Jefferson
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- Apr 21, 2012
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- Location
- Southwest Missouri
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- United States
Links to longer YT videos that will go along with this post series:
My wife insisted before we got married that I take half our two-week honeymoon to go herping in the USA before we head to the Caribbean. After resisting for a while, I accepted that we could spend three days in California hunting for some early spring salamanders, predominantly in new territory for me around Lake Shasta, where the bulk of my remaining Hydromantes, after seeing a Limestone Salamander (H. brunus) last year, lay. So it was that the morning after our wedding, we made the drive to Kansas City’s airport (with people honking at us the whole way until we removed the “Just Married” from the rear window) and hopped on a westbound jet for Sacramento, but not before a serendipitous run-in with one of the guests from the wedding also heading back to California!
Upon landing in the Golden State, I donned some sunglasses for the 75 and sunny terrain, and we flew down I-5 in our rental car (strangely enough, we got a rental car with 4 miles on the odometer by complete chance—I have never driven a car that new) past the eucalyptus trees and fertile fields of the Central Valley to the nearest In-N-Out Burger, where Chloe introduced me to “animal style” fries and burger toppings (caramelized onion, cheese, chili).
From there commenced the great northerly slog to the Redding/Lake Shasta area, with the fruit orchards flowering on either side of the interstate and towering mountains in the distance both east and west as twilight descended north of the Chico exits. By the time we breached the Valley’s northern edge into the hilly terrain around Redding, it was pitch black, and my mind was on our first spot, a roadside rockface beside a rushing river. Upon arriving, the ground and the rocks were bone dry, as it had been about two weeks since the last rain, and we only saw a few large millipedes and kangaroo mice hiding in the crevices.
After navigating the steep driveway to the A-frame cabin we rented in the hills around Lake Shasta (thankfully we had a back-up camera!!), we discovered it was beautiful but lacked normal water pressure in the sinks, perhaps from winterization. On the drive, I explained some of the details on the spots we’d be hitting over the next three days (while making strained analogies to wedding planning contingencies), including the boat ride to try for Hydromantes wintu, to which Chloe asked, “So who is driving the boat?” thinking I meant a tour guide. I responded, “Well, honey, either you…or me.” We both doubled over in laughter. Although she had the itinerary for a few months before, Chloe taking most of the wedding planning duties meant she had overlooked that detail…. Overnight, the temperatures plunged from the 60s down into the low 40s, and a slow drizzle turned into a light rain when we awoke early the next morning to make a pilgrimage to extreme Southern Oregon.
The drive in the early morning dark from Lake Shasta to just outside of Ashland, OR featured discussion of internment camps during World War II for Japanese, the effectiveness of US affirmative action on several dimensions, how US and Panamanian race relations and historical development differed (Chloe grew up as a missionary kid, or “MK” in Panama and is very knowledgeable about the country and perceptive of cultural patterns in America that someone like me who has always lived here might miss), and her history as a traveling nurse on a stint not that far from our spot, in Klamath Falls, OR.
The dark couldn’t fully hide the hulking shadows of the massive mountains through which we drove, and the thermometer bottomed out at 35 at the Dunsmuir Pass before rebounding with our descent. We ate some hard-boiled eggs and carrots as the sun came up around Yreka and the vast meadowy realm between the mountains came into view. Although I could feel a proverbial “frog” developing in my throat, I didn’t worry about it too much and figured it would subside through the day. It didn’t, but along a picturesque brook, under the last log before I would call it quits, we turned up this beauty of an Ambystoma for lifer #1 of the trip:
The Southern Long-toed is more commonly seen at higher elevations in the Sierra Nevada and the “Trinity County Alps” during the summer, but at some select locales in extreme southern Oregon at lower elevation, the salamander is findable in the early spring. With my sickness worsening and feeling tired, Chloe drove us to our first Plethodon asupak location, but with temperatures in the low 40s and my sore throat turning into general fatigue, I nearly collapsed about fifty feet into flipping and called a “lid” (as the Biden White House would call it) on the day, passing up on the other stops as well. It was a painful decision, as the conditions were perfect with 40s and light rain, but it turned out to be the correct one. I had, in fact, a UTI, and it was only by getting a healthy (“fat,” as the kids say) midday nap and drinking almost a quart of cranberry juice and probably 3 quarts of water within 5 hours (and Chloe making some bomb omelets) that I recovered sufficiently for us to run the tables so miraculously over the next 24 hours.
