treefrogs, squirrel treefrogs, and when within their ranges and habitats, of pine woods and barking treefrogs. Compare the statistics with habitat reduction or loss caused by humans and the “damage” caused by Cuban treefrogs is negligible. In fact, it is in disturbed areas that Cuban treefrogs seem most abundant.

Researchers at the Univ. of Florida have this to say about Cuban Treefrogs:

Cuban Treefrogs eat at least five different species of native frogs, not to mention the occasional lizard or small snake, and their tadpoles compete with native tadpoles for space and food. Cuban Treefrogs are common in urban areas, where they hang out near lights on the walls of houses and catch insects. They often poop on walls and windows (leaving ugly stains), take over birdhouses, and lay eggs in fish ponds and bird baths. Sometimes Cuban Treefrogs even find their way into homes, hanging out in toilets and clogging sink drains. Cuban treefrogs grow very large, and are known to cause costly power outages by short-circuiting utility switches. Our native treefrogs are all much smaller, and aren't known to cause such utility problems.

In other words, the Cuban treefrog is doing exactly what every other treefrog, every other anuran for that matter, does to exist. Asking the same question posed by Rob Macinnis, how long is a species required to live here to be granted the same consideration as a native taxon?

Please understand that I am not even suggesting how you should treat this species if you live in their ever-expanding range. We have them in our yard where they coexist with several other frog taxa. Here they are welcome.

Here is a vocalizing male Barking Treefrog, Hyla gratiosa. By a small margin, this is our largest native eastern treefrog.

The calls echoed one another from both shoulders of the country roadway upon which Patti and I stood in the darkness. We were well away from the glare of city lights, and in the darkness of a new moon the heavens were fairly atwinkle with myriad stars.

From above us came the nasal "peeeents" of a nighthawk. We could picture it cleaving the darkened skies on white-barred wings as it sought its repast of flying insects. An occasional "whrroooomm" (wind through wing feathers) would divulge to us the fact that as well as feeding the nighthawks were indulging in courtship dives.

Even louder and more pervasive than the sounds of the nocturnal birds were those of the amphibians. A chorus of coarse, porcine, grunts from out the marshes were the calls of pig frogs, Rana grylio. Named for its porcine like notes, the pig frog is nearly as large familiar bullfrog, R. catesbeiana.

Vocalizing with the pig frogs, were fair numbers of a species at the opposite extreme of the size spectrum. This was the pretty and very variable little hylid frog that is known commonly as the Florida cricket frog. Scientifically it answers to the name of Acris gryllus dorsalis. This elfin frog must certainly have derived its name from its size for I perceive no similarity between its pebble-like clicking call and the notes of even a very out-of-tune cricket of any species.

During our evening's perambulations, we were serenaded by lesser numbers of numerous other species as well. Accompanied by the dot-dash calls of pine woods treefrogs, Hyla femoralis, inquisitive barred owls asked "who-cooks-for-you, who-cooks-for-you-all?" Green treefrogs, Hyla cinerea, "quonked," and a single barking treefrog, H. gratiosa, voiced its hollow notes. Wherever there was even a trace of moisture, little grass frogs, Pseudacris ocularis, our smallest anuran species, tinkled animatedly. These tiny hylids, adult females of which top out at a whopping 11/16ths of an inch, are the smallest species of anuran in the United States, and among the smallest in the world.

If closely analyzed Mother Nature’s evening choruses will introduce you to what is for many an unsuspected facet of the surrounding world. And it’s FREE! Partake.

Meet the Florida Gopher Frog, Rana capito aesopus.
Let's say that you're one of the lucky Floridians--one who still has a field or pasture near your home and a gopher tortoise has somehow missed be plowed under by big business. The open areas have been dry, baking in the torrid Florida sunshine. A/Cs running full blast. Then came the rains. Those fields that seemed so flat became shallow expanses of warm water--but the temps had dropped, as if by magic, from 93F to 68F. Then outside of your window, heard over the noise of the computer game or the drivel of TV-land there came a loud snore. Oh-oh. You rushed and turned down the volume on whatever it was that was making the noise and wondered who could be sleeping outside in the downpour. Another snorrrrrrrrrrrrrr. Then another but this one was more distant., then another, and another. Darkness edged its way over the landscape. The snores became a dull roar. Congratulations! You are one of the lucky few who not only has gopher tortoise neighbors, but you have a colony of gopher tortoise commensals-- Florida gopher frogs, Rana capito aesopus. How much better could life be?(LOL)

The rostral scale of the Mexican Hog-nose is strongly upturned. It feeds on both anurans and warm-blooded prey.For their length they are heavy bodied, short-tailed snakes that occur, in their various species when adult (20 to 30 inches), in myriad colors. Of these it is the eastern hog-nosed snake, Heterodon platirhinos, that is the most variable. Hatchlings tend to be more uniformly colored. Collectively, hog-noses range from central New England to central Montana and Southeastern Alberta, then southward to southeastern Arizona, much of sorthern Mexico, southern Texas and the southern tip of the Florida peninsula.

