Salamanders, Newts, and Unisexuals

Last Tuesday night was good for hunting salamanders - not great, but good. A crew of us dispatched to the meadows and swampy woods of Logan County, near Bellefontaine (beautiful fountain, in French), and found more than enough to occupy our interest. We had hoped hard for rain - about the only time I ever do - and it came, but not until 1 am. Rain lubricates the landscape, and creates much better conditions for salamanders making the overland journey to breeding pools. A long night, I didn't get back home until 4 am, but well worthwhile.

Some of the amphibious crew emerges from a wetland, late at night. L to R: Greg Lipps (more on him in a sec); Chip Gross, an outdoor writer who was gathering material for an upcoming story for Country Living Magazine; and videographer/narrator extraordinaire Skip Trask, who films for Wild Ohio TV.

Mr. Salamander, Greg Lipps, panning for amphibious gold: Tiger Salamanders. Greg is a phenom - one of the most knowledgeable herpetologists in the Midwest, a field dynamo, generous with his knowledge, and full of irrepressible energy. We were fortunate to have him along this night. This blog entry is all about salamanders, but Greg pulled another kind of spectacular beast out of one of the wetlands we visited, and I'm going to blog that separately, later.

Our host, and an exceptional all-around naturalist, Troy Shively. Troy grew up in Logan County and knows its every nook and cranny. He led us to some great spots for the wriggly ones.

Presto! As if by magic, these mini-dragons appear above ground for a few days each spring, seek breeding pools, mate and lay eggs, and vanish back into the earth. This is our largest salamander, the Tiger Salamander, Ambystoma tigrinum. It was the A-list salamander for the eve, the one we really hoped to find. And we did, maybe a dozen or so.

Here, your wet wind-tousled and tired blogger holds a Tiger Salamander to create a size scale. Some jumbos can reach a foot in length! Tigers seem to be associated with Ohio's former prairie regions, and they prefer much more open landscapes than other species. Some individuals are boldly marked with yellow dots and smudges; most of the ones that we caught this night were rather dull.

Tiger Salamander, heading into a breeding pool. As if pulled by a magnet, they forge over, through, and around obstacles in their quest to reach the ponds and reproduce. Tigers prefer deeper water than their allies, and this pond was probably a good four feet deep in the center. We were able to spot the giants under the clear water as they hung in the water column, rested on the bottom, or darted rapidly about, fishlike.

Troy led us to a spectacular road that bisected wet woods dotted with vernal pools. Late in the night, after the rain began, we saw many salamanders crossing the roadway. This Spotted Salamander, Ambystoma maculatum, was in one of the nearby woodland pools. I'll never tire of seeing these.

We saw many Red-spotted Newts, Notophthalmus viridescens, both in the pools and crossing the road, as this one is doing. The critter above is known as a Red Eft, which is the larval, terrestrial stage of the newt. Efts might live up to three years away from water, boldly roaming the forest floor. Forgive me the anthropomorphism, but they really are "bold". It isn't uncommon to see efts wandering about during the day, especially after a shower. Not much will mess with them - efts are quite poisonous. Allegedly, there is a case of a college student dying after efts were foolishly substituted for goldfish in that age-old bit of frat boy foolishness, the goldfish-eating contest.

When the newt matures, it returns to the water and becomes strictly aquatic, and might live for several more years.

Now we come to the unisexual part. You may have been wondering about that. Well, I was talking about this beast - an odd and poorly understood "species". We saw plenty of them, and all appeared to be part of a hybrid swarm that produces all female populations of these curious animals. There are probably three parental species involved: Blue-spotted Salamander, Ambystoma laterale; Smallmouth Salamander, A. texanum; and Jefferson Salamander, A. jeffersonianum. The blue flecking, characteristic of Blue-spotted, is evident on this individual, and many showed strong traits of Smallmouths.

Greg is actively working on this mystery, and took genetic material from a number of the individuals that we encountered. Much work remains to ferret out the answers to this puzzle. Whatever they may be, they're still cool to find, and exceptionally entertaining. This one found me troubling, and paused, rearing its neck up, cobra-like. Check the following video out for a very cool unisexual display.

As you will note, "Video Magic" wants me to buy their product. Maybe I will; they did a good job of compressing this vid down enough so that Blogger would load it. The video shows a unisexual salamander crossing the road, and us agitating it so that the animal would perform its fascinating defense display. When threatened, they sometimes raise their tail and wave it hypnotically, as a lure to the predator. The idea is that the coon or whatever will key in on the tail, and grab that rather than the body and all of the vital organs. When it does, the tail or parts thereof snap off, and Mr. Coon gets a slimy eel-like mouthful of some of the most godawful viscous gunky-tasting junk imaginable. He'll not want to visit that party again, and our salamander escapes, sans tail, which it may partially regenerate.