The prospects for the trip (at least herpetologically speaking) looked pretty dire at 3pm that day—I was sick, we had missed Scott Bar, and a storm blew into Lake Shasta with temperatures hovering barely above the mark for the rain to become snow, and branches were creaking and cracking through my nap. But things turned fast. My energy came back just after dinner, the storm passed, and we headed out to the north end of the lake to a spot along the McCloud River, though I did have to clear the road of downed tree branches several times (
) to reach our spot.
Do you know what I flipped first, in a light 45 degree rain? A fence lizard, of course! Some animals don’t read the field guide, as I like to say.
After about a half hour of hiking trying to find a cave but coming up with only breathtaking views of the McCloud River arm and the surrounding craggy mountains, I resigned myself to flipping in the woods. On the way back toward the car, this guy was sitting under a thick oak log:
Incidentally, this beautiful Hydromantes represented my 200th US salamander, when counting at the subspecies level! I reveled in the feeling of at least hitting one of the endemic Hydromantes around the lake and took my time with pictures as the light began fading in the misty woods, and deer were active all over the road for the entire one-hour drive back into Redding for supplies…..namely more cranberry juice.
While I love visiting California, stepping inside a Walmart in that state is supremely depressing. The amount of merchandise behind glass compared to our stores here in Missouri, or anywhere else I have ever been, speaks to the breakdown of basic norms and civility on some level. Having to ask a store clerk to unlock items as inexpensive as shaving cream or soap shouldn’t be the norm. But anyway….
While we were in Walmart, a steady rain turned into a hailstorm, even in temperatures of only 39 degrees. It was very strange to observe lightning, thunder, and hail that close to freezing, and we drove through periodic downpour, pea-size hail, and drizzle to the same rockface we had tried the night prior now that moisture and lower temperatures were on our side. For the first half hour I saw nothing as the drizzle periodically turned into downpour, Chloe wisely camping in the heated car opposite the rockface whilst I comically wrestled my flimsy purple umbrella and flashlight through the thick briars and brambles at the base of the rockface. About a half hour in, I saw one in a crevice but couldn’t get the flashlight sufficiently on it and the camera maneuvered to get a decent picture. Luckily, a second specimen was much more cooperative about fifteen minutes later:
Soaked through, we headed back to the cabin, which despite the low water pressure, had one very nice amenity for being freezing and wet: a fireplace with plenty of pre-stocked firewood! Wrapping up the day with a warm fire and writing down the day’s memorable moments was the perfect end to a very, very long day that had spanned two states, three lifers, an illness acquired and nearly as quickly driven back, and some of the prettiest California terrain I had ever seen. But the next day was the real kicker. The boat.
Have you ever rented a pontoon boat from a marina on a morning when it was 39 degrees with a chance for light flurries or drizzle? At 8am? While wearing hiking boots? If you have, you know the expression you inspire on the person renting you said boat: complete and utter astonishment. Her name was Elizabeth, and she was stunned. “A pontoon boat?” “Yes.” “We haven’t rented any of those so far this year, and I didn’t think today would be the day.” I looked outside at the clouds and mist, and in my best attempt at a Leslie Nielsen, said, “I can’t imagine why.” She looked at me like I was crazy. To be honest, I felt crazy. I had, mind you, never driven a boat. Chloe had, and had paddled extensively in Panama, but this was insane. We would take the boat a few miles away to a remote inlet, tie it off with stakes, and then hike steep, unforgiving, tangled, trail-less habitat until we found our quarry: the Wintu Shasta Salamander. We explained as much to Elizabeth, and her eyes lit up, “Really, I am a herpetologist too!” she exclaimed. I asked what she saw around here. The answer was the skinks and fence lizards around the dock, and some snakes now and then. Everyone starts somewhere.
From Elizabeth’s office, we headed down a dock to a helpful young lady who explained how not to wreck the boat, the rules on buoys, etc. From there, it was off, with Chloe driving the boat toward our inlet and both of us marveling at the imposing mountainous terrain all around the lake.