These snakes are our great bluffers of snakedom. If frightened they may coil, they may hiss loudly, they may flatten the head and neck into a modified cobra-like hood, they may strike (usually with their mouth closed) or, if hard-pressed they may begin writhing spastically, contorting the body, open their mouth, then roll over and feign death. But as far as the hog-nosed snake is concerned the only position for a dead snake is lying upside down. If you turn the feigner right side up it will immediately roll upside down again. Southern and Eastern hog-nosed snakes are toad eaters.

Hog-nosed snake species and subspecies:

• Eastern, Heterodon platyrhinos
  
• Southern, Heterodon simus
  
• Plains, Heterodon nasicus nasicus
  
• Dusty, Heterodon nasicus gloydi
  
• Mexican,Heterodon nasicus kennerlyi, or if you prefer Heterodon kennerlyi

Hatchlings emerge from the eggs at about the same time metamorphing toadlets leave their pond sites.

Newly metamorphosed toads contain very low levels of the toxins that protect them as adults. So the hatchling hog-noses can safely eat them. As the toad grows and toxins strengthen, the resistance of the growing hog-nosed snake to the amphibian’s toxins also increases—seemingly a perfectly mutualistic program of symbiosis. It should be noted that the various western hog-noses accept a more varied diet than the eastern and southern hog-noses, toad specialists, both.

Hog-nosed snakes are generally considered nonvenomous. They are, however, dipsadine species, rear-fanged snakes, that in reality, produce a mildly toxic saliva. This usually matters not, for it is almost impossible to taunt a hog-noise into biting anything other than their chosen prey. Occasional bites however, whether deliberate or accidental, have resulted in pain, local edema, and some discoloration.

The uptilted rostral (nosetip) scale from which the common name is derived assists the snakes in unearthing burrowed prey items.

This coachwhip caused a scream, a screeching stop, and a marathon run. But it was worth it.At scream volume “---S T O P!!!!!!!!!! ---.“ Yep, Jake had managed to scare me again. I was in the passing lane doing about 65, about halfway past a slower car, when Jake yelled. Fortunately there was no one following tightly so I slammed on the brakes and before I stopped Jake was out of the car running east while we were heading west. I parked on the verge, clambered out and back about 50 yards Jake was stationed in the grass trying to decide what the snake he had seen and I had missed on the side of the road was going to do.

Hurry screamed Jake. Hmppphhh. Not likely. My days of hurrying are long gone. But I WAS closer now. Go out on the road and try to prevent it from crossing. It’s a coachwhip—a PINK coachwhip!

Now I understood. We had seen but failed to catch or even photo pink coachwhips on our last 3 trips to or through Texas. Suddenly I felt Jake’s excitement. I do love racers and racer relatives.

So I limped out in the road and rather than watching me the big snake was now watching me. Then it turned it’s head towards Jake and started to move. In an instant Jake was airborne.In anotjhert instant he was flat on his belly in the grass and sandspurs. And in a 3rd instant he was screaming OWWWWWCH! GET IT! Certainly no problem now because he alresdyu had the snake at midbody and the snake had him by the eyebrow. Interesting dilemma. I wondered which would win?

But heck I wanted to photo the snake as badly as Jake did, so I grabbed it before it decided to swallow Jake and the snake immediately transferred its attention to my arm. Oh well. It was worth it.

Right Jake?

And I guess it might have been because another 5 miles down the road we had a similar but a bit less bitey encounter with a second pink coachwhip.

I was so impressed with these snakes that I did something that I haven’t done in a long while. I decided that if Jake didn’t wish to retain the snake I would like to keep them. Jake didn’t, I did.

But here’s what I didn’t expect. Once home and caged these 2 adult coachwhips proved dog tame. The first time I fed them both slowly left the hidebox, came to cage top, and gently took each thawed mouse from my fingers. No biting, no striking. And both have continued to do so on each feeding attempt. Now I’m excitedly awaiting their next shed. They should be knockouts.

This quietly resting canyon treefrog probably hunkered down for the day.
Although the canyon treefrog, Hyla arenicolor, is common to abundant in many areas, its habit of hunkering down and resting quietly on streamside boulders and rock faces, in rock fissures, concealed in talus, or in crevices in concrete bridges where its pallid coloration renders it almost totally camouflaged, assures that this anuran is usually overlooked.

Having a disjunct range this 2” long treefrog occurs in the Davis and Chisos Mountains of TX as well as much of NM, AZ, and UT, then locally in southwest NV and CO. Its occurence is restricted to areas where at least a small amount of water is permanently available.

As are most treefrogs, this species is capable of remarkable and rapid color and pattern changes. By night it assumes a ground color of rather dark buff, gray, or olive, and is often patterned with extensive darker lichenate markings or well separated, dark-edged, rounded or oval dark markings. The darker markings may be little more than smudges or be well defined, and may be brown, green, or of an intermediate color. Markings may be best defined and ground color the darkest when the frog is chorusing on rainy nights. The lightest colors are assumed when the frog is resting quietly in the morning sun. At such a time the ground color is most apt to be an off-white, palest olive, or very light pinkish-tan, and the dark markings barely discernible. The dorsal skin is rough. A dark-bordered light spot is nearly always discernible beneath the eye. The concealed surfaces of the hind legs are orangeish. The vocal sac is rounded. Males have a dark throat skin; that of the females is light.

