The Herpetofaunal Awakening

 I can fish pretty much all winter. I don't always, because sometimes it legitimately hurts to be outside. When merely exposing your skin to air results in significant pain that's probably a bad sign. But generally, I like winter fishing. Aside from the popular holdover striper places, popular ice fishing spots, and the Farmington River I generally find myself along out there on the water in the winter, and I like that a lot. Am I patiently waiting for spring to bring much more aggressive fish and more variety? Absolutely. But my love of spring has to do with so much more than just fish. The return of the migrating birds and others passing through on their way north, the budding then blooming of native plants, the insects... I love it all. But the thing I really wait all winter for with baited breath, watching forecasts intently for any sign of hope, is the re-awakening of herpetofauna: reptiles and amphibians.

 It happens before the first day of spring on the calendar most years, at least recently. In fact, 2022 is the first year I've seen a frog in CT on the very first day of the year. But February has been a regular amphibian month for me, and March brings the first snakes. I made a quick stop while bouncing between brown trout streams a few weeks ago on a sunny 60 degree February day and saw the first Eastern ribbon snake of the year, though it slipped into its hole before I could get a photo off. A few rainy nights produced some beautiful wood frogs and the odd spring peeper as February transitioned into March. Visits to some den sites produced signs that some snakes had been out, but no sightings of the animals themselves. Then, on March 7th, I payed a visit to a black racer den. The den is in a steep road grad, composed of a mix of soil rock fill, most of which came from blasted out roadcuts not far away. The slope gets good exposure and has some nice emergent vegetation. Though racers are the predominant species, I've also found Eastern rat snakes and garters as well. 

I worked my way down the slope slowly, carefully examining the leaf litter for patterns I've trained my brain to recognize. Snakes aren't always out in the open and easily spotted. They frequently coil under puffed up fallen leaves or grass, letting the sun warm parts of their body while much remaining very cryptic. Even an adult black racer can be very hard to spot at times, and it's imperative that I spot the snake before I'm right next to it if I want to get the best possible photos. This time though it wasn't like that. The one snake that had emerged, a thick adult racer, was right out in the open adjacent to the area they emerge from. It was an impressive animal in perhaps it's least impressive state. His movements were slow and labored, as his body temperature was very likely still extremely cold. He was also completely covered in dust, a common trait of freshly emerged snakes. 

It was easy enough for me to see through the dust and grime to the spectacular animal underneath. I've got an affinity for racers. Perhaps it's the difficulty of photographing a big, pristine adult in it's best shape... they don't let you, most of the time. Racers are intense. They look at you, calculating, thinking, trying to judge your next move, and if they don't like it they can place an exceptionally accurate strike. They most painful snakebites I've ever taken have been from racers, and if you don't yield they'll bite over and over. Getting really close to a snake like that, ideally without handling it, is very challenging. It takes time, patience, and a keen awareness of the animal and it's body language. If I can photograph racers without getting tagged, I'm all the more prepared for the interactions with copperheads and timber rattlesnakes that I love so much. A racer beats the paints off either of CT's pit vipers when it comes to speed, erratic behavior, and cunning. They'll f*** you up, if you let um.

With the first photographed snake of 2022 under my belt, I was beginning to feel a lot better about life. I'm not sure anything makes me feel like seeing a good reptile or amphibian does. It's pure joy, a different joy than I get from catching a great fish. Similar, but just not quite the same. I've long felt that the good feeling I get from catching a fish is derived from the biological necessity to obtain nutrients. Though I deprive myself of the actual caloric intake by releasing so many of the fish I catch, I'm still taking advantage of the positive signals catching prey results in. It's not like that with finding a snake, it's something else. Something new, I think. See, every species gets positive reinforcement from obtaining food, but in most cases animals get negative reinforcement from encountering snakes. There was a time when getting bit by a venomous pretty much meant death for us. So we jump, we startle, and some of us remain perpetually terrified- but not everyone. Some people are just innately captivated by these weird creatures. I am certainly one of those folks, forever chasing the joy I get from seeing that patch of scales in the leaf litter.

