Patti and I sat on the screened deck this evening (06/03/15) and marveled at the agility of the many bats (probably most were Mexican free-tailed bats) and several dozen dragonflies overhead. We were in the midst of a flying ant emergence and the predatory insects and bats were taking full advantage of the seasonal repast. On convoluted flyways some 30 or 40 feet up, both had become active while the sun was still visible on the western horizon and were still wheeling and reeling when it became too dark to follow their aerial antics.

I came inside to make a few notes on the sightings and happened to glance around at the windows. Not only was it a bat and dragonfly night, it was a gecko night as well. There was at least one Mediterranean gecko, Hemidactylus turcicus, on every single window and several windows hosted 2 or 3 geckos. Every gecko was actively foraging on the ants and other small insects drawn to the lights.

The temperature was a warm 81F and the humidity 85%, apparently providing ideal conditions for our nocturnal friends. And I noted that the dragonflies, insects I had always thought of as exclusively diurnal, were still active when it had become too dark for me to follow their antics. This had been better than watching the Blue Angels and a whole lot less noisy. Some evenings just can't be improved upon.

More photos under the jump...

It was early morning (about 0715) and the temperature was just about 70 F. A least bittern -- always an avian photographic nemesis for me -- had just flown across the gravel road and landed in a patch of cattails about 30 feet ahead of me. I slowed, not that I was walking all that fast anyway, and decided to sit and wait a while on the wet and grassy bank to see if the bird would emerge in a photographable position. It did. But hoping for something even better I waited longer.

As luck would have it, while waiting I noticed a slight disturbance in a patch of floating vegetation about 15 feet from shore. My interest shifted to the floating grasses. Was something really there or was the disturbance caused by a current? I watched. Yes, there definitely was something there and it was closer to shore now. Ah ha! A snake. A dark snake with vestiges of darker bands and of a fair girth. Oh, of course. A Florida cottonmouth, Agkistrodon piscivorous conanti.

The snake neared the shore, idled quietly in the shallows for a minute or two, then slowly emerged. It angled towards a sunny spot about 6 feet from me. Once there it stopped with its head bathed in the warming rays, and then with tongue flickering coiled ever so slowly. When I shifted positions to better angle the camera the snake made a fleeting defensive gape.

Once it settled, I stood, moved quietly up the hill, and left both bird and snake in peace. This was a fine way to begin the day.

More photos under the jump...

The skies opened and the deluge began. There was no easing into it. Within minutes, the afternoon sun in which anoles and tortoises had been basking had been obliterated by leaden clouds. Thunder rumbled and lighting speared the heavens. Torrential rains were falling - 2 and a half inches in just under one hour.



By the time darkness had enveloped us, our little artificial pond on the hill was freshened, overflowing, and echoing with the rapidly pulsed and oft repeated trills of southern toads, Bufo terrestris.

But it was from across the road in the newly opened Sweetwater Wetlands Park that the true anuran cacophony had begun. Tiny marble-sized narrow-mouthed toads, Gastrophryne carolinensis, were present in some numbers, but their peenting calls were virtually overwhelmed by the vocalizations of the two larger, dominant treefrogs: the green and the barking (Hyla cinerea and H. gratiosa, respectively) that had gathered by the dozens, perhaps in the hundreds in the newly created temporary pools.

With favorable breezes the loud choruses, the "wonks" and "hollow barks", of these 2 beautiful hylids could be heard from our back deck more than a half mile away.

Need I mention that it is for these storms that we wait anxiously each year, for with each year's storm arrival we are enchanted anew by the anuran activity they induce.

"Snake!" Both Jake and I voiced the single word simultaneously.



Ahead of us, nearing the edge of the pavement, was the unmistakable form that we had been hoping to see. There were no other vehicles in sight on the roadway. As we neared, we both said "canebrake." I stopped a couple of dozen feet before reaching the snake and Jake piled out of one door and I from the other. The snake lying quietly stretched out, merely kinked a bit as we neared and never rattled.

The canebrake rattlers, Crotalus horridus atricaudatus, of this region vary noticeably in ground color with most being tan or dead-leaf brown. A few, though, are a beautiful purple or pink and we were elated to see that this 30 incher was one of these latter.

Since there was still no traffic we took a few pictures, gently touched the rattler's tail with a slender stick, and watched for a few moments as the snake slowly crawled from the pavement and disappeared without disturbance into the roadside greenery.

