Españia: The Fire

 Spain in June is hot.  While it’s a busy month for visitors, much of its non-human life forms are in some stage of stasis; the vegetation crunchy and brown, the small animals tucked away in burrows or perhaps humid refugia deep within dry stone walls in old fields.  The heat dome is no joke over there. 

Detail from Fountain of the Falling Angel, Buen Retiro Park, Madrid

These conditions would play a pivotal role in my ability to observe many reptiles and amphibians.  Over the last several years, my interest in the herpetofauna of the Mediterranean region - southern Europe, north Africa, and the Middle East - has spiked tremendously.  Complicit in my obsession are herpetologists and authors Philippe Geniez (“Snakes of Europe, North Africa, & the Middle East”) and Jeroen Speybroek (“Field Guide to the Amphibians and Reptiles of Britain and Europe”).  These books are essential for enthusiastic novices such as myself if finding some of these animals is a travel goal.  And while April and May are undoubtedly better months for herping Spain than mid June, I figured I might luck out with some persistent searching.

Our first stop was the bustling city of Madrid, home to about 3.4 million humans plus the hordes of tourists.  Madrid is not known for its biological diversity, for sure, but it’s got an undeniable charm.  The mix of old and new appeals to many different kinds of people.  I couldn’t help but notice that a very significant percentage of its younger population were sporting tattoos on the backs of their upper arms.  Just dainty little tattoos, not the big bold kind.  It kind of felt a little like the kanji trend of 2026.  

The first reptiles seen were some non-native turtles in a pond outside the Crystal Palace in Buen Retiro Park.  Unfortunately, the red-eared slider is established throughout much of Europe, including in the pond. Those were expected.  But I was a little surprised to see several cooters and map turtles as well.  There was a crowd of tourists throwing bread and other scraps into the pond, which simultaneously attracted the turtles, ducks, pigeons, and carp and created a surreal frenzy wherein each animal pushed and shoved for any tiny morsel.  I imagine that these animals have become dependent on these handouts.  

To escape the heat, we drove up to Sierra de Guadarrama National Park, a bit north of Madrid.  These mountains form a relatively new national park protecting some of central Spain’s greatest concentrations of organisms in need of conservation.  The park also preserves some long-held cultural aspects as well, such as cattle ranching, which is not without some controversy.  

We arrived at the large and virtually empty parking lot (and I was concerned we’d get there so late in the morning that we’d be turned away from the full lot - ha).  We prepared for what I figured might be a tough ascent to the top of Peñalara.  Not long into our hike, it was clear my daughter wasn’t having it.  So while my wife and daughter stayed behind, I began climbing the rocky switchback trail.  At first it was invigorating, but maybe thirty minutes in, I was beginning to feel it.  First, I was wearing the absolute wrong shoes.  To pack lighter for the trip, I left my hikers home and instead wore casual walking shoes.  Big mistake.  Then, my knee, which has been bothering me as of late, began to protest the very steep slog.  At one point I was ready to give up and just return down hill, but I was nearing the top and felt that if I had gone this far, I may as well just keep going.  And man, was I right to do that.

Steep switchback

I reached a juncture.  I could continue on to the peak (at 2,428 meters) or choose a greener path through a valley.  I wasn’t trying to win an endurance challenge, and there are few reptiles at the barren and windy peak.  So I changed course and headed toward what turned out to be one of the most majestic and beautiful places I’ve ever witnessed in my entire life.  Words cannot accurately convey the place.

Iberian wall lizard (Podarcis hispanicus)

Northern wheatear

Many tiny streams of snowmelt join to form larger streams of rushing, crystal clear water down the valley.  These streams cascade over boulder-strewn hillsides, creating waterfalls and lush, deep green moss.  Walking alongside one of these streams, I caught a glimpse of something I didn’t expect to see - a large, boldly patterned fire salamander (Salamandra salamandra) swimming across the surface toward the grassy bank on the other side. This is now how I expected to see my first - or any - fire salamander.

