An "Aberrant Eastern Gartersnake"

Plains gartersnakes (Thamnophis radix) are a common species from south central Canada through the Great Plains to Texas and Oklahoma.  Across this expansive range, their populations can reach densities of 300 individuals per acre.  They are not a rare snake by any stretch of the imagination.  In Ohio, however, the entire range of this species is restricted to just one county within one prairie remnant (and not even the entirety of that).  Ohio plains garters are snakes out of time.

5,000 years ago, the climate in Ohio was very different than it is today.  The Xerothermic period, as it is called, was significantly dryer and hotter by as much as five degrees Celsius with 25% less rainfall.  For several thousand years, Ohio’s climate closely resembled modern day Kansas.  This warm, dry period was marked by an expansion of western biota into the state.  Flora and fauna that we associate with the great plains, found suitable habitat in this “prairie peninsula.”  When the climate shifted again (to the cooler, wetter present), the prairies receded, leaving behind a few isolated prairie pockets where clay soils inundate the landscape for much of the year (such as on ancient riverbeds), preventing the expansion of forests.  Today, agriculture has reduced the 12,000 ha of contiguous wet prairie across northwestern Ohio to a few thousands disjunct hectares.  

The entire Ohio Plains Garter population is so localized that these snakes were not verified in Ohio until 1945.  Even the great herpetologist, Roger Conant, who collected the first specimen in 1931, mistook the washed-out DOR (dead on road) snake for an “aberrant eastern gartersnake.”  This is the ultimate case study in local abundance.  While these snakes would have originally inhabited a larger expanse of the available prairies in Ohio, habitat loss and land-use changes have reduced their already limited populations by as much as 94% in some areas.  Where they still occur, there can be hundreds per acre.  However, the sympatric eastern gartersnake (Thamnophis sirtalis sirtalis) outnumbers the plains by about ten to one.  If I had any hopes of finding a plains, each and every striped snake I discovered would have to be thoroughly examined.

A terrestrial crayfish burrow 

In preparation for a long week of finals, my girlfriend, Julia Joos, and I decided to take a weekend herping trip to unwind.  We arrived in northwestern Ohio in the evening, anticipating an early morning search the following day.  The weather, however, had other ideas.  That night brought storm clouds and frigid temperatures that stuck around until late afternoon.  The clouds finally burned off just a few hours before sunset.  We hoped the timid sunshine and mild temperatures would be enough to entice the snakes to bask. 

The flat expanse of fields and croplands intermitently bisected by roads might not look like much to the passing observer, but I could tell right away that this habitat was great.  Hollow mud chimneys—the entrances to the burrows of the terrestrial crayfish species Falicambarus fodiens—were everywhere.  These burrows are not only a sign of high water quality and good soil chemistry, they also provide the snakes with refugia during inactive times of the day and year.  Modify the water table or introduce pollutants that wipe out the crayfish, and the snakes will invariably disappear along with them.  

In early spring, the vegetation is still brown and brittle, weighted down from months of snowpack.  With their lateral stripes, gartersnakes camouflage perfectly among the criss-crossing network of dried reeds.  I hiked quickly, scanning the ground and listening for rustling movement.  Julia was more careful.  She found the first snake of the day in a spot I had tromped right over.  It was an eastern gartersnake, still muddy from the crayfish burrow it had recently emerged from.  During the next hour, we found half a dozen more garters, but none were quite what we were looking for.  I finally resolved to photograph one of the more colorful individuals coiled up among the mud and grass.  As I set up my camera, Julia called out from just over my shoulder.

“Oh, here’s another one!” she said.  I turned around to see a large gartersnake coiled among the grass.  “Nope!” I laughed, “that’s our radix!”  Had I not been looking for the subtle defining characteristics of the plains garter, I easily could have passed this snake by.  Even through the snake’s mud-dusted scales, I could tell its stripes were unusually black.  The dead giveaway that this was our plains garter, however, was the yellow-orange stripe running the length of the garter’s back.  Out of the hundreds of variations of the eastern gartersnake that I have seen over the years, none have had a stripe quite that color.