A canebrake had been our goal for the evening but having found this beauty we decided to continue road-hunting for another half hour. In that 30 minute time frame we saw 3 additional snakes: a corn, a juvenile yellow-gray rat snake, and a Peninsula ribbon snake.

All in all it was a great evening, one that we both would remember favorably, and we were home before dark!

I was a few steps ahead of Patti walking that mid-May evening on a trail in the newly opened Sweetwater Wetlands Park. My nose in the air, I was looking for a nearby white-eyed vireo that was caroling loudly and persistently from the low trees.

Suddenly Patti said "You better stop and look at what you just walked by."



I stopped, turned and looked down. About 10 feet behind me, lying unperturbed by my passing and our presence, half its 30" body length on the path, was a beautiful juvenile eastern diamond-back rattlesnake, Crotalus adamanteus.

Stretched fully out and except for its flickering tongue and lying absolutely motionless, the little snake had just left the woodland and begun crossing the trail. With other folks approaching, we decided it would probably be best to move the little snake out of sight.

Picking up a slender stick I slid it beneath the snake and moved him to the side of the path. Within seconds he had completed the effort and moved quietly and completely from view.

We happily bade it adieu.

Long, long, ago and far, far, away I found my first Arizona treefrog, Hyla wrightorum (then Hyla eximia) hopping slowly across a monsoon-swept highway somewhere in the mountains of central Arizona. It was a beautiful example of the green phase and I took many photos. But over time the photos, all slides, were misplaced or defaced and I found myself wanting to see and rephotograph the taxon. Well, monsoon season was again drawing close, so...

The more I thought about it the plainer it became that if I wanted to see this pretty frog once more a trip to wcNM or cAZ would need to be undertaken. Because I knew the area at least a little I chose the Coconimo National Forest as my destination.

Patti thought this to be a spontaneous decision. I didn't. In my mind spontaneity was to hop in the car and with hardly any thought head off to the western "wooly-wags." In this case I had thought about the trip for at least a couple of weeks and actually had a destination in mind before hopping into the car and heading westward. No spontaneity there at all. Merely a long drive. But heck, I was always heading to Texas or California or Idaho, so central Arizona would be a snap.

It seemed that almost as soon as I had made my decision a friend called to inform me the monsoons had started and I was spontaneously in the car heading towards I-40 and then west.

Two days (and twenty two hundred miles) later I was sitting on a stump at the edge of a newly formed pool , being bombarded by fat raindrops, surrounded by woodlands redolent with the scent of spruce and pine and juniper, and listening to the burry quacking of the Arizona form of the mountain treefrog complex. Hmmmph. Spontaneity indeed! The search from start to finish had worked like a well oiled machine.

More photos under the jump...

You go to the campground and the frogs will be at the pond. Of course, the fact that the campground and pond were a couple of thousand miles west of home in Colorado complicated the search for a while. But then on a late summer day I decided to make the drive and search for the frog.

"The frog" was a high elevation population of wood frogs, the ones that were once known as Rana maslini. They were dark of color, somewhat warty, a little short-legged and squatty, but overall they were quite pretty -- or at least interesting.

Although wood frogs are widely distributed from Labrador and Newfoundland to northeastern Georgia to northwestern Alaska, in the continental west they are found in only a few small montane populations in CO, adjacent WY, northern WY, and northern ID.

The fact that they were geographically isolated and seemingly genetically incompatible with other populations prompted systematists of the day to name them Rana maslini. It was later found that they could interbreed successfully with other populations of wood frogs and this led to Rana maslini being considered a synonym of Rana sylvatica. With today's concept that the ability to interbreed is a primitive characteristic, I must wonder whether the status of these frogs will be revisited.

But anyway, there I was in Colorado. I found the pond. But after two days of not finding any frogs I declared myself a failure and drove back home. Three days later I was discussing the frog with a friend and learned I had been at the wrong pond. The one I really wanted was about 3/4 mile farther, down a road closed by nearly impenetrable mazes of fallen trees. So what could I do?

I drove back. I parked the car in the same spot as before, made the hike and found the frog. It only took a week and a half and a few miles over 10,000 to succeed. I'd call that dedication.

More photos under the jump...

Kansas is a state about which I know very little. I have driven across it a couple of times on my way home from Colorado and I've driven to it another couple of times to look up some exotic lizards. But I had never visited the state to witness the great snake emergence from hibernation that I had so often heard about.

