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.

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