The garter cooperated nicely, coiling in front of us and tongue flicking.  After a few shots the snake decided it had had enough, and zipped away through the grass.  The purpose of those stripes becomes clear when a garter flees through a vegetated landscape.  longitudinal stripes make it significantly harder to judge the snake's speed, length, and direction.  The plains garter seemed to almost meld with the landscape it so depends on. 

A juvenile plains gartersnake (Thamnophis radix)

On a return visit to the area a few weeks later, I was lucky enough to find a juvenile plains gartersnake, a good sign that these endangered snakes are breeding.  Despite the perilous predicament these snakes find themselves in, very little management is directed towards their conservation.  Reintroduction efforts through captive breeding have been underway for years, but these snakes still face a host of threats in their final stronghold.  The landscape they call home is primarily managed for waterfowl hunting.  Scheduled mowing of their field habitat has been shifted to coincide with snake inactivity, but individuals are still occasionally killed.

Like that first specimen found by Conant in the 30s, road mortality is one of the easiest ways to discover this species.  I found a large adult T. radix, carelessly crushed by a speeding vehicle as the harmless snake attempted to cross between habitat patches.  Even though plains gartersnakes are common across the great plains, the disjunct populations in Ohio, Missouri, and Illinois all represent unique genetic lineages.  They are important contributions to the biodiversity of our state and to the persistence of these remaining prairie patches.  

Another Snake with a Red Belly: Kirtland's Snake

The flooded vegetation sloshed underfoot, threatening to flood my muck boots with each step.  After driving two hours through a torrential downpour, a break in the weather had my snake senses tingling.  We were slogging through one of the more unusual of midwestern Ohio’s habitats, a wet meadow.  Every few feet, my friend Daniel Moniz—The Herpetographer—paused to flip pieces of rusty roofing tin, now submerged under several centimeters of water.  Tall grass and small trees obscured my view of the boards until we were right on top of them.  After two days of near constant rain, the wet meadow held true to its name.  We were actually concerned that the boards would be too wet, driving Ohio’s most terrestrial water snake to occupy alternative shelter.  

Daniel was conducting a survey for Kirtland’s snakes (Clonophis kirtlandii)—part of a team effort across western Ohio to determine the species' current status.  Kirtland’s snakes are seen so infrequently that its difficult to know where they still occur in Ohio.  Having disappeared from many previously occupied counties, Kirtland’s snakes can still be found in a few scattered localities across the western half of the state.  As an already threatened species, we were sure to have all our permits in order.  

As we flipped one of the larger pieces of corrugated metal, the tail end of a little snake protruded from the only patch of dry vegetation.  “That’s a Kirtland’s,” Daniel exclaimed.  I plucked the snake from the grass, breathing a sigh of awe and relief.  As we brought the snake into the light, however, we immediately realized our mistake.  The snake was speckled with a row of parallel spots, not large, black blotches.  This little snake was a Dekay’s or brown snake (Storeria dekayi).  An interesting, if not uncommon find.  We returned the snake to its shelter, and moved on to the next board.

This time, we hit pay dirt.  Nearly the same size and shape as the Dekay’s, the juvenile Kirtland’s snake sat coiled near a crayfish burrow.  Daniel picked the snake up before it could disappear back underground.  Kirtland’s snakes require crayfish burrows in which to spend the winter and the hottest, driest days of summer.  They are a relatively sedentary snake, moving only short distances from their personal crayfish getaway.

The juvenile Kirtland’s was in mid-shed with blue eye caps and dulled colors, but I could still tell what an attractive species it was.   Its pattern consisted of a series of large, black blotches, running the length of a red-brown and cream-colored back.  Flip a Kirtland’s snake over, and you will reveal one of the most surprising and stunning bellies of any snake species—bright red ventral scales bordered by a series of black spots.

