Vernalis

 It took a fair bit of effort to get to the cleared, grassy hilltop my partner in field herping, Bruce, and I walked on warm, sunny late summer eve. Admittedly, Bruce had done most of the research, pouring over research papers, range maps, and even birding forums for what clues they might contain. It that was careful online sleuthing, more than a few highway hours, a night in a junky motel, then a variety of other chaotic transport that had led us to this place. Bruce and I were probably a few hundred feet apart at the time, just walking slowly in the grass and looking at the ground in front of us. To any passer by, we probably looked like we were looking for a lost wallet or phone. That wasn't our task though. We were looking for one of the most striking native animals in the northeast, and I was about to see one in the weirdest way. 

I zigzagged along, slowly, looking carefully for something pretty much the same color as the grass. I happened to look up though, in the general direction of a utility building. It was a fairly plain, windowless structure with reddish lap siding. There was about a foot and a half gap between the siding and the ground below it, and I watched as a roughly ten inch long bright green snake dropped out from the gap under the siding to the ground and slithered quickly into the vegetation. Watching this from a distance of a couple hundred feet, I cracked a smile and chuckled lightly. I wouldn't have believed it if someone told me I would see such a thing, but this place was so loaded with smooth green snakes that it wasn't as shocking as it might otherwise be. 

The smooth green snake, Opheodrys vernalis is native to the Northeastern US, Canadian Maritimes, great Lakes Region, and Upper Midwest, as well as scattered, discrete populations in Northern Mexico, Texas, Colorado, and New Mexico. They are small, dainty snakes that typically max out at 20 inches long, most being quite a bit smaller than that. Their standout trait is their bright green coloration, which can vary from olive to almost chartreuse. There's a few examples of tan colored smooth green snakes from Wisconsin, affectionately called smooth tan snakes by some herpers. When a bright green vernalis dies, the yellow pigmentation in their scales breaks down and the snake turns blue. Both living and dead, a smooth green snake is a creature that looks out of place in the northeast. Finding one, particularly for someone like myself that absolutely adores wild animals and appreciates the aesthetics of a brightly colored scale and the way light plays on it, looking under a stone and seeing an almost absurdly bright green snake in a perfect coil underneath never fails to inspire awe. Smooth green snakes look like they should come from the rainforest. And yet Bruce and I had traveled substantially northward to try to see as many as we could. Even before that one dropped out of the side of the building, we'd had a phenomenal amount of success with a variety of snake species, and smooth greens were the most numerous. 

This was especially exciting for us because smooth green snakes are a much declined species across much of their range in southern New England, where Bruce and I spend most of our time looking for snakes. The species needs meadowy, low brush, grassland habitat to persist. This can come in the form of coastal habitat where salty, dry conditions, sandy soil, and wind keep vegetation relatively low, old farmland that is lightly maintained and kept grassy and lively, and mountain top balds where trees grow slowly and open low brush persists. Unfortunately for green snakes, the way southern New England has developed hasn't favored meadows. A lot of farmland has now been developed, and some areas that were allowed to remain early successional habitat have now become wooded. Without easy travel corridors that they once would have benefited from, isolated pockets of smooth green snakes must make do with diminishing habitat and can't move to re-populate areas that change to become more favorable. The species' diet has also given it problems. Vernalis favor grasshoppers, soft bodied caterpillars, and spiders. Pesticide and insecticide use has taken a significant toll on these wonderful little snakes. Mosquito spraying, pesticide use on crops, and other chemical use in their habitat mean that otherwise suitable land often no longer has green snakes.  To find the abundance we'd dreamed of, we had gone somewhere that never had pesticide use, was built on very minimally, and had plentiful open habitat. It was a shame we had to go so far, nor should we have had to. Not that long ago they were more numerous in Connecticut, on Long Island, along coastal Rhode Island, and into Massachusetts. It isn't uncommon to run into older folks that will tell you "Oh, those green grass snakes? We used to see lots when we were kids". 

The habitat we searched had an exceptional abundance of another species I see in Connecticut but generally have to put a lot of effort into: the Northern redbelly snake. Redbelly snakes are not the most popular among the recreational herping world, they're widespread and can be quite numerous and are a diminutive species. But they are variable, often vibrant, and in my opinion photogenic. They can also be quite secretive, often going undetected for years even in fairly populated areas with a significant number of eyes out looking. 

