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?

Illinois Swamp Rattlers, revisited

Some of the most frequent questions I'm asked, in regard to Illinois herpetology, relate to the eastern massasauga rattlesnake (Sistrurus catenatus).  Where are they found?  And how are they doing?  

Where are they found?   The massasauga has been almost completely wiped out of the state, and today is known from a handful of tiny fragments of habitat in one county.  Is it possible they still exist elsewhere?  Yes.  Illinois is a large state with lots of tiny patches of wet prairie or meadows.  Some of the more recently known populations (that haven't been sighted in years) occurred in short stretches of roadside ditches in the central part of the state.  Certainly there are other ditches like that elsewhere.  But without thoughtful management, those ditches go bad quickly.  They fill in with invasive brush, or they are mowed too frequently or too short (or both).  Patches of wet prairie left to remain uncultivated on private property may harbor massasaugas, but since the little rattlers are federally protected, most landowners wouldn't speak a word about snakes they may have seen for fear of what they may consider government overreach.  So, at this moment in time, we only know of the precious few that garner attention from both hopeful conservationists and bitter developers.

How are they doing?  Well, they are not doing well in Illinois, which may be good news or bad news depending on who's asking. However, they may not be doing as bad as we thought in previous years.  Recent studies suggest that the remaining animals may not suffer from ill effects a lack of genetic diversity often causes. Some herpetologists feared that may might be a serious issue.  Snake fungal disease, while prevalent among these remaining animals, appears to present itself mildly (so far). While good news, it doesn't change the fact that the metapopulation is highly fragmented and the sites are small; the remaining animals are vulnerable to environmental stochasticity and catastrophic events, either manmade or natural.  

The biologists working with wild massasaugas in Illinois are keenly aware of the snake's susceptibility and work hard to manage the remaining habitat in order to give the animals their best chance at long, productive lives.  Areas chock-full of invasive autumn olive and honeysuckle have been cleared, offering a chance for the snakes to migrate and spread out a bit.  And each year, enough new young animals are found to indicate that recruitment is occurring at good rates.

Among the "regulars" that have been studying Illinois' massasaugas for varying lengths of time is Joey Cannizarro, a Chicago-area native with a name very similar to mine though he is way more handsome.  Joey wrapped up his Master's on grey treefrogs and is in the early stages of pursuing his PhD.  I first met him a few years ago while in Graham's crayfish snake habitat near me - he was accompanied by Nathan Kutok.  We have kept in touch but not participated in any real field-related herp activities, so his invite was enthusiastically accepted.

It was great to hit the field once again in search of massasaugas.  On this fair day in late April, we found six massasaugas and a small variety of other herps.

To some, simply a ditch.  To Joey Cannizarro (in background), a massasauga goldmine.  Note crayfish burrow in foreground.

One of roughly half a dozen eastern box turtles (Terrapene carolina) seen. 

Fowler's toads (Anaxyrus fowleri) are always common around the bunkhouses.

Prairie kingsnake (Lampropeltis calligaster)

One of several racers (Coluber constrictor)

If you're lucky, you'll see this much massasauga exposed

Another, from right on top

It takes a trained eye to spot these (I could use more work)

A massasauga prior to gentle processing

In Search of the Virgin Islands Boa

tl;dr I didn't find a boa.

In fact, I didn't find a single snake of any species.

Granted, my trip to St. Thomas and to St. John was a family vacation and not a field herping trip.  But anyone who knows me well knows that even on family vacations I find time to rustle up some snakes or frogs.  Without a doubt, no one knows this as intimately as my own family, who often get dragged along in the overgrown fringes of vacationland time and time again.  

Look, I've never been a lay on the beach or sit around kind of guy.  There are far too many island endemics to search for.  But I digress.

So back to this boa.  In planning for the trip, I became near-obsessed with the Virgin Islands (VI) boa (Chilabothrus granti). Admittedly, I know very little about these and the other Caribbean boas, even though I've long been fascinated by them, their distribution, and the process by which speciation occurred among the archipelago.  There isn't a whole lot about these snakes available online and books on these groups of reptiles are out of print and exorbitantly expensive.  I found just enough to prepare for what I was hoping would be a successful endeavor, but instead I was met with a number of challenges that ultimately led to my failure.

