Turtle Tags and Pedicures

Read part one HERE

Marcel and I hauled the day’s catch up to the fourth floor of Ohio University’s Irvine Hall. The lab at the very end of the hallway would soon become our second home for the week. As we unpacked animals, we quickly discovered that the pencil cases contained almost as much turtle poop as they did actual turtles.  Dr. Viorel Popescu, Marcel’s advisor, shuddered as the deep, musky odor triggered memories of his undergrad work cleaning turtle enclosures.  

As scientists, we were to refrain from giving the turtles names. “They say not to name study animals because you might attribute personalities to them,” Marcel explained, “but they have personalities!” Naturally, within the hour we had named every last one.  Heidi Bencin, another of Viorel’s grad students, proudly named one of the large males “Rumple-scute-skin.” (a play on the word for the turtles’ large shell plates or scutes.)  Other names included King George, Ethel, Stumpy, and Lady MacBeth.

We took measurements and photographs of each turtle, then notched the back scutes using a dremel tool.  This designated each individual with a number that could be read even after we removed their transmitters.  Marcel handed me a book titled, North American Box Turtles: A Natural History.  “This has everything you will need to know about these guys,” Marcel assured me.  I happily accepted the book; I was eager to learn as much about our shelled study subjects as possible.  

There was just one more step before we attached the radio antennas—toe nail clipping.  

We wanted to study how living near the Nelsonville Bypass was affecting the turtles' stress levels.  Box turtles deposit their stress hormone, corticosterone, in their nails over time.  Taking nail samples is the least invasive and stressful method of obtaining samples of this hormone.  Catching and handling the box turtles would spike the levels of corticosterone in their blood, rendering a blood sample useless.  Using a needle to take blood would also be dangerous for the turtles and the handler.  

Using turtle toenails to test levels of corticosterone was a relatively new technique.  It had only been done in one other study using painted turtles, without definitive results. The turtles in that study showed little difference between individuals near an old road and individuals in undisturbed habitat.  Our research, however, would be studying turtles that had only just begun adapting to a new roadway.  The Nelsonville Bypass had been built just four years prior, and the turtles were beginning to feel its effects.  A single turtle population was now divided by a wall of traffic.  Turtles that used habitat on the opposite side would now be cut off.  Potential mates, food, and other resources were now unavailable to them.  We weren’t sure how the turtles would respond to the road, but we felt certain it would have a negative impact.  

We needed five or six nails from each turtle, but gaining access to the turtles' feet was tricky.  The large males, King George and Rumple-scute-skin, were bold enough for us to hold their legs without attempting to retreat into their shells.  For most of the turtles, however, we had to wait until they peeked out of their shells just enough for us wedge in a pink eraser before they clamped shut.  The eraser was soft enough that it wouldn't hurt the turtle, but firm enough to hold the shell open.  Using cat claw clippers, we snipped millimeters off the tip of each toenail.  If we hit the quick and the turtle bled, the sample would be ruined.  It was long and tiring work, but our amiable little turtles kept us entertained.

With all the turtle pedicures completed, it was time to attach the radio transmitters.  Only full grown adults would be getting the large antennas.  Using epoxy, we carefully fit the inch-long base of the transmitter onto just one scute. This would keep the radio transmitter from hindering normal shell growth and expansion.  The wire antenna itself would project about half a foot out from each turtle, allowing us to pick up a clear signal with our radio telemetry equipment.  Each transmitter sent out a different frequency which we would be able to pick up and follow in the field.  

We woke bright and early the next day, packed the turtles in their now clean pencil cases, and headed back out to the impact site.  We pulled the numbered flags and placed the turtles back where the dogs had found them.  I wished each luck and departed with a “see you soon!”

Read part three HERE

Turtle Dogs

“Turtle!” called John Rucker excitedly.  I leapt from the field where I had been searching and raced down the trail in time to see Mink bounding through the tall grass towards us, her tail wagging furiously.  In her slobbery jaws, she gently clutched a young eastern box turtle.  Our little assortment of researchers cheered with delight as we gathered around John and his dogs. John pried the turtle loose and examined it. “Now, you can tell this is a small female,” he explained, “she has a high dome and very little ridging around the edge of the shell.”  He motioned to the fringes jutting out from the base of the upper shell, or carapace, “In a male this would be much more pronounced.  The ridges are like a buck’s antlers; they show the male has good genes.”
 

We all peered at the little turtle with excitement; our hunt hadn't lasted ten minutes, and we had already found our first animal.  The turtle remained clamped tight in her handsome, black shell, punctuated with radiating yellow streaks.  “These grassy openings are turtle magnets,” John continued.  “They draw turtles in from all around.  This is where they find sunlight and food, and it’s where the hatchlings and juveniles are best able to hide from predators.”

