Euplectrus wasp larvae prey on inchworm caterpillar

 

As always, click the photo to enlarge

This weekend was the 17th annual Midwest Native Plant Conference near Dayton, Ohio, and it was a bang-up event as always. If you like plants and natural history, you should attend. It does fill up quickly, and the limit of around 200 attendees was reached in 12 hours after opening this year.

In addition to speakers, workshops, and numerous vendors, we provide plenty of field trip opportunities, including nocturnal prowls on the grounds of the Bergamo Center, which is rich in native flora and all manner of wildlife. Last night, we found this inchworm moth caterpillar (species unknown) that had been parasitized by a wasp in the genus Euplectrus. The female wasp lays eggs on the victim, from which the larvae soon hatch. She also injects a venom into the host which stops their growth but allows the caterpillar to remain active and feed. The larvae, which resemble little greenish easter eggs, feed externally, tapping into the soft larvae and extracting its hemolymph. A bad fate for the cat, which ultimately succumbs to the wasp larvae, but an amazing example of parasitoid predation.

A botanical hodgepodge

It's been a busy summer - aren't they all - and it's tough for me to post as often as I would like. But many, many years after starting this blog, it's still going strong and this is my 2,146th post.

I've been smitten with botanical photography for a long time, and am still, more so than ever. One might think that plant photography would be easy - certainly easier than swallows in flight, say - but it is tricky business to do well. And I'm not saying I do it well, but the following catalog will let you judge for yourself. This weekend marks the 17th annual Midwest Native Plant Conference, of which I am a founder and committee member. This year, I put together a revolving carousel of plant images to run between speakers in the big auditorium. Since I already had pulled out all those images from the archive, I thought I would share a few here.

Before we get on with the images, I am giving a photography workshop at Dawes Arboretum on September 20th, and another on October 17th for the Marion County Master Gardeners in Indianapolis, Indiana (calendar yet to be updated with this presentation). Both feature an illustrated PowerPoint presentation on the nuances of plant photography, and the Dawes session will also have an outdoor component after the presentation. Both will require registration, and I'd love to see you there.

And now, to the plants...

American Elm (Ulmus americana). Pickaway County, Ohio.

An American Goldfinch eagerly awaits the ripening of Compass-plant (Silphium laciniatum) seeds. Knox County, Ohio.

Appendaged Waterleaf (Hydrophyllum appendiculatum). Clark County, Ohio

A Comon Yellowthroat tees up on a Compass-plant (Silphium laciniatum) before taking a fat caterpillar to nearby nestlings.

Devil's-bit (Chamaelirium luteum), Sciot County, Ohio.

Downy Skullcap (Scutellaria incana), with stiltbug. Scioto County, Ohio.

Fringed Milkwort (Polygala paucifolia), Presque Isle County, Michigan.

Maryland Golden-aster (Chrysopsis mariana), Scioto County, Ohio.

Small Purple Fringed Orchid (Platanthera psycodes), Champaign County, Ohio.

Shale-barren Aster (Symphyotrichum oblongifolium), Adams County, Ohio.

Starry Campion (Silene stellata), Vinton County, Ohio.

Stiff-leaved Aster (Ionactis linariifolius), Scioto County, Ohio.

Whorled Milkweed (Asclepias verticillata), Adams County, Ohio.

Turk's-cap Lily

 

As always, click the image to enlarge

A pair of Turk's-cap Lilies (Lilium superbum) creates an impressive candelabra of orange flowers. Between the two plants, there are twenty open blossoms, with more to come.

I was in Cullowhee, North Carolina, last weekend to speak at the Cullowhee Native Plant Conference. It's been going on for four decades, and is one of the largest such events with, I believe, somewhere around 500 attendees and an army of capable volunteers. I was there to speak about moths and their ecological importance as the Thursday night keynote. Thanks to the work of one of the Cullowhee volunteers, Lenny Lampel, who set up a pair of mothing sheets near the venue, we had a mothing party afterwards. I'd bet 100 or more people came to that and we had a great time. I highly recommend the Cullowhee Native Plant Conference, and if you get the chance, go!