Overall, the abundance of wildlife and native flora was robust in this place. It was refreshing when compared to some of the habitat left in CT that still holds a few green snakes, much of which is loaded with invasive plants and suffers from a compromised food chain, with perhaps too many of some species and far too few of others. One of the sites I visit that has records of vernalis is progressively more and more packed with bittersweet and large stands of mugwort. Another is so surrounded by development that it's hard to imagine that it could last forever, though the species does manage too eek out an existence in narrow corridors of habitat even in natural circumstances. That said, those populations don't have to worry so much about being hit by a car, chopped up in a mower, or poisoned by chemicals. In Connecticut, this has led to the species being listed "Special Concern", a designation that doesn't give a species a ton of protections, but means that its habitat is limited and the species isn't stable because of it. 

The story of the smooth green snake in much of Southern New England is subsequently a sad one, one made of lists of places that had but no longer have the species. There was even a time when human activity wasn't harmful but helpful to the vibrant snakes. Widespread land clearing coupled with slow moving farm equipment, no pesticide use, no motor vehicles, and a lower human population density meant that the special likely thrived in the farmlands and grasslands not long after colonization. They were quickly overtaken by the industrial revolution, though, and then really took hits as insecticides like DDT became heavily used, suburban sprawl continued, and traffic increased. The decline of any species is a sad one, much less such an iconic and vibrant one. Many New Englanders may never get to see that shockingly green flash of scales as a skittish smooth green snakes vanishes into the grass. In Missouri, where there hasn't been a report in more than 50 years, there is little to no hope or the species. In some other midwestern states they are listed endangered or threatened. Hopefully, with awareness and care, we can stem the tide. 

If you see a smooth green snake, observe and appreciate it for what it is. Take steps to reduce your impact in their habitat, like avoiding moving rock (cairns suck!) and logs or trampling low brush. And fight against further development that could continue to extirpate these animals from more and more of their range. 

Walking through town on our last day in the promised land of green snakes, I noticed a little bit of plastic tarp overlapping a rock wall at the edge of a garden. I gently lifted the corner of it and spotted the largest individual we'd seen all trip, a robust female that was thick from her head to her cloaca and had incredible coloration and robust crocodile jaws. It was one of the most stunning snakes I'd ever laid my eyes on and it was just under some plastic tarp in a garden. If we encourage the right behaviors, there's no reason there can't be diversity right in our backyards, whether it be brightly colored little snakes, bobcats, or butterflies. A lively yard and diverse, healthy habitat is much better for the soul than plain, mowed lawns devoid of diversity outside a few Lyme carrying ticks and some ants. This place was rife with that, liveliness was abundant, and everyone that lived there was happier that most Southern New Englanders I'm used to running into on the day to day. It's hard not to draw some correlation. 

Thank you to my Patrons; Erin, David, John, Elizabeth, Brandon, Christopher, Shawn, Mike, Sara, Franky, Geof, Luke, Noah, Justin, Sean, Tom, Mark, Jake, Chris, Oliver, oddity on Display, Sammy, and Cris & Jennifer, Courtney, Hunter, Gordon, Thomas, Trevor and Eric 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.

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.

Brood X: Catching Carp on Dry Flies

 I've caught carp on the surface before. Plenty, actually. I've had days where I got half a dozen or more carp on dry flies. However, it always required chumming them up with bread and that just felt cheap. I wanted a more natural scenario, and ideally I wanted fish eating insects, though I'd happily take berries as well. 

Brood X just so happens to emerge around some of the best carp waters on the East Coast. Carp have a known affinity for cicadas. The huge periodical emergence and the millions of big, juicy bugs plopping into ponds and rivers are going to get some carp looking up. It was one of the things I was most excited about as I made my way south. After a catfish filled morning, I began to look for something a bit bigger.

