HerpIndiana

Surveying the Twin Ponds

Chapter 1. Winter’s Warmer Side

          It was early January as I found myself walking across a marshy field in jeans and a short sleeved shirt. My cheap, hole-ridden tennis shoes were soaking wet as they sunk into the shallow puddles between grass clumps. Rain was falling steadily and it showed no signs of letting up. However, I was entirely comfortable seeing as how the temperature was a balmy 70 degrees Fahrenheit. An out of place ring of trees materialized ahead of us in the otherwise treeless, brushy field. As we approached the trees, our flashlight beams glistened off of water revealing the ponds that the trees outlined. I flipped on the spotlight and it illuminated the depths of the small pond, revealing a number of ghostly figures gliding silently around under the pond’s murky surface. It had begun.

          A few days earlier, I had returned to Hanover to start my sophomore winter term. The weather forecast showed warm rains quickly approaching so I called up Dick Davis, the naturalist at a park where I did a volunteer herp survey. He informed me that someone had brought in an adult Spotted Salamander the day before that was found moving around near the campsites. This was encouraging as Spotted Salamanders are usually the last Ambystomatid salamanders to move to their breeding sites during the spring. With signs of amphibian activity already evident, we decided to head out the next night to see who might be taking advantage of the unseasonably warm weather. I had yet to find any significant breeding ponds for salamanders in the park, but Dick assured me that he saw Spotted Salamanders and Wood Frogs yearly. Since these two species breed exclusively in small fishless ponds, I knew they were out there. He indicated an area that was usually wet, and I used Google Earth to view the patch of overgrown marshland. Sure enough, two distinct ponds appeared on the aerial photograph.

          The next night, I met Dick at the nature center where he had been keeping the Spotted Salamander that was brought to him. The forecast promised rain, but as of yet the night was calm and quiet. Dick and I gathered flashlights and boots and chatted for a bit. We began to wonder if we would have any luck at all without the rain, but soon our worries were dispelled. The rain came down suddenly and with great force, loudly pounding the roof of the nature center. Knowing it would likely be my only chance to use my camera the entire night, I took the Spotted Salamander outside and photographed him under the roof overhang where I could keep my camera dry.

Adult Spotted Salamander (Ambystoma maculatum)

          We left in Dick’s truck, heading for the ponds with the Spotted Salamander tucked in a small container at my feet. Rather than searching the ponds right off the bat, we opted to take a drive further north to see what might be out on the roads. As we turned the corner onto the main drive, a blob on the side of the road began leaping across the pavement. I jumped out and ran over to the frog to pick up our first Wood Frog of the night. While none of the frogs were calling, the rains had certainly woken them up as just down the road we swerved to miss a little Spring Peeper as it bounded off the road. We had to stop repeatedly for Southern Two-lined Salamanders and Eastern Zigzag Salamanders as they squirmed across the road in between drops of rain. After completing our loop we headed south again and parked near the campgrounds. We made our way toward the wetland by way of the main park road. We carried along the precious cargo of our Spotted Salamander and one Wood Frog that we pulled off of the road. As we passed some pools along the road, we decided that this was likely near enough to where the salamander was found to release it so we took out both the frog and salamander and let them go. I wondered if leaving them this far from the ponds would be ok, but I soon received my answer in the form of another Spotted Salamander with its head held high making its way across the road in front of us. A few feet away another Wood Frog leapt across the pavement. It seemed like we were in the right place, but I still couldn’t help but wonder why the Spotted Salamanders were the first to move. Generally Jefferson’s Salamanders tend to move much earlier than Spotted Salamanders.

          As I stood over the ponds looking down into the murky water with the help of a spotlight, I realized that this question had also been answered. Beneath the surface of the pond, many Jefferson’s Salamanders plodded along the muddy bottom. Every now and then, one would suddenly spring to life and make a dart for the surface, where it would quickly gulp some air and return to the depths. We watched them swim around for awhile and then netted some out to get a closer look. After counting well over thirty Jefferson’s Salamanders and only one Spotted Salamander in the ponds, I realized that the Jefferson’s Salamanders had moved to the ponds a couple days earlier, likely when the night temperatures first got above freezing. It amazed me that this species would move with no rain, low temperatures, and snow still remaining on the ground, but I suppose their internal clock was stronger than their desire for warmth.

          The rain once again kept me from using my camera, but I returned a couple nights later to see if I could redeem myself. The temperatures were steadily dropping and it looked as though the warm spell we had enjoyed so much was nearing its end. The cooling temperatures had obviously forced the Spotted Salamanders to turn tail because I was unable to see any in the ponds. The Jefferson’s however had decided to stick it out and were still gliding around under the glassy surface of the water. This time the night was still except for the occasional distant lightening strikes. A cold front was quickly approaching and in a matter of days the ponds and surrounding marshes would be turned into an inhospitable icy field. I reached my hand into the pond and scooped out a large male to photograph. After a quick photo session, I carefully lowered him back into the already chilly water and I could only hope that I was not condemning him to freeze to death.

Adult Male Jefferson's Salamander (Ambystoma jeffersonianum)

Chapter 2. Weathering the Storm

          January of 2008 seemed to be following an eerily similar pattern to February of 2007. The previous January had brought warm rains and high temperatures, throwing the Jefferson’s Salamanders into a full blown breeding bonanza. Once February came around however, a sudden and fierce winter storm rolled through, freezing all sources of water and blanketing the landscape in snow. A couple of weeks of this weather was all it took to freeze the ponds nearly solid and kill most of the salamanders in the ponds. Some made it out or survived under the ice on the high dissolved oxygen that cold water yields, but many became trapped in an icy tomb. At every pond I checked that spring, dead Jefferson’s were turning up and at some pools the death counts were as high thirty some individuals. While Ambystomatid salamander breeding is cyclic and this sort of die off happens every now and then, repeated die offs can put a dent in a population.

