Salamander Hunting

Tis the season, for those of an amphibious bent. The salamanders are running. In an age-old ritual of early spring, these largely subterranean dwellers emerge with the first warm rains, and make their wriggly peregrinations overland to breeding pools. There, they meet, greet, do some other things, and then deposit egg masses.

Hit it right, and you'll find plenty of salamander action, and if you've not done a nocturnal salamander hunt before, well, you don't know what you're missing.

Night before last was awesome, and I got some really good images of some spectacular beasts, and some decent vid, too. I'll slap some of that up here soon, but first, a few shots from last Saturday night in Adams County.

Some of us were the recipients of Steve and Marian Moeckel's hospitality, and visited their new digs back up in a rural hollow. A small intermittent stream, strewn with rocks, courses right by the cabin, and we did a bit of rock-flipping out there. Bingo! Several beautiful Southern Two-lined Salamanders, Eurycea cirrigera, were uncovered. These are surprisingly common, but one must check under streamside rocks to find them. We also have the practically identical Northern Two-lined Salamander, E. bislineata, in Ohio. The latter is found in the northern half of the state, roughly; in southern reaches it is the above species.

Another very cool little wriggler inhabiting the Moeckel's stream was this, the Northern Ravine Salamander, what we used to call Plethodon richmondi. Greg Lipps tells me the scientific name has been changed to Plethodon electromorphus, as genetic work has revealed this one to be distinct from more southerly Ravines. These Northern types were split from Southern types, and this one was named for laboratory processes that resulted in the split. Whatever, it is a handsome little animal, very long and attenuate.

Note the length of the tail in comparison to the total length, and those tiny little legs. Quick little buggers, though, when they want to be.

Later, after darkness settled, bats were on the wing and the woodcock were twittering and peenting, we set out to find some mole salamanders. These are well-named: salamanders in the genus Ambystoma live 99% of their lives under the ground, emerging only briefly to court, mate, and reproduce in vernal pools. This is a Spotted Salamander, Ambystoma maculatum, one of the most striking amphibians in the United States and a species utterly dependent upon healthy woodland vernal pools.

Eye level with the Spotted Salamander, in an Adams County vernal pool. They are pretty good sized, with some whoppers taping out at over seven inches.

Rather a Plain Jane, this one. It's a Jefferson Salamander, Ambystoma jeffersonianum. They are often our most common mole salamander in the areas in which they occur, and are part of a maddening hybrid complex. More on that later - I saw plenty of these crosses the other night and have good photos and video that I'll share later.

This species is named for Jefferson College in Pennsylvania. The college was named for an accomplished early naturalist who we've probably all heard of, Thomas Jefferson. Thus, in a roundabout way this subsurface earthworm-eater commemorates one of our greatest presidents.

Jefferson Salamander larva. This is the earliest of the mole salamanders to make their way to the breeding pools, often when it is still cold enough to crust pond edges with ice. Thus, they also get the jump on the other species, and the Jefferson larva precede the others. This small pool was full of them. In short order I saw a hundred or more. Note the feathery gills behind the head. They'll live in the pool until about early July, at which point the young salamanders will assume the subterranean life os the adults. It's vital that fishless pools are available, as most fish are voracious predators that would make quick work of these salamander fry.