Toads of Meadow Wood

There are aspects of my neighborhood that are characteristic of modern suburban communities elsewhere.  Curvilinear streets, lush green lawns, and mulched young parkway trees.  There are residents walking their dogs and riding bicycles.  Children play in the cul-de-sacs.  For a lot of people, picturesque.  Safe.  Ideal.

But lurking in the shadows like trolls under a bridge are the toads.  Squat, rotund little beasts that appear out of place in such a dignified setting.  Seeing one is a matter of chance.  On summer days, they are occasionally exhumed from their earthy sanctums by well-intentioned gardeners.  And at night - especially humid nights - they may be seen hopping across a driveway or sidewalk while hunting for food.  But I'd venture that most people hardly ever see toads.  At least here, where I live, in a quiet, prim and proper corner of suburbia.

The toad knows its way around the kitchen.  Here, they originate in the wetlands across the quiet, two-lane road near my house.  The most substantial and likely only permanent marsh is a little over 1500 feet away.  The toads breed here each spring, their songs filling the night air with the most elegant and harmonious trill.  Eggs are laid in long strands and hatch quickly into tiny black larvae.  By mid-summer, the larvae metamorphose into tiny, frail toadlets.  And these toadlets quickly disperse away from the water to higher ground, often across the quiet two-lane road and into the neighborhood.

Few of the toadlets actually make it.  Most succumb to the elements, to predation, and to human-related factors such as vehicles and lawnmowers.  Those lucky enough to avoid these challenges grow quickly and in a matter of a month can quintuple their size, no longer dark and frail but now resembling a smaller version of a mature toad.

The toadlets do not know what's in store for them in Meadow Wood.  They just know it's higher ground.  Most will never know what nature is.  Instead, they will find an alternate reality that ironically is well-suited to their lifestyles.

As it turns out, a suburban neighborhood has a lot to offer to toads.  Mulched gardens for burrowing, lots of hiding places in the form of home exterior features, and maybe most importantly, an absence of snakes.  In the eight years I've lived here, I've never found a single gartersnake in my neighborhood.  They are more at home down in the prairie and wetlands below where they enjoy a variety and abundance of prey and have no need to leave.

Toads are common in the Chicago region and I've been guilty of passing them up in the past.  But living here has opened my eyes to how ingenious they are.  I truly appreciate them and value each sighting (although I stopped photographing and Herpmapping every single one years ago).

A male toad trying to attract a female.  This was taken at the march across the street.  

This toad spent the better part of the summer of 2018 living under our front stoop.  And each night it would roost under a horizontal length of downspout.  Protected from above and in the path of bugs tracing the perimeter of the porch.

Another porch toad engaged in Operation Bug Interception.

One of countless toads I see in our overgrown side yard.

This toad is likely a female but her dad bod game is strong.

This is a screen grab from a now infamous video where Lumen, clearly under the weather and spewing snot every which way, gently picks up a toad, laughs maniacally, and shouts, "Daddy, I got the code!".

A very large toad.

Lumen holding the very large toad.  This was a particularly hot and dry summer and as I recall, this was one of only a few toads seen the entire summer.

The toads are quite variable in appearance.  This one is a bit more orange.

I watched this toad for some time as it sat under the outdoor light on the garage.  It had learned that insects congregate at the lights and often fall to the ground.  Here, it sizes up a small insect.

This was One-Eyed Willy.  Willy lived directly across the street from me, each night appearing at the edge of the sidewalk.  Each night on my walk, I'd check on Willy and like clockwork, he was practically in the same spot.

Long live the toads of Meadow Wood!

Unpopular Opinions: Rapidfire

 1)  Those tasked with disseminating information about local nature & natural history in 2025 - nature center staff, interpretive naturalists, and especially social media content creators - are very often poorly informed on their topics (especially herps).  Their keen ability to engage with the public belies a lack of accurate knowledge or experience.  Why is this a problem?  Because the public is largely ignorant of these kinds of things.  And when they visit a nature center, or subscribe to a conservation organization's social media account, they trust that whatever they are being told is factual.  

