Invasive Species and Anole Microhabitats

October 8, 2016

A chubby little green anole glances nervously over its shoulder at my camera.

Protected since 1974, the Pascagoula River is the largest free-flowing river in the lower 48-- free of man-made damming. However, it is certainly not free of other human influences. Inevitably, invasive species, introduced by mankind, have made their mark and changed the way the Pascagoula presents itself.

Captain McCoy, of McCoy's River Tours, informed me that, when he was a budding nature nut among the buttressed roots, tall reeds, and humid summers of the swamp, there were far more snakes. Now, there are far fewer snakes on the river, in part because alligators, which eat snakes, have been protected and have increased exponentially, but also because wild hogs are new arrivals that are not phased by striking snakes. The hogs also root up the banks, which increases erosion and makes the river vulnerable to hurricanes. In essence, the invasive hogs have degraded the natural buffer between hurricane-caused tidal waves human residences. Yikes.

However, not all invasive species are totally evil like the hogs. Water hyacinths are pretty and add a tropical layer of green to the swamp's channels. Sure, they clog boating routs and choke out some of the native plants, but for this year's river tour, I noticed an interesting twist to the invasive hyacinth story.

Having been a Pascagoula resident practically all his life, Captain McCoy is a very knowledgeable of the nature in the river. As we puttered up a channel in the swamp, he pointed out a clustering of water hyacinth in the shallows and shoved the nose of his boat into the crowded, clumping mass of vegetation. He was eager to point out to us the interesting relationship that the hyacinths had struck up with a native lizard species.

A water hyacinth blooms on the Pascagoula River, Mississippi.

The green anole has been a Florida resident for a long time. Sometime after the ice age made way for reptile diversification and spread into North America, the green anole adapted to a variety of newly available habitats. Unfortunately, good times don't last forever and, when humans arrived with artificial ways to cross seas and bridge geographic gaps, the brown anoles were inadvertent benefactors. In the 1970s, the brown anoles hitched a ride to America from Cuba and the Bahamas with the intent of being sold as pets. Their well-meaning captors ultimately released them into the wild where they began competing the meek-and-mild green anoles. The greens had to adapt (which is one of their great strengths), or else be outcompeted. So they started frequenting new areas that the larger, more aggressive brown anoles couldn't occupy. Such as higher in trees, the tops of shrubs, or even on floating mats of swamp vegetation. Which is where the hyacinths come in.

Another invasive species is incidentally helping the green anoles cope. The browns are too large and heavy for a water-boat lifestyle and, as Captain McCoy pointed out, the invasive water hyacinths are the perfect refuge for juvenile green anoles. There were dozens of them enjoying the sunshine and water from their secure abode and we caught a few for a closer look before returning them back to what had become the new Pascagoula normal. Who could have guessed that an invasive plant could provide a valuable microhabitat!

The green anole has experience population declines since the invasive brown anole was introduced in the 1970s. However, another introduced species, the water hyacinth, provides a refuge for the native green anole.

As habitats change from various forces, some well within our control and others too far gone, there are bound to be some fairly startling changes in animal behavior, distribution, and ecology. Sometimes, it pays to keep an open mind about this strange and precarious balance of invasive and native species. Change, extinction, and adaptation are all part of life and I prefer to enjoy the intrigue it affords. There's no point in being glum over things that were.

Juvenile Cottonmouth at Bear Lake

October 1, 2016

Sorry for the noise on this photo. The lighting wasn't so hot.

Hiking Bear Lake Trail in northern Florida, we passed through a variety of habitats from pitcher plant bogs to pine flatwoods. But taking a shallow decline into a cypress swamp, the boardwalk curved around the trunks of buttressed trees and leveled out over the thick mud and ankle-deep water. It was a cool morning and the swamp was quiet except for the distant hammering of a woodpecker in the cypress.