I could have stayed here all day, but my family was hanging around the parking area and small interpretive center, a long hike away. So, now with a pesky toe blister, I headed back down. When I got there, my daughter told me she had seen some lizards around the perimeters of some old stone structures and walls. Together, we looked around and in fact, confirmed the presence of wall lizards. At the base of one of the buildings, I noticed some movement in the tall grass, and I gently cupped my hand over whatever it was and pulled out an Iberian emerald lizard (Lacerta schreiberi). After taking a few photos, I put it back where I found it. A minute later, I was approached by a park worker and gently scolded for touching wildlife in a national park. I completely understood and agreed not to touch any other animals, and she smiled and walked away. But my mind went straight to the hundreds (or thousands) of big, smelly cow pies I passed while up on the mountain, smothering vegetation, and of course to the thought of dozens of cattle coming to drink from the small streams and pools and trampling the delicate margins. Apparently there is an agreement in place between the cattle owners and the park that allows the cattle to continue grazing unabated throughout the park. I understand preserving cultural practices, but, I think sometimes it's okay to throw tradition to the wind.

Candelario de la serpiente, 1516. In the Segovia Cathedral. "The payments and execution of a large Paschal candle holder with a serpent wound round it are recorded in the early 16th century account books of Segovia cathedral. Thanks to this documentation it is known that in 1516 various payments were made to the wood carver Juan Rodriguez (who made other items for the cathedral such as the walnut lectern for the choir) for carving the candle holder and to the painter Christobal de Sosa for applying the polychromy. This object evokes the serpent of the Garden of Eden wound round a gilded wooden trunk which represents the tree of Good and Evil. The snake has a woman's face and can thus be associated with Eve, the first woman and the initiator of Original Sin, according to the Bible".

Madrid at 4:00 AM

Leaving Madrid, we headed southwest to Seville.  If Madrid is the Chicago of Spain, Seville is like its Naperville.  Smaller, easier to drive in, and quicker to get out of the city when needed.

View from the hotel

Spanish show about an American movie about a Korean musical group.  And they say globalism is a bad thing...

This spectacular ombú "tree" can be found in the former Monastery of Santa Saria de las Cuevas.  It began as a seed from South America, collected by Hernando Colón, son of Christopher Columbus, during one of Columbus' voyages across the Atlantic.  While it mostly resembles a true tree, it is actually allied with the pokeweeds.  At over 500 years of age, this ombú represents the first ever specimen of its kind in Europe.

Flamenco artists in the plazas

In the small village of Aracena, I located the entrance to a narrow road in a quiet corner of town.  We decided to walk its length.  It was very hot, with temps between 90 and 100 degrees F, but the road was mostly shaded by large trees.  The road was like a scene out of a movie - old stone walls, tucked away farms, and gnarled trees and vines.  Bucolic.  Once we reached the end of this road, we turned back to return to the car.  Now, even though the conditions weren't what I considered ideal for snakes, I'm always looking around in places like this.  So as we were back near the start of the road, something in my peripheral vision caught my attention.  To my right, intertwined through an old wire fence, was the biggest horseshoe whipsnake (Hemorrhois hippocrepis) I could imagine.  I managed to unravel it from the fence it was clinging to.  True to form, it took multiple swings at me, landing a few punches.  This was a big, muscular animal that didn't take any shit from anyone or anything.  I loved it.  

Some local sentiment

In short, Spain was incredible, and in my ideal world I'd visit again and again. 

Reelfoot

After stretching my legs at Land Between the Lakes in Kentucky, I headed southwest toward Reelfoot Lake in far western Tennessee.  The lake, and the adjacent bottomlands, have called to me like a mythical siren off and on for a couple of decades, and I found myself working in the vicinity for a few days.  So...it was time to explore the area a bit.

For such a significant recreational draw, the surrounding area is pretty depressed from an economic standpoint.  Most of the surrounding small towns dotting the landscape sport long-shuttered gas stations, abandoned homes, and dilapidated infrastructure.  About the only sure signs of life are the ubiquitous Dollar General stores and Baptist churches.  

My first foray had me hiking a trail through the bottomlands on the western side of the preserve.  The trail was not well maintained, which isn't much of an issue for me.  The mosquitoes and flies, on the other hand, were insufferable.  I made the entire length of the trail, but not without a few choice expletives and knocking the glasses off my face twice.  