In fact, those qualified to educate others are the people who work in dusty museum basements.  The ones that obsess over their work.  The ones that are passionate.  Alas, these people are not suited for educating in today's rapid-fire world of interpretive Instagram posts backed by hip hop music.  

2)  The abundance of spent mylar balloons littering the woods is a major distraction to actual serious environmental issues such as stream bank erosion and invasive species.

Americans have been raised to adulthood not knowing what a healthy woodland looks like, or what a healthy river looks like.  We see a forest preserve full of plants and a stream running through it and nod in approval.  In reality, our rivers take on far too much runoff and sedimentation devastates biodiversity.  

Our woodlands have been infested with nonnative honeysuckle and buckthorn for over a century.  Our marshes have been infested with Phragmites, reed canary grass, and many more for decades.  We have some historical context of what constitutes a healthy ecosystem but most are ignorant about it. 

Of course, if you were to ask me what the biggest contributor to environmental collapse is, it's consumerism.  But that's not a novel viewpoint.  Just an inconvenient one.

3)  Herpetology podcasts - most of them are awful.  I spend a fair deal of time in my car and I often enjoy listening to podcasts.  There are a handful of good herp-themed podcasts out there (Snake Talk, So Much Pingle, Colubrid & Colubrid Radio), but most are insufferable.  

Here's some ideas for improvement:  Learn to edit out long, drawn out periods of silence and bouts of connection issues.  Introduce your guests or allow them to introduce themselves.  Not everyone is in your circle...and by the way, the whole idea of podcasters interviewing podcasters over and over and over is annoying and imparts a cliquey vibe.  Certainly there are more people out there into this stuff?  Finally, if you expect subscriptions and sponsors, sound enthusiastic.  Some of these long-time hosts sound straight-up burnt out.  Take a break and come back in a month or a year or never.

4)  Not everyone needs to convert their entire lawns to vegetable gardens or tallgrass prairies.  Don't guilt-trip others for having turf grass, especially if you also have turf grass.  There are a LOT of hypocrites out there with nothing else better to do with their time.

5)  Domestic cats belong indoors.  Period.  Yes, they kill a substantial amount of wildlife.  No, they are not a one-to-one replacement for predators we've eradicated.  If you are fine with cats exposed to predation, disease, vehicles, and harsh elements, you are objectively careless.

6) The politicization of conservation will be the downfall of conservation just as the politicization of nearly anything solves nothing.  

7)  Americans are very tribalistic.  We want validation from others in our groups (even when we are wrong) and will go to great lengths for it, often looking very stupid in the process.  

8)  If you purchase a product solely because the packaging sports some sort of little green leaf logo indicating "environmental friendliness", you are most likely misled. The little green leaf means nothing.  Maybe it used to, but once marketing firms found that the green leaf bolsters sales from the crunchy sector, companies began applying it to anything and everything.  Yesterday, I saw a package of balloons with the logo.  We fall for that stuff a lot.  

(A graphic of two hands cupping soil and a little seedling also work in this manner.)

This means nothing

9)  Speaking of greenwashing, people don't know how to think critically when faced with a greenwashing campaign.  It shouldn't matter that the 24-case of bottled water you bought contains "up to" ANY percent of plants.  It's still going to be mostly all plastic.

10)  And speaking of plastic, there's a really, really good chance that the plastic you honorably place into your recycling bin isn't recycled.  

11)  Snakes don't chase people.  That's actually a fact, regardless of what you've heard.  

It's funny how stories of snakes chasing have slowed with the advent of smart phone technology, kind of like ghost sightings, flying saucers, bigfoot...you get the picture.

12)  Ready for this one?  Deli-cuppers make the most cringe field herpers.  Yes, I said it.  