Thank you to my Patrons; Erin, David, John, Elizabeth, Brandon, Christopher, Shawn, Mike, Sara, Leo, C, Franky, Geof, Luke, Streamer Swinger, Noah, Justin, Sean, and Mark for making Connecticut Fly Angler possible. If you want to support this blog, look for the Patreon link at the top of the right side-bar in web version.

Convergence '21: I Brake For Amphibians

 Spring is here in New England, and so continues my love letter series to my favorite time of year.

 Before chances of stripers eating river herring had begun, I was out in the dark looking for the first amphibian convergences of the year. Warm, rainy nights in late winter and early spring call amphibians back up to the surface from their winter slumber. The same conditions get me excited as well: I don my safety vest, put new batteries in my flashlight, and hop in the car to go see the remarkable migration. 

Spotted salamanders are the most well-known, and possibly the most charismatic of the amphibians that make the great migration to vernal pools each spring. They are beautiful big salamanders and certainly deserve the attention. Every time I see the tell-tale shape of an adult spotted salamander in my headlights, head lifted high, I get a very specific feeling. After a long winter without seeing wild reptiles and amphibians, relief is certainly a part of the equation. 

Other salamanders are on the move as well, including four-toed salamanders, two lined salamanders, red backed salamanders, blue spotted salamanders, marbled salamanders, and a few more species. Though not so well-known these species are just as important.

Four-toed salamander

Wood frogs

On the best night this year, I saw in excess of 100 spotted salamanders crossing the road as well as hundreds of other individuals of various species. It was a truly spectacular show to kick off spring. 

Spring peeper

Four-toed salamander

Marbled salamander

I was out on a dozen nights this spring and will definitely be out on a few more. I moved many amphibians out of the road and hopefully made a bit of a difference in the roadkill statistics. Please, if you can avoid it, don't drive on warm rainy nights. Roads have segmented most amphibian populations and mortality while crossing roads is a huge factor in the declines of salamanders, frogs, toads, turtles, and snakes throughout the country. Please brake for these animals!

Until next time, 

Fish for the love of fish.

Fish for the love of places fish live.

Fish for you.

And stay safe and healthy.

Thank you to my Patrons; Erin, David, John, Elizabeth, Brandon, Christopher, Shawn, Mike, Sara, Leo, C, Franky, Geof, Luke, and Noah for making Connecticut Fly Angler possible. If you want to support this blog, look for the Patreon link at the top of the right side-bar in web version. 

Closing November With a Salamander, Opening December With a Walleye

 November 2020 was the warmest November in my memory. I saw the last timber rattlesnake of the year on the 5th and the last black racer of the year much later than that. Stripers remained surface active well into December. So when the final day of November came with a good heavy rain and more unusual warmth, I went out to see if I might find one last spotted salamander crossing the road this year. This past year gave me the most remarkable spring amphibian migration day I've experienced yet, and it seemed likely it would show off a few more herps very late into the fall. With close to ideal conditions, I set out driving an area I'd had exceptional luck with during the spring. After an hour of driving very slowly down windy back roads through wooded Eastern CT hills, I was about to give in and accept defeat. I'd seen a single green frog and a couple wood frogs that cleared the road before I got to them. That wasn't much. Then, while another car passed me, I saw the tell-tale shape of a large mole salamander on the center line. I flipped the car around as soon as I could and hoped it would still be there when I got back. Sure enough, there it was. It hadn't moved at all. I put my hazards on, donned my safety vest, and went out to photograph the last salamander I'd see in 2020. 

See Spot run.

I was pleased enough with that to head straight home. But the next night was pretty warm as well, and I knew the influx of rain would get some other animals to move, too. Some would remain moving a couple days after the rain would end. What I was most interested in the night of December first though was Sander vitreus.

Walleye.

Though the spring rains are undoubtedly my favorite time to fish for these white eyed nocturnal predators, fall and early winter provide another great opportunity. I made tracks to my favorite creek mouth with my five weight and a box of woolly buggers- all that is needed to catch big walleye in these conditions. Heavy rains draw big walleye to creek mouths almost year round, and they are available within fly casting range in shallow water for a short period during and after the deluge. This night was ideal, and I wasn't at all surprised when the third cast resulted in a doubled over rod. This was clearly a gigantic walleye. I've had a few fish between 27 and 29 inches in my short time frequently seeking trophy 'eyes, but this was clearly in a league of it's own. The head shakes were huge. My heart sank when my line went slack. That was probably a 30 inch class walleye. It was still early though, and I kept plumbing the depths. Eventually I was in again. It was no 30 incher but it was still a great fish, more than enough for a brief celebration. 