Lots of strange stuff in the realm of salamanders.

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.

First botanizing of '09

Temperatures were downright balmy in southernmost Ohio this weekend, so I stayed over in Adams County following the Amish Bird Symposium. The warming weather and lengthening days are beginning to produce many signs of spring; things that you all up in the Great White North will have to wait a while to see.

Eastern Meadowlarks, flooded with testosterone, erupted in song from from every other fencepost, and scruffy fields were alive Saturday night with the nasal peenting nd wing twitters of that oddest of shorebirds, the American Woodcock. Red-winged Blackbirds and Common Grackles are now ubiquitous, and Killdeer were everywhere. Salamanders have unearthed themselves and returned to their breeding pools.

Best of all, to the botanically inclined, is the emergence of the first wildflowers of spring. It's still early for flora, but there are a few pockets along the Ohio River that come to life early, due to their southern exposure and rocky crags that help warm the earth.

The forest floor of Adams County's rich woodlands still look like this: somber brown leaves long fallen. This shot was made in an upland oak-dominated forest. Leaves of four oak species are visible: Red Oak, Quercus rubra; Black Oak, Q. velutina; White Oak, Q. alba; and Chestnut Oak, Q. prinus.

Here and there, sprigs of green, fresh vegetable matter thrust forth. These are the leaves of Harbinger-of-spring, Erigenia bulbosa, a tiny member of the parsley family (Apiaceae). It is one of our earliest wildflowers, but it is still a bit early for the miniscule salt and pepper-colored blooms.

Finding an orchid is always a treat, and I came across several Putty-roots, Aplectrum hyemale. These odd, zoot-suit-striped leaves formed last summer and have persisted all winter. The naked flower stalk will be issued in mid-May, by which time the leaf will have largely withered to nothingness.

I carefully excavated a bit of the rich humus so that you could glimpse the namesake putty-colored root. This is one of forty-six native orchids in Ohio, and one of the cooler ones in my estimation.

New is ushered in; old bows out. That purplish rosette on the left is that of a native mustard, the Smooth Rock Cress, Arabis laevigata. It's tall spindly culm beset with tiny greenish-white blossoms will reach good form in May. While perhaps not the showiest of plants, it is an important host for one of our showiest butterflies, the Falcate Orangetip. Males are the color of a pushup confectionary - orange and white, and so flimsy as to appear as if made from tissue. The aging, marcescent leaves of a small fern, Maidenhair Spleenwort, Asplenium trichomanes, is on the right. This saxicolous (rock-loving) fern has overwintered and will soon begin producing new fresh shoots.

Well, well. Wasn't sure if they'd be up and at 'em or not, but sure enough, I stumbled into quite a few blooming Hepatica. This truly is one of our first - often the first - wildflower to jump into action. March 8, and looking good. Often treated as two species, Sharp-lobed and Round-lobed Hepaticas, they are better thought of as one variable species, Hepatica nobilis. If you are a splitter, call them Hepatica nobilis var. acutiloba, and H. nobilis var. obtusa, respectively. This species also ranges throughout much of Eurasia.

I noticed a small beetle was prolific on the blossoms, gobbling up the nectar. A number of them are visible on these flowers. They must play an important role as a pollinator, and I'd like to know what species of beetle it is.

Here's a closer view of the "Hepatica Beetle". There is very little in the way of flowering plants and nectar right now, and I wonder how intimately linked to Hepatica these insects are. All of the Hepatica that I saw had them.

Bud of our earliest lily to shine forth, the White Trout Lily, Erythronium albidum, one of three Ohio species in this genus.

Bit of poking around, and I found the motherlode. I'd say the flowers opened for the first time Sunday morning; perhaps a few the day before. This spot is at the base of sheer dolomite cliffs facing due south, and looking out on the Ohio River. It is one of the first spots one can find flowering plants in spring Ohio.

Few plants can rival trout lilies for sheer charisma and showiness. And their presence means the rush of spring is on. These diminutive lilies are but the first snowball in an avalanche of flora that will soon follow, growing day by day into a cascade that will carpet Ohio's forest floors with every color of the rainbow.

