Graduation and where I go from here

I am pleased to announce that as of last Saturday I am a college graduate! It has been quite a while since I have written a blog and I haven't kept everything as up to date as I would have liked. So here is my best attempt to wrap up loose ends. 

My last semester at Ohio University has been quite the whirlwind as I am sure any 2020 graduate can attest. To get the low-notes out of the way, Covid-19 has kept even us wildlife students cooped up inside (more or less). It has been a bizarre and a far-from-painless transition to online learning, but we roll with the punches. The online lectures, coursework, and finals have pretty well blurred together and it's an incredible relief to be free of them (hopefully for good). 

Most of the time I would have dedicated to writing blogs this semester was consumed with writing my Senior Honor’s Thesis, which I recently completed and had accepted. I don’t recall how much I have talked about this project on the blog, so here is a little background information. I started work on what I have been proudly referring to as “Snakes on a Lane” late in my sophomore year. Together with the help of my advisors, Dr. Viorel Popescu and Dr. Carl Brune, I have analyzed a long-term data set of snake road mortality points to establish hotspots where snakes face an increased likelihood of being run over. With my manuscript completed, we hope to publish in a herpetological journal. 

Presenting my poster at the Ohio Willdlife Management Association Conference.

I have been hesitant to announce any of my future plans with the global pandemic throwing everything into uncertainty; but I am tentatively confident that almost everything is a go. A few months prior, I was accepted into the Ohio State University’s School of Environment and Natural Resources Graduate Program. I will be starting my master’s in Dr. Bill Peterman’s Lab working on the Ecology and Conservation of the Common Mudpuppy (Necturus maculosus), Ohio’s second largest salamander. I am beyond excited for this new experience. Finding the right grad school was a tedious, drawn-out process and I feel extremely lucky to have found this project and opportunity. I will be a fully funded student for three years (which means no TAing!) and will be conducting mark-recapture surveys for mudpuppies in hopes of better understanding their survivorship and demographics around Columbus. I will then be working in Northeastern Ohio to determine the potential effects of TFM (a lampricide used to kill the invasive sea lamprey) on mudpuppies. There is also the potential for environmental DNA work. I am extremely eager to start this new chapter in my academic career.

Last month, I was accepted to serve on the board of the Ohio Partners in Amphibian and Reptile Conservation (OHPARC). This is an amazing opportunity to learn about and partake in the herpetological work being done throughout Ohio. I feel very grateful to have been asked to join this group and look forward to contributing to the study of herps in the state.

My last big announcement is not 100% official with the inevitable hiring freeze associate with Covid-19, but I was recently hired to write for the ODNR’s Wild Ohio Magazine and other DNR publications. Hopefully once things return to some semblance of normalcy, I will begin to write natural history articles for the magazine (potentially accompanied by my photographs). 

The remainder of this blog is dedicated to all the people who made my success as an undergraduate possible. Without the help, encouragement, and camaraderie of those around me, I could not have hoped to be where I am today.

My endless thanks go to my advisor Dr. Viorel Popescu. I first met V (I was much too scared to call him that for about two years) as a freshman. He and Marcel Weigand hired me for my first official wildlife tech job that summer which stands as one of the best experiences I have ever had. Some time in my second year, Viorel suggested I work on an Honor's thesis with the added goal of getting an undergrad publication. He spent many long hours explaining coding and mapping to me and was alway enthusiastic and encouraging. He has been a phenomenal mentor and I really hope to work with him again in the future.

I must also make mention of the Popescu lab. This wacky, quirky group of graduate students and undergrads has been like a second family to me. I will never stop being inspired by their passion and dedication to wildlife and science.

I must specifically thank my fellow Box Turtle researcher team, Christine Hanson, Andrew Travers, Eva Garcia, and all the volunteers. You guys made those hot, humid, and tick infested months unforgettable. I start to get misty eyed just thinking of our adventures together, creating lists of the ridiculous made-up rules like "NO BREAKS," or the unexpected snakey finds hidden among the undergrowth. I'll miss Eva and my lab movie nights, or bickering with Christine because I took a wrong turn. I wish you all the best of luck with your future endeavors and hope we will get out in the field again one day soon. 