Too many (not all) plod about, complaining of the weather and bugs and mud and overall being a total drag.  They get tired easily because they are pale, out of shape, and not used to rigorous physical activity.  They are one small step above gamers.

I appreciate that they want to experience the thrills of a naturalist's quest, but I can usually predict the outcome, and it's almost never a good one.

13)  Breeding ball pythons is not conservation.  

14)  Nature blogs are irrelevant.  Yes, even this one.  YouTube and Tik Tok are king.  Few want to write anymore and certainly fewer want to read.  I really like YouTube - a lot - but it and other video platforms have taken a huge share of the self-expression industry, leaving people like me to type away at our desks, the echoes of our keystrokes lost in a bombardment of competing video personalities.

UPDATE (8/27/25):  I stand corrected.  My friend Mike (who invented herp blogging and needs no introduction) recently returned to blogging after a three-year hiatus.  And he left quite an impression.  See his blog here.

15)  Cicadas are beautiful, intriguing animals and nothing anyone can say will ever change that.

(There are a few dueling cicadas calling outside my office window at the moment.)

16)  Tradition is the living faith of the dead, and traditionalism is the dead faith of the living.  - Jaroslav Pelikan

tHaNk yOu fOr CoMiNg tO mY tEd TaLk

Slightly Off-Topic: Cornflake the Corn Snake

 I often credit the plains garter snake for my love of snakes, and that largely holds true.  But there was one particular snake that expanded my understanding of snakes and represented a gateway to the multitude of snakes that lived beyond the streets of Chicago.  I think it's about time to memorialize this animal.

As usual, I like to provide some backstory.  In the early nineties, I befriended a neighborhood boy who had recently moved to Chicago from northwestern Georgia.  He was an outdoors type, like I was, but came from a place very different from the city and his range of outdoors activities far surpassed mine.  In his bedroom stood a chest of drawers topped by a ten-gallon aquarium, and in that aquarium lived what he called an "Egyptian ratsnake" (I would much later come to understand that this was a diadem ratsnake (Spalerosophis diadema).  It was often coiled tightly on the green astroturf, next to its hot rock.  Every time I'd go to my friend's house, I would gravitate toward this snake.  I spent a lot of time looking at and holding it.  Then a few months later, it was gone and in its place was a hatchling California kingsnake.  That one didn't last long for one reason or another, and it was swiftly replaced by an adult "Florida corn snake".

I was extremely fascinated by this corn snake.  It was about four feet long and clad in earthy oranges and browns with a black and white checkerboard belly.  In the absence of a hide, it too spent its days coiled atop the Astroturf next to the hot rock.  And I don't believe a day went by when I didn't take it out to handle it.  The only attention it received from my friend was during feeding time.  My friend fed it live mice, and the snake would almost immediately strike and constrict the mouse until it was dead.  Then it swallowed the mouse whole.  This was all new to me, since the garters at my house were fed worms and minnows and simply grabbed and swallowed them alive.

The neighborhood kids mostly hated him

Me pretending to be strangled 

I know this probably sounds weird to many people, but I noticed that the corn snake not only felt different than the garters, but it smelled different too.  It's tough to describe, but it's a clean smell.  I call it the "corn snake smell".  I notice that all corn snakes smell exactly the same - even slightly distinct from other members of its genus such as grey ratsnakes.  

After about a year or two, my friend's family returned to Georgia.  My friend gifted me the corn snake before he left, knowing it would be in good hands.  This was shortly after my parents separated, so the timing was serendipitous.  My dad never allowed any snakes in the house - not even my garters.  Those had to be kept in terrariums on our patio table, underneath an awning.  Now I had a legit collection - garters and a corn snake - in my modest bedroom (thanks, mom).  