So when Kenny said, "This spring it's Kansas," I said OK. It was past time, and Kenny is a great field companion. So when the time came we loaded the car and were on our way.



Kenny knew just where we should be so when once in the state, after a couple of false turns, I was staring in awe at a rock-strewn series of hills that seemed to stretch forever. Fortunately it was not necessary to go to "forever" to find the snakes we sought. The first 50 or so rocks that we flipped produced nothing, but following that dry start it seemed that every second rock sheltered a lizard or snake.

We found prairie ringnecks by the score, a fair number of lined snakes, some Great Plains skinks were seen, and then, in quick succession, 2 Central Plains milk snakes, Lampropeltis triangulum syspila. I'm told that we actually missed the major herp emergence but as far as I'm concerned we just couldn't have done better.

In fact, I liked it so well I may actually try it again.

More photos under the jump...

This past winter, as a cold front came barreling through, I decided to make certain that all of the tortoises were snug in their heated winter houses. I quickly scanned the pens and saw only a few desert box turtles, Terrapene ornata luteola still out.

Although I probably needn't have worried about them I quickly shepherded all into their warmed quarters and then took a head count of the tortoises already slumbering soundly in the houses. Hmmmm. One missing leopard tortoise, Geochelone (Stigmochelys) p. pardalis, and 2 missing desert box turtles. Well, those shouldn't be hard to find so I began a search of pen. Under the ground level philodendron leaves? Nope. Resting quietly on the grassy substrate? Nope. Hidden by the few patches of tall grasses? Nope. No chelonians to be found. So I started over and again came up empty handed.

"Patti! Could you please help me find this tortoise?"

We both looked and we both failed. Still no star.

Then when I looked down I was standing right next to a patch of tall grass that was about 12 x 14 inches. Way too small for a 10 inch long leopard tortoise, right? But that's where it was, smack in the middle and all but invisible. Those camouflaging carapacial markings sure are sure effective. We didn't find the desert box turtles that night but they showed up again when the weather moderated. And I won't mention the several times I've looked for an hour or more for an Indian star tortoise in their 30 x 40 foot pen.

More photos under the jump...

Kenny had already visited it. I had never heard of it. You'll love the Bruni dump he told me. Cool stuff. Really cool.



If you're a herper, you'll probably already have guessed that it was not the trash that was of interest to us. It was what had found their homes beneath the trash: the herps, and for me at least, the small mammals, that were the "cool stuff."

We jogged down a couple of short blocks, paralleled the railroad tracks for a block or two and voila, instant herp habitat. Even before we left the car we were able to observe the first herp, a group of very alert and active prairie racerunners, Aspidoscelis sexlineatus viridis.

We flipped a few pieces of trash and beneath a piece of tarp, we found the first snake, a beautiful Texas patch-nose, Salvadora grahamiae lineata. Cool indeed.

Beneath a small piece of plywood was a pair of flat-headed snakes, Tantilla gracilis. Then our luck dried up for a while.

But just before we left, beneath a huge torn and discarded tarp we found the prize of the day--a magnificent adult Schott's whipsnake, Masticophis s. schotti. Cool stuff for sure!

Picture taking time now.

The desert sun was dropping quickly behind a sizable butte. Within minutes the searing heat of the day would begin to cool. The beauty of an orange sunset spread quickly over an orange land that would soon give way to dusk. Full darkness would follow soon and we intended to be road-hunting as the changes occurred.



From an afternoon temperature that had neared 100 degrees Fahrenheit, by the time darkness had fallen it was 10 degrees cooler.

We drove slowly in this land of cliffs and canyons. Snake! The first find of the night was a juvenile Great Basin gopher snake.

Snake! Snake number 2 was a very pretty night snake. Then nothing. We drove a few miles up and a few miles back. Again and again. Things had "dried up." One more run and we'd call it a night. Up to the turning point. Nothing. Back to where the cliffs almost hugged the road and... Snake!

2 feet of sand orange snake was crossing the road slowly. And there was no mistaking it. Rattlesnake. We had found a coveted Hopi rattlesnake, Crotalus viridis nuntius. Closer examination disclosed that this was a tagged (painted rattle segments) study specimen.

Today, we are told, if we were to find that same snake we should simply call it a prairie rattlesnake. Hopi has been "sunk," merged with the prairie. Subspecies are in disfavor. But guess what: it is still a Hopi to me.