As an enormous bonus, the surrounding mountains are rich in a fabulous diversity of flora, including these Turk's-cap Lilies, which were common along the Blue Ridge Parkway. Conference field trips take attendees to many of the great botanical hotspots. Shauna and I spent a few days post-conference exploring the region, and I made many photos of interesting subjects. Hopefully, if time permits, I will post some of those with accompanying stories here.

A Turk's-cap Lily flower in its full glory. The scientific name's epithet, superbum (superb) is certainly apropos.

American Woodcocks feeding, with video

 

An American Woodcock (Scolopax minor) works the mudflat, bill caked with mire. On July 12, Shauna and I made an early morning visit to a nearby hotspot, Glacier Ridge Metro Park in Union County, Ohio. We had visited this site a few days prior with the aim of shooting dragonflies in flight. That foray met with some success, but the bird life was so interesting that we focused on avifauna on the 7/12/2025 foray.

Especially notable were up to five American Woodcocks feeding out on the mudflat, sometimes venturing quite close. While I made the image above with my Canon 800mm f/5.6 (as with the others), I barely had to crop this photo and at times the bird wandered inside the 14-foot minimum focus distance of the lens. Needless to say, it was a wonderful opportunity to observe woodcocks busily feeding, and that's what we concentrated on.

A woodcock tugs a long, elastic worm from the muck. Sorry, I do not know the species or even group that the "worm" belongs to, but whatever they are there are plenty of them. We saw and photographed many such captures.

Apparently, no one is quite sure how woodcocks divine the location of subterranean worms. Visually? By sound or vibration? Rooting about in the mire with their sensitive bill tips? Probably a combination of these, and who knows whatever else, I would say.

Sometimes it would appear that a bird would spot something, move quickly towards it, plunge its bill into the soil, root around, and extract a worm. Other times the woodcock would clearly be engaged in exploratory probing, plunging its bill deep into the ground, searching with rapid sewing machine-like motions. Then, apparently when prey was detected, it would freeze for a bit, and we knew it was likely that a worm would soon be pulled above ground.

Woodcocks can move the upper bill mandible independently, allowing the bird to open the tip and grasp objects under the ground and sight unseen. The terminal end of the upper mandible is also beset with sensitive nerve endings, aiding the bird in tactile sensory recognition.

I was fascinated by this woodcock duo and spent much time keeping tabs on them. Photos were tough due to the distance, but documentary shots such as the one above were possible. Note that the just captured worm is being held in the bills of both birds! This was not an anomaly, I saw the same scene play out at least a dozen times and got images of probably a half-dozen different episodes of this joint feeding behavior.

Virtually all of the literature that I have seen describes the American Woodcock as completely solitary, at nearly all times of year. The pair only forms a brief union to mate, then the male goes his own way. Apparently the same is true for feeding behavior, and the other woodcocks that were present did maintain good distances from one another,

One might wonder if one of the birds is a juvenile, and the other the mother. But that would seem highly unlikely. Woodcock chicks can forage for food within 3-4 days of hatching, and maternal care ends after a week or so, apparently. By this point in their development, the parental bond should be long broken.

I wonder if it might be some sort of communal feeding strategy in that the participation of both birds ups the odds of finding food. The two birds rarely got any further apart than the distance in that photo, and often both of them had their bills buried in the same immediate vicinity. As near as I could tell, only one bird would eat the worm - they never appeared to pull it apart so that each got a piece. And both birds captured food, not just one.

Anyway, it's normally about impossible to watch feeding woodcocks in typical brushy/grassy/otherwise thickly vegetated habitat, so there may be feeding strategies that we don't know about.

Or perhaps I'm just missing something obvious. If you can shed light on this behavior, please leave a comment.

Finally, here's a video of a feeding American Woodcock, as it sashays about with its distinctive, comical gait.

Nature: Rattlesnakes are not something to be greatly feared

 

A timber rattlesnake is coiled in a greenbrier thicket/Jim McCormac

Nature: Rattlesnakes are not something to be greatly feared

July 6, 2025

Ophidiophobia (fear of snakes) is very common, and people take that to extremes with rattlesnakes, which are much persecuted.