Keeping a four-foot snake in a twenty-inch enclosure didn't feel right.  One day, my mom drove me to Pet Supplies Plus where she bought me a forty gallon "breeder" terrarium.  I also selected a large bag of fir bark chips to replace the lousy and unsightly artificial turf.  To this day, I can never smell this kind of bark and not be whisked away to my first corn snake enclosure.  The huge new enclosure took up every inch of desk space, giving me another reason to avoid doing my homework.

Sometimes we called him "Cornflake the corn snake", but I don't think he ever had an official name (I wasn't into naming herps).  He was with me the first time I ever presented about snakes to an audience, when I was in the eighth grade.  I remember having to get permission from my principal to bring a snake into the school, and I was happy when permission was granted.  The principal stood by the door while I held the snake and talked to my class; the talk was so well-received that I was asked to do the same presentation for two other grades.  Skip class and talk about snakes?  A no-brainer.

My family moved to a new house in the late summer of 1996, and therefore so did my corn snake (and a few others I had acquired since).  In 1997, I bought a second corn snake, an adult amelanistic female, with the intent on breeding the snakes.  I was a few years deep into Reptiles magazine, had devoured every single book on snakes I could find, and felt like I was ready to take this next step.  After some cycling and conditioning, I introduced my male corn snake to the female in the spring of 1998, and a couple of months later, had eggs which in turn hatched later that summer.  There is an interesting story related to that process, but at the risk of deviating too far from the main subject, I digress.  

Cornflake's offspring (with the mother)

Around the time my corn snake became a father, he began showing signs of failing health.  He became increasingly lethargic and accepted food only sporadically, losing weight.  Looking back, I should have addressed his condition with more urgency, but I was pretty enamored with this beautiful batch of baby corn snakes for the first time in my life, as well as getting the adult female back in shape after oviposition.  When I see photos of him from 1998, I'm overcome with a feeling of guilt, even though his condition may have been untreatable.  He died in early 1999.

In the coming years, I'd work with countless other snakes, even though my primary interests revolved around the natural history of wild snakes (and still do).  But the lasting effects of owning and caring for my first corn snake are undeniable.  I hope, somewhere out there, his progeny are inspiring other kids the way he inspired me.

Slightly Off-Topic: Milksnake in the Alley

Once upon a time, I found a milksnake in my alley.  Well, if you've read enough of this blog over the years, you'll know that that doesn't sound all that unusual.  But this story is different.  It's a short story about an unlikely predicament - and the value of being in the right place at the right time.

July 12, 2017 started as a normal Wednesday.  I was at work when shortly before noon, I received a DM from someone on the Jefferson Park Neighborhood Association Facebook page (to clarify, there isn't, or wasn't, an actual association - at least not like the weird, self-important ones out here in the far western burbs.  I think it was just a loose conglomerate of minor community leaders and other loud people).  I was told that a Jefferson Park resident had made a most unusual discovery - a snake that appeared to be pinned under a garbage can in the alley.  The snake was red and white, which didn't make sense to me.  So I asked for the resident to take a photo.

The photo that was sent to me shortly afterward really had me perplexed.  It looked like an amelanistic milksnake of Mexican origin, maybe a Nelson's milksnake.  These are somewhat popular in the exotic pet trade.  How did the snake end up in an alley, stuck under a garbage can?

I did what any self-respecting snake advocate would do.  I left work (in the Hermosa community) on my lunch break and high-tailed it to Jefferson Park.  En route, an absolute gusher of a downpour slowed my progress as traffic turned bumper to bumper along Milwaukee Avenue.  I'm talking buckets.  

The rain was letting up by the time I arrived to the scene.  The homeowner, a nice lady, came out to meet me and hand me an empty shoebox.  She then pointed me in the direction of the snake.  She refused to get within 10 feet of the scene and told me that getting those photos earlier took all of the courage she had.  I approached the garbage can, and watched in horror as the snake, still firmly pinned, struggled to surface under a steadily rushing torrent of stormwater as it made its way toward the drain.  

