After leaving home around 10:30 AM on October 1st, and sitting through a 2 hour standstill on I57 near Dix as the result of an accident, I arrived with just enough daylight to set up camp.
I then picked up Nathan from SIU Carbondale and we headed south near the vicinity of Snake Road to try our hands at dip-netting some lesser sirens (Siren intermedia). Near an old but still functioning railroad trestle, we searched for some time but struck out, finding only a few cricket frogs (Acris blanchardi), various tadpoles (Hyla and Lithobates spp.), and some small fish.
I can't expect good photos from an iPhone at night with only a flashlight for illumination.
After messing around that creek, and then a well-known (dry) ditch along a well-known road, we headed back to the campground, where, still fueled by caffeine and adrenaline, we hiked the mostly-dry wash and rock-flipped until after midnight, finding long-tailed salamanders (Eurycea longicauda) among the cricket frogs, southern leopard frogs (Lithobates sphenocephalus), green frogs (Lithobates clamitans), and one ringneck snake (Diadophis punctatus).
Nathan posing a ringneck snake for photos. Hey, it was late.
The following day, we started off by doing some road cruising, which turned out completely fruitless. We then headed to a site Nathan found on an earlier jaunt, which had produced black kingsnakes (Lampropeltis nigra) and timber rattlesnakes (Crotalus horridus). In fact, he found adults and a number of recently born young. The site is rich in artificial cover and just smelled of snakes, but the weather conditions weren't ideal at that time, so we decided we'd head back later once (if) the sun warmed things up a bit.
Nathan suggested we try our luck at finding Desmognathus fuscus, the northern dusky salamander, at a site where they've been introduced. After quite a bit of backroad cruising (and nary a snake, dead or alive, in sight), we reached our destination. Within minutes, Nathan found a salamander. Then I found one, and then we found more and more and realized that these salamanders were doing quite well at this place. These are plethodontids - lungless salamanders that usually frequent shallow rocky wooded streams. Our approach at finding these was minimally invasive and I was satisfied getting a few decidedly poor photos.
This animal was found under a small rock in the water and it, like the others, quickly mad a mad dash for safety. Here, you can see how well it blends in with the surrounding substrate.
Some nearby habitat
Of course, the opportunity to find a new species in Illinois throws itself at me and I wander off and photograph a green frog. But it was an interestingly spotted green frog.
After more fruitless road cruising, and settling with the realization that the day wasn't going to warm up much more than it already had, we went back to the previous site to flip the old discarded trash. We did end up finding a neonate female black kingsnake, a plainbelly watersnake (Nerodia erythrogaster), and a large, nearly perfect, and most importantly, recent shed skin from a timber rattlesnake. I'm not going to lie, walking around the well-vegetated site, knowing there were lots of timbers hanging around, made me question my sanity. But just briefly.
A beautiful young kingsnake
Seeing this opens your eyes to the potential dangers lurking - wear thick, high boots in areas where these rattlesnakes occur.
A beautiful, not so young plainbelly watersnake
One last stop for the day was a pretty big wetlands complex where we had hoped we could dipnet some sirens. We cruised a few levee roads and tried our hands at finding some of the slimy beasts but we had no luck. However, we did find a couple of mole salamanders (Ambystoma talpoideum) under some dry logs in an adjacent floodplain forest.
This steaming cesspool surrendered no sirens
That evening, we met with Chad to have dinner at an establishment that offered distanced outdoor seating. After a great dinner and herp discussion, Nathan told me that we were very close to the site of the infamous Illinois Mediterranean house gecko (Hemidactylus turcicus) population. That sounds a but convoluted so let me clarify - there is a self-sustaining population of Mediterranean house geckos in Illinois, subsidized by human development (as most North American populations of these lizards are). These Illinois geckos are much like the geckos found in the southern United States, but what males this population incredibly fascinating is that they have managed to survive the Midwest's sometimes harsh winters. It's almost unbelievable, but there they are, tied to just a few buildings in one town in southern Illinois. So after we finished our dinners and bid adieu to Chad, Nathan and I walked a block or so to scour the exterior of a building the geckos are known to frequent. We peeked in between cracks in the masonry and between the outer walls and electrical infrastructure, and incredibly, there they were, tightly tucked away and alert at about 55 degrees F. They were wary of our intrusion, so they did not hang around for more than a few seconds each time we'd spot one. So I took a couple of pictures and let them be.