It's tail was huge and it had great colors. That fish ended up being the last walleye of both that night and the year- not a bad way to end it. I look forward to spring; I'll still be after that 30 incher. I won't be satisfied until I've broken the walleye fly rod world record. Until next time.

Fish for the love of fish.

Fish for the love of places fish live.

Fish for you.

And stay safe and healthy.

Thank you to my Patrons; Erin, David, John, Elizabeth, Brandon, Christopher, Shawn, Mike, Sara, Leo, C, Franky, and Geof for making Connecticut Fly Angler possible. If you want to support this blog, look for the Patreon link at the top of the right side-bar in web version. 

Edited by Cheyenne Terrien 

The World's 4th Largest Salamander (Western Pennsylvania Pt. 4)

My love for reptiles and amphibians runs deep. I can't remember a time when I wasn't captivated by frogs, snakes, salamanders, crocodilians, you name it. It certainly runs deeper than my fascination for fish. Herpetology was my first love, Ichthyology not even my second or third, so there are amphibians that I've wanted to see as long as I can remembered, but not fish. One of those amphibians is the largest Salamander in North America, the hellbender. 

The largest salamander in the world might be the South China giant salamander, Andrias sligoi, with one specimen collected in the Guizhou Province measuring a stunning 5.9ft in length. Because biology is a sloppy science, the South China giant salamander was lumped in as non-distinct and then forgotten. It was then revived as a distinct species when genetic research in 2018 proved that the Chinese giant salamander was not a distinct species, but a collection of clades divided among different river drainages, some of which were distinct enough to get species designation. Because the largest specimen of Chinese giant salamander could be A sligoi, but genetic material is not fresh enough to test, it remains a mystery which species the record breaking specimen is. A. sligoi and A. davidianus are critically endangered and it isn't even known if A. sligoi exists in its native range anymore. The Chinese affinity for using basically any animal for medicine or for food has driven these incredible and important animals to the brink, and continues to threaten their viability to this day. 

In Japan, the native Adrias japonicus , the third largest salamander in the world, has enjoyed better protections in recent history but is still listed as near threatened. The largest wild specimen was 58lbs and 4.5ft long. Thankfully Japan has recognized the biological an cultural significance of their giant salamanders and are better equipped to protect them than China is with their own. It seems likely that the Japanese giant salamander will be around for years to come. 

A fourth species of the giant salamander family (Cryptobranchidae) lives in the eastern United States. The hellbender, Cryptobranchus alleganiensis, is the largest amphibian in North America and possibly the fourth largest salamander in the world maxing out at well over two feet. It, like it's Japanese relative, is listed as near threatened, and Pennsylvania is one of the last best places to see the species and the only state where it doesn't have special protections (and that's very stupid, it should, but PA is slow about this stuff... they still allow timber rattlesnake hunting, after all). Though I'd lived right smack dab in the middle of hellbender country for years and spent countless hours exploring streams where they live, I'd never seen one. So when we all woke up on the first morning of our trip and groggily got ready for a long day on the water, it didn't cross my mind that I'd have a good chance at seeing one that day. 

We headed straight to the river I'd seen the muskies and Moxostoma in the evening before, each of us prepared to target both, as well as micros. As we walked down some railroad tracks to the spot, we saw the first herp of the day, a DeKay's brown snake making a morning move. 

I had my 8wt rigged to indicator nymph and 10wt rigged to throw big streamers when I hit the water. I bumped spot to spot with one rod tucked under my arm, casting with the other, alternating methods. I then settled in a good looking run for a little while and nymphed it hard, hoping to dredge up something interesting. The first fish was a little smallmouth and so was the second, but the third was a silver shiner than somehow managed to drop my indicator with quite a bit of force. 