A short video of us driving the boat:
Fifteen minutes later, we pulled into the cove, tied the boat off, and started into the wilderness by the guide of phone GPS. About halfway up a steep creek ravine while we rested, I flipped this juvenile Shasta Black Salamander, the first of three but the only one I photographed. I must admit that I think their cousins to the south, the Klamath Black Salamanders, are prettier, and the Santa Cruz Black Salamander is sleeker, but this complex is always cool to see no matter the species.
Pictures complete, we climbed, and I mean literally climbed, higher up the mountainside toward a flat mountaintop meadow where our quarry is historically found. The habitat up there, after periodic breaks from our crawl up 45-degree-plus slopes, was beautiful and serene, but turned up only another juvenile Black Salamander, a skink, and a Pacific Chorus frog, none of which I bothered to get pictures of. After a tortuous descent back to the boat, half of it crab-walking on our rear ends, we ventured to the other side of the river to a backup spot. Whereas we had been in thick forest all morning so far, this other side of the river was barren by comparison, with mostly grassy, open areas and short, shrubby trees. After nearly an hour of “guess how far up slope you are versus the spot,” we arrived at a small grotto in the hillside sweaty and tired, and I searched just outside the entrance of the small cave. Probably 20 yards downslope, this breathtaking specimen was discovered:
Euphoria doesn’t begin to describe it. When you put that much effort into finding one thing, that much sweat and strain on your ankles and research and logistics, and it works, the feeling is unparalleled, but also imbued with a deep sense that the animal in front of you is a gift. There are plenty of ways we could not have seen that critter. It could have not rained as it did the day prior. The boat rental place could have closed, presuming the chance of renting anything to be zero. A rockslide could have closed our path to the spot. Etc. After a while in photography, we descended the mountain slowly and deliberately, again crossed the river, and I tried my hand at driving the boat back to the marina. It was 3:45pm when we docked, and we were hungry with a capital H! What better place to celebrate than In-N-Out?
I told Chloe the past 36 hours of herping were the best I had ever had, and I wasn’t fooling. Only missing one salamander given my nearly-urgent care worthy infection and the difficulty of all the species we had seen was simply incredible, and the land, the sense of shared adventure, the fact that this was our honeymoon, made it unparalleled.
On full stomachs, we drove west to Eureka, up and over the beautiful but imposing and snow-capped Trinity County Alps and down along the thundering, turquoise Trinity River into Humboldt County, where the trailers fly Anarchist rather than Confederate flags and everything, and I mean everything, is Bigfoot-themed. In Willow Creek, the restaurants, the gas stations, the trinket stops, even the “Bigfoot Cannabis Company” (which is probably the most NorCal thing I have ever seen). Curiously, at several construction zones along the road between Willow Creek and Eureka, we had to push a button to get the light to turn green in rural one-lane zones. It felt odd, but also empowering. That night, we slept to the sound of a million chorus frogs behind our Airbnb in the marsh after a well-deserved soak in the hot tub.
The next morning started with breakfast at T’s Brunch Club in Arcata, which featured a large statue of, you guessed it, Bigfoot. The size of the creature depicted augured good things for the size of the salamanders we would turn up in the redwoods that day.
The redwoods stood imposing, hulking, but welcoming, as they always do, darkening the forest floor even at 10am and muffling all sound with their soft foundation of coniferous detritus and the gentle patter of rain. Our steps were silent as we turned up the first of many, many slenders and Ensatinas within five minutes. A few moments later, we turned a big Coastal Giant! These lumbering behemoths are so beautiful and intricately patterned!
Over the next two hours, we found probably 100 slender salamanders and Ensatinas, a Rough-skinned Newt, several large banana slugs, and then, at long last, my lifer Northwestern just five minutes from being back at the car!! This one was a hulking beast of an Ambystoma, the same size as the Coastal Giant from earlier that morning. As I photographed the animal, a couple from Minnesota came past and stopped for a look at the salamander as well.
With that, the California leg of the honeymoon dedicated to herping ended, and after a series of flights overnight (including through Arcata-Eureka, the most exciting airport on Earth, where the TSA was literally closed until an hour before flight time because there is only one gate and a few flights per day), the portion in Belize dedicated to beach relaxation began, but a few herps snuck their way into happenings anyway....
