I like turtles - a lot - but seldom are they the targets of my exploits. Mostly, it’s because of the associated lack of tactile experience. I mean, I’m lucky if I can even see a turtle basking on a log along the edge of a pond or river before it slips into the drink upon my approach. I can respect the evolutionary adaptation that has kept these animals going for millions of years. But the selfish part of me (and admittedly, it’s a big part) wants to admire them up close the way I can with other members of the class Reptilia.
Lately, I’ve discovered a new joy. I have, in fact, picked up turtle-spotting with binoculars.
And before I’m slandered for practically being one step away from becoming a birder, let me explain. I work in a herpetologically depauperate part of the Chicago area. The nearby natural areas are primarily wooded riparian preserves with heavy canopy cover. These cool, high-traffic, high-impact strips of greenspace are pretty devoid of all but the most generalistic species. A lot of common garters, with a few common frogs mixed in and not a whole lot else.
I figured that the stream that flows through the local preserves may harbor a few turtles. Salt Creek begins in northwestern Cook County before flowing in a general southeasterly direction until it meets the Des Plaines River. On its way there, it flows through a very heavily developed suburban area, but also through Busse Woods and the leafy Brookfield Zoo. Who knows what surprises it might reveal?
Until recently, all I knew about turtles and Salt Creek is that as a kid, I released a spiny softshell turtle there. In junior high, we had two classroom turtles that coexisted in the back of the science “lab”, a red eared slider and the aforementioned softshell. While in 8th grade, they were offered to me, and I was happy to take them home. For reasons I cannot recall nor understand, I eventually decided to keep the slider and not the softshell turtle. And I don’t remember where I read this, but softshell turtles lived in Salt Creek. That’s what I knew, so that’s where it should go. My mom drove me to somewhere along Salt Creek, a bit of a hike from our home in Chicago, and I simply plopped the turtle into the river and watched as it quickly sped away. That thought - in hindsight, painful and embarrassing - is etched into my mind forever. Of course, pets should never be released into the wild, but there was no one preaching that to me back in 1995.
So for the last thirty or so years, Salt Creek has come to be synonymous with “softshell turtle creek”. Therefore, as I walk through the preserves, roughly between Wolf Road and 25th Avenue, I train my eyes toward the river and move more stealthily than normal. I’m looking for snags and muddy point bars, places where turtles like to haul out to warm up in the sunlight. And yes, I’m sporting a pair of binoculars.
But the binoculars offer a dual purpose. You see, I pursue turtles wearing a polo shirt and slacks with knee-high muck boots. An unusual combination, for sure…but if people think I’m bird-watching (a much more highly-regarded pastime), then I don’t really get the side eye. And this time of year I’m often not the only one with binoculars, as the songbird migration is in full swing. But while most people are pointing theirs at the trees, mine are aimed at the river.
So far, I’ve spotted painted turtles, red-eared sliders, and even map turtles. No softshells yet, but I believe I will see some eventually.
And finally, I’ve learned that spotting reptiles from afar can be just as satisfying as seeing them up close and even handling them. It requires additional skills, forces me to re-think my approach, and provides a glimpse into a window I'm not all that familiar with. So yes, dang it, I enjoy it. And no, I do not plan on using the binoculars for birds any time soon.
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