It became clear very quickly that the redhorse I'd seen all over this creek the day before were being far more shy this morning. I was seeing a few flash, but I sure wasn't getting eats and I wasn't even getting much in the way of takes from other fish. Jake got a log perch and his lifer river chub, Noah was getting the odd bass and chub, but the muskies and redhorse were being cold and distant. With the muskies that wasn't at all surprising, but I didn't know to expect it from the Moxostoma.  

River chub

We wandered upstream a ways, then started back down after deciding we weren't especially likely to find anything different above us. In the spot I'd seen the muskies, we found a small pike. I got it to exhibit interest in a big black muskie fly but couldn't get it to eat. There were schools of minnows and shiners holding along the same weed edge though, and we started fishing to those. That's how I got my first lifer of the day and my second Luxilus species, and my favorite species of the genus, the striped shiner. Colored up male striped shiners are one of the most beautiful freshwater fish in the world. I have a watercolor taxonomic painting of one hanging on my bedroom wall. This one was a dull female outside of spawning season, but still a gorgeous little fish.

Lifelist fish #171, striped shiner, Luxilus chrysocephalus. Rank: species.

Jake and I were catching a bunch of river chubs out of this spot, and eventually I hooked a pretty good one. 

We headed back downriver to the same run I'd really pounded on my way upstream. We all went over to the opposite side, Jake and I stayed in the run, Noah headed downriver. I parked myself on a big slab of sandstone with a deep pocket in front of me and nymphed it hard, pulling one smallmouth out. Then Jake hollered that he had some unusual amphibian eggs in front of him. I waded over and it was true, these were some large and odd shaped eggs I'd never seen before. They did have some hallmarks of salamander eggs, but huge ones, and all we could think was that they were a hellbender's They looked in awful conditions though, certainly not alive, but there were a few good rock slabs around and I decided to gently lift one. As I did so, a huge cloud of mud erupted from it and a long brown animal roiled out and vanished. Jake felt it bump his legs but it was completely lost in its own smoke screen of disturbed mud and detritus. We began searching around for what we were now sure must be a hellbender. I saw something roll on the surface in some shallow weedy water a few feet away from me and headed to it, feeling around with my hands. Suddenly there was a commotion behind me and Jake yelled "I got him, HELLBENDER!". I whipped around to see Jake with the largest amphibian I'd ever seen writhing in his hands.  We shouted down to Noah and quickly moved the animal into shallow water where we could control it more safely. Noah rushed up. All three of us have interest in amphibians and reptiles. Noah and I have done night drives on rainy spring nights looking for migrating amphibians and looked for snakes in the Everglades. Jake is a herper and has been for a long time. We all understood how special the animal we were looking at was. 

The small wound on this individual's head was unfortunate for photography, but amphibians have the most remarkable ability to heal, and undoubtedly this wound is but a small scar now as I write this. I was in love with everything about this bizarre creature. It's tiny eyes, it's folded, smooth skin, it's remarkably large hands... this was nothing like any animal I'e ever seen, let alone held. Some might find it ugly, some might even be scared of it, but anyone that find themselves drawn to amphibians dreams of seeing any of the giant aquatic salamanders. These animals can live as much as thirty years, and they are just so big... there's really nothing like that experience. To me it was akin to seeing my first timber rattlesnake, another species that draws a very real, very visceral response from everyone that gets to see one in the wild. There's a number of animals that stick with me in the same way this hellbender did, animals that I can honestly say changed my life. It takes something special, and it's personal too. Black bears and moose didn't do it for me, though I'm sure they have for many others. It may seem crazy that this salamander shook me up that much, but you know what? If you don't get that, either you haven't seen one and you will get it if you do, or you're not the sort of person I could get along with, simple as that. Noah and Jake though got it, the understand. There's no two people I would rather have been with at that moment in time. We were all just in awe of this animal. 

As we watched it swim/walk/crawl back into it's stony lair, we knew this day had peaked... it couldn't get any better. We fished a bit longer there but then started to make our way back to the car. On the way, I flipped a piece of shale along the railroad track and there was an odd looking garter snake under it. Research seems to indicate that this was a shorthead gartersnake. Jake found a few eastern garters the same size under another rock and the differences were striking. The shorthead had a stouter head (of course) and no checkering pattern at all. I may have seen one of these when I was young but I wouldn't have known it, so for all intents and purposes this was my first. 