I was standing in the mud off the side of the boardwalk when I heard Eric calling. It sounded like he had a snake so I jumped back onto the boardwalk and jogged over dropping onto my belly, I joined Eric hanging upside down off the boardwalk. It was a juvenile cottonmouth, a little over a foot long. I had my snake tongs with me but, with small snakes, large tongs are clumsy and can be dangerous to both the handler and the snake. So I chose the naturalist's multipurpose tool: the net. One quick sweep and we had her.

Excited to get some good photos, we tromped back to some clean water and rinsed the snake off in the lake. After posing precariously with the snake in the tongs for a few photos, I took it back to the swamp and snapped some photos of my own.

As cottonmouths grow older, their patterns and colours become almost too dark to see. But this young snake still has beautiful, bold banding.

I know I post about cottonmouths at least once a year, but they are my favorite viperid. They have beautiful, sometimes subtle, patterns and have a very unique semi-aquatic ecology. Their specific epithet piscivorus literally means "fish-eater." While it is true that cottonmouths enjoy fish, they are generalist hunters who will even eat carrion. Like most venomous snakes, they have a unique array of defensive strategies from tail vibrations and mock-strikes to their namesake defense of open-mouthed threat. These snakes go to such great lengths to avoid conflict, it's hard to imagine how anyone could see them as aggressive. If you find a cottonmouth, just keep your distance and they'll keep theirs.

'Tis the Season for Cottonmouths

Agkistrodon piscivorus. Near Perdido Bay, Escambia County, Florida. October 2015. Nikon D3000.

I thought I'd look back through the years and post a few things on my blogs from Octobers gone-by. This photo was taken bright and early the morn of October 17th, 2015, at West Campus. I used to hitch rides out to West Campus, a piece of Pensacola Christian College's land out on Perdido Bay, whenever I could. It was a struggle to find someone who would take me at all and sometimes quite costly, but I had to get into the bush to maintain my sanity.
Scrolling through my old photos from October 2015, I selected this one to show you because it seems that late September and early October is the best time to see cottonmouths. I've already seen several in the last two weeks, mostly neonates (juveniles) and I haven't even been looking.
It's a nice picture simply because the snake is mouth-open, characteristic of the threat display for this species. For those of you who would like to be specific: Agkistrodon piscivorus. Escambia County, Florida. October 2015. Nikon D3000.

Lizards at Garcon Point - May 21

I did a bit of herping out at Garcon Point Nature Trail in the spring so here are some of the more notable photos. I also saw a couple snakes: common garters, racers, and ribbon snakes, but I didn't get any pictures that made the cut.

Not a lizard but: This salmon-coloured moth was completely delightful, fluttering around the shrubbery. The wildflower display in this park, particularly in the fall, attracts and arsenal of insects, particularly butterflies and moths. Side note: I was nearly transported to heaven in a cloud of deer flies.

A large male broad-headed skink. In the breeding season, the heads turn a magnificent red colour.

A juvenile broad-headed skink... I think. It's rather difficult to tell some of the Eumeces species apart. This, and the above photo, could just as easily be a five-lined skink, since I certainly do not have the differences nailed down. However, both these lizards seem to have five labial (upper lip) scales rather than four, which would mean they are both broad-headed skinks, not five-lined.

Getting Close to Cottonmouths

Field Notes from October 17, 2015

Agkistrodon piscivorous near Perdido Bay, Florida on October 17, 2015.

It was a cool, autumn day in the panhandle of Florida State. A red sail on the water moved up Perdido Bay with the breeze as I blinked in the sunlight from under my felt hat. An early morning to check my minnow traps at West Campus provided me with a single, small sunfish. It was a male, so I wasn't sure it would get on well with my larger specimen back home in the tank. Oh, well. I chanced it.

With the fish comfortably settled into a bucket in my passenger seat, I set out for a bit of herping around the ponds. I started at the old bridge and work along the shore, closest to Perdido Bay. My snake tongs poked in and out of the grass and I followed a small clearing into the shallow water around the edge of the pond. Autumn rain meant the ponds were swollen and I took a moment to explore the soggy grass and ephemeral pools.