And of course, Marcel Weigand. It is hard to put into words the kind of person, mentor, and friend Marcel is. She is probably the most caring, compassionate, and fiercely loyal person I have ever met. I hope to emulate her endless love for the Box Turtles that we spent so much time following around in the woods in all my future studies. You have always been able to remind me of the humanity in everyone, even when it isn't easy. Your tenacity is an inspiration and I am constantly reminding myself how lucky I am to have you in my life. 

If I could one day be half the herpetologist Carl Brune is I'd be satisfied (and he is a physicist!). I cannot begin to thank Carl enough for all the knowledge he has imparted on me over the last few years of herping across southeastern Ohio. I can confidently say he has taught me everything I know about the reptiles and amphibians of my home state and beyond. Quarantine herping has made me miss our conversations about everything under the sun as we drive between hiking spots. I will always be grateful for your mentorship and friendship. And of course thank you for sharing your data with me and helping me to complete my Honor's Thesis. I can't wait to get back out in the field with you. How's Friday?

I must also thank Dr. Don Miles (DOMI) and Dr. Matt White for their wisdom, humor, and advice. I'll never hear the song American Woman without also hearing Miles' sing "American Bittern," or see a Cedar Waxwing without wondering why it's "the bird that rocks." As for Dr. White, "checking the lip" will be the first thing I do whenever I see a fish (regardless of whether its a creek chub or not). 

Thanks to Charlene Hopkins for bringing me out in the swampy backwoods to catch frogs, newts, salamanders, and to sex snapping turtles. Oh, and to peal roadkill off the asphalt. It might not sound like fun to some, but mornings at the wetland were my favorite part of the week. You taught me so much about the world of science and academia my freshman year and I will always be grateful to you for that. I hope your future is full of biting turtles and stinky ponds.

Thanks to Matt Kaunert for showing me my first Snot Otters. Getting out in the field with you was some of the most fun I have had. I really hope to join you in the streams again soon! I need me some Cougar Bob's and I can hear Tidioute calling my name.

So much thanks to Krissy Harman for always taking the time to answer my questions and teach me about careers in wildlife. My resume would be a shadow of itself without your help and insistence that I don't "sell myself short." I've had a great time getting out to do field work with you (though I won't miss the hard hats). Once quarantine is over we need to get back to our Thai Paradise gossip sessions.

Thanks to Holly Latteman. Sorry I didn't listen to your warnings not to catch snakes in South Carolina. You are one of the most encouraging and sweet people I have ever been lucky enough to know. Thanks for being our field mom in ornithology. You were a wonderful TA. Stay in touch! We gotta go Butt Birding soon!

I'm not crying, you're crying. Amanda Szinte, Kathleen Cook, Remington Burwell, Sam Kukor. You guys have been some of the best friends a guy could ask for. We struggled through classes, exams, and field trips together for the past four years. Without your friendship, college would be unrecognizable. You guys inspire me every day to follow my passions and be the best I can be. 

Kathleen and Amanda, I will never forget meeting you two at Darwin's birthday freshman year. Who would have guessed what all lay in store for us back then. We made it through some real hurdles together and I know I am the better for it because I was with you two. I cannot wait to hear where wildlife takes you. 

Rem and Amanda, I will alway cherish our strange "Rymandington" friendship which no one understood when we went to Ecuador. Can you believe that was two years ago now!?

Sam, I will dearly miss you forcing me to study at the library late at night before exams. I still have all our fish flashcards somewhere. I have obliterated CVA from my memory so I don't have anything to say about that. Remember when we waited till the last minute before Thanksgiving break to do our independent fish seining project? We had to identify 30 shiners by the light of our headlamps and that creepy motel behind the stream. I want a rematch in Drawful. I assume you want a rematch in Smash Bros since I am so amazing at it. Take care bud, I hope those plants and stuff take you far. 

Thank you to all my fellow OU Wildlife Club Officers, Maddy Sudnick, Sam Kukor, David Cole, and Kadie Omlor. You guys put in so much time and heart, even when it was thankless and a little unrewarding. I appreciate you guys so much. Thanks for making this club great!

And last, but of course not least, Julia Joos. I know you hate this kind of thing so I will try to keep it brief. Thank you for being the coolest partner in the world. I am in awe of your love for and knowledge of turtles. You are so endlessly encouraging, supportive, and understanding. I could have a conversation with you for hours and not even notice the time pass. I can't wait for our next adventure together. 