When small, tadpoles are quite dark in overall coloration, but with growth lighten considerably and may even appear nearly gold just prior to metamorphosis. The tailfin is usually conspicuously spotted, at least dorsally.

The call, a repetitious stacatto of hollow-sounding notes, is heard most often immediately prior to, during, or closely following rains.

This is an adult male granite spiny lizard.Light phase adult male Sceloporus orcutti are arguably the most beautiful of our spiny lizards. The ground color of adult males may vary from copper to charcoal. A dark wedge, often obscured in darker males, is present on each shoulder. Dorsally, scales are marked with black, turquoise, and yellow-green. The entire venter and throat is brilliant blue. Light phase males often have a broad stripe of intense purple for the entire length of the dorsum. Females tend more towards a coppery ground color, are often prominently banded, and have the purple dorsal area less well defined. The venter is whitish or faintly washed with blue. Juveniles are prominently crossbanded.

Adult males attain a total length of 10 1/2" (svl 4 1/2"). Females are somewhat smaller.

This beautiful rock and cliff dweller ranges southward from the northern side of San Gorgonio Pass, Riverside County, CA, southward to the latitude of La Paz, Baja California Sur. (south of this it is represented by the genetically dissimilar but lookalike Hunsaker’s spiny lizard). Adult male granite spiny lizards attain a total length of 10 1/2" (svl 4 1/2"). Females are somewhat smaller and are less colorful.

One large female laid 11 parchment-shelled eggs in late June. Incubation lasted for 57 days at a variable (room) temperature. The hatchlings consumed small crickets within a day of hatching. Both nighttime cooling and natural photoperiod are probably necessary to induce breeding and the production of viable eggs.

Fast and wary, S. orcutti is most easily approached early in the morning and just before retiring to their crevices for the night.

Whether spots or stripes the red markings are usually at least partially edged with black.Our eastern newts are members of the genus Notophthalmus. Those seen in the pet trade are the four subspecies of the red-spotted newt, N. viridescens. Of these, two subspecies, the red-spotted and the broken-striped newts are, respectively, attractively adorned with a row of black edged vermillion spots or intermittent stripes along both sides of their dorsa. The remaining two subspecies, the pleasantly colored central, and the particularly drab peninsula newts usually lack most, or all, traces of red.

The eastern newts are rather small creatures. The largest race, the red-spotted form, tops out at a mere 5 1/2" in total length. All four subspecies of the eastern newt have quite complex life cycles. Eggs are deposited in water, and hatch into prominently gilled larvae. After a period of time, if conditions are right, the larvae resorb their gills and transform into rough-skinned, often brightly colored, terrestrial dwelling subadults. At this stage of their lives, the creatures are often referred to as "efts." In the northeast, central, and some areas of the south, red or red-orange are the common colors of the efts. Efts in the deep south are often only little, if any, brighter than the adults. This stage exists, conditions allowing, for from one to several years. After completing the eft stage (which is foregone entirely in some newt populations or if terrestrial conditions are unfavorable) eastern newts return to the water, fade in coloration from red to olive-green (with black spotted yellow bellies) and, there, complete their lives.

Adult eastern newts are often sold as "oddities" for aquaria. Slow moving, they are compatible with most "community tank" fish, but will prey upon fish eggs or freshly dead baby livebearers. Adult washed brine shrimp, blood and whiteworms, and chopped earthworms are relished by newts. Some prepared fishfoods are also consumed. Their skin secretions usually protect newts from the occasional aggressive tankmates.

The 3 subspecies of the black swamp snake are so similar that it will take scale counts to differentiate them. This is a Carolina swamp snake.Three races of red-bellied swamp snakes, Seminatrix pygaea ssp., occur in the southeastern United States. They differ principally in the number of belly scales that each possesses. None are restricted to swamps, but, rather, may inhabit all but rapidly moving waters. They are especially partial to those waters that are choked with vegetation. The dense vegetational mats formed by the crowns and root systems of the beautiful and prolific, introduced water hyacinth are particularly favored. In fact (the difficulty I had in finding swamp snakes not withstanding), the spread of the troublesome water hyacinth through southeastern waterways has probably greatly benefitted swamp snake populations.

Seminatrix pygaea is an ovoviviparous species. From three to 14 young, diminutive replicas of the adults in appearance, are birthed in the late summer or early autumn.

Swamp snakes are generally thought of as difficult captives. In nature they are rather specialized denizens of a habitat that is difficult for herpetoculturists to reproduce. If kept captive in either an aquarium or with moist sphagnum as a substrate, a potentially fatal blister disease often manifests itself. If kept on a dry substrate, these snakes often experience shedding difficulties. A happy medium may take considerable effort.

The commonly listed dietary preferences of the species are also not those usually available to hobbyists. Mentioned food items include, among other things, leeches, dwarf sirens, tadpoles, and other such aquatic fare.