I spotted a dark brown striped pattern in the water and my tongs dove into the water to recover a young adult cottonmouth.

Agkistrodon piscivorous is a semiaquatic pitviper closely related to rattlesnakes and its venom works in a similar way. Although highly cytotoxic and hemorrhagic, the venom of the cottonmouth isn't as damaging to blood cells as that of rattlesnakes. Adults pack over 1000mg of venom but it would only take 150mg to kill me. Cottonmouths kill almost one person per year and I don't intend to be a statistic. 

For ease of movement, I cautiously lifted the snake with my tongs and slid it into my snake bag. Moving into an open field near the Perdido Bay shoreline, I emptied the contents onto the mowed grass. He was grumpy. I snapped several pictures of the perturbed reptile as it spastically threw its white mouth open in a threatening defensive gesture. It made very interesting photographs and my Nikon clicked away for about 15 minutes. As the snake calmed, I was more comfortable getting a little closer for some portraiture.

Suddenly, I noticed I had an audience. Some college staff had paused from their work across the field and were staring. Because you can never be too sure how friendly people are toward snakes, I bagged the viper again and returned him to the swamp.

Agkistrodon piscivorous near Perdido Bay, Florida on October 17, 2015.

Agkistrodon piscivorous near Perdido Bay, Florida on October 17, 2015.

Agkistrodon piscivorous near Perdido Bay, Florida on October 17, 2015.

Agkistrodon piscivorous near Perdido Bay, Florida on October 17, 2015.

Agkistrodon piscivorous near Perdido Bay, Florida on October 17, 2015.

With a prayer of thanks to God for the beauty of His creation and the exhilarating experience, I meandered over to where the two men were pounding stakes and tried to start a conversation.

"How many you catch?" called one of the men as I approached.

"A few," I said, "but only one today."

"I guess you took care of that one," said one of the men. I knew what that meant.

"Actually," I said, "there's no reason to kill 'em. They usually have great dispositions and only want to avoid people."

He sneered. "Not all the snakes I've seen! They'll attack."

Only when you're trying to hack they're head off, I thought.

"I kill every one I see," he informed me indiscriminately.

"I figured." There was an awkward pause as my disapproving glare communicated the meaning of my reply. They got back to work and I shuffled off, a little disgruntled at how selfish and disregarding most people are toward wildlife.

On the other side of the pond I started seeing ground skinks.

Scincella lateralis are extremely common in Florida but not often noticed. They push headlong through the forest detritus looking for spiders and other little invertebrates to devour. Catching these can be a delicate matter. They are very small lizards and most of the ones I've found are under 7 centimeters in length. They don't even use their diminutive legs when they have to move fast.

Besides the skinks, I also spotted a curious black wasp, about 2.5 centimeters long, scurrying around in the leaflitter. I'm not sure what species of wasp it was but it seemed to be searching for spiders or insects in the cracks of the ground.

Hymenoptera near Perdido Bay, Florida on October 17, 2015.

Scincella lateralis near Perdido Bay, Florida on October 17, 2015.

A little farther along, at the far north end of the ponds, I spotted a ribbon snake (Thamnophis sauritus) slithering among the aquatic vegetation. I spent a considerable amount of time splashing around in the shallows trying to find that snake but, alas, I failed. In denial about my loss, I stood on the shore as motionless as I could staring at the water plants were I'd last seen the snake. I hoped it would reappear. Suddenly, some movement in the water to my right caught my attention. A large turtle cautiously poked its nose through the algae. For a long time, I contemplated my plant to catch the turtle. For a moment I vacillated waiting for the snake. I thought maybe I could catch both, but that would be greedy. I dropped my snake tongs and clumsily splashed through the water toward the turtle. It didn't move. It didn't even flinch. It never saw me coming. A miracle. I scooped the startled testudine out of the water and set all four of its scratching, flailing legs on the shore. Apparently, it was missing its right eye. So it really never did see me. It was a very large (about 35cm-long carapace) yellow-bellied slider (Trachemys scripta scripta).