Around us was sand in various hues of oranges and yellows and reds; above us towered sand stone cliffs in similar colors. A few miles distant we had encountered mesas, buttes, and dark, deep - perilously deep - sheer-walled canyons. Here and there a cactus, a succulent, a juniper, or a patch of drought tolerant composites was growing. But for the most part we were surrounded by miles and miles of sand and sandstone cliffs.



We were on a quest and the target was a tiny (up to about 3") lizard, the Utah night lizard, Xantusia vigilis utahensis. This was our second attempt. We tried a year earlier and had failed. But being either gluttons for punishment or dedicated, Kenny and I were back again. Same time of year, same place, but hoping for a different outcome.

As we searched, carefully turning loose chunks of sandstone, ahead of us we could see cars inching their ways in both directions along the section of 261 called the Moki Dugway. This 3 mile stretch of road consists of narrow graveled switchbacks having grades of 10% that carry you up or down 1,100 feet of cliff face with nary a guardrail to be seen, an interesting experience to say the least.

I was just about to comment to Kenny about a sizable truck coming down the dugway when he exclaimed, "lizard." And as I flipped a small chunk of sandstone in the shade of an overhang my turn came: "Lizard!" Mission accomplished or even exceeded.

Both of us had found a little sandstone-orange Utah night lizard. Time for photos.

A few years ago, for reasons that I can no longer remember, I decided to get an African mole snake, Pseudaspis cana, from Linda Switzer. It had been decades since I had last had one and as I remembered them they were big and savagely defensive.



They were in no way pleasant creatures to keep. They had come, I think, from either Lofty Whitehead or Jonathan Leakey, both of Kenya. The snakes, adults all, had been wild collected, and were not the least bit hesitant to show their unhappiness about the situation. I was equally unhappy.

So when Linda mentioned having a "nice" mole snake my first question was "how nice?"

"Handleable," she said, "easily handleable."

I wondered to myself whether the snake was actually alive.

But I purchased it and when it arrived, it seemed in perfect health. Not only was it "handleable," it was docile. The big constrictor took thawed and warmed rodents eagerly but gently from forceps, and overall acted about as non-mole snake-like as any mole snake I had ever seen or heard of.

As the old saying goes, you can't judge a book by its cover. This was a lesson well learned with this very atypical African mole snake.

Jake said, "C'mon, let's go hog-nosing."



That's not much of an incentive for me as hog-noses are just not my favorite critters.

But then Jake said "Good chance for a Florida pine, too."

"Oh," I replied. "You mean southern hog-noses, eh?"

Well, southerns are a bit better, and somewhere in the sandy country where they live Jake almost always runs afoul of sand-spurs, the latter occasion usually being an interesting interlude. Now we were looking at southern hog-noses, southern pine snakes, and sand spurs. Taken together this was a little more to my liking, so off we went.

And an hour and a half later we arrived. It was a dry, relatively cool, and very sunny day; the kind of weather which makes all good snakes active.

This hour and a half drive brought us to a grid of southern hog-nose, Heterodon simus, habitat that until recently was not well known to the herping community. Sadly (from a conservation viewpoint), one well known and very garrulous herper learned of the area and broadcast its potential far and wide.

This, of course, led to an influx of hog-nose hunters whenever weather conditions allowed. It led also to an adverse and vocal response from the homeowners who were suddenly faced with a notable change in traffic volume in their quiet, if sandy, community.

So, in the hope of avoiding controversy, Jake and I agreed to drive slowly, carefully, and to leave immediately if challenge seemed imminent. And not only did we follow these self-imposed rules, taking care that no roostertail plume of dust followed us, but we stopped and explained to a homeowner or two what we were doing (photographing wildlife) and that we would be very careful while looking.

This courtesy paid dividends. We spent an unchallenged hour and a half, found and photographed a beautiful adult male hog-nose, and left feeling pleased. Mission accomplished - uneventfully.

But, darn it! No sand spurs on this trip.

In 2014, what once was one became three.



The venerable alligator snapping turtle, Macrochelys temminckii once ranged in 3 apparently non-contiguous basically riverine populations westward from the northern peninsula of Florida and southern Georgia, to southeastern Kansas and eastern Texas.

The range extended northward in the Mississippi Valley to central Iowa and Illinois. The southeasternmost population (now the Suwannee alligator snapper, Macrochelys suwanniensis, ranges throughout the Suwannee River drainage of Florida.

The central population (now the Apalachicola alligator snapper, Macrochelys apalachicolae) occurs in the drainage of the Apalachicola/Chattahoochee Rivers of Florida, Georgia and eastern Alabama.

