Renaissance men

"Associate with people who are likely to improve you" - Seneca

There is an undeniable bond shared between those who are innately fascinated with natural history. The drive to explore the natural world around us and to better understand our connection with nature transcends virtually every classification by which we categorize ourselves. This is especially true with herpetology, the red-headed stepchild among the more "esteemed" biological disciplines. If you've been stricken with a healthy obsession with amphibians and reptiles, you'll soon find out that the pool of compatible cohorts is regrettably small.

But, as the adage goes, "quality over quantity". I've been enormously privileged to know a handful of local people that are at least as passionate as I am about herpetology. I can best describe these people as "renaissance men" as they convey a classical approach to natural history without eschewing modern techniques. Curiosity runs through their veins, and it's refreshingly contagious.

Tom Anton is one of these guys. He first popped up on my radar while I was wrapping up high school in the late 90's. He had just authored an inventory of the amphibians and reptiles of Cook County, which I found fascinating at the time (as I do nearly a quarter century later). A bit of irony - I was in the school library being taught how to use InfoTrac, a subscription-based database available on CD-ROM (before we could find all of this stuff on the internet). I performed poorly all throughout high school, and barely made my way through, but finding Tom's document and printing it out to bring home gave me a reason to be enthused. But I digress.

Fast forward to 2013 when I finally wrapped up my long, fragmented, and oftentimes arduous college career. I wanted to learn more and write about the Chicago region's herps, and Tom's name was the very first that came to mind. I sent Tom an email and asked some questions that by today's standards sounded really dumb. He invited me to the Field Museum of Natural History, where he worked. At the museum, he led me through the herp collections, the library, and the lab (where I got to see but unfortunately not meet the late, great Bob Inger). Then, after leading me to the food court, we sat down and he opened up for questions. I hoped that he would see that I was a serious student of natural history and not just some guy with a passing interest. And I think he did because over the course of the next year he didn't avoid my emails.

We finally got into the field a year later in November of 2014. We had talked a bit about the southern two-lined salamander in Will and Kankakee Counties and he agreed to meet down there. But first he wanted to rendezvous at Wilmington House restaurant, a place where "all the herpetologists meet in the area". Was I in the club?

We spent a few hours looking for and finding salamanders, which was cool, but mainly, I really hoped that the experience was the beginning of a process of trust building. I knew Tom was a valuable asset. What I didn't expect then was how much of a friend he'd become.

Today, over ten years and many adventures later, I know him only as a friend who happens to be a herpetologist. While I am twenty years his junior, we share many perspectives. We are both kind of stoic; we tend to focus on things that are within our control and not so much on extraneous nonsense. Life is better that way for us at least. His enthusiasm toward fieldwork is unsurpassed. You'd think he never caught a plains garter snake when he catches a plains garter snake even though he has probably found more plains garter snakes than anyone in the history of northeastern Illinois. He carries a beat up notebook in which he jots down all pertinent field data as it relates to herps, and he's known to pull his car over from time to time in rural areas to unfold a large paper map of Illinois. Tom's willingness to allow me to join him in the field and his timely support have been transformative. His recommendation to always "herp with purpose" resonates with me to this day.

Tom and me with a pygmy rattlesnake, ANF, Florida, March 2023.  Photo by Nathan Kutok

As I became more comfortable networking within the herpetological sphere, I began meeting other locals interested in the subject. While I maintain relationships with just about all of them to this day, a few really stand out. Matt Ignoffo is one of those guys. I'm not sure exactly how I came to know of him - it was either through his participation in an outing documented by someone else on the field herp forum website or through his Flickr account. Either way, his photos are what drew me in and made me super envious. It was clear that Matt had an outstanding eye for herp photography. His field guide-style of photography produced stunning images. His familiarity with the local herps, fishes, and mussels was unsurpassed. A few photos really stood out. One was of a mussel in a dire situation - receding waters in a local stream exposed the mussel to the atmosphere and it really captured the plight of mussels everywhere. Another photo featured his then young son just as a large fox snake was biting his face. Simply perfect timing.

Photo by Matt Ignoffo

Photo by Matt Ignoffo

I noticed that Matt shared a fair number of queen snake photos. After he accepted my friend request on Facebook in 2014, I began asking him about queen snakes. He had some really great shots and at that time I was really struggling to find them in the area (there are at least a couple of related posts on this blog). I sent him messages hoping he might lead me directly to a good queen snake locale. He didn't do that. Instead, he provided me with a summary of the species' range in northeastern Illinois, complete with watersheds. I like to think he was challenging me - to do the work he did when he first sought the queen snake. After way too much time searching for the queen snake, I found one and felt this great rush of dopamine I wouldn't have felt had someone simply told me where to go. And I thought that was pretty badass of him. I think he knew exactly what he was doing.