Virgin Island tree boa (center, with other VI fauna) by Rene Villanueva Maldonado

The VI boa is one of a group of island boas spread out throughout the Antilles.  It is found in Puerto Rico and several of the Virgin Islands.  On St. Thomas, it is restricted to the far eastern side of the island, where the elevation is lower and the climate is drier.  Owing to these conditions, this part of the island has become heavily developed (the stunning beaches help too).  There are far fewer natural places for the boas to live now than there were even twenty or thirty years ago. On an episode of the Snake Talk podcast from 2024, herpetologist Dustin Smith estimated that the number of boas on St. Thomas to be about one hundred, with perhaps only ten being reproductively active. That is perilously low. However, I'm told by a friend and island boa researcher that the boas may be adapting reasonably well to development as long as it isn't too destructive (thanks, Justin).  So then I felt less guilty staying at one of these developments - a resort on Nazareth Bay which retains open spaces and both native and cultivated vegetation.  Maybe most importantly, the resort was teeming with anoles, upon which the boas feed.

The VI boa is nocturnal.  It spends its days tucked away in various places out of sight and its nights in the trees as it hunts for lizards.  During the day, I sought out the "nether regions" of the resort.  Every resort or village has these places.  They are places where "stuff" is tossed aside or stored, and they are designed to be out of sight and out of mind.  Random stacks of 2x4s, cinder blocks, wooden boards, and hoses in nooks behind landscaping make excellent habitat for many herps. And almost every night, I left the resort on foot and walked the dark, quiet streets lined on either side with dense shrubbery and trees.  Finding an accessible undeveloped lot proved to be tough.  I was limited to what I could see and reach from the streets, which seemed sufficient.  During the back half of the trip, I focused more on the seaside cliffs from which all manners of native vegetation grew.  What I was seeing looked very much like photos of habitat I'd seen in published studies.

VI boa.  Photo by Justin Elden

But it wasn't to be.  Perhaps it was because we were there during the driest time of year.  That may explain why I didn't see any ground snakes or Puerto Rican racers there either - two relatively common species that should not have been difficult to find.  Going snakeless, especially following a highly successful trip to Peru, left me feeling somewhat defeated.  But I did see some fascinating reptiles and amphibians.  And most importantly, we all had an unforgettable time.  (I'm still going to make you suffer through my snakeless sob story.)

The very first herp of the trip was this young green iguana (Iguana iguana).  We were at the resort for five minutes when I spotted it sleeping in the base of some palm fronds.  Because of how easy it was to find, I figured it would be the first of many.  However, it was the only iguana we'd see on the resort grounds (others showed up elsewhere).  These are non-native to the Virgin Islands but essentially naturalized.  Green iguanas are par for the course in many areas but this was Lumen's first interaction with a wild iguana so it was special.

My aforementioned friend had told me about a path through some forest toward an isolated beach few knew about.  This was on the northwestern portion of the island.  There is no parking, just a rough patch to pull over that accommodates two cars TOPS.  Ground snakes and racers are said to be here, so I looked while we hiked the path toward the beach.  Of course I found no snakes but anoles were plentiful, and on the beach I found my first of many big-scaled dwarf geckos (Sphaerodactylus macrolepis) under rocks.  They are tiny and fast and they look really fragile so I did not catch any to photograph throughout the trip.  Certainly fun to see though.

About the anoles, they were pretty much everywhere.  No surprise there.  The all-too-common and invasive brown anole (Anolis sagrei) is found here, as is the crested anole (Anolis cristatellus) and the banded anole (Anolis stratulus).  The adult male crested anoles are truly impressive creatures.  I stopped to look at just about every one of them.  I probably looked at them more than I normally would because I wasn't finding snakes, but I think anyone can appreciate these pretty much any time.

The banded anoles were attractive in their own right.

Anoles are very territorial, and usually competitive interspecifically.  I did not observe any indications that each species occupies a particular niche, however.  They are everywhere, although usually not near anoles of other species.

Another commonly seen lizard on St. Thomas is the Puerto Rican ameiva (Pholidoscelis exsul).  This is the largest lizard native to the island and is far more wary than the iguanas.  One ran across the road while I was taking a corner and I thought it was a mongoose at first because it was bigger than I expected an ameiva to be (and because we saw several mongooses elsewhere).  A few were seen (and chased by Lumen) at the resort, while the rest were scattered about St. Thomas and on St. John.