Essentially, people and timber rattlesnakes do not mix, although the failure to abide one another is mostly the fault of humans. In essence, to conserve a fascinating part of Ohio’s biodiversity, we must have very large spaces mostly free of humans, and fortunately we do, thanks in major part to the Ohio Department of Natural Resources and The Nature Conservancy.

On June 21, Shauna Weyrauch and I met up with snake researcher John Howard in a remote southern Ohio locale. Our mission? Tracking a big old timber rattlesnake that had been fitted with a radio transmitter. It was uphill all the way as we gradually ascended to a dry oak-hickory ridgetop via switchback trails.

After maybe three-quarters of a mile, Howard fired up his receiver to check for feedback from the snake. Nothing, so we moved ever higher up the trail. Finally, nearly a mile in, we picked up faint beeps and honed in on our quarry. Nearly a mile and half from our starting point, we reached ground zero.

The transmitter beeps came loud and fast, and Howard pointed to a brushy tangle about 12 feet away and said, “There it is.”

We glanced over to see a 4-foot rattler slowly slithering away and moved in. The snake froze, as they usually do when they know they’ve been made by people. Timber rattlesnakes rely on excellent camouflage patterning to blend in with their surroundings.

In this case, we had no need to capture or handle the snake; the mission was purely to monitor its whereabouts. Howard had earlier relocated the animal to this locale, as it was headed to some habitations where residents were known to be decidedly unfriendly to rattlers. He was pleased to see that it was remaining in the wildlands.

This was about the 15th timber rattlesnake that I’ve seen, and it was one of the most impressive. It measured about 4 feet in length and probably weighed over 3 pounds. Howard estimated its age at 30 years or so.

One of the most impressive aspects of an old rattlesnake is the girth. The middle section of its body had a greater circumference than Arnold Schwarzenegger’s forearms at his prime.

After a bit, the snake, in a rare show of agitation, began rattling. From my experience, if not unduly bothered, they seldom do this. It gave us an opportunity to hear the surprisingly loud buzzing created by the rattles.

We soon decided our reptilian buddy had enough of our act and back down the mountain we went, pleased the snake was staying in unpeopled hinterlands.

There are only three venomous (not poisonous) snakes in the state, and only the copperhead can be locally common in parts of southern and eastern Ohio. Our other rattlesnake, the eastern massasauga, is a rare inhabitant of wet prairies, fens and other high-quality wetlands.

Deaths from venomous snake bites are virtually unheard of, especially in this day and age, due to better medical care and antivenoms. While the larger timber rattlesnake packs more of a punch than copperheads or massasaugas, bites are exceedingly rare.

One case happened on July 12, 1947, near Chillicothe in Ross County. Mary Ann Butterbaugh was struck by a rattlesnake that had hidden in her garden. She received prompt medical treatment, seemed to be recovering, but died six days later. Hers is the last known death by a venomous snake in Ohio.

Unlike people, chipmunks, mice, squirrels and other small mammals are justified in worrying about timber rattlesnake bites. Such animals are the snakes’ stock in trade.

Prior to European settlement, when Ohio was 95% forested, timber rattlesnakes would have been common nearly statewide. With the advent of settlement and ever more people, the snakes and their habitat suffered greatly. Now, only relict populations persist in a half-dozen southcentral counties.

I suppose many people would wonder why we would even want to conserve an animal like the timber rattlesnake. As I have heard more than a few times, when speaking of lesser-loved creatures, “What good is it?”

I always want to reply, “What good are you?” The time is long past for people to persecute those things they don’t like, or for which they see no personal value for and accept that other creatures have intrinsic value in addition to ecological value.

We have laid waste to enormous swaths of habitat and caused the disappearance or endangerment of scores of plants and animals. Over 99% of the original prairies are gone.

Well over 90% of Ohio’s original wetlands have been drained or otherwise destroyed. Most of our woodlands have been cut and developed, and most that remain are badly fragmented.

Intact large-scale vestiges of our forested past are all too rare, and there is no better symbol of wooded wilderness than the timber rattlesnake.

Naturalist Jim McCormac writes a column for The Dispatch on the first and third Sundays of the month. He also writes about nature at jim mccormac.blogspot.com.

Reddish-brown Stag Beetles: A Boom Year?