The Kirtland’s snake is named for Dr. Jared Potter Kirtland, an 18th century physician and Ohio born naturalist from Lakewood.  Birders may know him for the warbler species that also carries his namesake (Setophaga kirtlandii).  Kirtland’s snakes are found only in Ohio, Michigan, Kentucky, Illinois, and Indiana, and are considered rare and declining across their entire range.  They still maintain local strongholds, and have even been able to eke out a living in some urban and residential areas.  

As we began our search for an adult Kirtland’s, we happened upon another snake species I had only heard about in legends.  This black racer wasn't black—it was gun metal gray—likely an intergrade between the black and the blue subspecies (Coluber constrictor subspp).  I couldn’t believe our good luck.  The black subspecies in the east is separated from the blue in the west by a blurry band of hybrids and intergrades of varying shades.  As I attempted to pose the little racer for photographs, it gave me one smart bite on the thumb before disappearing back into the tall grass.

With two rare Ohio snakes under our belts, we had our minds on another species.  The eastern Massasuaga rattlesnake (Sistrurus catenatus) could occur here as well.  Having lived in Michigan for several years, Daniel knows what and where to look for this endangered pygmy rattlesnake.  If anyone can find them here, it’s him.  With the help of old locality records, Daniel has also been hot on the trail of the spotted turtle (Clemmys guttata), another threatened species in Ohio.  The state’s rarest herpetofauna may still be at home in the wet fields and meadows of western Ohio.

The following boards we flipped seemed impossibly waterlogged.  They practically floated on top of several inches of inundated vegetation.  I was astonished to find a large, likely gravid, female Kirtland’s snake hanging suspended in the water under one of the sheets of tin.  The rain and rising water level hadn't frightened her away.  In fact, Daniel thought he recognized the snake from a previous trip—and it was under the very same board.

This Kirtland’s snake was an impressive specimen, about the length of your average eastern garter, slightly chunkier, and with heavily keeled scales.  Her detailed pattern and colors were astonishingly vivid—that belly is no joke.  Kirtland’s snakes occasionally mock strike, but never bite when handled.  Daniel pointed out this species' bizarre, exaggerated breathing as the little snake sat placidly in my hand.  Her ribs visibly expanded and contracted as if she were trying to pump out a sound. We released the handsome snake back under the tin, beyond satisfied with the scaly encounter.  

Threats to Kirtland’s snakes still persist across their range.  Much of their habitat has already been lost to agriculture and development and succession of forests continue to reduce natural meadow habitat. The use of pesticides and other chemicals threaten to damage the crayfish burrow micro biomes which these, and others snakes, depend upon for shelter.  Road mortality, controlled burns, construction, and illegal collection for the pet trade have all taken their toll.  Where they still are found, Kirtland’s snakes are an essential link to a more pristine and wild Ohio.

I thanked Daniel for the excellent trip, hoping to meet back up with him in the field soon.  I left for home, brain swimming with kirtland's snakes, spotted turtles, and imaginary massasaugas, nothing but rainy oblivion on the darkening horizon, and two hours home. . .

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

The Campus Hibernaculum

I close my eyes and listen for their quiet rustling.  Long, tube-like bodies create a distinct sliding sound, as they franticly zip through the leaf litter in a frenzied search for love.  Nothing is quite like the sound of a garter snake navigating its way through the understory.  It’s softer than the robin ruffling for insects in the substrate.  It’s smoother than the scampering of a chipmunk dashing along a log.  It persists as the gentle breeze tappers away into near silence.  Silence, except for that deliberate sliding.  Few sounds let me know instantly who is nearby, but just hearing doesn't always mean I’ll find my garter.  They are clever, secretive, and quick.  Patience, however, is often rewarded with the face of a skinny, striped reptile periscoping up at me through the tangles of vegetation.

Spot the garter snake.

