Rarer than a Rattlesnake

Carl and I trudged through the ridge tops and ravines of southern Ohio that seemed to be growing increasingly familiar with each visit.  It was a warm, June morning, partly cloudy and gaining humidity with each passing hour.  Our goal for the day: stumble upon one of the timber rattlesnakes (Crotalus horridus) that Carl had observed here over the past several years.  “It would be better if it were more cloudy,” Carl observed, as the first few minutes of searching turned into several hours.  Rattlers (and most snakes for that matter) prefer to bask on days that are cool and cloudy.  Hot, sunny days warm too quickly, providing ample energy for these cold-blooded creatures to move and hunt.  This makes stumbling upon an individual sitting out in the open much less likely.  In the heat of summer, mid-day temperatures can even be too warm, forcing snakes and other herps below ground to avoid overheating.  As is true for most wildlife, there is a sweet spot that makes searching much more efficient.

With the partial cloud cover, we still had hopes that a rattlesnake might be out and about.  However, it takes an insane amount of luck to actually spot a basking rattler.  Their camouflaged bodies make them difficult to distinguish from the surrounding brush and woody debris.  Add in their tendency to conceal their coils beneath the leaf litter with nothing but their triangular head protruding, and you have one very tricky, if not somewhat risky, snake to be searching for.  I stepped gingerly over each fallen tree, scanning the ground to avoid stepping on any hidden rattlesnakes or copperheads.  Carl crouched down to illuminate the interiors of every hollow log we came across.  Once, after discovering a timber rattler at the back of a hollow log, Carl set up a game camera to record its behaviors, only to watch an unseen second and third rattlesnake emerge from the same log.  When conditions are right for snakes, they can really surprise you.  “When it rains, it pours,” Carl always says.

A carpet "cover board" in Southern Ohio.

I’ll save you the suspense; we did not find any timber rattlesnakes despite several hours of hunting.  As it became evident that luck was not on our side, I began scanning the trees for another dense woodland herp: the broad-headed skink (Plestiodon laticeps). The largest of Ohio’s lizards, broad-heads can grow over a foot in length.  Carl has seen only a few individuals of this species over the years.  They too, emerge to bask only when conditions are perfect—not too hot and not too cold.  Conditions were not perfect.

Hot, sweaty, and with nothing to show for all our work except a couple of box turtles, we decided to switch tactics.  Rattlesnakes would have to be found another day.  As I have described in many of my previous posts, Carl has cover boards strewn throughout the preserves and parks of southern Ohio.  His nearby boards and carpets hadn't been checked yet this year, and some had even gone several years without being flipped.  “I usually like to check all my boards every spring, just to make sure they are still there,” Carl explained.  Weathering and overgrown brush take their tole on cover objects.  After a few years in the elements, boards start to warp and decay.  Depending on the material and quality of plywood, some can last ten years, others just two.  The greatest threat to cover, however, is other people.  Dump piles get cleaned up (something I would have thought good before learning their true potential).  Scrappers quickly claim any metal sheets they come across.  Plywood is often used for bonfires or target practice.  Even old, ratty carpets occasionally disappear for reasons unknown.  

Reaching one set of carpets and boards, I was surprised to see them already flipped and lying at odd angles. Distinct squares of bare dirt outlined where the boards had previously lain.  My thoughts conjured up rival herpers, carelessly leaving our boards a mess after discovering the treasures below.  Carl had another interpretation.  “I’m gonna blame that one on a bear,” he chuckled.  He wasn't kidding either.  As we searched through a few piles of wood along the road, we found a tree stump (under which Carl had once found a rattlesnake) that had clearly been ripped to shreds by heavily clawed arms.  Every year, Carl observes a few black bear signs, from demolished stumps to fresh paw prints.  Rattlesnakes aren't the only thing to be wary of in these parts.