It took hours. I walked, I waded, I drove. I gave myself horrendous leg and foot cramps. I saw some cool things on the way, thankfully. I watched a Northern water snake foraging(?) for the cicadas. I watched it swim out, grab a cicada, then swim back to the river's edge where it finished consuming the bug. It then repeated the process twice more. I'm not sure this behavior has been documented in this species, though snakes are known to take advantage of the cicada emergence. You may have seen wildly titled articles about "extra copperheads" eating the cicadas- there were dozens of them popping up a few months ago -that was bull. Copperheads modify their behavior very slightly during the cicada emergence but people living within their range aren't likely to see any more than they otherwise would. I never saw one, though I looked in some viable habitat. Later in the afternoon, I saw a beautiful garter snake swimming across the river and headed it off. She had a big food bolus (the lump caused by a food item wider than the snake's own body) that was very much cicada proportioned. I got a couple shots before leaving her to her business.

Not long after that, I found what I'd been searching all day for. A school of seven carp were in a back eddy, sucking down every cicada in their path.

I frantically made my way to the gravel mound you can see in the bottom right of those two photos. Breathing heavily, I tried to calm down and collect myself to be ready for a shot. Fish were cycling through the eddy, going against the current, picking of cicadas as they went. I gave myself a few minutes before easing into position. I waited for a fish coming down the bank. One came. I made a cast. When the fish, a sizable mirror, got to the fly, he nosed it but did not take. Stay calm, Rowan.

I quietly removed my fly and waited for the next fish to come down the bank. This time it was a better common. I made my cast. The fish deviated off course to eat a natural, then turned back and came to my fly. It rose. I waited. It opened its mouth. I waited. It sucked in the fly. I waited. It turned... I set the hook. And so ended all chances I'd get another shot in that back eddy that day. This fish lost its mind when I set the hook, thrashing violently and then tearing off on a blistering run. Every other fish there spooked. I needed to land this one. The fight was long and hair raising. At one point I thought I might have to swim out to get the fly line off of a huge submerged rock, but luck was on my. Big river carp fight harder than most fish, and getting this one to hand on my 5wt TFO was a task and a half. I did it though, I got the fish. It had a big bulging gut full of cicadas and was fantastically proportioned. This was the fish I'd made the trip for. 

I'd come a long way from another of the best carp areas in the country to get the very same fish eating something different. It was worth the trip. Fly fishing is about the experiences, and it doesn't take catching a tone of hue fish to make a great experience. Set the stage with a remarkable and rare biological phenomena, add in some fickle fish of a few different species, and put them in an interesting and beautiful environment and I'm a very happy man. There's more cicada mania to come, as I headed West to colder waters with different species. 

With a satisfying and surprise lifer out of the way, I continued on my quest for fish chowing on periodical cicadas. Now I was looking for carp. It would prove to be a very rewarding challenge. 

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. I truly would not be able to keep this going without you wonderful folks!

Spring Reptiles

 I've delved deeper and deeper into my oldest obsession over the last few years. I was interested in reptiles well before fish, and spending time observing timber rattlesnakes really opened it back up for me. I've become completely engrossed in the pursuit of snakes. I want to see as many as I can and I want to capture the best images I possibly can of each species I find. 

Black racers are one of the first species I see most years and also one of the most charismatic. They're underrated because of their abundance, but to me they'll always be a favorite. I love alert, intelligent reptiles, and black racers are definitely both. They also routinely shock me with unusual behavior. Last year, I spooked a racer out of a pile of leaves and it promptly shot down slope and launched itself off the cliff face. The drop was easily 40 feet and I have to imagine the snake had some sort of game plan and had done this exact thing before. This spring I got to do some very close-up photography of emerging black racers. I also got to photograph a mating pair. Mating snakes often seem to throw caution to the wind. These two came tumbling down the hill right to me. 

Of course, I've been spending plenty of time with timber rattlesnakes. In fact, I really can't seem to shake them. I feel at times that I want to take a break but they just pull me back. Since they're endangered and I am completely enamored with them, I also have to deal with near constant strife. I worry constantly about poachers, development, trail building, and information leaks that threaten the sensitive populations. I'm currently deeply engrossed in a battle against mountain bikers at a den that very much seems to be slipping away. I've seen no more that two adults in one day on this particular mountain, and it was a very strong population just 10 years ago. Moves in the right direction are being made, and I'm glad I've been around to sound alarms, but I still fear for the future.

CT's other venomous snake, the copperhead, has also sucked up a lot of my time this spring. Unlike last year, it has been very fruitful. I've gotten to photograph dozens of beautiful copperheads this year already.