My wife insisted before we got married that I take half our two-week honeymoon to go herping in the USA before we head to the Caribbean. After resisting for a while, I accepted that we could spend three days in California hunting for some early spring salamanders, predominantly in new territory for me around Lake Shasta, where the bulk of my remaining Hydromantes, after seeing a Limestone Salamander (H. brunus) last year, lay. So it was that the morning after our wedding, we made the drive to Kansas City’s airport (with people honking at us the whole way until we removed the “Just Married” from the rear window) and hopped on a westbound jet for Sacramento, but not before a serendipitous run-in with one of the guests from the wedding also heading back to California!
Upon landing in the Golden State, I donned some sunglasses for the 75 and sunny terrain, and we flew down I-5 in our rental car (strangely enough, we got a rental car with 4 miles on the odometer by complete chance—I have never driven a car that new) past the eucalyptus trees and fertile fields of the Central Valley to the nearest In-N-Out Burger, where Chloe introduced me to “animal style” fries and burger toppings (caramelized onion, cheese, chili).
From there commenced the great northerly slog to the Redding/Lake Shasta area, with the fruit orchards flowering on either side of the interstate and towering mountains in the distance both east and west as twilight descended north of the Chico exits. By the time we breached the Valley’s northern edge into the hilly terrain around Redding, it was pitch black, and my mind was on our first spot, a roadside rockface beside a rushing river. Upon arriving, the ground and the rocks were bone dry, as it had been about two weeks since the last rain, and we only saw a few large millipedes and kangaroo mice hiding in the crevices.
After navigating the steep driveway to the A-frame cabin we rented in the hills around Lake Shasta (thankfully we had a back-up camera!!), we discovered it was beautiful but lacked normal water pressure in the sinks, perhaps from winterization. On the drive, I explained some of the details on the spots we’d be hitting over the next three days (while making strained analogies to wedding planning contingencies), including the boat ride to try for Hydromantes wintu, to which Chloe asked, “So who is driving the boat?” thinking I meant a tour guide. I responded, “Well, honey, either you…or me.” We both doubled over in laughter. Although she had the itinerary for a few months before, Chloe taking most of the wedding planning duties meant she had overlooked that detail…. Overnight, the temperatures plunged from the 60s down into the low 40s, and a slow drizzle turned into a light rain when we awoke early the next morning to make a pilgrimage to extreme Southern Oregon.
The drive in the early morning dark from Lake Shasta to just outside of Ashland, OR featured discussion of internment camps during World War II for Japanese, the effectiveness of US affirmative action on several dimensions, how US and Panamanian race relations and historical development differed (Chloe grew up as a missionary kid, or “MK” in Panama and is very knowledgeable about the country and perceptive of cultural patterns in America that someone like me who has always lived here might miss), and her history as a traveling nurse on a stint not that far from our spot, in Klamath Falls, OR.
The dark couldn’t fully hide the hulking shadows of the massive mountains through which we drove, and the thermometer bottomed out at 35 at the Dunsmuir Pass before rebounding with our descent. We ate some hard-boiled eggs and carrots as the sun came up around Yreka and the vast meadowy realm between the mountains came into view. Although I could feel a proverbial “frog” developing in my throat, I didn’t worry about it too much and figured it would subside through the day. It didn’t, but along a picturesque brook, under the last log before I would call it quits, we turned up this beauty of an Ambystoma for lifer #1 of the trip:
The Southern Long-toed is more commonly seen at higher elevations in the Sierra Nevada and the “Trinity County Alps” during the summer, but at some select locales in extreme southern Oregon at lower elevation, the salamander is findable in the early spring. With my sickness worsening and feeling tired, Chloe drove us to our first Plethodon asupak location, but with temperatures in the low 40s and my sore throat turning into general fatigue, I nearly collapsed about fifty feet into flipping and called a “lid” (as the Biden White House would call it) on the day, passing up on the other stops as well. It was a painful decision, as the conditions were perfect with 40s and light rain, but it turned out to be the correct one. I had, in fact, a UTI, and it was only by getting a healthy (“fat,” as the kids say) midday nap and drinking almost a quart of cranberry juice and probably 3 quarts of water within 5 hours (and Chloe making some bomb omelets) that I recovered sufficiently for us to run the tables so miraculously over the next 24 hours.