However, I have recently learned of one, long-term captive swamp snake that has contentedly dwelt in a small, dry, terrarium (with a water bowl), AND which feeds ravenously on newly born pink mice. Too little is known about the species as a captive for me to hypothesize whether this specimen is the exception or the norm. It might be of interest for other southeastern reptile enthusiasts to experiment with the captive care of swamp snakes, but to be ready to release their specimens back into natural habitats should they not respond quickly and satisfactorily.

Certainly the snake is sufficiently beautiful to warrant the interest of many hobbyists who have space for only a small specimen or two. Although swamp snakes may rarely attain a length of 18 inches, most are adult at from 10 to 14 inches in overall length.

Inyo Mountains Salamander at home (momentarily minus the sheltering rock
We headed to the Inyo Mountains to try to whittle some species from the list.

“Turn right, ummm—here,” Gary said as we barreled along. I turned right and was confronted by a half-dozen boulders someone had rolled onto the dirt road.

“I can roll those.” Gary said (I didn’t argue because I wasn’t sure I could—roll them, that is).

Somehow between Gary’s efforts and the car’s 4-wheel drive we actually accessed the gravel-dirt road.

“See that ridge?” Gary said?

“I think so.” I said tentatively. There looked to be several ridges.

“That’s where we’re going.”

“OK.”

So I put the car in low and we went. As we bounced slowly along we frightened huge basking male desert collared lizards, Crotaphytus bicinctores, from boulder-top vantage points. Toasty warm, they were alert, unapproachable, and clad in scales of warm desert brown. Good road.

Somewhere along the way one of the low ridges developed a sombrero of green formed by one or more cottonwoods. Ahhhh-that was the ridge. That was good. It was considerably closer than the one at which I had been looking. A short spur turned right and we bumped our way to the cottonwoods and at the cottonwoods was a bubbling spring.

“This is one of two places where that salamander is found.” Gary said.

“That salamander” was, in this case, the Inyo Mountains slender salamander, Batrachoseps campi.

So we parked, got out, and began carefully turning damp rocks. Nothing. Nary a salamander, but we were serenaded the whole time by goldfinches so all was not lost.

Gary said “Let’s try the second spot.”

Sounded good to me, so off we went. The roads got worse and as we ascended and rock-hopped I found myself wishing I had a Wrangler rather than a Trooper. But the car was steadfast in its approach—until the road disappeared and I chickened-out.

So we stopped and walked upwards, ever upwards, and finally we entered a beautiful spring fed copse of cottonwoods. This was a magnificent desert spring, replete with terrestrial orchids, mosses, ferns, and flat surface rocks. If ever an oasis existed, this was it.

Gary went in the direction where on an earlier trip he had found an Inyo Mountain slender salamander. Not knowing better, I floundered around in a more open area having a great number of flat rocks, most of which were partially awash in the numerous seeps that emerged from the main spring.

And through dumb-luck, it was I who found the only Inyo Mountain slender salamander of the trip. This beautiful caudatan of the silvery phase was right at water level beneath a tilted rock.

What can I say but “thanks, Gary!”

Black collared lizard juvenile
Next stop would be a bit closer to San Diego, where amidst canyons and boulder fields we would try to photograph Baja black collared lizards, Crotaphytus vestigium. Because of their color, predominantly black with an intricate pattern of white crossbars and spots, the breeding males of this species are distinctively different in appearance from any other collared lizard in the United States. Breeding females are also dark but have deep brown fields alternating with the black.

The good news about our search for these collared lizards is that we found them. Gary, with his new fangled, reach to eternity digital camera, even got some good photos of a basking (but very wary) male.

Me? My little 35mm never even had a chance with the lizards. So we decided to try to catch one to enable me to photograph it. After a more than casual “look around” the lizard we zeroed in on was a beautiful adult male in peak coloration. He was basking quietly atop a boulder only about half the size of a house about 20 yards from the road. Even before the car had stopped he was on the alert (being alert is how you get to be a big lizard!) and as we got out he darted over the side and disappeared. Gary ran and I hobbled over to where we thought he had gone and found that he had wedged himself in a cul-de-sac of rocks. He was safe from everything but a whipsnake or our lizard noose. Gary manned the noose and after about a half an hour of standing and lizard fishing in sunshine that had heated the desert to a seeming 200F, he exclaimed “I’ve got him!” He withdrew the noose and with it came one of the most spectacular lizards I’ve ever seen. We were elated—for a moment. The lizard dangled free for a moment, seemed to glare (was it balefully or quizzically) at Gary, shrugged a bit, and before either of us could move to grab him, he had dropped free and was gone. We still don’t know what happened, but we do know it was collared lizard, 1, collared lizard noosers, zero!