It amazes me what people will miss when they aren't paying attention.  I am often stunned how oblivious folks can be to the wildlife and nature right in front of them.  I admit, some creatures can be a real challenge to spot.  I’ve stared in vain at the tangles of vines and foliage where a dozen other birders claimed a saw-whet owl was roosting.  My friend Carl Brune often stops to check out amphibians that I had mistaken for a lump of dirt or a stick.  Many animals are small, inconspicuous, secretive, camouflaged, or nocturnal.  Wildlife searching is a challenge and an adventure for these very reasons.  Animals aren't usually easy to find, and that’s what makes looking for them so much fun.  

On special and unique occasions, however, wildlife isn't hard to find.  Obvious examples include local backyard birds, squirrels, and deer.  There is beauty in the abundance and resilience of these creatures, but even I stop looking at every gray squirrel or American robin that crosses my path.  It’s a shame, but few are going to get inspired about nature and conservation from the animals they see every day.  Backyard wildlife gets written off as a nuisance, closing the link to a world beyond our doorstep.  It takes the unexpected to ignite curiosity.  But there again, lies the crux of the issue.  Folks don't know to be looking, and so they don't see what is right in front of them.  

I have watched dumbfounded, as groups of hikers overlooked a massive female snapping turtle, never realizing that the oddly ridged stone they were hopping over wasn't a stone at all.  I have seen others look right through the intense gaze of the local barred owl—never distinguishing her silhouette from her hemlock perch.  When possible, I try to bridge the gap, bringing to light what others have missed.  It is a delight to see joy spread across their faces as some new creature materializes before them.  “I never would have noticed that on my own,” is the usual response.  It breaks my heart to think of all the lost opportunities, because I know how powerful a connection to a wild creature can be.  It only takes one introduction to the natural world to spark a passion that can change an entire world view.

The campus hibernaculum.

In our modern, developed society, these introductions have become few and far between.  Most folks imagine the wonders of nature as something only read about in books or filmed by the BBC.  This is an unfortunate misinterpretation.  More often than most people realize, unfamiliar and fascinating creatures turn up where no sane biologist would start their search.  Like the wildflower pushing up through a sidewalk crack, animals find a way to make a living right next door.  

Had I known about the campus hibernaculum before coming to Ohio University, I would have had no question in my mind what college was right for me.  Tucked away on a vegetated hillside, smack dab in the center of campus, sits a refuge for dozens of scaly serpents.  Eastern garter snakes (Thamnophis sirtalis) and northern water snakes (Nerodia sipedon) have taken up residence in the rock face.  Every spring, they emerge to bask in the shrubbery along a frequently-used footpath.  Hundreds of students and professors pass within inches of the snakes every day without ever realizing it.  To calm the ophidiophobes among you, these are harmless species, growing to only a few feet in length.

The term hibernaculum refers to a location where reptiles overwinter.  A well-drained cavity within the rocks provides a hiding place during the harshest months of the year.  Here, the animals can slow down their metabolisms, reducing their energy use and need to feed. These hibernacula are often found on southward facing slopes, providing suitable basking spots in late winter and early spring.  I have observed as many as ten snakes out basking in February, with snow still on the ground.  Their tan and yellow stripes make for excellent camouflage against the forest floor.  It's that tell-tail sliding that gives them away. 

Garter snakes and water snakes exhibit a fascinating strategy of reproduction.  Males begin to patrol the leaf litter as soon as the weather peaks into the 50s.  Once a female emerges from the hibernaculum, males quickly swarm her, competing to be her mate.  Like a scene straight out of Indiana Jones, these "mating balls" usually consists of one female and up to several dozen males.  Once the males have locked onto the female's chemical cues, nothing can persuade them to leave her side.  They entwine themselves with her body and use their chins to caress her head.  The excitement may even frighten off the much larger female (up to three times the size of a male), in which case the frantic serpentine suitors will dart quickly after her.  

