An Illustrated Salamander Hunt
It was a dark and froggy night...
The rain splats steadily against the windshield as our van makes its way down a long gravel road in Monongahela National Forest. Once we arrive, we click on our headlamps, cinch our raincoat hoods over our heads, and head down the road on foot to see what little amphibian lives are hidden away under cover of night.
We’re here to experience what’s known as “Big Night”, an annual occurrence when—on the first few warm, rainy nights of spring—certain amphibians like wood frogs, spotted salamanders, spring peepers and Jefferson salamanders emerge en masse from their underground winter hideouts to mate in temporary ponds called vernal pools.
With headlamps directed at the overflowing ditches on either side of the road, we scour the murky waters for movement and color. For the first half hour, the only lives we encounter are mounds of wood frog eggs and tiny caddisfly larvae wriggling around in their portable protective houses that they’ve crafted out of stones.
Just as we begin to fear we might have missed this phenomenon by a day or two, someone calls out, “I found a spotted!” and I begin to jog toward the commotion, unsure of how long the salamander will stay before it slips back into hiding. I see the salamander’s large, neon yellow spots from a long way off, its chunky, 8-inch-long body perched atop a bed of brown leaves beside the ditch.
Before long, we begin to see dozens more spotted salamanders. One begins to perform rapid-fire spins in a tight, fluid motion, and we all shriek in delight. This is one of the mating rituals that the males perform to convince the females to pick up the sperm packets—called spermatophores—that they’ve deposited in the water. Once a female is thoroughly impressed, she’ll suck the packet into her cloaca. While it’s difficult to distinguish the males from the females, the females are generally larger in size.
Throughout our nighttime nature snooping, we find several other species of salamander—spring salamanders, slimy salamanders, and red-backed salamanders. We find a juvenile spring salamander that still has its external gills, adorable pink structures on either side of its head that make it look like it’s wearing pigtails. Our eyes also catch on a few wood frogs and the marvelous, electric blue forms of three Monongahela blue crayfish, each only about 2-3 inches long.
As we pile back in the car to head home—clothes thoroughly soaked—I think about how on normal rainy evenings, I’m cozied up on the couch in my flannel PJ’s, novel in hand. But a fascinating parallel world exists beyond those creature comforts, and sometimes the only portal necessary is simply walking down a gravel road with a flashlight and taking a closer look. ✺
In other news…
My Spring 2024 art print collection will launch in my online shop next Wednesday, April 10th. I’ll send all my newsletter subscribers a coupon code on the 10th, a special thank-you for being here. ☺︎
Waiving hello from the Northern Panhandle! This was such a fun read.
Great illustrations and a wonderful story. Thank you Rosalie!