 

Oh, and special thanks to my parents, Nikki and Steve Wagner. You are the real reason any of this is possible. You have always done everything in your power to make my dreams come true. You can get excited about anything, make warm-hearted jokes in the toughest of times, and are always there to listen and be supportive. Thank you for everything.  

Also Coco and Pima for being very cute baby tortoises.

Thanks for reading
Hopefully many more adventures to come!
RBW

Yasuni: Into the Amazon

Hot air whipped across the tarmac, buffeting my face as I shielded my eyes from the harsh glint of the plane’s dorsum.  We were scheduled to arrive in Coca in just over 40 minutes.  From there, we’d board a boat that would take us the rest of the way to the Yasuni Research Station.  The previous two days had been spent in Ecuador’s capital of Quito, getting accustomed to the culture and enjoying the bustling markets and restaurants.  So far, the trip had been rather relaxing, but now the vacation was over.  We were leaving behind the comfortable high elevation temperatures and descending into the heart and humidity of Yasuni National Park,  some 5000 square miles of untouched Amazonian Rainforest.   

As we began our ascent, the landscape quickly fell away and became shrouded by a blanket of churning clouds.  I scanned out into the white void, my eyes taking a moment to process a very real landmass jutting out of the clouds like a snow-capped island—one small peak of the Andes.  The mountain top looked as if a giant hand had scraped it across the clouds, hockey puck style, leaving a bare skid-mark of clear sky in its wake.  

My view from our hostel in Quito.

I gawked out my window in astonishment.  Suddenly, the airplane rattled and I felt a heaving sensation in my stomach like I was on an elevator that had stopped too abruptly.  As I released my grip on each of my armrests, I had the unsettlingly realization that we had just dropped in altitude.  I looked up to see everyone else staring back at each other, silently confirming that we were not currently falling out of the sky.  A flight attendant rushed past, balled up napkins clenched tightly in her fists.  Just twenty minutes into the flight, the loudspeaker clicked back on.  The words were in Spanish, but I was able to make out that the speaker was saying something about Quito.  My confusion was answered a moment later when the voice switched to broken English and informed us that due to “personal difficulties” we would be returning to Quito immediately.  The flight attendant had been heading for the front of the plane—towards the pilot, I realized.  I returned to gripping my armrests.

During my two week stay in Ecuador, events like this would become commonplace.  Our professor, Dr. Harvey Ballard, and local guide, Daniel, were constantly scrambling to get us from destination to destination in a timely fashion.  With over a dozen Ohio University students to keep track of, this was no easy task.  I quickly learned to add at least an hour or two for each excursion, just to allow for mishaps and miscommunications to be sorted out.  The initial flight into the Amazon was certainly the most dramatic, but as the weeks progressed we’d find ourselves up river with a dead motor, stuck in a narrow alleyway in a bus, and I somehow managed to get separated from the group in the middle of the jungle on more than one occasion (all part of the adventure).

We had traveled to eastern Ecuador in order to study the plant life indigenous to the tropics.  Everyone knows the Amazon is the most biologically diverse place on earth, but just what that looks like at ground level has always been a mystery to me.  “You could find all of Ohio’s flora in a quarter mile stretch of rainforest,” Harvey had explained during preparation for the trip a few months earlier.  It has been estimated that as many as 655 different tree species can be found per hectare (Ohio has little over 100 total).  All that habitat provides for as many as 100,000 insect species in as little space.  If you don’t like creepy crawlies, then the tropics is not the place for you.  

As the plane rattled back to Quito, I focused on imagining the species I hoped to find over the coming weeks.  Thankfully, the landing was uneventful.  As we deplaned, however, an ambulance rushed over, sirens blazing.  A group of medics clad in blue and white rushed towards the cockpit.  Us passengers were herded onto a bus and whisked to a nearby plane.  Our luggage was already being loaded, but instead of boarding, we were returned to the terminal.  Two hours later we were back on the plane, and arrived in Coca in a little under the scheduled 40 minutes.  We never did learn the fate of our original pilot.

As we descended, the enormous expanse of the Amazon rainforest stretched to the horizon.  The tight network of trees looked exactly like a miniature diorama I had seen countless times at the Cleveland Zoo.  The trees thinned as we approached the City, just as if I were watching the diorama’s depiction of deforestation through its clever system of trick mirrors.  The air in Coca was hot and muggy with a distinct musty scent in the air; despite roads and concrete stretching out before us, I could tell that this was very much the rainforest.  We loaded our luggage into a series of taxis, and headed for the Napa River.  There, we boarded a 20 foot pontoon boat just as the sun was casting soft, golden light across the tree tops.