Matt and I first met in person during the early spring of 2015.  We agreed to meet to find salamanders in the Palos region of Cook County.  I was a bit star struck.  He brought his two young children and together we hiked to some marshes where we flipped some logs.  At one point, as we hiked from one marsh to another, a spring peeper jumped from some place unknown right into Matt's hand.  He joked that he always lucked out, but as far as I was concerned, it wasn't luck but instead the work of some herpetological deity bestowing Matt a unique form of herp magnetism.

Matt showing his children the spring peeper that jumped into his hand.  April, 2015

In all seriousness, Matt is an excellent herper but beyond that probably the best and most well-rounded naturalist I've ever met.  You might not get that impression if you met him and that's because he is very modest.  But his obsession with needing to know the answer to a question is akin to that of history's most regarded natural historians.  His focus is admirable.  In his quest to better understand something, he will not rest until he is satisfied.  It's a blessing and a curse.  

Matt looking for spring peepers in an urban marsh.  April, 2023

Similar to the duality of Batman and Bruce Wayne, there are two sides to Matt - there is a very gentle and deliberate and empathetic aspect most often witnessed as he carefully moves a turtle from the road, or brings himself to the level of children to share the wonders of a salamander, or re-positions a log to the exact position it was before it was turned.  But, under the same circumstances, he won't hesitate to criticize rules put in place to limit or restrict access to natural areas.   He is a true vigilante in the best way possible.  I'm not going to go into details, but I'll assert that Matt's passion and knowledge wasn't born from staying on the paved path.  Professional land managers and biologists could gain a lot of wisdom from Matt - wisdom that wasn't accrued using statistics and modeling, just good old fashioned common sense and boots-on-the-ground experience.

Matt doing the Robot with a young Graham's crayfish snake.  July, 2022

I wanted to use "boots on the ground" as a segue to introduce the third and final individual I wanted to cover today, but "sandals on the ground" might be a more accurate idiom.  That's because in the seven-ish years I've known him, Nathan Kutok has almost never sported a pair of boots or really any footwear suited for the kind of field activities he does.  It's a bit of a running joke, but it's in good spirit.  

I've never known anyone like Nathan before.  He truly embodies the term "renaissance man" out of his passion for herpetology and for his body of work amassed at such a young age.  At sixteen years old, he had more book smarts and enthusiasm than many twice or even three times his age.  In early 2016, he sent me a private message on Facebook asking if I were aware of any herpetologically-oriented volunteer opportunities in the area.  I suggested the Calling Frog Survey, but something told me that wasn't going to be enough.  His online activities leading up to that message indicated that he was not willing to settle for casual "citizen science".  He sought complete immersion into a project and he wanted to work closely with professionals.

Nathan with Ken Mierzwa, July 2021

Nathan, Tom, me.  February, 2022

I first met Nathan in person during the spring of 2018.  We would initially meet up in Lake or McHenry Counties - more or less his neck of the woods.  He struck me as a soft-spoken introvert with a vocabulary beyond his years (that's still the case, by the way).  One particularly memorable outing took place near my home in West Chicago.  We were walking a set of railroad tracks when a railroad security truck spotted us and hastily advanced toward us.  Nathan and I reacted by making a mad dash straight into an otherwise impenetrable thicket of buckthorn to escape persecution.  Once we were satisfied that we had outrun our nemesis, we caught our breaths and collected ourselves.  Nathan seemed unfazed by the incident and continued on as if nothing had happened.  There wasn't much if anything that was going to stop this guy.  I liked that.

Matt and Nathan on the day Matt and I first met Nathan.  May 2018

Nathan became serious about contributing to the body of herpetological knowledge and wanted to incorporate the queen snake into those plans.  Together, with the help of another exceptional local (-turned-migrant) Tristan Schramer, we compiled a ton of information about the biogeography of the queen snake along the middle Fox River drainage in McHenry, Kane, and Kendall Counties (we also looped in data provided by Matt).  Ultimately this turned into a poster for a symposium.  We also published a paper on the rediscovery of the Graham's crayfish snake in DuPage County following a gap of twenty five years.  To this day we collaborate on various projects or projects we wish we could tackle if we had a lot more hours in a day and days in a week.