The western population (still referred to as simply the Alligator snapper, Macrochelys temminckii, ranges westward and northward from Florida's western panhandle throughout the remainder of the large range.

The separation and erection of these turtles was based on genetic and morphological differences.

For more information read: "Taxonomic assessment of Alligator Snapping Turtles (Chelydridae: Macrochelys)," with the description of two new species from the southeastern United States in Zootaxa 3786 (2): 141–165.

Only minutes earlier we had found on the pavement one of the prettiest little banded water snakes I had ever seen. Jake and I were up in Columbia County, Florida, and although conditions were a bit wet and cool, a few interesting snakes were crossing.



Garters, ribbons, waters, a corn, and a yellow rat had been seen. Actually our target for the night was a living example of the rough earth snake, Haldea (formerly Virginia) striatula, a tiny burrowing species.

A few days earlier we had been on the same roadway and had seen 3 rough earth snakes. Sadly all had been DOR. Since both Jake and I wished to upgrade our photos of this species, we had decided to try our luck once more.

Not only had we seen none, but until finding the little water snake mentioned above we had not seen anything of great interest.

We had just about given up on finding our target that night when, on the last pass, the rain having nearly stopped: bingo! An earth snake, the only one seen that night, was slowly crossing in front of us. Success!

Note: Based on genetic findings, the generic name of Haldea has recently been resurrected for this small snake. Whether this will be accepted remains to be seen.

On a rainy April night Jake and I were out road-hunting in Columbia County, up in northeastern Florida. It had been a warm day but an afternoon rain cooled both the temperature and the road surfaces.



But what the heck - the alternative was to sit at home and write blogs, so we elected to hit the road for a couple of hours. As might be expected under conditions such as these, the most commonly seen snakes were natricines, garter, ribbon, crayfish, and water snakes.

The garters and waters are variably colored and patterned. The former may be reddish with or without stripes or dark with bluish stripes. And the waters (these are Florida banded waters, Nerodia fasciata pictiventris) are even more variable, usually being black with thin or fat crossbands, cinnamon with only obscure banding, or rarely, like this juvenile, bright orange and reddish.

It had just begun to sprinkle again when this little snake chose to cross and beaded with rain droplets, it shown like a beacon in the headlights.

In my opinion, this was the find of the evening - almost!

In Columbia County, Florida yellow rat snakes, Pantherophis obsoletus quadrivittatus, are not apt to be yellow.



And many fail to have the 4 prominent lines so typical of the subspecies further south. In fact, although some may be prominently striped, the rat snakes in this mentioned region are more apt to be brownish yellow and bear both blotches and stripes (similar to but more tan or brown than the rat snakes of the Gulf Hammock area) than they are to be yellowish and striped.

Why the hodgepodge of characteristics here? Possibly some are intergrades between the more northerly black rat snake or the more westerly gray rat snake. Such naturally occurring interbreedings could certainly create the colors and patterns found.

But Jim Peters, an excellent field herper, has mentioned that these strangely patterned snake may have had a bit of outside help. He says, "Rumor has it that several subspecies of rat snakes were let loose in that area in the sixties."

Whatever the reason(s) these snakes are very different and every time I see one I can't help wondering at the cause

As Jake and I started southward towards Okeechobee County, Florida, the conditions seemed perfect. A low pressure system with scattered thunderstorms was forecast at our destination for the evening hours, forecast temperatures seemed ideal, and almost exactly a year earlier Josh had found our target snake, a South Florida mole kingsnake, Lampropeltis calligaster occipitolineata.



Seemingly uncommon, the South Florida mole kingsnake was described in 1987. This grayish, yard long, largely fossorial constrictor bears 60-80 well defined dorsal blotches as well as smaller lateral blotches between each of the dorsal markings.
The belly, also bearing dark blotches is cream colored.

A prominent dark diagonal bar extends from each eye to the angle of the mouth and two elongate dark blotches are present on the nape.

Jake and I were stoked. Except for a slight breeze, even as we left the turnpike the conditions seemed ideal. Storm clouds amply decorated with lightning continued to build a bit to the west. When we turned westward, the storms seemed more distant than earlier, the gentle breezes had become gusty winds, and the high humidity had become almost desert dryness.

What had earlier been ideal mole king weather now seemed more appropriate for desert kings. And it stayed that way for the 2 days we had allocated. The mole kings failed to become surface active. We failed again!