 

Needless to say, we were quite pleased with the appearance of this Reddish-brown Stag Beetle (Lucanus capreolus) on the evening of June 21, 2025. A group of us were at John Howard's place in Adams County, Ohio, mothing, and the beetle came into the illuminated sheet, as they sometimes do.

Face on with the formidable bug. Stag beetles are among our more impressive coleopterans and generally garner a reaction when they appear. I've heard from a number of people regarding sightings this summer, and it would seem that the beetles may be experiencing a boom year, as they sometimes do.

CLICK HERE to read a column I wrote about an irruption of stag beetles back in 2017.

And if you want to see the holy grail of stag beetles, at least in this part of the world, CLICK HERE.

Stygian Shadowdragons

As always, click the image to enlarge

A Stygian Shadowdragon (Neurocordulia yamaskensis) dangles from a branch. This dragonfly - and our other two shadowdragon species - are amongst our most enigmatic dragonflies. Well-named, shadowdragons do not commence flying until it is nearly dark and it's very tough to see them, let alone make photos.

Shauna, me and a number of friends went mothing at John Howard's place in Adams County (Ohio) last Saturday night (June 21, 2025) and were amazed to see up to eight Stygian Shadowdragons at the sheet at once. While some literature states that shadowdragons are crepuscular and fly only for brief periods at dawn and dusk, they almost certainly hunt throughout the night. Or they wouldn't appear at an illuminated mothing station far from the stream in such numbers. And this event wasn't a once-off - shadowdragons regular appear at night at illuminated mothing sheets. Note the damage to the lower right wing of the individual on the right. It looks like the result of a bat attack, and bats would be a real threat to these strange nocturnal dragons.

Face on with a Stygian Shadowdragon. I wonder what specialized adaptations those eyes have to see well in the gloom of night. Most dragonflies are very much creatures of the sun, but shadowdragons buck the dominant odonata paradigm.

It was a real treat to work with these normally hard to photograph dragonflies. I have seen them before, but imagery was impossible, as it was nearly dark by the time they commenced flight.

Thanks to John for hosting us, and for luring these amazing dragons. Oh, the mothing was quite good, too, but for me, they were overshadowed by the shadowdragons.

A hodge-podge of plants from recent weeks

 

As always, click the photo to enlarge

Devil's-bit (Chamaelirium luteum), Shawnee State Forest, Scioto County, Ohio. June 1, 2025.

Deerberry (Vaccinium stamineum), Shawnee State Forest, Scioto County, Ohio. May 7, 2025.

Philadelphia Fleabane (Erigeron philadelphicus), Shawnee State Forest, Scioto County, Ohio. May 7, 2025.

Robin's-plantain (Erigeron pulchellus), Shawnee State Forest, Scioto County, Ohio. May 7, 2025.

Seaside Arrowgrass (Triglochin maritimum), Cedar Bog, Champaign County, Ohio. June 13, 2025.

Southern Blue Flag (Iris virginica), St. Marys River, Mercer County, Ohio. June 17, 2025.

White Milkweed (Asclepias variegata), Shawnee State Forest, Scioto County, Ohio, June 1, 2025.

Nature: The beauty of a red-shouldered hawk

 

The adult female red-shouldered hawk perches near her nest.

Columbus Dispatch

Nature: The beauty of a red-shouldered hawk

June 15, 2025

Before European settlement, when 95% of Ohio was blanketed in forests, red-shouldered hawks were common. But rampant deforestation that left only 10% of the state tree-covered by the early 1900s sent hawk numbers plummeting.

Ohio’s forests have rebounded, both in expanse and age. More and bigger timber means more red-shouldered hawks, even in urban Columbus and its suburbs. As the trees in our older neighborhoods, such as Clintonville and Worthington (founded in 1803), have matured, red-shoulders have moved in and are steadily increasing.

Adult birds are conspicuously barred with stripes of rich brick-red color below. The colorful underparts are set off nicely by zebra-like black-and-white barring on the upper parts.

A red-shouldered hawk chick in its nest. Its two nest mates are hunkered down.

While red-shouldered hawks don’t sing like songbirds, they do deliver a loud piercing scream. Blue jays mimic the call to perfection and use it to scatter birds at the feeder, thus eliminating the competition.