Make no mistake, I am no scholar nor do I pretend to be one.  I do have a lot of friends in academic circles and I love and cherish them all, but at the end of the day I am at BEST an avocational enthusiast.  Nathan on the other hand IS a bona fide herpetological made man. He has built connections throughout the field and has been generous enough to bring me into the fold many times, which I very much deeply appreciate.  The experiences I've had as a result of accepting Nathan's invitations, the people I've met, the knowledge I've gained, are immeasurable.  The long, late night phone calls Nathan is known for pull me out of the daily grind for awhile and we just talk about our hopes and ambitions as they relate to herpetology.  On a road trip, the guy can talk herpetology for hours without coming up for air.  I don't know anyone else this invested in what they love.

Nathan and Matt, June 2023

Maybe most importantly, these three guys have really good senses of humor.  As a man of science, I find that humor is sorely lacking among the ranks.  At least, the kind of absurd, left-field humor that I live by.  I often get the side eye reaction from others, if they haven't already walked off and written me off as a lunatic.  No, Tom, Matt, and Nathan have largely accepted my condition and they are occasionally known to reciprocate much to my pleasure.  

Whether we believe it or not, we are ALL the products of where are from and those we associate with.  While we cannot choose family, we can choose our friends and I'm fortunate to know people that stimulate curiosity and enthusiasm.  We are not alone in this world.  No matter what you're into, there are others that can and will decorate your life with unforgettable experiences and camaraderie.  I've just been lucky.

Matt and Nathan, June 2023

Arizona: Rocky Trails & Blacktails

 I returned to southeast Arizona on September 7th to meet with my friends John and Kathie Murphy and of course to once again experience the splendor of the Sonoran Desert.  The seasonal monsoon was in full effect at the time I booked so I figured this was going to be a phenomenal trip in terms of amphibian and reptile activity.  However, shortly after my booking, the rain stopped and the temperature soared.  For weeks.  Upon my arrival, I could tell that the desert was not nearly as luxuriant as it appeared in 2021.  Every single wash was bone dry.  A few ravens hung around here and there but overall it seemed like most everything else was holed up, awaiting prosperous times.

With time and hard work, though, one can still churn up a few finds.  The desert wildlife is amazingly resilient.  And since I know very little about the desert and its ways, having John there to help guide me along was crucial.  As it turned out, immediately before I arrived in Arizona, John was roped in to help organize a bioblitz held by the University of Arizona.  This bioblitz would cover a portion of the Santa Rita Experimental Range (SRER) as well as a few surrounding areas.  In all honesty, I was not thrilled about the idea, as I prefer a more intimate experience with wilderness.  But, I thought about how having more sets of eyes might produce more finds, and figured that I could capitalize on that. 

The bioblitz didn’t kick off until Friday, so I had most of Thursday to explore unconditionally. John and I first made our way up to the SRER research station to drop off some materials for the bioblitz. While in the vicinity, we hiked a couple of dry washes and I flipped a few rocks.  It was well over 100 degrees.  I found a couple of examples of what I think may be Chihuahuanus coahuilae, or the lesser stripetail scorpion.

John wanted to photograph some Great Plains skinks (Plestiodon obsoletus) and knew a spot nearby.  Not far from where we parked, I noticed a freshly-shed snake skin woven through the short dry grass.  I inspected it with John and we agreed that based on its location and appearance it had  probably been cast by a Sonoran whipsnake (Masticophis bilineatus).  We continued our hike, and no more than two minutes later I was greeted with the sight of a beautiful, brilliant whipsnake about the same size as the skin.  It had been on the hunt for lizards when we walked up on it, and froze long enough for a few quick cell phone shots.  Then, it quickly and silently vanished up into the hillside vegetation.  We didn’t find any skinks, but the spiny lizards were out in full force.

Clark's spiny lizard (Sceloporus clarkii)

Another up a tree

Sonoran whipsnake

Later that night, John and I hit the road.  This is about when it became clear that conditions were not going to be particularly favorable for herps.  We cruised two western diamondback rattlesnakes (Crotalus atrox), the first being the largest I have ever seen.  Unfortunately, in my rush to get it off of the road I did not get a photo.  We were not quite out of town yet and there was too much traffic to pause and admire the animal.

Neonate atrox with photobombing moth

Shortly afterward, I spotted this young longnose snake (Rhinocheilus lecontei) crossing the road.  I’m convinced that we saved this little guy’s life.  Most of the snakes we see on the road in Arizona are already dead, sadly.

And speaking of dead snakes, there were two dead hatchling gopher snakes (Pituophis catenifer) on the road that night.  The third one was alive, and yes, I did verbally scold it for being on the road and instructed it to never crawl on a road again.  These are common snakes and I’d prefer it to stay that way.