A Florida black pine snake--almost!
Two of Florida’s forestlands are located on the Panhandle, a 3 or 4 hour drive from my home. The closer of the 2 is the Apalachicola National Forest, more than 550,000 acres of pine and mixed forestlands with stands of hardwoods along the creeks and rivers. West of the Apalach (as it is fondly called) by some 100 miles is the Blackwater River State Forest. This is an expanse of 190,000 acres of uplands, lowlands and in-between-lands, that are home to an impressive array of herp-life, not the least interesting being the Florida pine snake, Pituophis melanoleucus mugitus. On the east side of the forest the Florida pines are of very typical appearance. This means that they are pale snakes—they have a pale, chalk white ground color, and the tannish blotches, widely separated posteriorly but almost contiguous anteriorly, can vary from nearly indistinct to reasonably well-defined. This coloration doesn’t usually vary much throughout this snake’s entire range of from southeastern South Carolina to Mobile Bay and throughout most of the northern 4/5 of the Florida Peninsula. In western Escambia County, Florida though, pine snakes that are obvious intergrades between the Florida and the black have been found. These are big (to over 8 feet in length!) and both ground color and blotch color are variably suffused with melanin. The result is that these hulking snakes are distinctly different in appearance than either of the parent species, but are decidedly dark enough in color to be unexpected on the Florida side of Mobile Bay.

Although neither the Florida nor the intergrade pine snakes are commonly seen throughout most of the year, in the spring when males are surface-active and trailing females, seeing a pine snake is a distinct possibility.

In my opinion anurans don't get much prettier than the Pine Barrens treefrog.While I’m way out in western Florida, there are two treefrogs that I always try to see and photograph. One is widespread and abundant, one is localized, rather uncommon, and protected. The abundant one, the bird-voiced treefrog, Hyla avivoca, is attractive, but many other species are prettier. However, none have the wonderful ululating vocalizations that characterize the bird-voiced treefrog. This cool-gray to green treefrog attains a length of about 1½-inches and is a denizen of the great southern river-swamps. Typically, a large, irregular, dark dorsal marking is present and the limbs are dark banded. A light spot is present beneath each eye. The groin is pale yellow to pale green. Pretty? Well, kind of. But its mellow summer-night tremolo, especially persistent when conditions are overcast or stormy, pleases the ear far more than this treefrog’s color pleases the eye.

However, it is the opposite with the Pine Barrens treefrog, Hyla andersoni. There are few other anurans that can equal the Pine Barrens treefrog in color, but a lot of others equal or surpass its vocalizations. Although the Pine Barrens treefrog can and does change colors, when at its prettiest it has a bright apple-green back, a belly that shades from plum anteriorly (males have darker throats) to bright orange posteriorly and in the groin, and these two colors are separated by a broad, light-edged, plum stripe that runs from nose to groin and beyond. The plum coloration is also present on the feet and the rear of the forearms. But that this frog is primarily eye-candy (to humans) is apparent when you hear its aria of repeated nasal “quonks” that sound somewhat similar to the unmusical calls of a badly stressed goose.

Unlike the widespread bird-voiced treefrog, the Pine Barrens treefrog is present in small colonies in very precise, isolated, patches of acidic, steephead habitat, formations that are quite uncommon if Florida. It is also present in extreme southcentral Alabama, both Carolinas, and the Pine Barrens of New Jersey.

Today a Peninsula intergrade kingsnake, back then a Florida kingsnake--names change but the snakes don't care.

Just the mention of innertubes will probably bring a quizzical expression to the faces of many of today’s young motorists. But there was a time when innertubes were a part of everyday life—an integral part whether your vehicle was a semi, a bus, a car, a motorcycle, or a bicycle. And even if you were a non-motorized but avid herper, it is probable that you soon recognized blown-out innertubes lying on roadside as being every bit as good, and possibly even better cool weather herp habitat than the sheet tin so eagerly sought by herpers today. Certainly we recognized their value back in the early ‘50s when Gordy and I began our herping escapades from New England southward. What? Why? How?

Unintended though it may have been, Gordy was my herping mentor. He was a teacher who I met while I was in junior high school and because of similar interest in herps we soon became fast friends. After making a few herping trips together from the northland with friends such as Dennie Miller & Peter Lindsey) to the fabled Pine Barrens of New Jersey (where we met Asa Pittman) and to Okeetee (where we met Carl Kauffeld, Zig Leszynski, Bob Zappalorti, Manny Rubio, and others) we decided that the next step in our herping education would be Christmas trips to Sunny Florida. We could barely imagine leaving snowy, frigid, Massachusetts and arriving a day later in the palm shrouded balminess of South Florida (where we eventually met Ralph Demers, Warren Prince, Rhea Warren, Dade Thornton, John Truitt, the Weeds, and dozens of other herpers). But I think it might have been Frank Weed, Jr. or Rhea Warren who introduced us to the wonders of innertubes.

Back in those days US 27 was a 2 lane road, lined tightly with huge Australian pines, Brazilian pepper, and undergrowth. Sod farms and Sugarcane were just getting a foothold. The Everglades still remained on the west side of the road up to Okeelanta. Pump houses, fallen billboards, and abandoned shacks – all rat snake hotels - were scattered helter-skelter. Amidst the shady undergrowth lay dozens of blown out innertubes and on cool sunny winter days those innertubes housed, both in and under, garter snakes, rat snakes (most of which were “true” Everglades rats), kingsnakes (of both the big peninsula species and the smaller scarlet kings, kingsnakes, and more kingsnakes.