Gulls and gizzard shad

This has been the scene over many of our inland reservoirs of late, although the mobs of gulls have begun to dissipate. One of the best places for gull fanatics was Hoover Reservoir in central Ohio, which at its peak may have had 20-30,000 birds. As would be expected, most were Ring-billed Gulls, with much lesser numbers of Herring Gulls. Of major interest to birders were unprecedented numbers and variety of rarities: Lesser Black-backed, Great Black-backed, Glaucous, Iceland, Thayer's gulls, and even a Black-legged Kittiwake. All of these species appeared on land-locked reservoirs, and all are rarely found away from Lake Erie waters in Ohio.

The numbers and variety were unprecedented, and they hung around for a week or so. At times, the gull-laden lakes resembled East 72nd Street in Cleveland (above), where you'd expect this sort of action. Why?

The answer probably is piscine in nature. Gulls love gizzard shad. If you are a chocoloholic, you may fantasize about being dropped into a giant jar of M & M's. If you are a gull, the above is your fantasy world. Waters packed with dead and dying shad. Events like the above are a regular occurrence on Lake Erie, but less common inland.

However, after a talk with Scott Hale, a Division of Wildlife fish guru, I learned that inland shad populations had a very late hatch last spring. Thus, when last winter's cold and nasty weather arrived, the young shad were less able to survive the extended ice and snow cover that blanketed many lakes, and big die-offs resulted. Which resulted in an absolute bonanza of food for gulls in places where there normally aren't such opportunities.

Gizzard shad, Dorosoma cepedianum. They are common to abundant in many of our lakes, but not especially tolerant of long cold snaps that result in long-term ice and snow cover.

Although various theories have been out about how and why all of these gulls found the inland lakes and the fishy food source, my hunch is that most of the birds dropped down off Lake Erie and the other Great Lakes. Highly mobile omnivores such as gulls are incredibly adept at locating new food sources, and possibly somehow the locations of new opportunities get communicated.

Whatever the reason, show they did, and we got some amazing records of gulls as a result.

Invasion of the gulls

For the past week, Oberlin Reservoir in Lorain County has been the place to be for gulls. This upground reservoir, which somewhat resembles a giant square bathtub, has always had a track record of attracting odd birds, in part perhaps because it is within ten miles of Lake Erie. From the perspective of a Jonathan Livingston Seagull, the reservoir could easily be seen from the lake.

And apparently gulls en masse have decided to bail from the open waters of Erie, one of the world’s roughest and most dangerous lakes, and seek the relative tranquility of Oberlin Reservoir. Gabe Leidy and Emil Bacik first brought this phenomenon to light almost a week ago, and I made the trip up yesterday.

Gulls aren’t for all, I know. They’re funny, in a way. As a group, and generally speaking, gulls are instantly recognizable and even many a non-birder will make the identification of “sea gull”. But pinning down individuals to species can be far more challenging, and gull fans are known as “larophiles”. I am a casual larophile, as much interested in learning more about their identity as I am admiring these hardy beasts, whose aerial abilities rivals that of the most acrobatic avian flyers. Besides, upon close inspection, gulls are striking – some of the best-looking birds out there.

Oberlin Reservoir, just east of Oberlin, Ohio, and but a hop, skip and a jump from Lake Erie – if you can fly like a gull.

Even though this is not a large reservoir, there were several thousand gulls, and the viewing conditions are generally fantastic. At times, many of them felt the need to stretch their wings and clouds of gulls would ascend to the skies. Watching scenes like this may be what helped inspire Richard Bach to pen Jonathan Livingston Seagull. I greatly admire the way they wheel and soar about so effortlessly, far more intent on food-seeking than expending thought on the actual mechanics of flight.

There are more larophiles that you might think. Numerous birders have been visiting Oberlin Reservoir to take in the show.

Beautiful adult Herring Gull, resplendent in pure tones of white, gray, and black. Note the glaring yellow eye, bold yellow bill with prominent red spot, and pink legs and feet. This is often the most common midwinter gull along Lake Erie, and there were a few thousand at Oberlin. Their clear bugling calls are a classic sound of coastal areas.

Adult Ring-billed Gull, overall the most abundant Ohio species. Mature birds present no identification problems, especially with that obvious hoop around the bill.

Ring-billeds are the gull that typically invades mall parking lots and other urban haunts looking for scraps. Big gulls are the ultimate omnivores, and might well be termed “garbage-heads”. They’ll eat nearly anything and have bulletproof constitutions. I took this photo a few years ago in a Lorain neighborhood. There is no record of what the homeowners thought of their house-sitters.