The prospects for the trip (at least herpetologically speaking) looked pretty dire at 3pm that day—I was sick, we had missed Scott Bar, and a storm blew into Lake Shasta with temperatures hovering barely above the mark for the rain to become snow, and branches were creaking and cracking through my nap. But things turned fast. My energy came back just after dinner, the storm passed, and we headed out to the north end of the lake to a spot along the McCloud River, though I did have to clear the road of downed tree branches several times (
Do you know what I flipped first, in a light 45 degree rain? A fence lizard, of course! Some animals don’t read the field guide, as I like to say.
After about a half hour of hiking trying to find a cave but coming up with only breathtaking views of the McCloud River arm and the surrounding craggy mountains, I resigned myself to flipping in the woods. On the way back toward the car, this guy was sitting under a thick oak log:
Incidentally, this beautiful Hydromantes represented my 200th US salamander, when counting at the subspecies level! I reveled in the feeling of at least hitting one of the endemic Hydromantes around the lake and took my time with pictures as the light began fading in the misty woods, and deer were active all over the road for the entire one-hour drive back into Redding for supplies…..namely more cranberry juice.
While I love visiting California, stepping inside a Walmart in that state is supremely depressing. The amount of merchandise behind glass compared to our stores here in Missouri, or anywhere else I have ever been, speaks to the breakdown of basic norms and civility on some level. Having to ask a store clerk to unlock items as inexpensive as shaving cream or soap shouldn’t be the norm. But anyway….
While we were in Walmart, a steady rain turned into a hailstorm, even in temperatures of only 39 degrees. It was very strange to observe lightning, thunder, and hail that close to freezing, and we drove through periodic downpour, pea-size hail, and drizzle to the same rockface we had tried the night prior now that moisture and lower temperatures were on our side. For the first half hour I saw nothing as the drizzle periodically turned into downpour, Chloe wisely camping in the heated car opposite the rockface whilst I comically wrestled my flimsy purple umbrella and flashlight through the thick briars and brambles at the base of the rockface. About a half hour in, I saw one in a crevice but couldn’t get the flashlight sufficiently on it and the camera maneuvered to get a decent picture. Luckily, a second specimen was much more cooperative about fifteen minutes later:
Soaked through, we headed back to the cabin, which despite the low water pressure, had one very nice amenity for being freezing and wet: a fireplace with plenty of pre-stocked firewood! Wrapping up the day with a warm fire and writing down the day’s memorable moments was the perfect end to a very, very long day that had spanned two states, three lifers, an illness acquired and nearly as quickly driven back, and some of the prettiest California terrain I had ever seen. But the next day was the real kicker. The boat.
Have you ever rented a pontoon boat from a marina on a morning when it was 39 degrees with a chance for light flurries or drizzle? At 8am? While wearing hiking boots? If you have, you know the expression you inspire on the person renting you said boat: complete and utter astonishment. Her name was Elizabeth, and she was stunned. “A pontoon boat?” “Yes.” “We haven’t rented any of those so far this year, and I didn’t think today would be the day.” I looked outside at the clouds and mist, and in my best attempt at a Leslie Nielsen, said, “I can’t imagine why.” She looked at me like I was crazy. To be honest, I felt crazy. I had, mind you, never driven a boat. Chloe had, and had paddled extensively in Panama, but this was insane. We would take the boat a few miles away to a remote inlet, tie it off with stakes, and then hike steep, unforgiving, tangled, trail-less habitat until we found our quarry: the Wintu Shasta Salamander. We explained as much to Elizabeth, and her eyes lit up, “Really, I am a herpetologist too!” she exclaimed. I asked what she saw around here. The answer was the skinks and fence lizards around the dock, and some snakes now and then. Everyone starts somewhere.
From Elizabeth’s office, we headed down a dock to a helpful young lady who explained how not to wreck the boat, the rules on buoys, etc. From there, it was off, with Chloe driving the boat toward our inlet and both of us marveling at the imposing mountainous terrain all around the lake.