Well, maybe next time.

Collected by biology students visiting Cuba, then introduced to Florida, this species has thrived!



Hearkening back a half century or so, I can remember standing at the Hialeah Racetrack with Jerry Fine in the early 1960s and wondering if we ever would see one of the (then) rather newly and deliberately introduced knight anoles.

Although they were said to be gaining a foothold in Dade County, Florida, we had failed to find one. But within a few years these big anolines became common in roadside trees in Coral Gables. Ditto at the before mentioned Racetrack locale. And they were ever more commonly seen hanging head down on the trunks of palms or ficus trees, in many (most?) urban Miami plantings.

By the 1980s, the question was whether there was any place in Miami where they couldn't be seen! Today, after finding them in thickets along the south shore of Lake Okeechobee, in Palm Beach and Collier counties, and in exotic plantings in St. John's County (where they may have been carried in the plantings and may not be established) the question has become how far north of Dade County can this 16 inch long predatory lizard establish itself? And what are its prey items?

Insects (including large beetles and roaches) and other anoles (most often the introduced brown anole) are grist for the mill of the knight anole.

One of my favorite pit stops whenever Gordy and I visited Florida was Tarpon Zoo, now long out of business. Located in Tarpon Springs, about mid-distance between the Everglades and the Georgia state line on the Gulf side of Florida, Trudie, Mike, and George specialized in neotropical mammals, birds, and herps. Although they billed themselves as a zoo, the facility was actually a wildlife dealership that stocked everything from tapirs and macaws to Suriname toads, anacondas, bushmasters, and black caiman.



In fact, it was at Tarpon Zoo that I first saw and became enamored of baby black caiman, the most alligator-looking and by far the largest of the several caiman species. But the baby black caiman, with their yellowish faces and dark mandibular blotches, were even cuter than a baby alligator.

With only a mention that over the years black caiman have become a species rarely seen in both private and zoo collections in the United States, I'll fast forward about 60 years to 2015. On our winter Amazonian ecotour of 2015, I had made the sighting of a baby black caiman one of our top priorities.

And as luck would have it, crocodilian expert Flavio and a few sidekicks accompanied us on that trip. I explained to Flavio that over the years several adults of the species had surfaced next to our boats as we searched after dark for anurans, but despite several tries to find a baby at a known "nursery" locale, we had failed.

Flavio and others took on the challenge.

Edwin, one of our Peruvian guides, scouted out the easiest and best way to get through the varzea to the nursery pond. The route involved an arduous trek, kayaking, then portaging the craft, then more kayaking, all the while circumnavigating rainforest treefalls.

And it was thanks to these Herculean efforts on the parts of others that I, over sixty years after first seeing baby black caiman in captivity, got to see a couple of dozen babies of this coveted taxon in the wild.

Life is good.

The long range forecast for the Houston region had called for one day of showers, light rain on the second day, and heavy rain for most of the third day. The high temperatures of about 45 degrees Fahrenheit on the first day rose on each of the next two to a high of 66 degrees Fahrenheit on the third day.



Sitting in northern Florida, some 850 miles east of Houston, Kenny and I decided that the conditions should induce breeding activities of at least four species of winter breeding anurans (3 species of chorus frog and one true frog) of which we both wanted digital format photos.

We piled into my old Toyota RAV4 and headed west to Texas, a state well known for weather vagaries. And three days of vagaries were exactly what we drove 850 miles to find.

The temperature the first day was actually summery but rather than showers, the rain that fell was very localized and was merely a single sprinkle that barely dampened the area. We did see three Strecker's chorus frogs, Pseudacris streckeri, one of the 4 target species.

The second day was dry and cooler and we saw nothing. Rather than being the warmest of the three, the high temperature on the third day was now forecast be cooler, rainy in the morning, and then clearing and plummeting to near freezing that night. We decided to wait until the next morning, assess the situation and then decide whether to stay or skedaddle eastward.

At daybreak it was dry and temperatures had dropped significantly. By noon it was dry, very windy and cold. We left, our score remaining only one out of 4 of the targets.

But it was a start.

The little frog was sitting atop a frond well, up out of reach in a Bactris riparia (spiny palm).



Marisa jokingly told Emerson, the preserve manager, that she wanted the frog and taking her statement at face value, he set about getting it for her. A few minutes later Emerson called Marisa and showed her the frog, then sitting quietly on the crook of his snake hook.