I wasted no time in lifting the full and VERY heavy garbage can up and collecting the snake.  It was definitely an amelanistic milksnake, either nelsoni or a bastardized mutt as some of these captive-produced morphs tend to be.  Skinny, limp, and lethargic, I didn't hold much hope for this one.  I put it in the shoebox, thanked the homeowner, and went home to put the snake into a darker and more secure enclosure it may quietly expire in.  I figured the internal injuries were devastating enough to render the snake doomed.  Then I returned to work and didn't think much about it.

When I arrived home several hours later, the snake was still alive, so I set it up in a small glass terrarium.  After a few days, I offered it food, which it eventually accepted.  I was still skeptical that it was a success story because part of its body had been smashed flat for at least two hours and I couldn't imagine that its organs would function properly.  But they did.  It accepted food each subsequent feeding (and pooped normally), though its feeding habit was odd.  I found that the snake would only eat if teased by the food item to the point of spastic throws of its body and manic zoomies around its enclosure for a minute, after which it would strike defensively and then hork down the food.

Someone else from the association reached out and asked me to speak to their meeting about the snake, and I used this as an opportunity to expand on the native snakes of Chicago.  A reporter from the Chicago Northwest Side Press was present and interviewed me after my presentation for an article that appeared on the front page on October 4 (slow news week I guess).  It's kind of ironic that I was referred to as a "lifelong Jefferson Park resident", when by the time the article was published, we were in the process of moving to our current home out in northwest DuPage County.

               

Shortly after the snake's rescue

Eight years later, the snake is still with us, living out its rather luxurious life along with a few other snakes in the house. Rehoming didn't make much sense - the story is too wild.

The Clayoquot Sound: Thamnophis in the Mist

 As I sit here to begin drafting my summary of a trip to Vancouver Island (British Columbia) less than 20 hours after returning, it is a steady ninety degrees outside here in northwestern DuPage County.  That's about forty degrees warmer than what was experienced as we hunkered down along the southern periphery of the Clayoquot Sound near Tofino over the previous week.  So as I re-adjust to changing conditions, I'll try my best to accurately recall the feelings and emotions that I felt as we traveled throughout this amazing place.

Long ago, I became fascinated by the island's rugged beauty and indigenous roots.  It's not really on a lot of people's "must-see" lists, but it's been on mine for some time.  Naturally, it's a place of boreal landscapes, picturesque river valleys and biodiverse coastal waters.  It is depauperate in herpetofauna, but the species that do make their homes there have found ways to tough out the region's unforgiving climate.  In particular, the island's four snake species - three garters and one sharp-tailed snake - have proven to impress with their abilities to not only survive but thrive in the cool and often cloudy and windy environment.  

I really wanted to find a northwestern garter snake (Thamnophis ordinoides) while there.  I had never seen one in the wild and its subtle beauty usually stops me in my tracks.  Yes - I also like the gaudy paintjobs of other western garters, but I'm weird in that I REALLY like snakes that most others consider ugly or drab.  It's unrelated to my support for the underdogs.  It's that I can stare at a brown or gray snake for a long time and admire it for what it is, never once considering it "dull".  

This was a family vacation, so most of my herping would be incidental.  And that was fine by me, since the forests were captivating and the indigenous influence is alive and strong.  Three groups of First Nations people live throughout the sound.  Near Tofino, it is the Tla-o-qui-aht people, who have been in the region for thousands of years.  Many operate businesses in Tofino, such as tour companies (foreshadowing).  I learned much about the history of the Tla-o-qui-aht and viewed everything through the lens of a visitor from afar privileged to even step foot here.

We flew into Victoria from Seattle and drove nearly five hours to our cabin near Tofino.  The only reasonable way to do this is by taking the Alberni Highway (BC-4), which provides stunning views of the mountains and rivers.  We stopped at the Kennedy River Rest Stop to take in the views of the crystal clear, sparkling clean & frigid waters of the river.  We also found our first of many salmonberry plants here.  These attractive berries are abundant and variable in taste; they range from remarkably delicious to worthy of spitting out, regardless of ripeness.  So eating these was always an adventure. 