A short video of us driving the boat:
Fifteen minutes later, we pulled into the cove, tied the boat off, and started into the wilderness by the guide of phone GPS. About halfway up a steep creek ravine while we rested, I flipped this juvenile Shasta Black Salamander, the first of three but the only one I photographed. I must admit that I think their cousins to the south, the Klamath Black Salamanders, are prettier, and the Santa Cruz Black Salamander is sleeker, but this complex is always cool to see no matter the species.
Pictures complete, we climbed, and I mean literally climbed, higher up the mountainside toward a flat mountaintop meadow where our quarry is historically found. The habitat up there, after periodic breaks from our crawl up 45-degree-plus slopes, was beautiful and serene, but turned up only another juvenile Black Salamander, a skink, and a Pacific Chorus frog, none of which I bothered to get pictures of. After a tortuous descent back to the boat, half of it crab-walking on our rear ends, we ventured to the other side of the river to a backup spot. Whereas we had been in thick forest all morning so far, this other side of the river was barren by comparison, with mostly grassy, open areas and short, shrubby trees. After nearly an hour of “guess how far up slope you are versus the spot,” we arrived at a small grotto in the hillside sweaty and tired, and I searched just outside the entrance of the small cave. Probably 20 yards downslope, this breathtaking specimen was discovered:
Euphoria doesn’t begin to describe it. When you put that much effort into finding one thing, that much sweat and strain on your ankles and research and logistics, and it works, the feeling is unparalleled, but also imbued with a deep sense that the animal in front of you is a gift. There are plenty of ways we could not have seen that critter. It could have not rained as it did the day prior. The boat rental place could have closed, presuming the chance of renting anything to be zero. A rockslide could have closed our path to the spot. Etc. After a while in photography, we descended the mountain slowly and deliberately, again crossed the river, and I tried my hand at driving the boat back to the marina. It was 3:45pm when we docked, and we were hungry with a capital H! What better place to celebrate than In-N-Out?
I told Chloe the past 36 hours of herping were the best I had ever had, and I wasn’t fooling. Only missing one salamander given my nearly-urgent care worthy infection and the difficulty of all the species we had seen was simply incredible, and the land, the sense of shared adventure, the fact that this was our honeymoon, made it unparalleled.
On full stomachs, we drove west to Eureka, up and over the beautiful but imposing and snow-capped Trinity County Alps and down along the thundering, turquoise Trinity River into Humboldt County, where the trailers fly Anarchist rather than Confederate flags and everything, and I mean everything, is Bigfoot-themed. In Willow Creek, the restaurants, the gas stations, the trinket stops, even the “Bigfoot Cannabis Company” (which is probably the most NorCal thing I have ever seen). Curiously, at several construction zones along the road between Willow Creek and Eureka, we had to push a button to get the light to turn green in rural one-lane zones. It felt odd, but also empowering. That night, we slept to the sound of a million chorus frogs behind our Airbnb in the marsh after a well-deserved soak in the hot tub.
The next morning started with breakfast at T’s Brunch Club in Arcata, which featured a large statue of, you guessed it, Bigfoot. The size of the creature depicted augured good things for the size of the salamanders we would turn up in the redwoods that day.
The redwoods stood imposing, hulking, but welcoming, as they always do, darkening the forest floor even at 10am and muffling all sound with their soft foundation of coniferous detritus and the gentle patter of rain. Our steps were silent as we turned up the first of many, many slenders and Ensatinas within five minutes. A few moments later, we turned a big Coastal Giant! These lumbering behemoths are so beautiful and intricately patterned!
Over the next two hours, we found probably 100 slender salamanders and Ensatinas, a Rough-skinned Newt, several large banana slugs, and then, at long last, my lifer Northwestern just five minutes from being back at the car!! This one was a hulking beast of an Ambystoma, the same size as the Coastal Giant from earlier that morning. As I photographed the animal, a couple from Minnesota came past and stopped for a look at the salamander as well.
With that, the California leg of the honeymoon dedicated to herping ended, and after a series of flights overnight (including through Arcata-Eureka, the most exciting airport on Earth, where the TSA was literally closed until an hour before flight time because there is only one gate and a few flights per day), the portion in Belize dedicated to beach relaxation began, but a few herps snuck their way into happenings anyway....