The next morning Marisa, showed Kenny and me the frog. Neither of us were able to identify it to species. In fact, we even vacillated on genus, but eventually agreed on Pristimantis. Kenny just called it Pristimantis sp., I preferred Pristimantis sp. cf okendeni. Lots of pictures were taken.

After returning home, Kenny continued to attempt a positive identification, and thanks to AmphibiaWebEcuador he succeeded.

Marisa and Emerson had collected a species thought previously to be rare in and endemic to Ecuador - Pristimantis orphnolaemus, a small anuran best known as a canopy dweller in primary forest. Its finding has documented a new herpetofaunal species in Peru and it was found on Santa Cruz Forest Preserve.

Thanks to all for the efforts both afield and in researching the find.

Reduced in size and flow during a drought, at the bridge where we stood the river was still about 30 feet wide and looked to be cool and fairly deep with even deeper holes. Kenny and I were watching some very wary diamond-backed water snakes that were using some cracks in the bridge abutment as hideaways when a turtle head broke the water surface, spied us, reversed, and sped to the bottom.

Texas cooter? No. But it was definitely an emydine, not a mud turtle.



After checking the various range maps, it seemed that there was only one other choice - a Texas map turtle, Graptemys versa. Suddenly the sighting took on new importance for this was a species with which neither of us was overly familiar.

So we stood quietly and patiently and watched the water slowly pass by. No turtle.

We admitted defeat and clambered back to the roadway. Before returning to the car we glanced once over the edge of the bridge and there, below us, swam the turtle. Correction: swam 2 turtles.

They were Texas map turtles, a small male and a larger female, and they were courting.

Picture taking time! Whoops, our cameras were still in the car. Of course.

Where else would they be when needed?

There's just that something about a green snake! Whether they are of the comparative chunkiness of a tree viper or the slender build of a rat snake, it seems that snakes of green color are hobbyist favorites.



The racer-thin, rodent and bird eating, red-tailed green rat snake, Gonyosoma oxycephala (this snake also occurs in less popular blue-gray and reddish-brown phases) is one of the latter, an aptly named arboreal beauty. Adult at 6 to 7 feet in length, occasional examples can exceed 8 feet. Females are often the larger sex.

Although this large and beautiful Southeast Asian snake is occasionally bred in captivity, many that become available are wild caught imports. If freshly collected before importation, survival rate may be termed "fair." But if held at a collection facility for days or even weeks (as is often the case) stress, dehydration, and endoparasites will have weakened the snakes rendering them difficult to acclimate.

Although I seldom advocate routine purging of endoparasites, I have found that it does seem to benefit the newly imported examples of this taxon.

Captive hatched examples are often as feistily defensive as the adults. With a bit of teasing, hatchlings will accept pinky mice from forceps. Be aware that as an arboreal species, examples of all sizes may be reluctant to drink from a water dish. This reluctance can usually be overcome by placing an aquarium air stone (attached to a small vibrator pump) in the water and/or elevating the water dish to perch level.

This taxon is not for all hobbyists, but for those having interest, they are well worth the extra effort that is often required.

Black-tailed prairie dog burrows scar the landscape. Stop for a moment while driving through Wind Cave National Wildlife Refuge in the Black Hills during the hours of daylight and a dozen or more prairie dogs will come running in hope of a handout.



Look both ways before you begin driving again because a curious bison just might be standing in front of your vehicle. But things are quieter at night. Bison drift away from the road to bunk down on the open prairie. The prairie dogs are all snoozing in their burrows. As a great horned owl flies over on silent wings, a summering burrowing owl ducks into a prairie dog burrow for safety.

But what is that tiny head emerging from the next prairie dog burrow? It's a salamander - a blotched tiger salamander, Ambystoma mavortium melanostictum! And we were to learn that the use of these havens by the salamanders was not at all uncommon.

The blotched tiger salamander attains a robust 6 to 11 inches in total length. Some examples have a well-defined reticulum of black against the predominating olive-yellow to olive-green, while others are less precisely patterned.

Neoteny is well documented, and it is this subspecies that is often offered for sale as "waterdogs" in the pet trade. Captive conditions usually cause waterdogs to metamorphose so be ready to change its housing from aquarium to terrarium.

But, whether adult or larva, this is a hardy salamander that often survives for more than a decade as a captive and that is easily fed on pelleted salamander food and/or earthworms.