Kennedy River at the rest stop

We stayed in a small but very cozy cabin situated on Mackenzie Beach.  As fortune would have it, there was a beautiful sunset over the horizon.  And because it was the summer solstice, the sun was not in a big rush to call it quits that evening.  

The following day was spent hiking mostly.  We started off hiking the popular and easy Rainforest Trail located between Tofino and Ucluelet.  The trail showcases secondary forest leading into primary forest and provides good explanations on the differences.  There were quite a few tourists here, which always leads to my "meh" rating on the overall experience, but I'd still highly recommend this place as a classroom for Temperate Rainforests 101.

My intrepid family

Western bunchberry is abundant

So is false lily of the valley

Don't ask

We worked our way to other trails, many of which led to desolate beaches.  At one, Lumen pointed out a large sea lion from afar, and the closer we approached, the more obvious it was that the sea lion was dead.  It was a large male, fresh, that appeared to have simply left the water, made its way up toward the woodline, and expired.  

Not far from the dead sea lion was a small cliff overlooking some tide pools.  I knew from some research that both the Puget Sound garter (Thamnophis sirtalis "pickeringii") and the northwestern garter have been found in this vicinity, along the rocks and up on the vegetated cliff.  Conditions seemed conducive for garter snake activity - it was sunny and about as warm as it gets this time of year (around 56 degrees F).  Flipping stuff is a worthless exercise.  You need a sharp set of eyes and a soft step to spot them in the open.  I ascended the cliff, peering into the cracks on the way up.  When I reached the top, I brushed the salty reside off and then got to searching.  Making my way toward the center of this cliff, I noticed that the vegetation transitioned from short grass to tall, impenetrable shrubs.  And in a flash, I saw what I thought was a very dark snake uncoil and bolt into the deeper shrubs.  They were here!  That very familiar rush of adrenaline shot through my body.  Moments later, a second snake, this time clearly a sirtalis, shot off surprisingly fast in the same direction, and I decided to rush for it.  But I quickly regretted that decision, because as it turned out, the thick layer of shrubs concealed a sharp drop in the cliff, and I collapsed and fell about three feet into a layer of glossy leaves and brambles.  It didn't feel good, but it didn't feel too bad either because of the adrenaline coursing through my body.  I once again brushed myself off, uttered a "damn it...", and glanced all around me in the unlikely case one of the snakes was still there.  

It wasn't.

But I had made first contact with some of the island's resident snakes and I was poised to keep trying.  I wasn't going to get banged up and potentially lose my dignity for nothing.

THE clifftop

A totem pole erected by members of the First Nations 

Lumen collected twenty-one banana slugs along a path that traces the beach.

The dad life has done a number on me.  I need to return after I lose twenty pounds so that I can fit into this cave

We visited a high quality bog as well.  

We saw only two other bog trail walkers, one of whom pointed out these tiny, delicate round-leaved sundews.  I had to break out the actual camera to capture these details.

This monument in Tofino is the Weeping Cedar Woman, carved from a large wind-fallen western red cedar in 1984.  It depicts an indigenous woman holding her hand out as if to say "Stop", and her other hand pointing to the ground.  This was created as part of a protest against logging in the area.  She is pointing to her land and demanding the logging cease.  She is crying long tears, perhaps because she has seen what mass deforestation can do to an area and does not want that for her home.  Battles between logging companies and environmentalists would continue for decades - they still do - and fortunately, the community of Tofino as well as the various sub-groups of First Nations people continue to fight to preserve the land.

Our next stop was the town of Ucluelet, approximately thirty minutes from Tofino.  We visited the small but fun Ucluelet Aquarium, which has multiple touch tanks kids and kids at heart love.  Then we did more hiking, including the entirety of the Ucluelet Lighthouse Loop.