Perhaps most excitingly, just the other day I completed a long standing goal. I photographed the last CT snake species I'd yet to capture. The smooth green snake is one of New England's most striking wild animals. Bright green and sometimes even blue, smooth green snakes stand out from every other snake species in the area. They are also seriously imperiled and difficult to find. I finally hit it right last week and my friend Bruce and I got to enjoy not one but two of these amazing animals. 

I've very much enjoyed where searching for reptiles has taken me in recent years. Its very similar to fishing, actually. Snakes like certain weather, different places are more productive at different times of day, and I get a very similar rush from accomplishing my goals. It's certainly not going to pull me away from fishing, but it is a nice break from it sometimes.

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. 

Signs of Spring: Sunfish and Snakes

 As the days gradually warm, the ice thaws, and we finally say goodbye to the erratic and harsh New England winter, those dormant for the last few months start to emerge and exhibit some behavior other than lethargy. As soon as the ponds open up, I start looking for the first bass and sunfish of the season. The sun heats up mud flats and shorelines, especially on the north sides of these bodies of water. Fish gather there to take advantage of the warmer water temperatures. This presents the first opportunity I get most years to cast dry flies for bluegills. The fish usually aren’t big and they are still slow and finicky, but after a winter of hardwater fishing any fish on a dry is welcomed. 

Sometimes the gathering of sunfish and bass up in the shallows is visually spectacular, as was the case one day when Noah and I found the first fully open pond of the year. There was a big school of bluegills, largemouth bass, and small chain pickerel at the northeast end of the pond. 

A few days later I visited another pond that is productive just about any time it isn’t frozen. Unfortunately it wasn’t quite as good this visit as it has been in the past. I saw a huge largemouth and the same big koi that has taunted me there for years, but the fishing wasn’t on fire. I managed a handful of bluegills, pumpkinseeds, and largemouth bass on both dries and small wet flies. The water was extremely clear and it was all sight-fishing, so though the catch rate was nothing special and I got nothing of impressive size it was still fun. It felt like spring.

Afterwards, I made my way to a ledge where some black racers den. After a winter without reptiles, I was eager to see the first snake of the year and with air temperatures in the low 60’s it seemed like the right day. I pulled off the road and walked over to the ledge, noting just how warm it was out in the open. Slowly and cautiously, I examined the bottom of the ledge over towards the den holes themselves. I made it over to them and looked around very carefully but didn’t see any snakes. I turned and began to walk back towards my car when I heard a rapid rattling sound in the leaf litter. It was the telltale sound of a snake shaking its tail in the grass. Though rattlesnakes are known for their, well, tail rattling, and are certainly well evolved for it, they aren’t the only snakes that shake their tail when threatened. It's an extremely common behavior in racers. I looked closer and suddenly the snake came into focus. It was coiled under grass and leaves and very well concealed. My first snake of the year was in front of me, but I immediately backed off so as not to disturb it too much. I called my friend Bruce, and he almost immediately answered: “Wow. We must have ESP.”

He’d been in the process of writing a text to me about going to this very spot to see the first snake of the year. I left the immediate area and awaited his arrival before we went to photograph the snake, which fortunately had not decided to leave. 

Bluegills in the shallows, black racers basking in the grass, and that warm sunshine beaming down… spring has sprung. 

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, and Luke 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

A Hike Through Rattlesnake Country

This is an entirely fishless post, but I hope you will all enjoy it. 

Back in September, my friend and mentor Bruce and I took a strenuous hike through an important piece of Northeast timber rattlesnake habitat. 

I've been observing timer rattlesnakes in Connecticut since either 2012 or 2013; I can't remember which year I saw my first, but I can remember the moment like it was yesterday. I was with my Dad and my brother, out doing photography in the woods, and my dad saw it first. It was, as I now understand, a large gravid female yellow phase. She was half tucked under a rock, but we could see enough to get a more than strong enough impression of her magnificence. I can't put into words what it's like to see your first timber rattlesnake -especially if you are keenly intrigued by the natural world- it's shocking. Jaw dropping. Eye widening. 