After our failed search for the timbers, it was nice to finally see some snakes.  We flipped several ring-necked snakes (Diadophis punctatus) throughout the day.  Ring-necks are an attractive species, with a bright yellow-orange belly on a shiny gray background.  They never bite, but I’d rather they did.  Their only defense is to splatter their captor with a sticky, stinky, yellow goo from their cloaca.  Most snakes musk when caught, but ringnecks top the list for the stinkiest species I’ve had the pleasure of encountering.  They smell so bad that I usually avoid handling them at all.  Carl wanted pictures so I got a hand and an arm splattered with the vile liquid.  Fun.

The day also revealed a few eastern milksnakes, as well as a too-fast-to-catch black racer (which I still chased after rather ridiculously), and an eastern black kingsnake.  As my water reserves began to run low, and the shadows lengthened, we came to a series of old carpets that Carl had placed in a field surrounded by woodland.  As we each flipped one end of the carpet my eyes immediately darted to a miniature snake coiled at my feet.  For a moment I couldn’t believe what I was seeing.  I cupped my hands over the little snake to prevent its escape.  “It’s—it’s a red-bellied,” I stammered, knowing how unlikely this find was.  Peering skeptically down at my cupped hands, “it is,” Carl confirmed distantly.  He scooped the snake up as it made a break for the nearby brush.  “I sometimes go years without seeing this species,” Carl commented reverently.  

Northern red-bellied snakes (Storeria occipitomaculata occipitomaculata) turn up with little reliance across the 12 scattered Ohio counties where they occur.  They rarely utilize cover, except when gravid (our chunky female appeared to be full of babies), making them a challenging species to target or survey.  Red-bellied snakes turn up on the crawl once in a blue moon.  Their small size likely leads them to be overlooked much of the time.  Growing fewer than a foot in length, they are very similar in appearance to the more plentiful Dekay’s or brown snake (Storeria dekayi), but that bright red belly makes them unmistakable.  The red-bellied's diet is also more specialized than the Dekay’s, preferring to eat snails and slugs.

Carl reveals the red-bellied snake's namesake.

I had seen a red-bellied snake some five years prior in northern Ohio while herping with my father.  The little gray-brown snake had slithered out on the trail in front of me during a hike.  I thought for certain I had found a Dekay's snake, that is, until I flipped it over.  At the time, I didn't realize how unusual of a find it was.  Carl has found just a handful over the past 15 years despite his best efforts to learn more about the species.  They turn up in all sorts of habitats, from wetlands and fields to dry forests.  Of all the snakes Carl finds in southern Ohio, red-bellieds seem to be the scarcest.  They are rarer than rough greensnakes, rarer than hog-nosed snakes, and yes, rarer than rattlesnakes.  

Despite the scarcity with which red-bellied snakes are found, they lack any official state listing.  Very little is known about Ohio's populations.  Red-bellieds aren't rare across much of their range, which extends throughout the eastern US.  In areas like New York, they can be as common as garter snakes.  The population in southern Ohio just seems to be downright confusing.  

It’s the unexpected finds like this that keep me coming back for more.  No matter what species is on your list for the day, you never know what might turn up.  One thing is for certain, you wont find anything sitting inside on a computer.  To have luck, you need to go where the snakes are. 

Thanks for reading and keep living the field life!

RBW

Some Small Snakes

When reptile enthusiasts talk about snakes, they often gravitate toward the largest and most impressive serpents.  Boas, pythons, and anacondas take the limelight.  These are the species people want to own, sell, and trade.  They are featured in zoos, serpentariums, and expos.  While big snakes are fascinating and imposing animals, they often cause small species to be overlooked.  

Smaller snakes, three feet long and less, make up the majority of snake species around the world. These gentle snakes are unassuming, often shy creatures that rarely bite.  They can be encountered in our own backyards among the leaf litter or by flipping objects like flat logs, boards, and tins.  They might not be the giants that inspire both fear and obsession, but they do possess a beauty and an elegance all their own.  I have been lucky enough to notice a few of Ohio’s smaller snake species and have been enchanted by them.  They are secretive and fossorial, but given their time in the light, will reveal what remarkable reptiles they really are.