When you hear “old timers” like John Truitt, Ron Sayers, Jerry Fine, or me talk about “those good old days,” the reason is simple. Those WERE the good old days!

The first herp of the night, a young red diamond rattler.
Home was now about 2500 miles behind me and I was headed for a mountain grade that I had found on previous trips to be a wonderfully productive herping venue as well as incredibly scenic. And did I mention that because of typically high speed California traffic on a 2 lane roadway typified by many tight hairpin curves, it was also just a bit on the dangerous side, AND, and this was the most important part, along those dangerous curves, edged tightly by towering cliff-faces this road became the home of the coveted Coleonyx switaki, the Peninsula banded or Switak’s banded gecko. It was almost dusk now, but finally after my cross-country speedathon, my destination was less than an hour away.

And then I was making the final righthand turn…

Once on the mountain grade, one of the first reptiles seen was a juvenile red diamond rattlesnake, Crotalus r.ruber. At this inland location these snakes are not as brightly colored as many coastal populations, but they are nonetheless an impressive and welcome find. Although adults may exceed a heavy-bodied 5-feet in length, the one now before me was only about 2-feet long. I stopped, moved the snake to the side of the road, took a few pictures, and continued on.

Still on the descent I saw a California lyre snake, Trimorphodon lyrophanes, a California night snake, Hypsiglena o. nuchalata. Desert banded geckos, Coleonyx v. variegatus, and Peninsula leaf-toed geckos, Phyllodactylus nocticolus. It was already a banner night.

At the bottom, at the far side of the town, the moving sands on roadside produced several very active Colorado Desert shovel-nosed snakes, Chionactis occipitalis annulata, as well as an adult female Colorado Desert sidewinder, Crotalus cerastes laterorepens, the latter basking quietly on the still-warm pavement. It was a large, obviously gravid, and very feisty female. She struck several times in displeasure as I moved her onto the sand. Once on the move she looped across several yards of sand then stopped and coiled against the base of a creosote bush.

Back to the top then down to the bottom seeing zero herps. But then things picked up again. Up and down, up and down. Every banded gecko caused an abrupt slowing. Could it be, I wondered—could it be? I glanced at the clock. It was 0310 in the morning. The moon had disappeared from sight behind the towering cliff almost an hour ago. I decided to make one more run then head for the motel (that was still more than an hour’s drive away).

I drove down to a pulloff, turned around and headed up-grade for the last time. Whoops! Was that a lizard that I had just driven by? It was 0317 AM.There was no traffic so I backed up a bit and—yes it was a lizard. I parked, hopped out, crossed the road, and stared in disbelief at the lizard in my light.

After a decade of looking and more than 10s of thousands miles of driving, I had finally found the coveted Baja gecko. Fatigue was forgotten as I took picture after picture of the lizard. Knowing full well that I may never see another I bracketed, availed myself of several lenses, and went through a full set of batteries in the flash unit. Certainly I thought, as I walked to the car, some of those pictures should be satisfactory. Dawn was breaking as I drove into the motel. A full day’s sleep would be welcome.

What it all boiled down to was the fact that I needed a photo of a Tucson shovel-nosed snake, Chionactis occipitalis klauberi. But boiled down even further was the fact that aftter failing on several lengthy trips to find one it was time to seek expert help. So I dialed up Arizona herp Guru, Randy Babb. And Lady Luck was with me, Randy agreed to take me afield in search of my elusive and increasingly enigmatic goal.

For reasons not yet fully determined this, the Tucson shovel-nosed snake, the southeasternmost subspecies of the genus, had become difficult to find over the years. Since comparatively few people have much interest in the small burrowing snakes, few people seemed aware of the population reductions. And of those that were aware, no one could venture a reason, But where you could once find two or three examples on a good night, you were now lucky to be able to see one a year and often saw none. Randy hadn’t returned to his study site, hundreds of acres in a wildlife management area and the paved road that bisected this expanse, in several years, but the weather seemed perfect so we began our search. Randy. Andy Holycross and Charlie Painter came by Randy’s to visit and photograph herps, and got recruited into the search. Since Andy happened to be looking at the genetics of the genus, recruitment wasn’t too difficult.

We elected to only roadhunt, and drove for hours on each of three nights. For our efforts the combined number of shovel-noses found was 2 thoroughly crushed DORs and 1 that had seemingly been hit but that was still alive and was very photographable. It wasn’t what I had hoped for, but it at least filled a photograph gap. Interestingly, we saw no variable sand snakes, Chilomeniscus stramineus (those north of the border are not too variable, being off-white below, pinkish-orange above, and having a regular series of prominent black dorsal saddles), while roadhunting Randy’s site. Randy was a little perplexed by this lack, for sand snakes, once as common as the shovel-noses, now seemed equally uncommon. Whether it is just our sampling technique (we might have been a month to late for the peak movement of these snakes) or whether there is an actual downturn in the populations of these two snakes remains to be seen.