I needed to see more. And upon next returning to that exact spot, I did. I had no idea at the time but that little outcropping happened to be an important summer brooding area, and my next visit, a year later, was at exactly the right time. I walked up to the spot to see not just one or two snakes, but seven adult timber rattlesnakes distributed around the place. My prior awe was taken to a new level and I was hooked. I kept going back to that spot over the years and usually saw a timber or two. Then, last year, on my first visit to that spot, I met Bruce. I think we were both a little suspicious of each other at first, certainly him more so of me. But we hit it off pretty quickly. We are cut from a very similar cloth, Bruce and I. We go about observing wildlife with the same intent, drive, and care. And I think we both care more about these snakes than we do ourselves. I measure my own worth in my ability to preserve and protect these animals. If I leave the world without having done everything possible to make sure timber rattlesnakes are still in the CT hills, I've gone wrong somewhere along the line. Bruce and I are both very protective of these snakes and their habitat, suspicious of any human activity around them, and weary of our own impacts. We are also driven to see them and learn as much as we can, and that was our intent on that calm, warm September day. Neither of us had hiked the habitat before. We sought to add to our body of knowledge and experience.

We weren't there specifically for rattlesnakes, actually. Our goals were more broad. This same habitat was shared by a number of other species we were interested in seeing. However, the first snake found more than an hour in to the trip, was something neither of us expected. I walked int a clearing to see Bruce looking down into a blueberry bush, saying "that is not what I expected to see up here". I walked over and looked into the same bush. There coiled off the ground in the branches was a beautiful ribbon snake. Ribbon snakes are a very wetland oriented species. Up here; at least a mile from the nearest large vernal pool on a high dry mountaintop ledge; this species was a very surprising sight. 

It's things like this that keep me obsessed. I may never know what exactly had drawn that snake to that spot. But it was there, coiled in the branches, suspended off the ground, doing what I'd seen ribbon snakes do before. Just over a ledge instead of over the edge of a wetland. 

We continued our search, hoping from ledge to ledge, looking around rocks and logs, in blueberry bushes, next to stumps... it was tiresome and not as fruitful as we might have hoped, but eventually I heard Bruce call out, headed over to where he was and he'd found a beautiful adult timber. It was nestled next to a cover rock with a load of fallen limbs making photography very difficult, but no encounter with a healthy timber rattlesnake ends without me smiling. 

Seeing that snake really got our hopes up, we thought we'd soon find some others. This was new land to us though, and even on our home territories we'd both had a very difficult time this year. The harsh, dry, often very hot conditions had made snakes shyer than they may otherwise have been. It's hard to see a rattlesnake that's hiding under a 500lb rock, and that is very often what they were doing. So the situation was against us. We again went a while without seeing a thing when I just happened to glance down at a hanging slab of granite below me and saw a small rattlesnake perched in the leaf litter next to it. Not only was it one of the cleanest, most stunningly patterned and colored timbers I've ever seen but it was completely relaxed and perched fabulously. It was the perfect photography snake. The pictures I took of this young timber are among my favorite photos I've ever taken. 

That was the last rattlesnake we saw on that mountain that day. It wasn't one of those incredible but very possible days where we could see fifteen or more adult rattlesnakes on just one hill, we've both had days like that. But it was exceptionally thrilling to see the snakes we did see, especially being that it was a population we'd not been to before. 

With snow now on the ground, by mind drifts to days past and days future, but even with the snakes all now in their wintering dens I can't help it. I've been spotting ledges through the woods from the road, planning trips for next year, and even walking habitat to get the lay of the land. I'm obsessed with snakes. I have been since before I can remember. I'm just so thrilled now to have the chance to go see wild snakes on the regular. 

*Timber rattlesnakes are a protected species in every Northeast state, and are endangered in CT. Killing or harming one is illegal. Possessing one is illegal. Even trespassing on some den locations is illegal. If you are so lucky as to observe a timber rattlesnake in the wild, maintain a distance of about 10 feet, try to disturb the snake as little as possible, and do not share the location of the sighting with anyone except CT DEEP. Poaching and black market pet trade are one of if not the largest threats to CT's rattlesnakes today. The fewer people know where these animals are the better. 

 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. 

