Expect the Inexpectatus

     Today's field trip took place in historical Charleston, SC at Caw Caw County Park. The adventure began just as the sun was setting overhead. The mellow rays displayed a sun-kissed landscape painted with vibrant greens and lush browns. Moments after entering the forest the scene transitioned to a serene aquatic habitat of bountiful blue water scattered with yellow accents of our state flower Gelsemium sempervirens. This tranquil swamp set the stage for my class's first ever search-for-herps.

      For an amateur herpetologist netting an aquatic squamate is like shooting a target while blindfolded. Accomplishing either proves a tedious task, requiring more patience than luck. I focused my search primarily under shrubs, foliage and fallen trees. As I stabbed my net into the water I slowly slid my feet through the murky shallows and rapidly pulled up to loot my catch. Several repeated attempts produced a smorgasbord of leaves, mainly Liquidambar styraciflua and plants of the Lemnaceae family, but no squamates. My fruitless search continued for awhile until I found a large cypress that had succumbed to gravity some years before. This seemed like a promising location so I stepped onto the rotting wood and shuffled across while balancing cautiously. With the grace of a drunk tightrope walker I hesitantly shimmied across the slippery, waterlogged bark while firmly grasping my net and-SPLASH! The log crumbled beneath me and I fell what seemed like faster than anything gravity was capable of while grasping desperately to my net. There I was, hip-deep in swamp water and staring unexpectedly at the tail of a Southeastern five-lined skink sticking out of the cypress. Overwhelmed with excitement I ignored the water rushing into my waders and quickly pulled the skink out of the log by its fragile tail. I placed the specimen into my net and delivered it to my eager classmates for identification. At this moment I pondered the irony of the situation. I caught a terrestrial skink by hand while submerged in water while holding a net. Go ahead, laugh at the stupidity that sequenced these events. I did, too. My skink was a juvenile which potentially explains where it was found. I surmise that its mother laid her eggs on the island that was the fallen cypress because of the cryptic locale and plentiful food source contained within it. Upon placement into the net the skink put great effort towards escape. I've never witnessed such a climber; its climbing ability paralleled that of Spiderman. The skill I witnessed was representative of its arboreal nature-useful for foraging and basking in the sun, but unfortunately not good enough to escape the rim of a well-woven net. Keep this in mind if you're ever in the presence of any majestic creature that possess super-squamate climbing skills.

      Although heavily populated in the southeast, finding Plestiodon inexpectatus can be a daunting task as they often find refuge in stumps, logs or decomposing piles of wood. These five-lined skinks are active during the day spending most of their time foraging the forest floor. Mating season occurs in the Spring and females typically lay their eggs under rocks or in rotting wood to avoid predation. After 1-2 months the eggs hatch juveniles that resemble adult females in coloration and pattern until directly developing into adults. At adulthood female coloration will fade and their tail will turn grayish while males turn darkish brown and display orange jaws during mating season.

As I finish writing I feel anticipating for our next field trip. This was a memorable experience that provided the opportunity to appreciate the intelligence and warm-hearted-nature of my classmates while applying my brick-and-mortar education to real world herps.