Ironically, this boat ride was the smoothest and most direct transportation of the whole trip.  We skimmed along the surface, barely effected by the water rippling just inches from where we sat.  My first up close look at the Amazon Rainforest did not disappoint.  Giant ceiba trees and palms of varying species lined the banks.  Parrots of unidentifiable numbers and species sailed over us in colorful flocks.  All I could make out of the birds along the bank were flashes of color—a blue blur perched on the end of a stick or yellow streaks flitting behind a patch of leaves.  The river itself was immense, stretching hundreds of feet from bank to bank.  The rich, brown water swirled around submerged logs, giving false hope that an Amazon river dolphin or Boto would appear.

A Ceiba Tree (Malvaceae).

We arrived at the Yasuni Check-In Station just as the sun had ducked behind the horizon and turned the ripples glistening shades of yellow and purple.  Our captain turned the boat  perpendicular with the shore, killed the engine and parked us centimeters away from another pontoon with surgical precision.  After a “five to ten” minute drive that ended an hour and a half later, we all descended upon the field station’s cafeteria.  After a silent meal of beans and plantains, we were free to explore the field station.

This moth has camouflaged itself by looking like a leaf.

All the buildings at Yasuni are elevated on stilts to keep the constant barrage of insects at bay.  Our dormitories were roomy and comfortable, and came with their own AC units (which proved to be a god send during the stiflingly hot Amazonian days).  I unloaded my pack on the top bunk, and quickly assembled my camera.  I was exhausted after the long day of travel, but sleep was the furthest thing from my mind.  It was as if I had been dropped into an alien world—who knew what oddities lay just outside.

A bullet ant (Paraponera clavata).

The rainforest doesn't really stop at the tree line; the creatures make themselves right at home among the station’s concrete paths, gravel roads, and mowed lawns.  Moths as big as my palms decorated the walls and flitted around the lights.  A few of my classmates discovered a stick insect that was the length of my forearm and twice as thick as a pencil.  Inch long Bullet ants (which are supposed to have the worst sting in the insect world) patrolled the tiled floors and regularly crawled up our wooden stools.  When outside of our rooms, we were required to wear muck boots at all times, checking inside for critters before putting them on (twice I discovered a lizard and the biggest cockroach I've ever seen inside).  

 A stick Insect the length of my forearm. 

The amphibian life around the station was just as diverse (more on them in a later post).  New species seemed to jump out from under our feet at almost every step.  We illuminated tree frogs sitting at eye level on the branches and giant marine toads hopping across the cement.  Hiding in a pipe under the dorms, we discovered an immense, brown and black frog that reminded me of our American bullfrogs.  We later identified it as a smokey jungle frog, and were a bit dismayed to read that it’s one of the most toxic species at Yasuni (we had rather carelessly picked it up).

Our little class of plant biology students scoured every nook and cranny of the field station that first night.  I kept having to leap up from whatever I was photographing to check out what new creature someone else had found.  One moment I would be focusing my lens on a tarantula, the next I would be running across the lawn to help catch a gecko.  I couldn't imagine what the next week would bring us. . .

A half-foot long grasshopper.

More soon.
Keep Living the Field Life.
Ryan Wagner

Winter Birding: Rafts and Rafts of Gulls

White-breasted Nuthatch

Winter birding may not be as glamorous as the spring migration, but colder weather brings with it some unique opportunities for birds and bird watchers.  Winter introduces a new cast of characters to the woodland stage.  Northern migrants start popping up in unexpected places—a snowy owl on a barn roof, redpolls at the lakefront, or red-breasted nuthatches at the bird feeder.  Old faces often take on new appearances, making their identification as difficult (or as exciting) as a new species.  As the bright greens of the landscape fade into dichromatic colors of black and white, birds retire their bright breeding plumage in favor of more cryptic colorations.  Yellows and reds turn to mottled browns; distinct stripes and patches blend into broken striations.  As the northern wetlands prepare for winter, birding becomes a whole new challenge.