See my dream house?

As a Midwesterner, I was kind of taken aback to find these brackish pools teeming with tadpoles I believe to have been Pseudacris regilla.  These pools are really just less salty tidepools (I know the water is salty because I, uh, tasted it) right above the marine zone.  Throughout the rainforests, there are surprisingly few pools of water for these frogs to deposit eggs in.  So they take what they get.  I'd be interested in seeing what the salinity levels are in these ocean-side pools and then seeing what the tolerance level is for regilla (wait, I found this paper).

One of our goals for the trip was to see the spectacular ochre sea stars.  Clad in orange, purple, or some combination of the two, these echinoderms were just the tip of the iceberg when it came to benthic macroinvertebrates.  In all my life, I've never seen such a diversity as what I saw on Vancouver Island.

With a northern kelp crab that gave me a whopper of a pinch shortly before this photo was taken

Aimee found this gumboot chiton, aka the "wandering meatloaf"

Other notable invertebrates found:  Nuttall's cockle, rock-barnacles, giant pacific octopus, Dungeness crabs, red rock crabs, pacific oysters, butter clams, green falsejingles, rough keyhole limpets, and who knows how many other crabs, bivalves, anemones, tube worms ("feather dusters") and soft corals.  

A more typical, cool & foggy day on the coast

There is a plane crash site in the rainforest we wanted to see.  The aircraft crashed on February 12, 1945, and is surprisingly intact if not a bit decorated.  The hike to it was the first of several "tough" hikes.

I did search for northern red-legged frogs (Rana aurora) wherever habitat was suitable, but found none.

Aimee wanted to go whale-watching, so I booked a tour through one of the local indigenous-operated companies.  And let me tell you this - this is the way to go.  Our guide's knowledge of the animals of the region was unsurpassed.  You can train someone to lead tours, but selecting a service led by someone whose family line runs thousands of years in the area and whose understanding of the region is second to none TRULY makes a difference.  We signed up to see gray whales, and we did see them - multiple, as well as orcas hunting in a pod (these are rarely spotted in the area and the guide was giddy), Dall's porpoises, Stellar sea lions, hundreds of sea otters, and various birds including oystercatchers.  I didn't take many photos because this really isn't a great time for that.  But this was absolutely a highlight of the trip and I urge anyone to book a similar activity when in the area.  

Two otters

Stellar sea lions (alive, thankfully)

After the tour, the sun poked out for a short while and I wanted to try to find my northwestern garter snake.  A park near our cabin seemed like a good choice - its gravel paths were wide enough to allow sunlight to hit the ground in various areas, and that's key.  These snakes generally stay out of the shaded, wet forests for prolonged periods of time because they need sun to thermoregulate.  My family was wiped out from that day's activities, yet I selfishly got them to come hike so that I might find Thamnophis ordinoides.  

After maybe thirty or forty five minutes of searching without a sighting, I thought that maybe the temperature was too low (low fifties) or that not enough sun was coming through the dense cloud layer.  But as we turned a corner, where one path split into two, I barely caught a glimpse of a sirtalis fly off its marginally warm log in a tiny bit of sunlight and escape into a dense woodpile.  I couldn't live with myself if I didn't make a valiant attempt at finding it, so I threw myself to the ground and began disarticulating the woodpile until I realized that it was in vain.  

"Damn it!", I uttered, frustrated.

But they were there.  We continued walking and were near the parking lot when I looked off the path and saw a sirtalis perfectly coiled right out in the open, again on a marginally warm log in a tiny bit of sunlight.  I wasted no time in charging toward the snake and catching it before it knew what was happening.

I stood up and took a deep breath.  And smiled big.  I had never worked so hard for a freakin' garter snake in my LIFE.  And even though it wasn't the species I was seeking and really wanted to find, it was a snake nonetheless.  I've had notoriously bad luck finding and catching snakes in other countries.  Lizards?  Frogs?  No problem.  Snakes, eh, usually a problem for me.