Funny, but as we were creepily lurking around the weedy rear of the building, shining flashlights and acting excited, several happy tenants of that building exited, saw us, and asked, "Are you guys looking for house geckos?" Yes. Yes we are. And thank you for understanding!
One of the better cell phone shots of one of the house geckos. It is firmly wedged in its safe space.
The discovery of the geckos represented the final activity of the day, aside from campfire building and a long conversation at the firepit. We had plans for the next day - plans which included searching for ringed salamanders (Ambystoma annulatum) across the big river with Peter.
The next morning we headed to Missouri, but as we had time to kill until our rendezvous with Peter, we decided to try our luck at a nearby site for a couple hours.
We were running out of time so we packed up and headed toward the site Peter mentioned as a good starting point to find Ambystoma annulatum. No salamanders were found, only a single ringneck snake and this very cool beetle, Dicaelus purpuratus.
Plan B was another site a ways north, but Peter thought it might be a good idea to wait to see if we'd get the rain he anticipated in order to up our chances to find this fall breeder. Searching at night would also give us the upper hand as these salamanders may be found in or near the vernal ponds as they prepare to breed. So again, we killed time by hiking around some other nearby habitat in an area I hadn't visited before.
Eventually, Nathan and I cited exhaustion and hunger as our excuse to take a break. So, off to Waffle House covered in tick trefoil (and actual seed ticks - not a comfortable situation) to wolf down some waffles before embarking on our final destination of the day, a place Peter felt certain we'd find ringed salamanders.
When we arrived, it was as dark as dark gets and there were lots of signs that it had rained fairly heavily in that location - heavy enough to leave small puddles in the crushed limestone parking area and get the bugs ramped up. Heading into the dark, wet woods poorly equipped with insufficient illumination tactics (I had lost my brand new LED flashlight earlier that day, and Nathan, well, he didn't even have a flashlight, only his rapidly draining iPhone), we felt good about this place. Peter was armed with the only decent flashlight so he led the way as we poked around several depressions in the ground, some with water and some dry as a bone. Ultimately we chose to focus on the first one we came across as it contained the most water and was well vegetated. As we mucked our way around the perimeter of the marshy area, I flipped a small piece of bark and found our first ringed salamander, albeit a drab metamorph. It was exhilarating, nonetheless.
Peter and Nathan ahead of me as I sheepishly follow sans flashlight (light provided by iPhone flash).
Metamorph ringed salamander
We dipnetted the pond for a few minutes hoping for an adult, and though we did get some interesting bycatch (including ringed salamander eggs and newts), the only other ringed salamander we got was another metamorph.
We called it a night, thanked Peter, and made the almost three hour trip back to camp. That night I expected to create the biggest, hottest, most impressive campfire in the history of Pine Hills, since that morning I had spent two hours collecting dry twigs and branches and constructing an epic teepee in the firepit. Nathan and I expected to sit and bask in the glory of our own hell on earth, but for reasons I cannot comprehend, the fire did not take. Some twigs burned, but it was as if a rain had fallen while we were away and the wood soaked up all the water. Whatever. It was late and I was getting up in two hours to started the 7 hour trip home (six hours plus one scheduled detour). I actually only slept for one hour. Suffice it to say, at my steadily advancing age, the day that followed wasn't easy.
It was a great trip, and we all had fun. For three days, we focused 100% on herps and not at all on politics or anything else that can distract one from the joys of life. As I expect that to be my last herping trip of the year, it was time well spent, and I look forward to what 2021 brings.
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