Curiously, about four years back I had caught a snapping turtle the same way, in the same place, which was also missing an eye (the left one). Both turtles had a cataract.

After some photos, I released the turtle back into the wild and meandered back to my van.

Trachemys scripta scripta near Perdido Bay, Florida on October 17, 2015.

Trachemys scripta scripta near Perdido Bay, Florida on October 17, 2015.

PHOTO(S) OF THE... UM... YEAR: Amphiuma means

So I had this crazy idea and I don't know why, but here's a post on one of my old blogs. I guess I could have put this one on my new blog but, hey! I think I'm going to resurrect some of these other blogs and this is a great one to get back into it.

Went herping with another professor at the college where I teach yesterday. Actually, our purpose was to set some live traps for his zoology class. He was borrowing my minnow traps. Since last week, I feel like everyone wants my minnow traps. Actually, I find myself catapulted into popularity among the biology department. Everyone is asking, what's my secret? Lifetime herpers are wondering, how'd I pull a stunt like that? Everyone loves me. I can't go into the woods anymore without the biology paparazzi thronging to every stone I overturn. Nigel Marven called me the other day and asked for an autograph. David Attenborough asked me to join him for tea.

But I exaggerate.

It all started on Friday, November 6. A pair of great horned owls were singing over the ponds at West Campus on the shores of Perdido Bay. Like many Fridays, I chucked my minnow trap into the cold glassy waters and watched it sink into the dark. A beaver slapped its tail. 

And then I bought a pizza and took my sister to the wharf, but that's another story.

Bright and early the next morning I drove out to the pond alone. At 6am, the roads were shrouded in fog and I pulled my sweater up around my neck and my hat down over my ears. I bounced my minivan off the road through the grass to were my trap was set. I jumped out and sleepily pulled it from the water. I was both excited and intrigued when I saw the large, eel-like creature inside. Several things crossed my mind: snake, eel, salamander? It was, indeed, a salamander, but far from average. At almost two feet long, the Amphiuma is among the largest of the aquatic salamanders. And its legs are so small that it moves more like a snake than a salamander, especially on land.

Funny thing about amphiumas. Some have three toes, some have two, and a few have just one on each foot. This one had two. That makes it Amphiuma means, the two-toed amphiuma.

A not so funny thing about amphiumas. They can bite cruelly. Lock their little teeth into the skin and then twist. Usually peals the skin right off and stitches are in order. But I didn't know that at the time so I handled it liberally. Thankfully, I was never bitten. Only coated in the slime the amphiuma exudes from its body.

Finding an amphiuma to a herper is like finding sasquatch to an anthropologist. We think of them often, but we don't really take the thought seriously. But there it was, real as life, in my minnow trap. I took it out and put it in a bucket (along with a sunfish I'd caught in the same trap). After texting and calling everyone I could think of, sending pictures and bragging disproportionately, I released it back were I found it. What a profound feeling. Releasing a dream after only fifteen minutes of contact. Like baling liquid gold out of a sinking ship.

So back to yesterday, I've got high hopes that we'll have something in my traps. But first, I have to take this call from Jeff Corwin. I'll probably set the traps next weekend if you want to come. As long as you don't mind Austin Stevens coming along for the ride. If you come looking for me, I'll be in the center of the crowd, were all the lights are flashing. Get my good side.

Herping after Dawn in the Florida Panhandle

A little late in coming, but I did go check my minnow trap at West Campus bright and early Saturday morning. Nothing. I could see some nice sized bass swimming around in the water but none of them would have fit in the trap. I'll have to try again in a different place were the fish aren't so large. And maybe I'll use some bait.

Anyways, I thought, the morning is young, so I went herping for the rest of the morning. Found a few dandy critters right there at West Campus including a few more leopard frogs (Rana sphenocephala) and lots of cricket frogs (Acris).

I had been hoping to find another cottonmouth (Agkistrodon piscivorus) or maybe a rattlesnake (Crotalus) because I had an audience (two of my coworkers/friends from the college came with me to pull up the trap). However, I didn't find anything venomous. This baby racer (Coluber constrictor) put on quite a show though. "Bit" me three or four times before I got the photos I was hoping for. Never broke the skin.