Thamnophis brachystoma

Jake then flipped another rock with four snakes under it, and two were stunning adult Northern redbelly snakes, a species I'd been trying and failing to get good photos of in CT all season. I'd seen two and photographed one small, in shed juvenile, but these two were the sort of individuals I really wanted to photograph and they could not have been more different looking. It's amazing that these two individuals of the same species were found under the same rock. 

So it had been a slow morning of fishing but an incredible one for herping... we could only guess how the rest of the day might go. It seemed that just about anything could be possible on this trip. 

*If the conservation and protection of hellbenders and other species that use the same habitats is of interest to you, take initiative in keeping streams natural. Rock stacking, small dam building and other such seemingly low impact activities have huge consequences on such species. Actively dismantle such structures when possible and discourage people from altering stream structure in such ways. in addition, please vote for leaders that support strong clean water, clean air, and environmental protection policies in local and national elections. 

Until next time,

Fish for the love of fish.
Fish for the love of places fish live.
Fish for you.
And stay safe and healthy.

Thank you to my Patrons; Erin, David, John, Elizabeth, Brandon, Christopher, Shawn, Mike, Sara, Leo, and Franky for supporting this blog on Patreon.

Convergence '20: Early Moves

When I started "Convergence" in 2017, it was only about the gathering of predator species brought about by the river herring run. But, in time, it became more than that. It became a series about the magic of spring in southern New England, and each and every migration the warming weather brings. Striped bass, shad, herring, birds, eels, suckers, sea lamprey, and even amphibians.... Convergence has become a love letter to my favorite time of year and some of the spectacles, migrations, breeding collections, and feeding events perpetrated by a bunch of truly special native species. Truth is, there is no place in the world I'd rather be from April 1st through June 1st than right here at home. 

But the spectacle often begins earlier than that. And this year it is beginning as early as I've ever seen it. On the 25th of February, I set out into dark, rainy, foggy conditions to document some of the first movements of frogs and salamanders on their annual migration to breeding pools. I'd not expected a chance to go herping before leaving for Florida on the 28th, but I watched the forecast carefully a week before and it looked like things could be conducive for an extremely early warm, rainy night. By the afternoon of the very day, I became confident I'd end up documenting the first migration of the year that night.
 I was barely out the door when I found the first salamander of the new decade. It was a red-backed salamander, the first species of salamander I ever found and probably the species I've seen the most of over the years, but that I was looking at one in February wasn't unexciting.

Plethodon cinereus

It was then a little while before I found another amphibian that wasn't DOR (dead on road), the species I most expected to out so early in the year: wood frogs. Wood frogs are famously cold-tolerant, and I've even seen them making calls along the edges of melting ice sheets in vernal pools. They are handsome little frogs with quite a lot of variation in color and pattern from one individual to the next. 

Lithobates sylvaticus

I rode a couple miles with only some sporadic wood frogs, then almost decided to turn around. I changed my mind at the last second and decided to continue, but in a direction I'd not initially planned on. This ended up being the best decision I've made in a long time. I went down one hill, found a few wood frogs, up the next, where I found another red-backed salamander, then crossed the highway into amphibian mass-migration on the back roads on the other side. Unfortunately, DOR wood frogs and spring peepers were numerous. In places, I could actually smell the vehicular carnage. I talked on the phone with Ian Devlin, who'd had exactly the same idea and was also out cruising for amphibians in a different part of the state, and he was finding the same thing. He descried the smell as much like that of a largemouth bass. I don't dislike the smell of a bass, but when that smell is coming from piles of dead wood frogs it is sickening. Please, I beg of you, if you can avoid driving on dark, rainy, warm nights in late winter trough early summer, do so. There are only a handful of human problems worth killing hundreds of frogs for. 

The melancholy mood soon shattered though, when I saw in my headlamp been a familiar shape. I brought my bike to a screeching halt and turned around to look back up the hill. My beam fell upon the defiantly marching figure of an adult spotted salamander that knew exactly where it was going. I let out an involuntary yell of excitement and joy.