This ameiva was seen basking in a circular patch of sunlight

Lumen with an anole

Despite the dry conditions, frogs were a presence, albeit in limited quantity and not without some legwork.  The first frog I found was under a wooden board behind some shrubs in an area just like I described earlier.  The resort had a restaurant, and behind the restaurant was a shaded patio for employees to sit and take breaks.  One cannot access these boards without crawling through some shrubs and being directly next to these employees, which was awkward.  Imagine a forty three-year-old man poking around some trash at a resort.  That was me.  Anyway, it was totally worth it as I flipped a mute frog, or mute coqui (Eleutherodactylus lentus), an endangered species rapidly on the decline throughout its range.  This was my best find of the trip.

The common coqui (Eleutherodactylus coqui) was only occasionally heard and seen.  Some were found in water-filled bromeliads in a shaded woodland located in the center of the island.  A botanic garden we visited had ponds and glass aquariums scattered throughout the property for the frogs to breed in.  Lots of freshly-laid egg masses and tadpoles were seen.  We also saw quite a few red-footed tortoises here.

Cats are a scourge on the islands. Their numbers are unchecked and they wreak havoc on the native wildlife

Virgin Islands National Park, located on the island of St. John, was a place of interest due to its mostly undeveloped character. Driving on the island was more carefree than on St. Thomas, where traffic at times was quite heavy (driving on the left side of the road adds to the excitement). The park - and entire island - is littered in crumbling ruins of plantations built hundreds of years ago. One that we visited is the America Hill House, built in the early 18th century. Near the bottom of the hill, I flipped countless rocks in a dry wash and found a single Caribbean white-lipped frog (Leptodactylus albilabris). A couple of young tarantulas rounded out my notable finds here (boas are not known from St. John).

White-lipped frog

Genus Holothele?  No clue.

Freshwater was scarce here.  The only place I saw any on St. John was a set of two tiny depressions in a dried rocky creek.  In this pool were lots of tadpoles.  I spent a few minutes photographing tadpoles with my waterproof camera, and managed a few "meh" pictures.

Unknown frog

While I can swim reasonably well, I've never been much of a water guy.  And the older I get, the more evident this becomes.  During this trip, I realized that that's because my options in Chicago are limited.  Here in the Caribbean, swimming and snorkeling are very popular, because of the clarity and warmth of the water and the mesmerizing array of life that can be seen just beneath the surface.  All those years, working in an aquarium/reptile shop, listening to customers talk about their experiences snorkeling in the reefs, I never really got it.  Not until I tried it myself.  And now I might be hooked.

Just beyond the white sand lies a reef so fantastic that I cannot begin to describe it in all its glory.  Colorful fishes, corals, sponges, and all manners of benthic invertebrates greet you as you, as I like to say, "enter the food chain".  I was not satisfied with floating at the surface with the snorkel.  Without my glasses, it was really hard to see beyond a foot or two.  I wanted to get as close to the bottom as possible.  So I chucked the snorkel.  Reminder - I have no clue what I'm doing.

About eight feet below the surface, I could see a ledge - the edge of the reef.  Diving down, I grabbed the ledge and peeked below.  What I saw was nothing short of incredible.  A large school of yellow and silver fish, at least two different species of wrasse, damsels, blennies, and more.  I carefully followed a large stingray as it hovered across the bottom, looking for food.  I found it difficult to stay submerged as the dense saline water kept forcing me to the surface.  At one point I was grabbing a section of bare reef when I spotted a large bristleworm inches from my hand.  Grabbing that would have soured my day, for sure.

The underwater world is a dream come to life.

Rain spell

I cannot overstate how difficult it is to take pictures of fast-moving fish like this wrasse while eight to ten feet underwater

Another wrasse.  I really like the composition here

Bristleworm

Early in the evening before our departure, I returned to the pile of boards behind the restaurant to see if I could turn up another mute frog.  I tried to squeeze in between the shrubs as best as I can to avoid detection, but I was spotted by a pair of restaurant employees as I emerged on the other side.  In her thick Creole accent, the woman looked at me and said, "No, I done tink you can go here."  Her male coworker just looked at me and shook his head.  Damn, my plans were foiled.

My last hurrah trying to find a VI boa along the coast.  An abundance of sleeping anoles were found, and I enjoyed the sounds of the waves lapping at the shore late at night.  But no boas.

Until next time...