Herping after Dark in the Florida Panhandle

Here's a post from someone you haven't heard recently. I've been busy--very busy. It is not unusual for me to work 14 hours in a day and 9 hours is a short one. I worked hard this week and managed to keep up with all the homework and quiz grading common in the life of a college biology teacher. At the end of the day I rolled out of work at 4:00pm. Nine hours. After a quick dinner and an episode of John Acorn's Nature Nut show I grabbed my Nikon and a minnow trap and danced out the door.
Sometimes I have to schedule my moments of enjoyment just as religiously as my work and education. I'd been planning a trip out to set my minnow trap for a couple weeks and a Friday night seemed like a good time to me. However, my graduate class was hanging over my head as I pulled from the campus and I'm hoping I don't regret my choice of activity for the night. Good grades are encouraging but it's no excuse to procrastinate.
I had hoped to set a minnow trap at Tarkiln Bayou but that is a state park and I imagine it would be less than legal to remove any fish or wildlife from the park. However, I couldn't think of anywhere else to go. Whenever I have questions about the local wildlife I always find my way to Mr. Micah Bowman's office. A tall, lanky man with relaxed enthusiasm for zoology, Mr. Bowman spent his childhood in the panhandle and is far more adept at finding cool critters than I could ever hope to be. I asked my fellow faculty member if there were any places he could recommend for a minnow trap. His answer, always nonchalant, was so obvious I was embarrassed. West Campus was college property and fishing was encouraged.

I nailed these photos of a grass pickerel (Esox americanus) at Tarkiln Bayou last year (2014) near the end of November. I have been hoping to get a couple for my 120 gallon aquarium back home.

Yes, they are cannibals. My aquarium has three turtles at the present so trying to put some fish in there might be a bad idea. Sunfish would be nice but I find the predatory pickerel completely fascinating. I pulled the trap from the back of my minivan and made the short jaunt to the slough.
As I approached the rickety bridge over the algae-choked waters I spotted a black disk lying in the grass. It was just passed 7pm and the battery was low on my headlamp. I had to get close to see that it was a small cottonmouth snake (Agkistrodon piscivorus). Cottonmouths have a highly hemolytic venom that causes blood cells to rupture and tissues to break down, practically rotting off. However, I was delighted. In my excitement I ran back to my van to grab my ever-handy snake tongs and returned to where I'd dropped my trap before long. The snake was still there and I caught the snake without too much of a fuss. One strike and some degree of warning. It amazes me how placid these potentially lethal snakes are. This one seemed to have an especially calm disposition. The characteristic wide-open mouth display is an obvious message to threats. I carried the snake to the beach and took a few photos on the sand. Delightful.

Pumped with herpetological enthusiasm, I released the snake and started searching for more reptiles and amphibians with my headlamp. A southern toad (Bufo terrestris) hopped out of my way and soon I was running around the grass giggling like a four year old catching frogs.

Rana sphenocephala, the leopard frog. Loads of fun chasing these guys through the grass and catching them.

In the end I threw my trap over the bridge and watched it sink to the bottom. I tied the knot and headed back to my van. It was a good time and I don't regret it yet.

Search for the Painted Turtle: Part II

In a second attempt to spot the elusive painted turtle on Vancouver Island I headed to a farm close to where I'd gotten a tip off for painted turtles in the area. The only other wetland I new of north of Miracle Beach was behind a dairy-turned blackberry farm on Salmon Point. I didn't see any turtles, but I did find some very interesting creatures including this wandering garter snake. A sharp-shinned hawk also had a go at some starlings over my head. It's always super cool to see hawks in action like that. Thamnophis elegans vagrans. Salmon Point, Vancouver Island, British Columbia. July 18, 2009. Canon PowerShot A430. ISO 100, 5.4mm, 0 EV, f/2.8, 1/100.