Toward the end of that first night, we pulled off the road into a remote makeshift staging area for construction equipment.  John often sees snakes here so we parked, got out, and looked around for a few minutes.  A set of oncoming headlights gave us a pause for concern although John didn’t seem too phased.  We got back into the Jeep when the car pulled alongside us and stopped, giving the driver ample view of the rear of the Jeep.

“Can I help you?” John kindly asked, his head hanging out of the window.

In a shrewish, trembling voice, the white, middle-aged, and statistically privileged woman replied, “I’m taking down your license plate number.”  At that point, John and I knew we had found the ubiquitous Karen (Homo sapiens kareni), which is commonly encountered in restaurants, fudge shops, and especially the internet, where it spends much of its existence complaining and unhappy about anything that threatens its high standard of living.  We left, knowing that this subspecies can be very confrontational, but not before we black-lit a few nice scorpions.

Go away, Karen

One of several (maybe) Parajaejovis confucius

We had some time to kill the following morning before the bioblitz kicked off, so John and I headed to a rattlesnake hotspot about an hour and a half from the research station.  Wedged deep in a rock pile, John spotted a large adult blacktail rattlesnake (Crotalus mollosus) that was kind enough to let us photograph it (we never touched it, only photographed it from a distance).  Further down the rock pile, John spotted a rock rattlesnake (Crotalus lepidus) and it too showed us some southern hospitality.  Near the rock rattler, another rattler was heard buzzing its tail but neither John nor I could see the snake.  We figured it was completely concealed in the rocks but knew we were present.  So it was probably another lepidus but I suppose it could have been a neonate mollosus.

Another Clark's spiny lizard

A greater earless lizard (Cophosaurus texanus)

We poked around a bit more and met with a local site caretaker who told us to “take all the snakes with you” before heading back to the field station for the bioblitz.  Participants were primarily U of A students as well as team leaders.  After splitting into groups, we headed out into the early evening desert.  John led the herp group, driving with me in his Jeep with two vehicles in tow - a film crew, and a van with about fifteen students.  We headed up a rough road through a local canyon and cruised up a nice ringneck snake (Diadophis punctatus).  Everyone got out to see and hold the snake.  There were people here who had never touched a snake in their lives so it was a positive introduction to snakes.  Around this time, I noticed that the van was making some awful sounds.  The driver confirmed that the van was having some issues.  As we continued through the canyon, the van would often lag far behind. 

Orientation

One of several canyon treefrogs (Hyla arenicolor) hanging around a cattle tank

One of those really long western ringers

Now dark, John and I rolled up on a rare sight - in our headlights, a grey fox predating upon an adult blacktail rattlesnake.  We quickly stopped and watched the nervous fox thrashing the snake about like a limp rope.  As John hustled to find his camera, the fox began to drag the snake off of the road.  I got out and carefully approached, which temporarily spooked the fox.  The snake was certainly dead, with devastating injuries to what was once its head, but was still moving around a little.  As the sputtering van approached, the intense light of three sets of headlights and over a dozen flashlights scared the fox off down the road.  John tried to get everyone to stay quiet and turn their lights off, but you can’t really expect a group of college students to obey instructions like that.  They gawked at the gory spectacle and who knows how many photos were taken.  The van driver decided to return the van and the group of students back to the field station, but one of the students really wanted to continue on with us in the Jeep.  Malachai hopped in the back as we headed deeper into the pitch black canyon while the others, including the film crew, turned around and headed west.

Within the next couple of hours we would come across two additional blacktail rattlesnakes, fortunately both alive and well.  As these were all my first blacktails, I was really surprised at how tractable they were.  None ever offered to rattle or act defensively in any way.  With my hook, I manipulated the snakes to move them off of the roads without an iota of protest.  Quite the departure from the world of the diamondback.

Malachai and John with a blacktail

Defensive Arizona blonde tarantula (Aphonopelma chalcodes) on the road

The evening was becoming painfully slow despite perfect temperatures.  It was simply too dry.  We were all pretty tired, so we met up with the group at the field station.  On the way, we passed a broken down van on the side of the road.  Ope, the van had thrown in the towel.  It turns out that the students were “rescued” by one of the organizers of the bioblitz, which was good.  The field station was buzzing with activity, quite literally - a moth sheet had attracted thousands of moths, beetles, and other flying insects like I had never seen in my life.  A small group of students emerged from the darkness with a lyre snake (Trimorphodon bisctatus) captured onsite.  I regret not getting good photos, but there was a lot going on.  