       
Marcel Weigand, the master’s student conducting this study, frantically recorded data on her clipboard.  She marked the turtle with orange masking tape, and placed it in a vinyl pencil case (our makeshift turtle containers).  We took a GPS reading and then planted a little pink flag labeled with a black number one.  This would allow us to return the turtle to the same location tomorrow.

Marcel told me a month earlier about the dog team she had hired to begin her research, but until now I hadn't known what to expect.  As we hiked, the dogs zig-zagged back and forth, noses held close to the ground.  John encouraged them with the occasional whistle and a coaxing “find turtles, find turtles.” They searched every nook and cranny with frantic precision.  There was no barking and no playing; the dogs were all business. They were as devoted to finding these turtles as we were.  

John ran four dogs at a time.  His “A-team” consisted of Mink, Jay-bird, Rooster, and Jenny-wren, all about nine years of age.  They were Boykin spaniels, a small, compact breed of hunting dog with dark brown, woolly coats. The particularly curly hair on their large, floppy ears, gave them an almost poodle-like appearance.  The only hint of their age was the gray-tinged fur on their muzzles.

John hiked ahead of the group, a fascinating character in himself.  Nearing 70, he was a tall, able-bodied man, with a chiseled, weathered face, and a youthful grin.  He lived off-the-grid in Montana in a cabin with his girlfriend.  When a few of his dogs began bringing him turtles on their own, John learned to train his Boykins to be professional turtle hunters.  “It took a while to click,” he later told me, “but eventually I realized I had something special.  These dogs are natural turtle hunters.”  

A retired high school science teacher, John travels the country, finding turtles for reptile researchers.  In Illinois, his dog team found as many as seventy ornate box turtles in the span of two hours.  “We had buckets full,” he recalled, “eventually we had to shut the dogs down, they were finding so many.”

On this warm, rainy morning, we were searching our impact site: a patch of woodland along the infamous Nelsonville Bypass.  Marcel’s study would compare the home ranges and the stress levels of turtles that lived near the bypass to those of turtles that lived in undisturbed habitat in the Wayne National Forest.  She had hired me as her summer field tech to help her track the turtles and discover their day-to-day habits.  In order to follow their movements, we would attach radio transmitters to their shells.  We would also take toenail samples to test levels of corticosterone (the turtle’s stress hormone).  We expected to see reduced home-ranges and higher levels of stress in the turtles along the bypass, but only time would tell.  First, we had to find our elusive study subjects.

We had John and his dogs for five days; our goal: to catch 30 animals.  We needed 15 turtles in both the impact and control sites.  It seemed like a tall order to fill, but if there was any way to do it, it was with these dogs.  “This rain is good; the turtles should be moving.  It would be even better if after the rain stops, it would get hot and steamy.  That’s what box turtles like the most,” John said.  “If the turtles are moving, the dogs’ olfactory sense can pick up the tiniest amount of scent particles and they will catch every single one.  It’s a feeding frenzy.”

Moments after we found the first turtle, John called out again.  I looked up to see Jay-bird trotting happily over to us, a large turtle held in her mouth.  This time it was a big male.  John showed us the prominent fringes, as well as the indented belly, or plastron—a telltale male characteristic in box turtles.  As we hiked into the ravine bottom, the dogs continued to periodically pop up with turtles, much to our delight.  Our packs grew heavy as we filled them with fat reptiles.  

Marcel Weigand happily holding a young box turtle

Eventually, the weather took a turn for the worse.  The sky grew eerily dark as the light rain became a torrential down pour.  Drenched to the bone, our little crew hiked back towards our vehicles.  It had been an excellent day.  In all, we had found ten turtles, nine of which the dogs had caught, and just one that we humans had stumbled upon.  All the animals had been found within the same general area, and John had his ideas as to why this might be:  “Most people think of box turtles as solitary wanderers, but the dogs have shown us that is dead wrong.  We find little populations where we catch turtle after turtle, then there will be deserts where we don't find a thing.  These animals are much more social than we realize.”

Marcel was puzzled by our findings.  “All the literature points towards these turtles being in the woodlands, but the dogs are finding them in the fields,” she said.  It was true, John had specifically searched out open, grassy fields whenever possible, and every time we had found turtles. We had uncovered as many questions as we had answers.

We escorted John back to his campground in Strouds Run where he spent the nights.  Marcel had offered him a place to stay, but he insisted on remaining in the woods.  He even turned down the opportunity for a hot shower after this day of strenuous field work.  He was a man of the forest, distrusting of and disheartened by civilization.  We arranged to meet with him the following morning, then departed for the lab, turtles in tow.

Read part two HERE