This is a great example of the grey colour phase for the wandering garter snake, our own subspecies of the western terrestrial garter snake. Notice the almost checkered look to the spots and how large they are. It is usually only western terrestrials that have large, dark spots like this. I caught it in a sort of pond or slough behind the farm. Now, I don't want to go around making any grand claims, but I'm quite certain their are bullfrogs on this farm because one of the ranids I saw made a *peep* sound when it jumped into the water. It is usually only bullfrogs (and a few subtropical relatives) that do that, so I don't think it was a regular red-legged frog. If there are bullfrogs in this pond, it is the farthest north they've gotten yet, as far as anyone knows. I did find one just south at Saratoga Beach, but it was just one large male and I eradicated it once it was captured. Thamnophis elegans vagrans. Salmon Point, Vancouver Island, British Columbia. July 18, 2009. Canon PowerShot A430. ISO 100, 5.4mm, 0 EV, f/2.8, 1/400.

Species: Common Musk Turtle

Sternotherus odoratus

July 7th, 2014. The first wild musk turtle I have every held.

I first started thinking about this turtle way back in the early 2000s as a teenager. I was trying to single-handedly determine all the original created kinds (an arduous task) and I started with my favourites, the reptiles. I became troubled with the Kinosternidae (mud and musk turtles) and Chelydridae (snapping turtles) in particular because the former seemed to be miniature versions of the larger, with slightly more of an emydid (pond turtle) look. The question was, were they the same created kind or different. I emailed entomologist Mr. Gordon Wilson and veterinarian Dr. Jean Lightner about the dilemma because they were involved in a baraminology study group at the time. Mr. Wilson seemed to be leaning toward the idea of two different created kinds. I am still undecided to this day, although it seems that most creationists continue to lean toward the idea of separate holobaramins (created kinds).

This week, I was reminded of these distant thoughts. Morning of June 7th, a Saturday, I was walking redundantly around the lakes on Notre Dame's campus when I noticed a small turtle in the grass at the lakeshore. I moved to make a capture but stopped. What was she doing way out here? Of course! Closer inspection revealed that her hindquarters were lowered in a shallow depression. Under there was a hole, carved out by here hind legs for the deposition of eggs. Not willing to miss a magic moment, I sat down on the grass a ways off and waited. She huffed and wheezed, apparently expending a significant amount of energy expelling the eggs from her 5 inches or so of length. It was a half hour later the her rear started to move; burying her eggs.
Common musk turtles are not particularly common, unfortunately. Nest survival rates are incredibly low with only about 15% of nests going undiscovered by predators. Among hatchlings, few of those make it to adulthood. In parts of the US the musk turtle is considered a threatened species and it is considered endangered in Canada. The female I found was fully grown, but quite small compared to other turtle species. She certainly looked delicate and vulnerable laying her eggs in an open weedy area like the one she had chosen. Maybe the heavy human traffic, who were largely oblivious to the turtles presence, keep predators off most of the time.

When she had finished and started moving back to the water I carefully picked her up and inspected her closely. She seemed a little tired. I set her back down on the bank where she rested a moment before sliding back into the water. I turned my attention to the nest. She had done a pretty good job of covering the eggs, but had left on small, white egg sticking out of the top. I know painted turtles typically go to great lengths to make sure their eggs are concealed. Perhaps she wasn't comfortable with me watching her. The nest was fairly well hidden simply because of its location down in the weeds, but I obligingly covered the single exposed egg anyways. An extra help the little turtles can have at life would be appreciated, I figure. I'll be back in Canada when they hatch around 100 days after laying.

May 10, 2013 Part 1

Columbia River Gorge, Day 2A:

Only her bulging eyes
hint at the pain this
snake feels after
being hit by a car.

The California Mountain Kingsnake. The only one I've
ever found. It's a shame it will almost certainly be dead
shortly.

Fence lizard on a fence. Living up
to his name.