Juvenile Ring-billed Gull

Some species like ducks and gulls form immense congregations, rafting together by the thousands.  A trip up to Lake Erie had my ornithology class scanning the swaths of ring-billed gulls for one lone kittiwake (that we did not find).  We scrutinized over each mallard, trying to create a long-tailed duck or a pintail.  Much of our efforts were for naught.  That’s just how winter birding goes.  A rare species may appear one day, then disappear the next.  There is no predicting exactly where something will turn up, or when.  It takes persistence and dedication to discover something special.  After being spoiled in South Carolina with rarities at every turn, I had to remind myself that northern Ohio birding takes a bit more effort and discomfort.  

While not quite cold enough to snow, the weekend was certainly cold enough for the freezing rain to dampen our spirits.  Thankfully, unlike South Carolina, this trip we were staying in the heated, dry dormitories of Old Woman’s Creek.  The cozy dorms were our home base as we set out to explore the diversity of wetlands along Lake Erie. 

Ring-necked Duck

Saturday morning we scanned the lake front behind our dorms, surprised that the usual rafts of mergansers were absent.  Dr. Miles then directed us to Huron Pier where we saw more ring-billed gulls (a lot more).  With two prime birding spots a bust, we headed to Sheldon Marsh—a preserve I have visited on my own several times.  It’s an attractive wetland with a boardwalk and a lakefront beach.  There are always a few interesting waterfowl species no matter the season.

Tufted Titmouse

White-breasted Nuthatches and tufted titmice danced along the trails as if to great us.  These year round residents are so abundant that I've come to think of them as birding along with me—locals just as surprised as myself when a rare species turns up in their wetland.  The nuthatches yank-yanked their nasally calls as they crept in winding circles down the trees.  Nuthatches form mixed-species flocks in winter, joining up with chickadees, titmice, and woodpeckers as they scour the woodland for food.

I was enjoying the familiar species we were seeing, but by the end of Saturday, I was craving something new to photograph.  We had made our way to the Lorain Impoundment, another spot I've had the privilege to bird (of a sort) in the past.  We walked around the pond, Lake churning behind us, the sky darkening with storm clouds.  Mallards, Buffleheads, and Hooded Mergansers drifted away as we past by.  Sparrows flitted from the trail, grabbing loose seeds before disappearing into tall grass.  My mind was back at the dorms with dinner and a warm bed.  Just as we were concluding our hike, a little brown bird popped up in a tangle of brush in front of us.

Grasshopper Sparrow

I knew instantly it was something we hadn't yet seen.  The feather pattern was complex, a mixture of light grays, browns, blacks, and tans.  It hopped from branch to branch, mere feet from where we stood.  I was able to snap a number of photographs for comparison with our field guides.  Our initial identification was swamp sparrow, a much more common species than I had first thought.  Upon later inspection, however, I learned it was a grasshopper sparrow.  I've seen these birds only a handful of times in southern Ohio, where they inhabit open fields.  This was the first time I have identified one in northern Ohio despite years of birding the Lakefront.  The grasshopper sparrow has been classified as a "common bird in steep decline," as their populations have dropped by some 72% across the country.

Ornithology Class 2018 Lake Erie birding trip.

The next day, we did what I call “moving van birding.”  With the freezing rain streaking down the windshield, none of us were getting out of the vans if we could help it.  We drove from nature preserve to nature preserve, slowing just enough to scan the open fields and waterways with our binoculars.  “Canada geese, mallards, maybe some tundra swans,” we rattled off.  Northing new that would make us leap from the vehicle.  We all wanted to see something rare and exciting, but the prospect of heading out into the frigid weather kept us content with the usual suspects.  

We birded in this fashion through East Harbor State Park and Howard Marsh, only getting out of the vans at Ottawa National Wildlife Refuge so that Holly could buy some more bird earrings at the gift shop.  By lunchtime we were ready to head home.  It was not the most climactic way to end the trip, but I was content.  Birding can’t always be an extravaganza.  It’s hard work and perseverance.  I’ll be back up in Cleveland next week for Thanksgiving, and will almost certainly return to a few of the same locations to bird.