The dark one is the world’s largest gull, a Great Black-backed Gull. This one is an adult, with coal-black mantle that stands out from afar. That’s a first-cycle Herring Gull to the left, an adult Ring-billed Gull in front of the GBBG, and a Forster’s Tern in foreground. I took this photo a year or so ago at Conneaut Harbor. There were an incredible eleven Great Black-backeds at Oberlin yesterday. This species is very rare in Ohio away from the waters of Lake Erie, as are the rest of the gulls I’ll show.

I took this photo at the Ohio State University Museum of Biological Diversity. Great Black-backed Gull specimen above; Little Gull specimen below. The world’s largest and smallest gulls. Little is a fairly rare Lake Erie visitor in Ohio, and far rarer inland. This comparison illustrates the diversity of the gull world. It would take about fourteen Little Gulls to match the weight of a Great Black-backed, and I’m sure the latter would enjoy eating the former if the opportunity came along.

We had our first Ohio record of Lesser Black-backed Gull in 1977, and they’ve steadily increased since. There were at least four at Oberlin, a great inland record. I took the above photo of an adult in 2007 while on a See Life Paulagics trip into the Atlantic Ocean off Belmar, New Jersey, run by Paul Guris. It is interesting in that we picked this bird up about eighty miles out. Lesser Black-backeds are European, and cross the pond to get here. They breed as close to North America as Greenland but we’ve still got no breeding record – yet. Adults resemble Great Black-backed Gulls, but have a somewhat paler mantle and are smaller and less robust. In basic (winter) plumage they develop dusky-brown heads, which GBBG’s never do.

Pick the Glaucous Gull out. This one was shot at East 72nd Street in Cleveland, but we had six at Oberlin yesterday. It is standing just beyond that adult Great Black-backed, amongst Herring gulls. This is a first-cycle Glaucous, which are a somewhat dingy brown overall. They’re whoppers, second only to Great Black-backeds in massiveness among the Ohio gulls. Note how there is no dark pigment in the primary tips, as with the Herrings on either side. This is one of the white-winged gulls, pale ghostly Arctic dwellers that breed in polar bear country. Coming to Ohio’s north coast is their version of a Florida getaway.

This gorgeous photo of a first-cycle Iceland Gull comes courtesy of Flickr and Ómar Runólfsson, who snapped the shot in, appropriately enough, Iceland. We had five or six at Oberlin. They look much like Glaucous Gulls, and the plumage progression is similar, but Icelands are noticeably less robust. They also do not have the pronounced cranial ridge over the eye that Glaucous does, which lends them a comparatively gentle and somewhat dove-like appearance. The jutting brow of a Glaucous creates a rather hostile, aggressive look, as if the bird is thinking about killing something. Which it probably is.

We had one first-cycle Thayer’s Gull, which is what this bird is. Photo, once again, courtesy of Flickr, photographer only identified as Sam. These are tricky beasts and may not warrant separation as a species from Iceland Gull. Youngsters like this one are easier to ID than the adults, at least to me. Note the slender bill and pale upperparts with neat checkerboard pattern of scapulars. First-cycle Herrings are most similar, but are generally darker and have a more massive bill and look more robust, and for want of a better word, “aggressive”. This “species” may be better treated as a subspecies of Iceland Gull.

The recent inland invasion of gulls in Ohio is probably without precedent, both in terms of overall numbers and rare species usually not seen in the interior. Also from yesterday come reports of tens of thousands of gulls at Hoover Reservoir – mostly Herring and Ring-billed as would be expected. But observers report Great Black-backed, Lesser Black-backed, Glaucous, and Black-legged Kittiwake from the throngs.

If opportunity allows, get out to your local reservoir this week.

Big-headed Fishbeaters

Who doesn't like kingfishers? They're interesting, colorful, have fascinating habitats, and look, well, funny. Too bad they don't like us. Or anything else, for that matter. Kingfishers are one of the more antisocial families of birds - they don't even like each other, most of the time. Loners through and through, once the brief breeding season has ended, they revert to their solitary ways.

Ever been walking along a stream or lake, when you heard the loud rattling of a Belted Kingfisher? It was likely YOU that it's cursing. They don't like intruders in their turf, and will vigorously scold anyone or anything that irks them.