I live in Worthington, and unknowingly, I was driving nearly daily right past an active, red-shouldered hawk nest less than half a block up the street. A friend and neighbor, Mark Granger, told me about it back in early May. The nest is high in a lofty honey locust tree and easy to miss, at least from a vehicle.

I eventually introduced myself to Dave and Sara, the homeowners. You couldn’t meet two nicer people, and the suburban hawks have great landlords. The nest is nearly over their driveway, and their two boys, Caleb and Isaac, spend much time out front shooting baskets nearly under the nest.

When Shauna and I visited to get photos, I chatted with Caleb and his friend Charlie, who are quite interested in the birds. The raptors are utterly unfazed by the young hoopsters practicing below and couldn’t have selected a safer location for their nest, which is home to three chicks.

Indeed, I wonder if red-shouldered hawks sometimes intentionally choose sites with plenty of human activity. While the male is part of the nesting process during the nest-building and incubation period — even helping to incubate eggs — he largely vanishes once the chicks hatch. Thus, the female spends long periods away hunting, and the presence of people certainly would help to deter would-be predators in her absence.

Red-shouldered hawks have a varied diet: everything from snakes to frogs to small mammals.

While red-shoulders don’t generally have huge territories, this bird probably ranges as far as the nearby Olentangy River. Its streamside forests would provide plenty of prey, and the neighborhood chipmunks best beware. They are often a dietary staple. The female will rip prey into manageable pieces for the chicks.

Dave and Sara’s red-shouldered hawk chicks look to be about two weeks or so from taking their first flight. The youngsters that make it are likely to return to the same general area next year to start nests of their own, thus further increasing Franklin County’s suburban, red-shouldered hawk population.

The red-shouldered hawk longevity record is 26 years. Dave, Sara, Caleb and Isaac might be the lucky landlords of red-shouldered hawks for some time to come.

Naturalist Jim McCormac writes a column for The Dispatch on the first and third Sundays of the month. He also writes about nature at jim mccormac.blogspot.com.

Barn Owl owlets hiss and sway

 

A nest box with four baby American Barn Owls (Tyto furcata). Buster Banish and I led a fabulous group of people around Mohican State Forest and nearby spots last Saturday, June 7, as part of Time & Optics' Optics Fling event. The group - 18 Amish folks, many of them teens - didn't really need our help, other than the driving It was one of the most expert groups I've helped "lead" a trip for, and they probably first found most of the birds. When Buster or I found something, it took no time at all to get everyone on it, and some of the young men had an incredible knowledge of songs, and call notes. What a treat to bird with them.

We also saw a whopper Spiny Softshell Turtle, a Gray Petaltail dragonfly (always notable and a specialist of wooded seepages), saw many interesting plants, got to watch a male Yellow-breasted Chat performing his aerial display flight at close range, and much more. In all, we tallied 90 bird species during this six-hour foray.

Our last hurrah was a visit to an Amish farm that has produced many Barn Owls over the years. I got to peek into the box and get hissed at. There are certainly more Barn Owls nesting in the Holmes County region than anywhere else in Ohio, due to at least two primary reasons: One, the farms are not saturated with chemicals, and there is plenty of fencerows, scruffy edge habitat, and meadows, and 2) the Amish have placed dozens of owl boxes in barns. The video follows and be sure to turn your volume up.

©Jim McCormac

NOTE about Barn Owl taxonomy: Some of you may have noticed I used the name American Barn Owl, and Tyto furcata, to refer to this species. It was long known as Barn Owl (Tyto alba). The Barn Owl is the most widely distributed owl, occurring on every continent but Antarctica, including remote islands such as the Galapagos.

The Barn Owl, until recently, had been divvied into 28 or 32 subspecies, depending on the authority, based on notable morphological differences between populations. DNA sequencing and molecular studies have recently led to the Barn Owl being cleaved into three species. Tyto alba, the Barn Owl of North America, becomes the American Barn Owl (Tyto furcata) (the subject of this post). Our former Tyto alba is now applied to the birds of Europe and Africa, which is now known as the Western Barn Owl. The third species split from the Tyto alba complex is the Eastern Barn Owl (Tyto javanica), which occurs in the East Indies, Australia, and elsewhere in the Western Pacific.