60+ years ago, when I saw my first eastern kingsnake in New Jersey, I could hardly believe my luck.
Today, some 60 years hence, I can still remember coming southward with Gordy to central New Jersey from Massachusetts on a spring morning and finding big, beautiful, white-chained, black eastern kingsnakes, Lampropeltis getula getula, as they searched and prodded for turtle eggs along the edges of sloughs and marshes. They weren’t numerous there, but it only took the finding of one or two to make a success of the whole trip. Then I can remember other trips when we went further south to the Low Country of southeastern South Carolina and found so many eastern kingsnakes that both my Gordy and I were utterly dismayed. I feel quite certain that although the eastern kingsnakes are still in these areas, they are now less common than in those long ago days.

The memory of Dennie Miller showing Gordy Johnston and me dozens and dozens of eastern black kingsnakes, L. g. nigra, under roadside trash in Arkansas remains indelibly imprinted somewhere in some memory niche. The shiny black snakes were of sullen disposition and sparsely patterned with a vaguely discernible chain pattern and a peppering of light scales on their sides.

And Ron Sayers and I used to shake our heads in disbelief at the vast numbers of speckled kingsnakes, L. g. holbrooki, (their bright yellow pepper-spots fairly glistening against their intense black body color) that we would see beneath debris on the sides of Louisiana levees as we made our periodic herping trips to and from Old Mexico, Texas, and Arizona. These were the good days

When Gordy Johnston and I finally expanded our herping horizons as far south as Florida we found eastern kings common on Paynes Prairie (there have been only two kingsnakes found anywhere near Paynes Prairie in the last two decades! The reason for the decline is unknown.). The Paynes Prairie kings looked a bit different than the eastern kings from further north, but they were still very recognizable.

We left the eastern kingsnake phenotype behind as we traveled further southward on the Florida peninsula. Near Lake Okeechobee we found ourselves amidst hordes of the brown and cream kingsnakes then known as Florida kingsnakes. Today they are recognized as the Florida Peninsula intergrade kingsnake, L. g. getula x L. g. floridana, and are thought of by most as snakes of the sodfields and sugarcane.

Back then there were few sodfields, but sugarcane was taking hold and peanuts were a staple. The irrigation canals were being dug, leopard frogs were moving in, water snakes followed them, and indigos and kings trailed the waters. Of course, there were rodents in the fields, additional fodder for the snakes that dwelt in these habitats. But best of all, the main north-south road, US27, was edged on both sides by Australian pines, beneath which blown out tire innertubes lay helter-skelter and in these the kings sought refuge on cold days. Additionally, there were many outcroppings of jumbled oolitic limestone, grown over with recumbent blackberries and other vines, that were also replete with the kingsnakes. It was almost impossible not to find a fair number of them.

And today (2019), although the various chain kings seem harder to find in the wild, eastern, speckled, black, and intergrade kings with genes yet unsullied, continue to be readily available in herpetoculture. Certainly there are albinos and other morphs, but many with normal genes have not yet been overlooked. I guess that once a hobbyist favorite, always a hobbyist favorite. At least I hope so.

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.

This, the western yellow-bellied racer, is the most westerly of the racer clan.
Racers as a group of 11 subspecies, range across the USA from Maine and Florida to California and Oregon. Think about that. Then add to that thought that one subspecies, the eastern yellow-bellied racer ranges from just north of the USA/Canadian border to southern Texas (not quite to the MX border) and both the facts and the snake species itself, Coluber constrictor by name become even more impressive.

Except for 2 subspecies in the southern Midwest the racers are of a rather uniform but variable color both dorsally and ventrally. The dorsal color may be black, olive-tan, blue, or gray, The ventral coloration of many subspecies is the same or slightly lighter than the dorsal color. The common names, such as black racer, blue racer, yellow-bellied racer, tan racer, black-masked racer, even a buttermilk racer the latter being a blue to tan snake with groups of lighter scales that resemble the curds in buttermilk. To these may be added a regional feature such as northern, southern, eastern, western, or a more specific area such as the Everglades. In actuality the names are quite descriptive.

Besides the racers there are several other coast to coast snake species. Among these are the eastern garter snake, Thamnophis sirtalis. This variable species starts at the east coast with the eastern, Maritime, and blue-striped garters and terminates on the shores of the Pacific with the more gaudy San Francisco, California red-sided, and Valley subspecies.

Ditto with the ring-necked snakes, Diadophis subspecies, beginning on the eastern seaboard with the northern and southern ringnecks and transitioning on the West Coast into a host of beautiful, subspecies with remarkably brightly colored bellies.

And although there are others, I’ll cease and desist with mention of the hobbyist favorite, the kingsnakes of the genus Lampropeltis. Ignoring the current trend to make species out of subspecies or to not recognize appearance differences at all, we begin on the California coast with the pretty and variable California kingsnake, transitioning eastward first to the desert king, then after a broad area of intergradation to the speckled, black, eastern and Florida races.

The United States, a wonderland of herpetological diversity, no matter what your classification system may be.