But anyway, the snake.  

Now, my craving for ordinoides was at an all-time high.  They had to be out there somewhere.  The only things stopping me were a rapidly approaching deadline and a cool, overcast weather forecast for the remainder of our stay near Tofino.  In just a couple of days we'd be packing up and leaving for downtown Victoria, where we were to spend two nights before flying home.  If this snake was all I'd find on Vancouver Island, that would be cool.  But, you know.

The next morning, we hopped on a water taxi and were on our way to Meares Island.  This island was the subject of major controversy during the early nineties.  Once again, it was the loggers vs. the people.  Specifically, the indigenous people who lived in the area and in the small town of Opitsat on the island.  Ultimately, the island was protected from logging and today is contains some of Vancouver Island's most expansive virgin rainforests.  We were in awe of the scope of this island and the sheer number and size of its western red cedars.  We hiked the island for around four hours.

Back in Tofino, we returned to the same park I found the sirtalis in the day before.  Yes, I was hungry.

After some time at the park's beach, we headed back to the parking lot, where I found another sirtalis as well as a fresh shed skin from what looked to be from sirtalis.

Don't let that stoic look fool you. I was thrilled to find my second sirtalis.  But this was our final day in Tofino.  We were set to leave the following morning for the city.  I would not attain my goal of finding ordinoides on this trip, and I wasn't sure when I'd be back on the island.  C'est la vie, as they say.

The drive to Victoria was uneventful.  We all loved the Tofino area and the beauty and tranquility of Clayoquot Sound and were a bit sad to leave.  Our hotel in Victoria was located downtown with good views of the water.  We walked around and visited some bookstores and had dinner.  Looking out our seventh floor window that evening, at the city lights and cool fog rolling in from the bay, I felt very far removed from the simplistic lifestyle we had just spent nearly a week living.  Off to bed.

I woke up rather late the following morning - our last day before flying out - to abundant sunshine pouring through the hotel window.  Well, THAT was not in the forecast.  Lying in bed, I began to feel like I had a sickness, and the only cure would be to go outside during the likely short bout of sun to search downtown Victoria for Thamnophis ordinoides.  It sounded ludicrous.  You know, a century ago they would have put people like me in an asylum.

Aimee was busy, so I took Lumen down with me to walk the concrete jungle.  She wanted to look for crabs along the trash-strewn shore of the bay, and I promised her that we would, but that we first needed to look for snakes, which had to have sounded ridiculous even to her.  I carefully scanned the manicured planted areas on hotel and city properties.  Tall grassy areas adjacent to military memorials.  What the hell was I doing?

Then, as the clouds quickly began to block the sun, there it was.  Resting in an open coil on some fresh mulch near some shrubs, a northwestern garter snake.  I gasped and then ran to catch it.  Before I grasped the enormity of the situation, another snake appeared nearby and I caught that one too.  Then another!  And another!  Within about 30 seconds I had FIVE wriggling ordinoides in my hands!  There were likely more but five was PLENTY.  I was ecstatic.  Lumen doesn't know a northwestern garter snake in downtown Victoria from a plains garter snake in Chicago so she was relatively indifferent about the spectacle that was happening in front of her.

"Cool, dad.   Can we go look for crabs now?"

A few photos of one of the snakes were taken, and the snakes were all released to continue their metropolitan lives.  I did promise Lumen we'd go mudlarking and crab-searching so we did just that.  

I should have known all along that this was how it would go down.  I grew up catching garter snakes in Chicago.  I know the way.  

Thamnophis ordinoides, in all its glory.  Buzzer beater!

Oh yeah, there were also a bunch of these introduced wall lizards.  BUT LOOK AT THAT SNAKE.

Tell me, normie, what makes YOU excited?