The eastern wormsnake (Carphophis amoenus amoenus)—so named because it closely resembles a worm—grows a mere 8 to 10 inches in length.  These small snakes are found in southern Ohio in moist woodlands and hillside seeps.  I was fortunate enough to stumble upon one of these burrowers out in the open in mid-may.  They are more commonly found below logs and coverboards, where they hunt for worms and other soft-bodied invertebrates.  As summer temperatures dry up the landscape, wormsnakes burrow several feet underground to escape the heat.  

These thin snakes are a uniform glossy tan or pinkish color with smooth scales.  There is no distinction between the body and the narrow head, and the eyes are black and beady.  As I held the small, wriggling wormsnake, I felt the tip of its tail prick my hand.  An unusual feature of the wormsnake is a sharp spine projecting from the base of the tail.  This tail spine has lead many a handler to the false conclusion that these snakes possess a stinger.

Similar in size to the wormsnake, at around 7 to 10 inches in length, is the eastern smooth earthsnake (Virginia valeriae valeriae).  Earthsnakes are slightly chunkier than worm snakes, have larger, more developed eyes, and lack a tail spine.  They are a uniform brownish-tan to grayish-silver in coloration.  This species is considered rather rare throughout most of its range, which includes just a handful of southern Ohio counties.  

I discovered my first earthsnake quite by accident.  I was helping track a box turtle when I happened to notice a few exposed scales among the leaf litter.  I grabbed what, at first glance, appeared to be a very fat worm snake.  As I handled my catch, however, I was struck by how “snakey" the animal was; it didn't remind me of a worm at all.  The snake even lifted its head to periscope up at me like a tiny racer.  While examining my photos later, I realized that the snake was in fact an eastern smooth earthsnake.  

These secretive, forest-dwelling snakes feed on slugs and worms.  They are burrowers, usually found in the soil or under logs and other debris.  They are viviparous, meaning they give birth to live young.  The wormsnake lays eggs.

The reclusive northern ring-necked snake (Diadophis punctatus) is one of our most stunning species, and grows from 10 to 16 inches in length.  These snakes get their name from the distinct, yellow-orange ring around the base of the head.  This orange coloration extends along the ring-necked snake’s entire belly.  It is thought that this bright coloration could be a warning of the snakes' mildly toxic saliva.  The toxin poses no harm to humans, and the snakes never bite when caught.  Instead they secrete a foul smelling musk and struggle violently.  Ring-neckeds occur throughout much of Ohio, and are particularly prevalent in the wooded southeastern portion of the state.

When I have found these snakes beneath logs and coverboards, they are almost always with others of the same species.  Their communal nature doesn't stop there.  When it is time for a female ring-necked snakes to lay eggs, she will seek out a communal nest.  Several females will lay their eggs together in a fallen log or crevice exposed to the sun.

The northern brownsnake or Dekay’s snake (Storeria dekayi dekayi) and its close relative, the look-alike midland brownsnake (Storeria dekayi wrightorum), grow only 8 to 12 inches in length.  These small serpents are among the most gentle of our native snakes.  When handled, they make no attempt to strike.  Musk is their only defense.

Northern and midland brownsnakes are nearly indistinguishable.  Both can be a light tan, brown, or reddish color.  The only distinction between the two (other than scale counts) is the spots running the length of the body.  Midland brownsnakes display spots connected by crossbands while northern brownsnakes do not.  Their range includes many of the counties along Lake Erie and down into southern Ohio along a strip that bisects the state. 

I regularly find these familiar snakes below cover boards and rocks.  They are often discovered in groups, sometimes with other species of snakes such as the eastern garter snake.  They feed on worms and other invertebrates.  

Upon detection of each of my small snakes, I was astonished by how easily I could have walked right past these hidden gems.  Secretive creatures like snakes don't draw attention to their presence, making them all the more fascinating.  You have to do a little work to encounter them.  Small snakes, and other easily overlooked creatures, have changed the way I walk through a woodland.  I now check every crevice and possible hiding-place in the hopes of finding another small, coiled secret.