          I stared out my dorm room window as the snow fell, recalling the events of the previous year and hoping the cold would break soon. Luckily, it was only a couple days later that much of the snow melted and the temperatures were again on the rise. I looked at the weather forecast for that night and noticed the chances for a thunderstorm were relatively low. There was a strong wind advisory, but I "knew" strong winds meant nothing more than a breezy evening. Unfortunately for me, my youthful passion for nature was once again causing me to overlook a clear and strong indication of a potentially dangerous situation.

          I arrived near the campground and parked just up the road from the ponds. While getting out my flashlight and dip net I noticed the sky was displaying beautiful, yet obscured shades of reds and yellows. Since the sun had set nearly an hour ago I thought this was odd, but the calmness of the night lulled me into a false sense of security. I took this as simply a beautiful scene for me to enjoy and even contemplated taking a shot showing the light sky reflecting off the roadside pools when I returned to the car. I got to the ponds after a short hike and to my dismay, they were frozen solid. However, much to my surprise and delight, the Jefferson’s Salamanders were still swimming around underneath the ice. In an attempt to dip net a few salamanders out, I began smacking the ice with the tip of the pole on my dip net. After a few hard hits to the ice I had created a small hole. I figured if I could create a few more holes I might be able to break a bigger chunk out so I continued to hammer away. After a few more knocks it was obvious my attempts were futile.

          I raised the net above my head and brought it down on the ice once again, but as the handle connected with the ice, it slipped causing the metal rim of the net to slam forcefully into my forehead. I stood for a second as a sharp pain shot through my head. As the pond began spinning in front of me I had to drop down to one knee for a second as everything got blurry. When the scene cleared, I reached up to feel a large knot forming on my forehead. As I sat back to collect myself for a moment, I noticed light flashing off the pond. I looked up to see flashes of lightening in the west and realized the storm that was not likely to hit was quickly approaching. I picked up my net and decided to cut my losses and head back, but before I could even reach the road, the rain began to fall and thunderclaps sounded loudly above me. Once on the road, I broke out into a full sprint toward my car, because the lightening and thunder had quickly become intense. The sprint from the ponds to where my car was parked was a long one, but lightening strikes can be an excellent motivator and I soon found myself climbing into my car, out of breath.

          With the heavy rain, it was suddenly an excellent night for road cruising and, now that I was surely safe, I decided to cruise the roads for awhile so I turned onto the main drive. The winds began to pick up as I continued along the deep gorge to my side. I watched as the rain began blowing almost horizontally across my plane of view, forcing me to slow down. I suddenly just wanted to get out of the park and safely back to my dorm, but the rain and wind continued to obscure my vision and force my vehicle into a crawling speed. Before I had time to react, the wind was blowing the rain into small cyclones above the road and carrying sticks and small rocks with it. The car was being buffeted by small pieces of debris and my vision of the road had been reduced to only the yellow tint I could make out of the center line, but I continued to press on, thinking if I could just get out of the park I would be safe. After a few larger rocks hit my windshield with a loud clank I decided the winds were still increasing and that it was time to take cover. As I neared a bridge over one of the many smaller creeks that empties down into the gorge, I saw the lights of cars to the north on the main highway just outside the park and slammed on the breaks to pull my car over. Not knowing if a tornado was quickly approaching or not, I flipped on my blinkers and jumped out into the storm without a flashlight or anything other than a t-shirt to provide a buffer from the weather. I scrambled down toward the creek that I found to be dangerously high, fast, and icy. The creek had flooded too much to be able to take cover under the bridge so I jammed myself up under the roots of a larger tree. I was exposed, cold, and soaked as I watched the trees bend back and forth. I now regretted ignoring the strong wind advisory. I didn't like feeling so exposed to the storm and decided to make a dash for the much larger highway bridge to the north. Without a light, I could only see my surroundings by the intermittent flashing of my emergency lights on the road above and the reflection of the creek. I jogged along the creek, slipping on the ice every now and then. I reached the bridge to see that it was large enough to take cover under, even with the flood waters. I leaned against the concrete wall and in the darkness breathed a sigh of relief as the almost menacing flashing from my vehicle lit up the small ravine ahead. It had all happened so fast and now that I finally had time to analyze the situation and make proactive decisions I could not seem to come up with any. I had no clue how long to wait, but the rising creek water soon hastened my decision. I felt the cold, muddy water rise up to meet my shoes and realized I had to either choose gale force winds or a flooding creek. Hoping that the worst of the winds had passed, I opted for the former and began scrambling out of the ravine and toward my car. The rain had slowed and luckily for me, so had the wind. I jumped into my vehicle, wet and shivering, and drove out of the park then back to my dorm where I found out that the winds had not brought any actual tornadoes, but were strong enough to bring down trees, limbs, and even billboards.

          While I was striving to avoid airborne debris and floodwaters, the salamanders were safely tucked under a 3in layer of solid ice. It strikes me as funny that the salamanders I had been so worried about ended up doing a better job of safely weathering the storm than I did. The ice melted after about a week and the salamanders were able to complete their breeding and lay eggs, securing the fate of the next generation. I came out of the experience with a renewed respect for storm warnings and the hardy nature of Jefferson’s Salamanders.

Chapter 3. The Spring Symphony

 

COMING SOON...