Redhorse, Shiners, and Crayfish Eating Snakes (Western PA Pt. 6)

 As dawn broke on our second morning in Pennsylvania, it became abundantly clear to Jake, Noah and I that we needed to make a pretty drastic change. We'd struggled the whole day prior and well into the night to find larger fish that were willing to eat, and we just weren't successful. And now it was the coldest morning any of us had felt in months. Temperatures had dropped below 50 overnight. We hit the same creek where Noah and I had found wild trout the first day, and Jake quickly got his lifer, but we then dropped south. Even though we were inland and not even travelling an hour, we were going into slightly warmer weather. We were headed to another area I'd spent a lot of time around as a kid, but still hadn't fished much. 

We dropped further down the Allegheny watershed, towards a town called Vandergrift and the surrounding area. Vandergrift is where my mother grew up and where my grandparents still live, northeast of Pittsburgh. We'd spend the second half of our trip fishing this area, which is just as species rich though much more impacted industrial activity. It would be interesting to see how the native species were faring in these waters. 

The first spot we decided to check out was a spillway my grandfather has been telling me about for years. It was a spot he'd caught a number of muskellunge at over the years. That was certainly a big draw, but it was a spillway... from shiners to redhorse to huge catfish, spillways draw fish. They're both a barrier to upstream travel, a food delivery funnel, and a provider of deep holding water. We knew the likelihood of encountering things like drum, sauger, redhorse, and buffalo would be pretty high at such a place. And he first few minutes were not disappointing, as we saw multiple sized and species of redhorse. Some were just flashing, but others were actually tailing like carp. Or, frankly, like bonefish. Because if I were going to consider any North American freshwater fish a bonefish, it would be redhorse. They're sleeker than carp and I'm convinced they fight harder, pound for pound. 

As it turned out though they aren't as easy to catch. I was getting snubbed constantly no matter what I presented these fish. This surprised me a bit, I'd expected these fish to be about as difficult as carp and a little easier than white suckers, but at least in the conditions we'd been presented so far they were about as tricky as white suckers if not more. Even with bait they were far from pushovers. 

Incidentally, the first notable catch, by Jake, wasn't a fish, but a reptile. He'd actually caught one the night before as well, albeit a juvenile, and that one had been my lifer. It was a queen snake, an unassuming but beautiful semi-aquatic natricine that feeds primarily on crayfish. They're cool snakes but that's all I really knew about them, I hadn't even realized they lived in the area. 

These were very cool snakes, I saw them exhibit behavior more aquatic in nature than any snake species I'e observed besides actual water snakes (Nerodia). They'd poke out of crevices with everything but their heads under the surface, and spent extended periods of time completely submerged. They seemed especially abundant too, we saw lots of them. 

Eventually I finally caught something noteworthy while indicator nymphing, something very noteworthy. My indicator gave a little shudder, very bluegill like, but I set into something much larger than I'd hooked all day and when it started thrashing at the surface I could see that it was a redhorse, so no matter what it would be a new species. It turned out to be a smallmouth redhorse, endemic to the Ohio drainage and an especially good looking redhorse speceis. It had nibbled a beadhead Hare's Ear soft hackle. 

Lifelist fish #174, smallmouth redhorse, Moxostoma breviceps. Rank:species.

That was a gorgeous fish, a native species that is largely overlooked and an exceptional challenge to catch. I promptly fell in love and had a big goofy smile plastered on my face as I let the fish slip from my hands and back into the muddy river. 

I kept indicator nymphing for a while hoping that might be the effective method, and I did get a few more fish, but not anything exciting. 

By the time I gave up on that, Jake and Noah were hammering down on micros, including streamline chubs which I thought I needed (I'd not yet ID'd mine from the day before). Jake was also catching the odd logperch. So I rigged a tanago and got to it. Of course I could only seem to catch species I already had, but luckily I take photos of fish that may not be new but have some relatives that are similar enough... what I thought was a spottail shiner I'm now as sure as I an be is a rosyface shiner.

Lifelist Fish #175, rosyface shiner, Notropis rubellus. Rank: species.

With two new species on the fly under my belt, I ended the day's outing photographing another queen snake.

From the river we headed to my grandparents' house, where we'd get to say in relative luxury for two nights in their camper. It was great to see them, though strange due to the necessity of social distancing due to coronavirus. Living a few states away from my family leaves long gaps between visits, so though I'd been there and seen them all much more recently than I'd seen Franklin, a lot had changed. It held more of a familiarity though, it felt much less strange. Perhaps the presence of people I know and love is all there is to that.

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.

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.