This morning we left camp early to go searching for reptiles at Catherine Creek, on the Washington side of the gorge. On the way there, my Dad spotted a snake on the road, so we pulled over and a couple of us ran back to see what if Dad's guess of California mountain kingsnake was right. It was but, sadly, the reptile had already been hit by a car and was close to death. Externally, she appeared fine but the only movements she could make were slow writhing shoves of her coils. I gently moved her off the road, but I doubted she would live another hour. She was probably the most beautiful snake I'd seen up to that point, and its sad that it had to be a roadkill specimen.

Fence lizard on rock, not living up to
his name.

Do you think she's pregnant? This
ground squirrel's teats were swollen.

Driving on from there to the trailhead parking lot, we pulled out our "snake sticks" and trekked out poking our improvised paint rollers into holes and under logs. Soon, we were catching southern alligator lizards and fence lizards around the creek's edge.
We stopped for lunch at a large pile of timber and watched a large male fence lizard do pushups on the highest plank to impress his females. It was pretty impressive. A ground squirrel soon showed up on the stack as well. It almost seemed like she was trying to stalk the lizards. She would have taken food from us I think if we had given her any. Daniel, my brother, tried catching the male fence lizard but he was outwitted.
I was beginning to think we wouldn't see any living snakes today but, thankfully, that proved to be wrong. My brother, moving ahead while we finished lunch, soon made up for his humiliating experience with the fence lizard. Calling, he alerted us to a gopher snake that was crossing the path. Gopher snakes are a species that one really cannot get enough of. They have beautiful faces and beautiful personalities, and are extremely photogenic. I took plenty of pictures and handled it a little, but it seemed to be fairly aggressive for a gopher snake. It mustn't have liked my camera.

Isn't that the most beautiful face you've ever seen? I'm not sure what subspecies of gopher snake these are. They might even be hybrids between the pacific and great basin subspecies.

He's saying, "I'll bite you if you come any closer!" Of course, it's just a bluff. I picked him up and he didn't follow through.

Only a short ways further I caught a second gopher snake and this one was really cranky. Striking at my lens and lunging at the family when they got too close. It is amazing how each snake has it's own personality. They certainly aren't programmed robots. They are individuals with their own likes and dislikes. Though I was hoping for a more complacent individual, it's nice to see some good, old-fashioned fear of people in these two snakes.

Lupines in a pine grove.

This gopher snake was pretty cranky.

Can anyone tell me what kind of
wildflower this is?

More lupines.

The trail led us into a beautiful grove of deciduous trees and a variety of wildflowers sprang up from the grasses. It was a beautiful place and I employed my camera on the purples of the wildflowers. And nearly all of them were a shade of purple! I photographed lupines, paintbrush, blue-eyed grass (I think) and other species that I couldn't identify. One of the flowers had a pretty little flower longhorn beetle on it. While the young of this species bore into trees and feed on the wood, the adults enjoy feeding on the pollen and nectar of flowers.

This is a flower longhorn beetle on an
unidentified wildflower.

This must be an alpine paintbrush.

Mount Hood stands out behind the
Columbia River Gorge.

After some time of beating around in the lush forests in the Catherine Creek valley, the trail carried us out onto a bare hill for a better look at the at the Columbia River Gorge. It was amazing to think that, as we stood there in the blistering heat of the hill with only a few scant and withered pines around us, that we had just come out of a relatively lush forest. Looking toward Mount Hood and its frozen Eliot Glacier my eyes drifted down into the temperate rainforest that surounds the mountain and finally to the rocky basalt shores of the Columbia River. So much diversity in such a short span of distance.

Florescent lichen.

There was a beautiful piece of lichen on an old sun-dried pine log on the hill and, though I tried, I couldn't seem to capture exactly how brilliantly florescent it was with my camera.

A tiny taste of things to come.

The trail led us back into the valley shortly and I took a few more wildflower pictures and practiced using slow shutter speeds with my camera on water. The mossy rock amid the foaming stream made a nice shot, but scarcely compares to our next destination today.
Because of formatting issues with my new blog design, this post has been split into two new posts this one, and Day 2B, here.