Cedar Waxwings plundering fruit, courting

 

My front yard Downy Serviceberry (Amelanchier arborea). It's an older plant and may be on the far side of middle age. But it still has seasons where it produces a bounty of sugary berries, and this is one of those years. And lots of serviceberry fruit means lots of birds.

Yes! Says a Cedar Waxwing as it enters the tree. Such an environment, to a waxwing, is akin to a kid falling into a giant bowl of M & M's. And it isn't just waxwings that visit. American Robins, Eastern Bluebirds, Gray Catbirds and others drop in for snacks. But I must confess that the suave waxwings are my favorite.

As always, click the photo to enlarge

A waxwing ponders which tasty fruit to pluck. The crop is just beginning to ripen, and from my observations, they like them ripe and red. Given the amount of fruit on this treelet, I should have waxwing visitors for some time to come.

A waxwing with freshly plucked berry. It'll be down his/her hatch soon. Fortunately, waxwings are pretty tame, and I can stand in one of my garage bays with door open and shoot them from there. They know I'm there but aren't bothered a bit. Even people walking by on the sidewalk - closer than my position - often don't flush them.

A pair in the act of passing a berry. This courtship feeding is a pair-bonding ritual, and I've seen it a number of times over the past few days, but it is difficult to photograph, usually because the birds are obstructed by branches and foliage when they do it. I'll keep at it and try for better material. Anyway, the fruit exchange is usually just once - probably mostly male to female - but this case was unusual in that they swapped the fruit back and forth five times, with the initial recipient (her, I assume) finally eating it.

Cedar Waxwings are effective frugivores, with an insatiable appetite for sugary fruit like these serviceberries. While they efficiently digest the soft parts of the fruit, the seeds probably mostly pass through their systems intact, to be expelled elsewhere - probably, in many cases, a long distance from where they were harvested. So, in addition to pleasing us with their suave elegance (certainly the least important thing that waxwings do), they are important agents of dispersal for plants.

Eastern Cottontails courting

 

Lots of rabbit action in the yard the other night! I glanced out a window to see a male cottontail perform a spectacular courtship leap over a female. So, we waited for more action and were rewarded. In this shot, an adult male and female in close proximity.

Here, the male catapults over the hunkered down female. Their acrobatic courtship displays are amazing. Lots of facing off, racing around after one another, and these leaps in which the male springs over the female.

In this image, a truly elfin rabbitlet, not long out of the easter egg, peeks from vegetation. In total, five rabbits were in evidence and all of them are welcome in my yard, and the more rabbitlets the better. Sorry for the less than stellar imagery, but it was nearly dark when all of this unfolded.

Thirteen-lined Ground Squirrel pops up

 

A Thirteen-lined Ground Squirrel (Ictidomys tridecemlineatus) goes on point. The prairie dog relatives spend much time upright, watching for potential threats. If one is spotted, they will issue a rapid series of squeaking beeps, alerting their brethren, then quickly duck down into one of their burrows.

We visited a colony that I've long known about, in south-central Ohio, this morning. TLGS were a primary target, but temperatures have been abnormally cool around here and it was in the low 50's F when we arrived around 8:30 am. That's a bit chilly for the squirrels, who love temperatures in the 70's, 80's and hotter.

But this site is rich in birds, and we spent much time making images of kingbirds, meadowlarks, mockingbirds, and other species. That was all fun and Shauna and I procured some nice images and had a good time observing interesting behavior in the various species (I am much more of a bird watcher than a birder - at least of the listing type).

Finally, as we were departing around 10:30, with the temperature now about 58 F, this guy shot across the mowed grass, then posed for a bit. Apparently, he was the only one of his clan willing to venture out in the chilly air, even though I know there are a number of others here.

Thirteen-lined Ground Squirrels reach the eastern terminus of their range in Ohio, and their distribution correlates nicely with the pre-settlement distribution of Midwestern prairies. We - people - have been VERY hard on native prairies and probably have destroyed over 99% of it. The charismatic little ground squirrels have suffered as well and are pretty rare in this part of the world these days. I'm grateful that small pockets of the charismatic mammals still persist.