Female Belted Kingfisher. Males are less gaudy, having only one blue belt. This species is tough for a bird that depends on diving into the water to procure prey. They'll tough it out in northern latitudes, as far as they can dependably find water. If she spots a creek chub or some other tasty fish, she'll hover briefly over the target, then plunge headlong into the icy waters. Just before striking the water, the bird will close its inner eyelids, and then snap up the fish with its pincer-like bill. The hapless victim with then be flown to a convenient perch, and likely beaten mightily against the branch until thoroughly stunned, then it'll be swallowed. Don't come back as a minnow and let yourself fall into the sights of a kingfisher.

Ringed Kingfisher - like a Belted Kingfisher on steroids. These monsters are pretty common throughout Mexico and Central America, and on into South America. There should be no confusion with Belteds; Ringeds weigh nearly twice as much, and look very bulky. They make a really loud staccato machine gun-like rattle. Ringed Kingfishers are a lot like Belteds in that they often favor conspicuous perches, are quite vocal, and generally can't be missed. That's certainly not the case with all of the kingfishers. I took this shot last February in Costa Rica. With luck, I'll be seeing more of them within the next day or two.

The furtive Green-and Rufous Kingfisher - a jawdropper of a beauty. There are about 90 species of kingfishers worldwide, and this one has to rank near the top in good looks. They favor dense jungle, and tend to hunt from gloomy, shady spots, thus they're often tough to see. G & R's aren't particularly common, but range over a wide swath of Central and South America. I got this shot in 2006 from a boat, as we explored the jungle canals of Tortuguero National Park in Costa Rica. I'll be back in this same jungle in a few days, and will hope to see more Green-and-rufous Kingfishers.

Amazon Kingfisher, which looks like a large Green Kingfisher. It's a bit smaller than a Belted Kingfisher. They occur from southern Mexico on south to Argentina. They're pretty common in Costa Rica, and won't be missed.

I regret that I wasn't able to get a photo of my favorite kingfisher - the American Pygmy Kingfisher. These micro-divers are as cool as birds get. They're only five inches long, and weigh about the same as a Song Sparrow. Pygmys aren't rare, but they frequent the impenetrable mangrove thickets along the coasts of Costa Rica, and thus can be easy to miss. We had wonderful views of one in '06, and will be back in good habitat for them on this trip. I'll be trying for some good photos.

Internet access is iffy where I'll be, but if the forces conspire to allow me to connect to the Internet, I'll try and toss up some photos of a much warmer place than Ohio!

A "Lutino" Cardinal

On a bit of a blog tear here, as I leave for nearly two weeks in Costa Rica first thing Tuesday morning. Internet access is often iffy where we'll be, so hence the prolific - for me, anyway - posts. And please, do not feel too sorry for me, bailing on this subzero midwestern U.S. weather to spend time in lush tropical haunts in balmy temperatures with toucans, chlorophonias, sunbitterns, flowering plants, more butterflies than can be believed, etc., etc. Please, no crocodile tears for me.

Tom Ruggles of Muskingum County recently sent along a photo of a most unusual Northern Cardinal that has been visiting his feeders. It's yellow. Or at least strongly yellowish. Such a beast would certainly be eye-catching, and raise obvious questions.

Why is this normally brilliant red bird yellow?

Tom's lutino cardinal. "Lutea" is latin for yellow, thus the term lutino. This cardinal is exhibiting a condition known as xanthochroism, a genetic anomaly that causes an excess of yellow pigments to show through. It may be caused by darker pigments being suppressed, thus permitting less dominant colorations to shine through.

If we are to get a bit propeller-headed here, the bright red plumage of Northern Cardinals is caused by at least nine different carotenoid pigments. Knock one or some of them out of whack, and we can end up with the bird in the photo or something similar. In my previous post, there is a (bad) photo of a heavily leucistic Red-tailed Hawk. That bird is displaying the effects of yet another genetic anomaly, but one that causes the individual to appear much whiter or paler than normal.

Carotenoids occur in plants and some animals, and birds uptake them as part of their natural diet. It's possible that xanthochroic individuals, like Tom's cardinal, result from dietary deficiencies. A well-known example of the role of carotenoids and bird coloration involves flamingos. If deprived of the blue-green algae and brine shrimp that are rich in beta carotenes that gives them their bright pink plumage, the birds become pale and whitish. By providing captive flamingos with a compound called canthaxanthin, the rich pink coloration can be restored.

Xanthochroism has been documented in a number of bird species, in addition to Northern Cardinals, including: House Finch, Cape May Warbler, Scarlet Tanager, and Red-bellied Woodpecker.

Thanks to Tom for sharing this interesting bird!