I don't care if I sound like a fool to some people. I absolutely adore these animals, seeing them is one of the things that makes life worth living. 

Ambystoma maculatum

Had I gotten there minutes later, I'd likely have found this salamander dead, because just after I got there and picked it up, a car came flying down the hill at well over the speed limit. I shouldn't have to tell you that going 20mph over the speed limit on a back road on a rainy, foggy night isn't only dangerous to any animals that may be crossing that road. It blows my mind seeing how reckless people are.

I continued on, and finally found some spring peepers that weren't pancakes or smoothies.

Pseudacris crucifer

From there the diversity of species grew. One of the most notable finds was an eastern newt in between its land-dwelling eft stage and adult aquatic stage. This was the first I'd found this species on land, on the go in the middle of metamorphosis.

Notophthalmus viridescens

One of the best looking wood frogs I've ever seen.

The last amphibian I photographed, though not the last I found, was a four toed salamander. I'm sure I'd come across these in the past but this was the first I've found since I began taking herping more seriously. I found it's irregular golden coloration very beautiful, and I can't wait to photograph a four toed under better conditions (the camera battery was dying, so I was much too rushed).

Hemidactylium scutatum

With spring amphibian migration already underway in late February, I have no doubt I'll be missing quite a few migration nights here. But that will almost certainly be made up for in a big way. Eastern diamond backs? Pygmy rattlesnakes? Scarlet kingsnakes? Who knows!

Until next time,

Fish for the love of fish.

Fish for the love of places fish live.

Fish for you.

Thank you to my Patrons; Erin, David, John, Elizabeth, Brandon, Christopher, Shawn, Mike, Sara, Leo, and Franky for supporting this blog on Patreon.

Fall Herping Conclusion

***AN ENTIRELY FISHLESS POST***

Hyla versicolor

Things are rather cold now. Well before the time I'm writing this the chances of going out and finding much in the way of amphibians and reptiles had already predictably diminished. For the first time in years I'm feeling pretty depressed about that. When I was little, the distinct lack of bugs and snakes and frogs made the winter months a drag. Now I have fishing, which is perfectly wonderful though sometimes physically uncomfortable here in New England in the winter months. But I'd found my way back to herping, gradually at first but then quite suddenly this year, and I'm feeling deprived to the extent that my planning of possible winter trips is taking snake finding opportunities into consideration rather than just fish. But it wasn't a bad fall for me here in CT looking for herps, especially considering I'm basically starting from scratch with this pastime. Though I've always been a habitual roller of rock and logs and catcher of snakes and turtles, my technical knowledge when it comes to finding snakes is still limited.

Pantherophis alleghaniensis

This fall got me into the swing of things. I saw more timber rattlesnakes than in the previous six years total, found my first Eastern hognose snake, and caught and photographed plenty of other species of snake, salamander, and frog that I have plenty of times previously.

Ambystoma opacum

Instead of just rolling the occasional log or lifting the odd board, I went out specifically to find new locations with discarded boards or tin, collapsed structures, and other trash and some natural sight where careful lifting could reveal any number of species. It payed off to some degree. I found snakes, though none of the species I was really seeking.

Storeria dekayi

More often that not I only found the typical assortment of local salamanders, the most abundant two species being red backed and northern two lined.

Eurycea bislineata

Plethodon cinereus

Milk snakes remained elusive. Smooth green snakes remained elusive. And I never saw a copperhead this year. But I saw at least one timber rattlesnake every time I went looking for them, and I do not get tired of being around these animals. They are so incredible. Just to sit next to one for a few moments absolutely makes my day every time.

Crotalus horridus

This winter, perhaps more than any other I can remember, I'll be antsy for the days to get longer and warmer and the ground to thaw.
I love winter fishing.
But not enough to pretend I wouldn't rather tomorrow be the first day of March.

Until next time.

Fish for the love of fish.

Fish for the love of places fish live.

Fish for you.

Thank you to my Patrons; Erin, David, john, Elizabeth, Chris, Brandon, and Christopher, for supporting this blog on Patreon.