A garter snake mating ball.  Here two males (left) compete to mate with a large female (back right).

When breeding finally takes place, the female will develop the eggs inside her body for one hundred days. Garter snakes are ovoviviparous, meaning they give birth to live young.  Around twenty babies are born in late summer and fall, to which no maternal care is given. The neonate garters can fend for themselves from birth.  

While focused solely on reproduction, garter snakes can be exceedingly docile towards humans.  The males become so fixated on the task at hand, that they won't protest being plucked from the ground by a curious hand.  They may musk, but will rarely bite during this season of love-making.  Early spring, just after the snakes have emerged from the hibernaculum, can be the best time of year to admire these legless reptiles.  It is wonderful to see other folks taking stock of the nature right outside.  I have seen families with little kids exploring the shrubbery for snakes.  Professors with cameras in hand often peruse the earth as they pass by.  I have even come across other students interpreting to a huddled group of peers, watersnake in hand.  It's amazing what you will see when you take the time to look.  

Ohio Wildlife Legacy Stamp 2018

I am pleased to announce that my photograph of an eastern garter snake was chosen to be the Ohio Wildlife Legacy Stamp for 2018.  It will be featured on the ODNR website.  Sales for the stamp begin March 1, 2018.  

I never in my wildest dreams expected to write this post.  It all started one afternoon in late August 2017. I happened to be checking my Facebook feed (I know, I know); social media is often cast in a negative light, but for a wildlife enthusiasts like myself, it can be a god-send.  The group Herping Ohio has been one of my favorites for a while.  This Facebook group is an amazing collection of nearly 1,000 members interested in Ohio’s native reptiles and amphibians.  It unites both newcomers to the world of herps as well as seasoned veterans.  I have had the good fortune of interacting with many of its members both online and in person.  Scrolling through the group’s feed is a great way learn what others have seen around the state. It provides a necessary tool for building connections with other like-minded and passionate herpetologists.

I often start my mornings checking what ‘the gang’ has posted.  Everything from hog-nosed snakes to spadefoot toads to timber rattlesnakes have appeared in the lineup at one time or another.  It is a delight to share in the experience of discovery—if only through a screen.  Seeing other herpers spending their weekends out in the sweltering heat and pelting rain motivates me to get off the computer and get outside.  There are creatures to be found and photos to share.  Images span from slightly out-of-focus iPhone shots to professional grade photography.  In the end, it isn't the quality of the photo that matters, it’s the photo’s subject.  I often scroll through at high speed, reassuring myself that I can identify Ohio’s different herps at a glance.  

One Herping Ohio member shared a link that happened to catch my attention.  Without a photo of some interesting animal, I normally would have scrolled right past; but something about the post gave me pause. The link redirected to the Ohio Division of Natural Resources website with a short description above.

The original shot.

The caption read, “The subject of the 2017 Photo Contest is a native Ohio Snake!  The winning photo will be featured on the 2018 Ohio Wildlife Legacy Stamp.”  Had the contest subject been any other group of vertebrates I would have kept scrolling.  I would stand no chance in a bird photography competition.  It’s not that I don't like to photograph birds (in fact, I spend a ridiculous amount of my free time trying to chase down unusual bird species), it’s that everyone likes to photograph birds.  Thousands of Ohio birders (with much fancier cameras than my own) would quickly outcompete my best shots.

A snake contest, however, now that was interesting.  There are far less people who spend their time trying to photograph reptiles and amphibians compared to their avian counterparts.  For reasons I have never fully understood, herps do not hold the same appeal as twittering songbirds in the glaring eyes of the public.  I have spent much of my life trying to destigmatize the reputations of reptiles and amphibians.  In this case, however, Ophidiophobia would work in my favor.  

Another angle of the garter.