Sympholis lippiens, another of Mother Nature’s wonderfully secretive creations. The Mexican short-tailed snake is a larger- than- normal insectivore.
Unlike earlier years when herping south of our border was simply a choice of whether or not to just get up and go, today’s decisions are a more complex decision for me. In fact, the last time I traveled into Mexico was about 15 years ago and then I didn’t travel too far to the south. I had initially considered going to Sinaloa, got as far as southern Sonora, and decided that was far enough. And, as it turned out, it actually was far enough for me to interact with the small boas of Yecora, Mexican treefrogs, beaded lizards and other species that I hadn’t seen for years.

And one of these “other” species, one that I found really interesting, was the Mexican short-tailed snake (Sympholis lippiens).

The first of this species on that trip was seen in the headlight glow of oncoming traffic. The little snake was slowly moving across the pavement. And somehow, after the half dozen cars (that’s 24 collective tires) had passed, the snake remained uninjured. I was delighted for this was an enigmatic species that really intrigued me.

That it is patterned for its entire 16- (or so) inch length in rings of jet black and creamy yellow is obvious. That it is of reasonably heavy girth, has a proportionately short tail and feels rather yielding and flaccid when lifted is almost as obvious. It was known (or at least thought) to be a secretive burrower that comes topside primarily when forced to do so by monsoon rains flooding its burrows. But beyond these things everything about Sympholis was conjectural. There was virtually nothing known about its food or feeding habits or its reproductive biology.

Today, thanks to research and compilation by Peter Holm, an Ecologist with Organ Pipe Cactus National Monument we do know a bit more about this little snake.

It is apparently commensal with a Mexican leaf- cutting ant. Leaf-cutters, their larvae, and grubs of a species known to dwell in the detritus of ant-mounds are now known to be eaten by Sympholis. Additionally, it was surmised that the thick skin, the conformation, cloacal discharge and skin secretions of this anthill specialist protected it from ant bites.

The black-chinned red salamander, Pseudotriton ruber schencki, is a brilliant subspecies from the Smoky Mountain area.
Adventures, good adventures, interesting adventures, just seemed to happen to Kenny and me. On this trip Kenny had decided that he would like to see dwarI waterdogs and since I am always interested in new spots for old herp species, I went along. I don’t remember exactly how it happened, but somehow our target got redirected when our host, Matt, asked whether, as well as the little Necturus, we’d like to see some pretty – real pretty – red salamanders, Pseudotriton r. ruber. Our collective answer was, of course, not only yes, but “heck yes” and temporarily at least waterdogs were forgotten.

When we stopped it was at a huge swamp, an expanse that was criss-crossed by newly fallen as well as decomposing pine carcasses and with as much soupy mud as I would ever wish to slog through. In other words it was a salamander haven and heaven.

Kenny and Matt (and Matt’s “wonder-dog) were soon plowing agiley through the mud and jumping over or turning fallen timber. As usual I was far behind and tripping over most obstacles. Nothing new there until I floundered over a log, knocking off a bit of bark, and found 2 eastern worm snakes, Carphophis a. amoenus. Just about then Kenny and Matt both hollered “got one.” Being reasonably sure that I would get a chance to photo at least one I started back to the car.

Now time for the waterdog. At least I’d get a chance to wash some of the mud off. And we actually got both demudded and a waterdog, N. punctatus.

Another successful day.

Drymobius margaritifer, the speckled racer
Thornscrub surrounded us. Every time we started forward it seemed that we had first to move backward to disentangle our clothing (and since we were both wearing shorts, our skin) before we could hope to move forward. I had done this on several previous occasions so I knew that I was going to get nowhere fast. In fact, there were times when 2 steps backward were needed before moving a few inches ahead. It didn’t take Jake long to understand why I referred to the vegetation in this region (collectively, I might add) as “monkey-get-back-bushes,” If it grew here it had thorns. Sometimes the thorns were straight and pointed as a needle and placed strategically to nail you while you were moving ahead. Sometimes they were recurved like a cat’s claw and waiting in patient silence for you to try to back up a bit while you were trying to avoid their needle-like brethren. One thing you could be sure of, they were there. Jake knew this now.

So what drew us to this particular locale in the Lower Rio Grande Valley?

Why, a snake of course. But not just any snake. It was one that was at the extreme norther edge of its mostly Latin American range here on the north side of the Rio Grand (Rio Bravo, if you prefer). It was the beautiful speckled racer, Drymobius m. margaritifer, a species we were not apt to see anywhere else. In fact, we had just seen one, hence our stickery predicament. We were hoping that about 15 feet ahead of us the snake had stopped and that we could get close enough to take photos. The vegetation was vying directly the opposite.

But I’ll shorten an already long story. We won. It was almost a draw but the snake wasn’t unduly perturbed by our thrashing about and we got pix.

So what is Drymobius? It, like many racer type snakes is black with big eyes and a less than amiable disposition. But there the similarities stop. The speckled racer is 4 feet of absolute beauty. In the center of each scale is a yellow spot. And at the rear of each scale is a wash of sky blue. This gives an overall appearance to the moving serpent of an overall wash of green. But if you concentrate on one curve of the moving snake, the outside of the curve will be a beautiful blue, and the inside of the curve is mostly yellow. It’s a beautiful snake of almost magical color changes. Take a trip down and see one for yourself. If you stay on the trails there will be no personal pain involved.