Golden-crowned Kinglet

Upon arriving back in Athens, we were surprised and a little peeved to find the day pleasantly clear and in the low 60s (the next day it would drop back into the 30s).  My ornithology class is ending soon.  I want to extend my endless thanks to Dr. Miles (DOMI) and Holly Latteman for making this class the best it could have been.  I have a renewed appreciation for the avifauna of Ohio and beyond.  I hope that the friends I have made will continue our adventures into the field whenever our busy schedules allow.  Soon I will be traveling to Ecuador.  With any luck, I will have the chance to observe birds like I have never before.

More soon!

Keep living the field life.

RBW

Fall Migrants and Butter Butts

We watched as two black and white woodpeckers—one large and one small—danced their way up and around the bare tree branches.  The littler of the two, with its stubby bill, was a downy woodpecker.  It zipped about, hanging upside-down like a chickadee as it tapped at the tree bark for insects.  The other, a hairy woodpecker, was slightly larger with a longer, black bill.  It lurched its way towards the canopy, uttering singular chirps as it climbed.  A third bird flew in and landed just out of sight.  At first, I thought it might be another woodpecker, but when it hopped into the light I caught a glimpse of a bright, yellow patch at the base of its back.  “Butter butt!” murmured half the group.   

The orno gang.

On a crisp November morning, my ornithology class was back in the field at Lake Logan in search of fall and early winter migrants.  Dr. Miles had brought along a scope in hopes of spotting a common loon silhouetted against the misty water.  A few pied-billed grebes popped up from the lake bottom, but no loons appeared.  We moved through the underbrush, scribbling on notepads as white-throated sparrows and American goldfinches darted away.  “I was hoping we would see a few butter butts,” Miles said as we headed to our next destination.

The Yellow-rumped Warbler is lovingly nicknamed the “butter butt” by birders for the distinct patch of yellow on its backside—a trait shared by both sexes.  Unlike other local warbler species, most of which migrate through Ohio or stop here in the summer to breed, the butter butt overwinters in lower latitudes before traveling to nest in the Canadian arctic and Alaska (as well as a patchy distribution in the western US).  Most warblers molt into drab non-breeding plumage in winter, and the yellow-rumped is no exception.  However, its distinct yellow hindquarters remain just as vibrant throughout the year.  

It wasn't until our last stop that we finally encountered our butter butt.  As we watched, the little, gray bird began feeding on berries, allowing for excellent views and dozens of photographs.  Despite its washed-out attire (summer birds exhibit striking black breast stripes and gunmetal-gray heads), the warbler was still a welcome surprise.  Feint yellow streaks were visible on its flanks as it quivered from one branch to the next.  Butter butts are relatively reliable in the winter woods of Southern Ohio.  Some northern breeders, however, are much more sporadic.  

This season, Ohio is scheduled to receive an irruption of several northern species.  A poor birch and cone seed crop in Canada has pushed many seed-feeding species out of the arctic and into northern states.  One bird species of notable significance is the red-breasted nuthatch.  A few of these small cousins of the white-breasted nuthatch usually make it to Ohio each winter.  Some years they don't turn up at all.  Until this fall, I had never seen one of these northern residents.  One trip to Stroud's Run State Park in Athens resulted in a dozen or more of these charismatic creepers feeding in the canopy above me. 

With their orange-dyed belly, blueish back, and black and white head stripes, red-breasted nuthatches rival any warbler for beauty.  When feeding, they are easily located by their nasally yank-yank call, slightly softer than the call of a white-breasted nuthatch.  While easy to hear, they can be challenging to see (and even harder to photograph) as they feed primarily on pine cone seeds at the very tops of coniferous trees.  Their small stature allows them to disappear among the tangles of branches only to reappear dangling upside down from a pine cone.  They will occasionally work their way into the understory as they search for food, though they remain flighty and shy.  

It remains to be seen what other northern residents will find their way to Ohio.  I've kept an eye on the eBird reports, hoping that a red crossbill, evening grosbeak, common redpoll, or purple finch will turn up in my vicinity.  More info on this winter's migrants can be found at Jeaniron.ca.

More soon!

Keep living the field life.

RBW

Tents and Treefrogs

Since the semester began, my ornithology class has been collectively anticipating our South Carolina trip with a mix of excitement and apprehension.  Many of my classmates had never been camping before, and this was going to be the longest most of us had ever gone without running water.  To further complicate things, the recent hurricanes posed a serious flood risk for many of the areas we hoped to visit.  With our date of departure fast approaching, Dr. Miles was constantly checking the forecast and the state's water levels.  We feared our primitive campground would be inaccessible, and the weather too harsh for birds or birders alike.  If conditions didn't improve, the trip might not happen at all, but we remained optimistic.  On the morning of October 4, we met at Irvine at 5 am, packed our gear Janga-style, and braced ourselves for the long ride to the Palmetto State.  