A bevy of salamanders, including an interesting hypomelanistic specimen

 

Your narrator holds one of Dr. Thomas Pauley's many publications on West Virginia salamanders, while posing with the man himself.

For the past 20 years, I have given talks and led field trips at the New River Birding & Nature Festival in Fayetteville. The festival always takes place at the tail end of April/early May, and I highly recommend it. GO HERE for details. This is one of the most biologically rich areas in eastern North America. An interesting part of those biological riches are salamanders, and a few years ago, event organizers got Tom involved. This was akin to striking gold for some of us, and I've had the privilege of going on several nocturnal forays with Dr. Pauley.

This year was no exception, and a small group of us headed into the New River gorge on the evening of May 3. the excursion was even better as we had two of Dr. Pauley's proteges leading us: Josh and Tabitha Stover. They are extraordinary herpetologists, know where everything is, and are incredibly adept at finding secretive amphibians.

The New River gorge, near Fayetteville, West Virginia. It contains scads of interesting organisms, among scenery to die for. For this trip, we descended to some cliff formations down near the river.

A Green Salamander (Aneides aeneus) peeks from a fissure. For us Ohioans, this is a major rarity, and one must know exactly where to go. Down here, they are far more frequent, and we saw many this night.

A Kentucky Spring Salamander (Gyrinophilus porphyriticus) watches us from its lair. We saw several, including one whopper that must have taped out at ten inches. It was a bit wary and backed into his fissure before we could photo-document the mini-monster.

A Seal Salamander (Desmognathus monticola) has a look around before emerging. This is one of the most common species in the area. When we arrived, not long after nightfall, it was dry. Salamander hunting is far better after showers have moistened the ground, and lo and behold, after a bit it started to rain. We couldn't have coordinated the weather any better: after 20 or so minutes of fairly light showers, the precipitation stopped, everything was soaked, and a previously hidden army of amphibians emerged.

My Marsh Blue Violet (Viola cucullata) shot was photo-bombed by another Seal Salamander. Look closely in the bottom right of the image.

A gorgeous Northern Slimy Salamander (Plethodon glutinosus) poses for the camera. Handle one and you will see why they are so named. Sticky skin secretions smack of Elmer's glue. The gloss black base coat liberally peppered with white freckles makes for a very showy creature, though.

We were understandably pleased - who would not! - to see several fine specimens of Red Salamander (Pseudotriton ruber). They are not uncommon here, but generally special efforts must be made to see one. Note the yellow irises. A similar species also occurs, but in lesser numbers, the Mud Salamander (Pseudotriton montanus). It is also bright orange-red and flecked with black spots but has brown irises. It is also well-named, spending much time in soupy mire.

A Wehrle's Salamander (Plethodon wehrlei) marches across a rock. While perhaps a plain jane compared to some of the previous species, it is a handsome creature with its snub nose, big eyes, and delicate saffron flecking. This is another common species in West Virginia, although herpetologists have long noted regional variation in the species. One of these variants has much larger golden spots, so much so that it suggests a Spotted Salamander (Ambystoma maculatum). It was described as a separate species in 2019 and dubbed the Yellow-spotted Woodland Salamander (Plethodon pauleyi). Note the specific epithet of the scientific name: pauleyi. It is named for Dr. Thomas Pauley. A fitting honor for West Virginia's leading herpetologist!

Yellow-spotted Woodland Salamander has a very limited distribution in Kentucky, Tennessee, and West Virginia. I hope to make a trip with Josh Stover later this year to see it, and if so, will report on that with imagery afterwards.

Your narrator, while bumbling about, came across this strange-looking creature, which I thought to be a Wehrle's Salamander, but it didn't fit the mold. Not knowing what to make of it, I called Josh over and he instantly recognized it as a hypomelanistic (abnormally pale) Wehrle's Salamander. None of the rest of us had even heard of such a thing, and apparently this was the first record for the New River Gorge, although Josh says there are pockets of them elsewhere in the state.

All in all, it was a wonderful wet night of salamander hunting, with many interesting finds. I returned to my abode at midnight, dreading the 5 am wakeup the following morning. But well worth the loss of sleep, and I look forward to future West Virginia salamander forays.

Big thanks to Josh and Tabitha Stover, and Tom Pauley, for teaching us about these interesting creatures!