In many areas where once common, the smooth green snake, Opheodrys vernalis, seem to have become hard to find. In various areas where I have searched - Michigan, Massachusetts, Virginia, West Virginia, South Dakota, and New Mexico among them - in locales where the taxon was known to have once been fairly common, I have often failed to find any. I may have found only one or two after extensive searches.

Jake, who grew up with smooth green snakes common on the family property in Maine looked long and hard for the last several years, finding none until in 2014 when he found one - just one.

The last ones that I saw were in the Black Hills of South Dakota (a single snake) and then, while returning to Florida, I found two examples in Missouri. The Black Hills example was beneath a recently fallen dead tree trunk of moderate diameter in a blueberry flat. The Missouri specimens were beneath pieces of cardboard at the edge of a pasture.

A friend who visits Wisconsin on fairly regular intervals has found this little snake to still be common in Door County, a peninsula jutting eastward into Lake Michigan. Not only is the smooth green snake still common there, but it occurs in at least 2 color phases, the typical leaf green and a gray-green.

And as I write this I'm thinking that it is long past time for me to visit Wisconsin.

And just as a "by the way," smooth green snakes, known to be insectivores (perhaps arachnivores would be more accurate), have proven to be difficult to feed, delicate captives that are best left in the wild.

Awareness! There was such a thing as a horned frog, and a giant one at that.



My first awareness of this genus of frogs occurred at about 7 years old as I was, with parents, riding the rails - the rails of the New York, New Haven, and Hartford - home from New York. We had been to the Bronx Zoo and in my hand was a zoo guide, a thick paperback, devoted to identifying and discussing some of the creatures we had seen that day.

I scanned the mammal and bird sections and remember turning the pages to the reptiles and stopping at a picture of a horned frog in the amphibian section. I was dismayed for I had not seen this creature at the zoo, yet here it was, bigger than life, pictured in the guide.

I'm almost positive it was a giant horned frog, a Ceratophrys aurita, a horned frog about which to this day I know precious little.

The Brazilian horned frog is supposedly the largest of the genus, larger even that the biggest of the female ornate horned frogs. However, the very few breeders of "C. aurita" today have smaller frogs and believe that the actual size of C. aurita has been exaggerated or if not, that the species varies in adult size populationally and/or individually.

I know that having not seen one yet, I am anxiously awaiting the availability of a dinner-plate sized, long-horned, Brazilian horned frog in the pet trade.

Kenny and I agreed that it was a long way from North Central Florida to southwest South Dakota just to try to see one little snake, so time and again we delayed the attempt. But finally the time seemed right.



We were planning a salamandering trip that would take us along most of the Pacific Coast so we'd start at the north (Washington) and work our way southward to southern California, then eastward and towards home. By starting in the north we could travel through the Badlands and Black Hills of South Dakota, up into Montana. The time had come to try to see the Black Hills red-bellied snake, Storeria occipitomaculata pahasapae.

We allocated 3 weeks for the entire trip (and as it turned out we used every minute of it), allowing a couple of days to search out the Black Hills target.

Despite locales provided by a friendly researcher, finding the targeted "west of the heartland" red-bellied snake took more time and work that we had thought it would. It seemed that we had arrived a week or two later than was best and the little snakes had already left the hibernaculas. Not only had they dispersed, but seemingly most were already in subsurface retreats.

We persevered and after several hours of searching, Kenny found one of the reclusive and seclusive snakes. It was the only example of the subspecies found. Remembering how difficult it had been to justify the trip to the Black Hills, many more photos than were actually needed were taken.

Then westward, ho!

It was in the 1980s when I first made a concerted effort to see a flattened musk turtle, Sternotherus depressus.



My interest had been piqued by the news that a single almost white example was in the live collection at the University of Alabama at Birmingham. In those long ago days, except to differentiate leucism from albinism, we didn't differentiate between the various causes of inhibited pigmentation. Since the little turtle did not have the dark eyes associated with leucism, I then and still do refer to the turtle as an albino.

I was happy to have seen the captive specimens at the university, but it was not until just a few years ago that I took the time to look them up in the wild. Since they are a federally endangered turtle species, I thought that they would be difficult to find. This was not at all the case.

After arriving at 2:00PM on a sunny spring afternoon and making my way down a considerable slope and through painful tangles of cat briar, I reached the river's edge. Within 5 minutes I had seen my first couple of depressus. They were in deep water and I wasn't able to photograph them.

But in just another few minutes I had found another near the shoreline and a fourth in a small disjunct pool. Photos were taken.

It was a good day.