The gravel backroad that leads to a trailhead

A view of the trail roughly halfway through

As the sun began to set, I headed over to the southern shore of the lake, walked to the end of a broken pier, and just watched and listened for a while.

The next afternoon, I set off for the northern portion of the preserve, along the Upper Blue Basin.  There was no one else in the entire preserve, and deer and black vultures skedaddled as I slowly cruised toward a parking spot I liked.  Exiting my car, I walked to the edge of the forest, mindful of the abundant poison ivy, and looked down.  Right there at my boot, crawling through the dry leaves, was a young mud snake.

Welcome to Reelfoot!

I worked my way around some large cypress trees at the water's edge, finding a couple of mud turtle shells from animals that had been predated by (probably) mink.  Movement at the base of one of the trees turned out to be a snake rapidly making a break for the water.  I quickly caught it before confirming its ID (hint - don't do that in places like this where cottonmouths are common).  It turned out to be my first ever broad-banded watersnake.  It had seen better days, but it was full of piss and vinegar and not lethargic so I felt okay about holding it to take a few pictures.  Then I placed it back onto the ground, where it proceeded to dash right into the water and disappear.

Throughout the trip, the turtles were very actively nesting.  I assisted several turtles in crossing roads, mostly red-eared sliders, as well as eastern box turtles.  But the strangest experience I had with a turtle on the trip was watching a large female common snapping turtle attempt to nest at the top of a large rootball of a downed tree.  A few yards away, a completely predated snapping turtle nest.  It is damn near impossible for these eggs to survive in the ground long enough to hatch, but enough make it to keep the species going.

Spot the momma turtle

Returning to town in the waning daylight, I took the long way back.  Highway 22, which traces a ridgeline to the east about fourteen miles long.  To the west, a big open sky.  The air was heavy and the aroma of deep mud and campfire beckoned me.  But, the real world calls.  I'll return one day.

Land Between the Lakes

Land Between the Lakes, on a good day, is a really magical place.  By that I mean, on a day with few people and perfect weather.  I understand this place can get packed at times.  But during my brief visit, I saw very few people and discovered that the forests are simply full of splendor.

My goal was to find a red salamander (Psuedotriton ruber).  And by the way, this animal is a great example of why some people use scientific names, the way I did in this instance.  "Red salamander".  This describes more than one kind of salamander, but there's only one P. ruber.  Anyway...I started out hiking what appeared to be a well-worn path, but within ten minutes I noticed the path give way to a boulder-strewn hillside leading down to a steep limestone outcropping.  It looked like excellent copperhead habitat.  I carefully made my way down toward the sunny patches of forest floor among the rocks and within a few minutes, sure as God made green apples, I found a copperhead.

I think Ruellia carolinensis (common wild petunia)

Fence lizard

Little brown skinks (another goofy common name) were abundant

I moved to a different spot a few miles away, where the habitat looked more than sufficient to support red salamanders.  And I sure gave it my best chance before a deluge arrived and crushed my chances further.  However, right along the edge of a crystal clear rushing creek, coiled another copperhead.

A large turtle, presumably a snapper, made a valiant and challenging attempt to nest along a very steep slope.  But as it often goes, it was all for naught, as a mesopredator dug up the eggs and made a meal out of them.

Sandy Hollow

 My list of top places in Illinois contains some obvious selections as well as a head-scratcher or two.  The Shawnee, of course, with its undeniable southern culture, quiet woods, and herpetological diversity.  The driftless region tucked up along the Mississippi River in the far northwest corner, where in places, time has stood still and where the mystical timber rattlesnake lives on in the most isolated outcroppings.  The northwest side of Chicago, where I was born and raised and where the promise of the plains gartersnakes awaits in its weedy alleys and railroad embankments.  The sand region of Will, Kankakee, and Iroquois Counties, its glacial relics, and sometimes unforgiving attitude. Forgottonia, its scattered towns devoid of attention and humanitarian efforts but replete with grit and self identification.

    Wild lupine.  Am I dreaming?