The bioblitz organizers wanted us to return at 5:30 AM (?!?!?!) the following morning.  Ughhhhhhhhh.  So we did - and as I expected, only one student of the entire group was awake.  Hey, I was 20 once.  We began our hikes about an hour later with a limited group of students, but this time nobody wanted to join the cool club (herps).  Plants were all the rage early that Saturday morning so John and I hiked a road on our own, peering at large boulders and flipping stones to no avail.  Aside from a couple of lizards, it was pretty dead.  The sun came out in full strength and the energy was sucked right out of us.  We trudged back to the station, where we imbibed; water, and lots of it, was an absolute must.  The site director motioned to a small group of really old, dilapidated equipment sheds where he often sees Madrean alligator lizards (Elgaria kingii).  He told me that I could poke around them, so with a hook in hand I entered the first building.  It was dry and dusty, full of old rolls of chain link fence, dirty buckets, unused electrical conduit strewn about, and lots of signs.  There were rodents droppings everywhere.  Lifting a dry-rotted pile of plastic tarp produced a panicked packrat.  I couldn’t imagine an alligator lizard living inside here or in any of the old old structures, so I traced the exterior of each building, lifting cover and using my hook to turn leaves in hopes of seeing something.  But again, it was now late morning and the temperature was nearing 108.  Conceding defeat was made a little easier when I realized that I was the only one actually pursuing species.  Everyone else was cooling off in the shade.

John taking the lead

Canyon treefrog 

Paravaejovis confusus?

This resident turkey fearlessly hung around the research station for the duration of the event.  One employee says it's been in the area for months.

Me too, spider.  Me too.

After a late lunch, the organizers pulled the plug on the bioblitz out of concern for those involved.  We all got to leave a little early.  John and I returned to his house, where we rendezvoused with Kathie before going out to dinner.  That evening, we could have road cruised once more.  We could have had the night desert air blow through our hair. We could have discovered a species new to us (or me).  But instead, we stayed home and watched the new Indiana Jones movie.  And it was just fine.  I had a very early flight out of Phoenix the next morning so it all just made sense.  

Now if only Indy would take a liking to snakes...

From Anza Borrego to San Diego

 A few highlights from last week’s trip to southern California.

We flew into San Diego and then drove to Anza-Borrego Desert State Park, Califoria's largest state park at nearly 586,000 acres.  We stayed in a casita smack in the middle of the Colorado Desert.

We explored the environs a bit.  Among hundreds of rodent burrows, we found this burrow of a young Mojave desert tortoise (Gopherus agassizii)

We enjoyed the remarkable sculptures by artist Ricardo Breceda.  Our favorite was the "snake", actually a sea dragon that is so long (about 350 feet) that it crossed the road (or gives the impression that it does).

Cholla at sunset

Another favorite, a large scorpion (foreshadowing).  

We lucked out big time the following day, as it rained a fair amount. 

Aimee and Lumen on the rocks in between drizzles and dazzling thunder/lightening

A grasshopper with perfect camo

Lots of side-blotched lizards (Uta stanburiana).  Very quick and hard to photograph.

We drove past a single desert iguana (Dipsosaurus dorsalis) crossing the moist road.  One day I'll get a good shot of one!

We pulled over near a scenic overlook and we liked climbing up the rocks to find cacti more than staring at the long range views.

Though the view was great...

Anza-Borrego has its own slot canyon, located off the beaten track in a relatively remote location off of Highway 78.  We arrived just before sunset.  This is the perfect place for adults or children.  Be aware of the many black widows that live down in the canyon.  

Lumen and me as we exited the canyon.  Photo by Aimee

On the way out, I cruised this sidewinder (Crotalus cerestes).  We all jumped out of the car for photos, as this was Lumen's first rattlesnake.  We saw another one, but it was anxious to get on its way so I only took video.

I picked up a black light flashlight with the hopes that I may possibly shine a scorpion at night.  Scorpions fluoresce under black lights which makes them easy to spot when they are out and about after dark.  Not only did I find one, I found many - all within seconds of exiting the car off of a random desert road!

I think this is the endemic Paruroctonus borregoensis (feel free to message me if I'm incorrect).

Back in San Diego, we spent most of our time at or near the beach, with stops at the San Diego Zoo, Scripps Aquarium, and other attractions.

A huge Boelen's python (Simalia boeleni)

If you go to Scripps, climb the steep little hill near the entrance and you'll find a worn path along the top of the ridge.  Take it toward the ocean and you'll have great views.  You will probably also find hundreds of these garden snails everywhere.  Actually, we were probably trespassing.  So, don't do that.

Lots of these crabs in the tide pools.

All kids are fascinated by what can be found in a tide pool.  Nerdy adults too.

Gull

Sea lions entertained the masses of tourists

California ground squirrel

During my first ever trip to La Jolla back in 1992, I explored these exact same cliffs and tide pools.

An islet occupied by cormorants

Until next time...