Eastern Narrow-mouthed Toad

Ten hours, two vans, seventeen birders, and too few bathroom breaks later, we arrived at our campsite.  I rushed out of the van, eager to be on solid ground.  We quickly erected a city of multicolored tents around our picnic table and portable camp stove (Dr. Miles is a damn good cook).  That’s when we first noticed the mosquitoes.  DEET chocked my lungs and throat as a dozen spray bottles appeared from pockets and bags.  In the long run, these efforts would do little to ward off the incessant insects.  By the end of the four days, I received more mosquito bites than I have ever had (my multitude of red bumps could have easily been mistaken for poison ivy).

As I scanned the darkening campground with my headlamp.  Dozens of pinpricks of light winked back like stars hidden in the grass—eye-shine from countless prowling wolf spiders on the hunt for unsuspecting invertebrates.  This particular discovery was met with horror from most of the group.  The spiders were large, but clearly harmless—that is, until someone found a black widow near the base of a tree.  We all grew much more cautious as we swept our way through the underbrush after that.  

Eastern Spadefoot

Now that we were in a new state, birds were not the only thing on my mind.  South Carolina is home to a diverse array of herpetofauna vastly different from Ohio’s.  Every divot in the substrate, every lump of sand, every shiny rock, slick with dew, held false promise of frogs.  The day had been horribly hot, near 90 degrees, and muggy.  As darkness set in, the night grew comfortably cool, but the humidity remained.  It seemed like a good night for terrestrial amphibians.  

Eastern Spadefoot

Something small and reflective scuttled past my shoe.  Frog or Spider?  Bending down, I was delighted to find that the little creature was a narrow-mouthed toad (Gastrophryne carolinensis)—a species I had hoped we might find.  Plucking the toad from the earth revealed one of the smallest adult frogs I had ever seen.  It was scarcely bigger than a quarter with small, thin legs, a clay-colored back, and purplish sides and stomach.  Small-mouth toads are a wide ranging species, found in moist habitats and under cover across much of the southeastern United States.  As the group admired the little toad, another, larger frog was discovered—one I never imagined we would see.

My jaw dropped as someone brought over a medium-sized purplish-brown frog with enormous, luminous yellow eyes.  In Ohio, eastern spadefoot toads (Scaphiopus holbrookii) are extremely endangered, found in only a few southern counties where they are active during heavy rainstorms a few nights each year.  To see one here, in our campground, on a clear night, baffled me.  Eastern spadefoots occur throughout the coastal planes, only reaching Ohio at the extreme northern tip of their range.  In the south they can be downright common.  We found ten easily as they grumpily hopped through camp.  

Barking Treefrog

The third and most beautiful frog species of the night was also discovered on a whim.  I noticed the stunning green frog as we weaved between spiderwebs and branches.  It was poised motionless at the end of a stick like a glittering green stone.  I knew immediately it was a treefrog, but what species alluded me.  I later learned that the specimen we found was a barking treefrog (Hyla gratiosa), identifiable by its large size and granular skin.  The barking treefrog is another inhabitant of the coastal plains region where they can be quite common in wooded areas.  

Green Treefrog

By the end of the trip we would add the green treefrog (Hyla cinerea) and the pine woods treefrog (Hyla femoralis) to our list.  I can only imagine the amount of amphibian diversity we could see if we had spent more time searching for them.  Luck would have it that a former professor of Appalachian college was herping around our campsite.  The final night of our trip he brought over several jars full of native salamanders and a few snake species he had caught the night before.  I couldn't believe our luck.  I will definitely need to return to South Carolina in the future to seek out its more obscure herpetofauna.  

Pine Woods Treefrog

The following day, we woke early and packed ourselves back into the vans (thankfully we had only a short distance to drive).  We were in search of a rare and endangered species of woodpecker.  Dr. Miles pointed out a longleaf pine with two freshly painted white rings around its base.  The forest service had marked one of the bird’s nesting trees.  Now all we had to do was wait and listen. . .

Yellow Ratsnake

More soon.

Keep Living the Field Life.