Slightly Off-Topic: Milksnake in the Alley

Once upon a time, I found a milksnake in my alley.  Well, if you've read enough of this blog over the years, you'll know that that doesn't sound all that unusual.  But this story is different.  It's a short story about an unlikely predicament - and the value of being in the right place at the right time.

July 12, 2017 started as a normal Wednesday.  I was at work when shortly before noon, I received a DM from someone on the Jefferson Park Neighborhood Association Facebook page (to clarify, there isn't, or wasn't, an actual association - at least not like the weird, self-important ones out here in the far western burbs.  I think it was just a loose conglomerate of minor community leaders and other loud people).  I was told that a Jefferson Park resident had made a most unusual discovery - a snake that appeared to be pinned under a garbage can in the alley.  The snake was red and white, which didn't make sense to me.  So I asked for the resident to take a photo.

The photo that was sent to me shortly afterward really had me perplexed.  It looked like an amelanistic milksnake of Mexican origin, maybe a Nelson's milksnake.  These are somewhat popular in the exotic pet trade.  How did the snake end up in an alley, stuck under a garbage can?

I did what any self-respecting snake advocate would do.  I left work (in the Hermosa community) on my lunch break and high-tailed it to Jefferson Park.  En route, an absolute gusher of a downpour slowed my progress as traffic turned bumper to bumper along Milwaukee Avenue.  I'm talking buckets.  

The rain was letting up by the time I arrived to the scene.  The homeowner, a nice lady, came out to meet me and hand me an empty shoebox.  She then pointed me in the direction of the snake.  She refused to get within 10 feet of the scene and told me that getting those photos earlier took all of the courage she had.  I approached the garbage can, and watched in horror as the snake, still firmly pinned, struggled to surface under a steadily rushing torrent of stormwater as it made its way toward the drain.  

I wasted no time in lifting the full and VERY heavy garbage can up and collecting the snake.  It was definitely an amelanistic milksnake, either nelsoni or a bastardized mutt as some of these captive-produced morphs tend to be.  Skinny, limp, and lethargic, I didn't hold much hope for this one.  I put it in the shoebox, thanked the homeowner, and went home to put the snake into a darker and more secure enclosure it may quietly expire in.  I figured the internal injuries were devastating enough to render the snake doomed.  Then I returned to work and didn't think much about it.

When I arrived home several hours later, the snake was still alive, so I set it up in a small glass terrarium.  After a few days, I offered it food, which it eventually accepted.  I was still skeptical that it was a success story because part of its body had been smashed flat for at least two hours and I couldn't imagine that its organs would function properly.  But they did.  It accepted food each subsequent feeding (and pooped normally), though its feeding habit was odd.  I found that the snake would only eat if teased by the food item to the point of spastic throws of its body and manic zoomies around its enclosure for a minute, after which it would strike defensively and then hork down the food.

Someone else from the association reached out and asked me to speak to their meeting about the snake, and I used this as an opportunity to expand on the native snakes of Chicago.  A reporter from the Chicago Northwest Side Press was present and interviewed me after my presentation for an article that appeared on the front page on October 4 (slow news week I guess).  It's kind of ironic that I was referred to as a "lifelong Jefferson Park resident", when by the time the article was published, we were in the process of moving to our current home out in northwest DuPage County.

               

Shortly after the snake's rescue

Eight years later, the snake is still with us, living out its rather luxurious life along with a few other snakes in the house. Rehoming didn't make much sense - the story is too wild.

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