Then there’s the wetlands of Putnam County.  Specifically, the Dixon Waterfowl Refuge, a 3,000 acre preserve south of Hennepin, hugged by the Illinois River where it channels southward from the east.  It is a place of stunning beauty and biological splendor, even more remarkable considering that most of it is restored former farmland.  There, you’ll find reclaimed lakes, springs, seeps, marsh, woodlands, streams, and incredible upland sand prairies and savanna.  You’ll also spot some indications that not long ago, this was all farmland.  Old, unused farm implements and infrastructure from a time past can be found throughout the property.  The Wetlands Initiative has worked extremely hard to maintain this site, and so it is quite a privilege to access all of it for free.

Hairy puccoon

Cream wild indigo.  Bees love this one

I’ve only been there twice before.  The first time was for their first ever bioblitz in 2015.  Then, I visited with some friends in 2016.  A lot has transpired in the last ten years.  A few months after my last visit, my daughter was born.  Nearly a decade later, it seemed very appropriate and comforting to have been invited back for a mini bioblitz.  I couldn’t wait to return.

Cleft phlox

The bioblitz took place on a Sunday morning, but I arrived Saturday afternoon.  I hiked Sandy Hollow, the newest addition to the preserve.  This acreage serves as a buffer for the wetlands but is in itself an absolutely stunning landscape.  As soon as I exited my car, I was greeted by the most luxuriant display of wild lupine I might have ever seen.  Interspersed between were brilliant yellow hairy puccoon, cream wild indigo, and dainty blue-eyed grass.  The air smelled so good.  Working my way into the woodlands at the bottom of a hill, I saw lots of woodland phlox and huge swaths of blooming mayapple. The overall herbaceous layer was lush - lots of young budding plants and fresh green wood nettles.  There were songbirds aplenty; over a dozen species by my calculations, plus glimpses of bald eagles and turkey vultures through the gaps in the canopy.  Mosquitoes were abundant but they were not (yet) interested in blood.

Narrowleaf puccoon

Blue-eyed grass

After camping out in my vehicle overnight at the farmhouse, I awoke to a fresh morning and decided to take a walk along the much improved levee.  The last time I was on the levee, it was so muddy that one of the vehicles we used was stuck until a tractor came and got it out.  Today, the levee is paved in a dry layer of crushed limestone.  I enjoyed the quiet morning, but from a distance I could see some commotion at the farmhouse and I knew the bioblitz preparation was buzzing.  Shortly after I returned to the farmhouse, Tom Anton arrived.  Then a nice surprise - Trevor Edmonson, formerly of the Wetlands Initiative and now of the Nature Conservancy, arrived.  It was like a mini reunion of that memorable bioblitz from 2015.  

Honeylocust - a tree you probably don't want to hug

A view from the lookout tower

We stood through a short intro and then we were off.  There were about ten members of the herp team, guided by Rhys, a Wetlands Initiative biologist, and led by me and Tom.  Over the course of three and a half short hours, we explored much of the site and came up with a respectable list of herps:  American toad, grey treefrog, cricket frog, green frog, painted turtle, red-eared slider, northern watersnake, eastern gartersnake, miksnake, foxsnake, blue racer, bullsnake.  There was no time for staging herps for photos and frankly I wasn’t in the mood for that anyway.  We caught and released as quickly as possible, taking only voucher shots which are not really worthy of sharing here.  

 

A bunch of crunchies

Tom with the first snake of the morning

Interesting dark patterning on the head of this foxsnake

Rhys with a pair of blue racers

Our last snake was this bullsnake we caught crossing the road. We held up traffic for a bit. I wanted to recreate an occasion from eleven years ago, from the very same place, sans Tristan...

2015

Around noon, everyone returned to the farmhouse to recap their morning and then most took off.  I hung out a bit to catch up with Trevor.  Man, what a good dude he is.  Then I took one last lap over the gravel road before it met the pavement.  Call me crazy, but driving slowly over a gravel road is therapeutic.  The grinding and popping of rocks under the heavy tires works better to lower my heart rate than sitting in a massage chair, I tell ya.  

I’m privileged to know lots of places where everything just comes together, personally and psychologically.  I think the world would be a better place if more people felt such a strong connection to the land.  There’s a lot out there to discover, you just need to do it.