If initial fear isn't enough to scare off would-be photographers, getting down and dirty with a snake will often do the trick.  Snakes squirm, musk, and bite, often making for an unnatural shot and an unpleasant experience.  Some snakes can grow quite large and are difficult to corral into a suitable pose.  Others, like the pit vipers, can be downright dangerous.  Snakes are cryptic and flighty creatures, difficult to spot among the leaf litter and quick to disappear at the first sign of inquire.  They are a photographer’s worst nightmare in many aspects.

Luck would have it that at the time of this contest I would be in a unique position to photograph the diversity of Ohio snakes.  Working as a field tech on a box turtle study, most of my waking hours were spent in the woods.  My camera was perpetually slung around my neck—easy access in case a speedy racer (or my mythical ratsnake) appeared.  After photographing dozens of snakes that summer, I hoped one of my shots would be suitable.  I sorted through copperheads, foxsnakes, earthsnakes, and ring-neckeds.  The image I finally settled on was of an eastern gartersnake (Thamnophis sirtalis sirtalis).

Screenshot courtesy of ODNR.

I stumbled upon the snake in question one summer evening while out turtle tracking.  Stretched out like a branch on the forest floor, another field tech had stepped right over the frozen serpent without even realizing it.  Garters are a common species, and are infamously nippy and smelly when caught.  I am usually satisfied admiring them from a distance.  On a whim, I decided to catch the little guy and take a few photographs.

The garter was a healthy sized adult with a stunning yellow face and flanks.  Its dorsal stripes were broken up into black and blue checkerboard striations.  As I picked the snake up, it whipped around to glare defiantly at me.  I placed the little garter among the leaf litter where it coiled and tongue flicked.  I had just a few moments for photos before I had to return to work.  I never imagined how nicely the shots would turn out.  

Screenshot courtesy of ODNR.

Editing that night, I loved the way the snake’s colors popped on screen.  A yellow and blue body contrasted nicely with the snake’s sharp, blood-red tongue tinged with black.  Its eyes held an intense gaze fixed on my hand (out of frame) in front of it.  As the field season progressed, this image became buried beneath hundreds of others.  It only resurfaced when I began looking for the perfect shot to enter in the stamp contest.  

The Ohio Wildlife Legacy Stamp contest is an annual event featuring a different native Ohio creature each year (next year 2019 the subject will be Ohio owls).  These commemorative stamps are $15 with $14 out of every purchase going directly to conservation efforts (none of this money goes to me).  The proceeds support habitat restoration, keeping common species common, endangered and threatened native species, as well as education and research projects.  You can see and purchase the stamps HERE.  

As the contest rules instructed, I needed to print and mount my photo.  Being a college student with few art supplies and less loose cash, I recruited my mother and aunt to help me with the project.  Those two never shied away from a creative challenge.  When I was a kid, the three of us would spend days working on the various art projects I would dream up.  No endeavor was too mighty; my mom once spent over half a year constructing life-size paper mache coral reefs for my senior after-prom.  As kids, my aunt would design intricate halloween costumes for me and my brothers.

The three of us got straight to work, printing photos, buying supplies, measuring frames, and filling out application sheets.  We had a blast.  I never would have stood a chance without their help.  After submitting the photo, the wait began.  I didn't want to to get my hopes up, so I got on with class work (the homework of a biology student never seems to end).  

A few months into the semester, I received a call from Tim Daniel, a professional wildlife photographer for the ODNR.  It took me a moment to realize what he was calling about.  I was flabbergasted to here that my little eastern garter snake had won!  “It was a gorgeous photo and will make a beautiful stamp,” Tim told me.  It made my day.  I immediately called home to tell everyone the good news.  

I am incredibly honored that my photo was chosen for the stamp.  Knowing that my little garter will help fund conservation efforts is extremely gratifying.  My endless thanks go to my friends and family who have put up with my reptilian obsession over the years.  I couldn't have done this without your help.

My advisor Dr. Viorel Popescu was nice enough to write a short article about my stamp for Ohio University.  Check it out HERE!